Spohr - Clarinet Concerto No. 2

Violinists the world over have Louis Spohr to thank for inventing the chin rest. Conductors who direct with a baton can thank Spohr for being the first. And clarinettists everywhere are surely grateful to Spohr for giving them four of the most delightful concerti ever written for their instrument – the second of these being especially uplifting. Yet outside these groups and their fellow music makers, the name of Spohr is still relatively unknown.

With their lively recording of one of the sunniest works in all classical music, Julian Bliss, Kenneth Sillito and the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields make an eloquent plea to right this unjust wrong.

A perfect day

Some days, everything goes right. Good news in the mail. Train arrives on time. Everyone gets along in the office. This concerto’s first movement is made for such days. It’s upbeat, cheerful and optimistic. It has an infectious bounce – and a catchy tune which you’ll catch yourself humming throughout the day (T7-3:53). Bliss’ playing is warm and flowing. His fingers land on and lift off the clarinet’s keys like a butterfly flitting from one flower to another on a bright summer morning. And though the music does become briefly introspective here and there, it’s never for so long that it clouds the sun in this movement’s otherwise bright blue sky.

Tranquil Bliss

The gentler pace of the second movement adagio invites a much dreamier mood. Gliding through his initial notes, Bliss encourages us to kick off our shoes, sit back and enjoy a moment of rest and relaxation. 

There’s a particularly lovely little episode a short way into the movement (T8-1:51) … though it’s rudely interrupted by the clarinet (T8-2:14). Bliss upsets the peace like someone arriving in the middle of a quiet afternoon’s reading with news they think is vitally important but which you know could’ve waited till later.

The disruption temporarily disturbs an air of calm, but this is restored by some beautiful writing for flute and clarinet (T8-3:19~3:40), cradled by strings.

Dancing virtuosity

A rumble of timpani, a miniature fanfare, and it’s straight into Bliss’ opening lines. The third movement is less sprightly than the one which begins this work, though it has a rhythm that wouldn’t be misplaced in a ballet. The stage is set not for dancing, however, but for Bliss’ unostentatious prowess – the clean, fresh quality of his playing helped in part by a recording which favours his solo clarinet, bringing it forward in the sound picture. As for good humour, there’s as much in this last movement as in the first.

This concerto’s positive forward momentum, unimpeded by the central movement’s repose, is among the charms that make it as much fun to hear as it must be to play. You’ll find you hanker for the other three clarinet concerti, too – and wonder if listeners also have something for which to thank Louis Spohr.