Dvořák: Symphony No. 8;
Brahms: Symphony No. 1. Czech Philharmonic Orchestra and Swiss Festival
Orchestra conducted by George Szell. Audite. $14.99.
Spohr: Symphonies Nos. 4 and 5;
Overture “Der Matrose.” NDR Radiophilharmonie Hannover conducted by Howard
Griffiths. CPO. $16.99 (SACD).
Clementi: Symphonies Nos. 3 and
4; Overture in C. Orchestra Sinfonica di Roma conducted by Francesco La
Vecchia. Naxos. $9.99.
Rachmaninoff: Symphony No. 1; The
Isle of the Dead. Detroit Symphony Orchestra conducted by Leonard Slatkin.
Naxos. $9.99.
Sometimes it is worth taking
a step back in time to hear how a real master of symphonic conducting handled
works that have in recent years become, if anything, over-familiar. Audite’s CD
of a 1969 Dvořák performance
and a 1962 one of Brahms, both by George Szell (1897-1970) with ensembles other
than the Cleveland Orchestra that he led with such distinction for so many
years (1946-1970), is one such worthwhile examination of the past. Szell did
not bend over backwards to create anything “new” or “different” in his
interpretations – instead, he carefully refined the work of conductors of
earlier times, seeking to evoke composers’ intentions for their music by
bringing forth the lines and the balance of instruments with precision and
detail that few conductors since have ever managed. Indeed, when the Cleveland
Orchestra under Szell played Mozart, it did so with the clarity of a chamber
ensemble, so perfectly did every single element balance every other one and so
well did Szell understand the precise workings of every instrument under his
command. The Czech Philharmonic and Swiss Festival Orchestra heard here (the
former in Dvořák’s Eighth, the
latter in Brahms’ First) do not bring quite that level of clear-headedness to
the music, but both ensembles play with fervor and understanding, and Szell’s
influence on them is clear in the excellent balance of their sections, the
rhythmic vitality of both readings, the very clear delineation of sections of
the music (recapitulations contrasted with the developments that come
immediately before, for example), and the overall sense of inevitability in the
flow of both works. These are robust performances but scarcely heavy ones:
Szell makes these Romantic symphonies grand but not portentous. The CD will be
something of a revelation for listeners familiar with the music but not with
Szell: there are many fine performances of both these works, but Szell’s method
of presenting them meticulously, as if they are fresh and new, makes them sound
fresh and new to the audience as well – including an audience in the 21st
century.
Most conductors, Szell
included, have paid little attention to lesser symphonic lights of the Romantic
era, such as Louis Spohr (1784-1859) and Muzio Clementi (1752-1832). The
rediscovery of the symphonies of these composers is largely a phenomenon of the
late 20th century as well as the 21st. And in some ways
it is a curious re-emergence, particularly in the case of Spohr, whose works
were so well-regarded in his time that Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado contains a line about “Bach,
interwoven with Spohr and Beethoven.” The very fine CPO recording in which
Howard Griffiths leads Spohr’s Fourth and Fifth Symphonies – along with his
overture to a stage work called Der
Matrose (“The Sailor”) – puts Spohr’s strengths fully on display as well as
hinting at the reasons his music did not have much staying power after his
death. Spohr’s Symphony No. 4 (1832) is called Die Weihe der Töne, “The Consecration of
Sounds,” and is an avowed attempt to produce a new symphonic form through
musical illustration of the eponymous poem by Carl Pfeiffer (1803-1831).
Pfeiffer was librettist for two Spohr operas, and Spohr created his Fourth Symphony
partly as a tribute after his friend’s death and partly as an entry into the
burgeoning controversy about the appropriateness (or lack thereof) of “program
music.” This is an argument long since settled; and indeed, in the symphonic
realm, Berlioz’ Symphonie fantastique
was written two years before Spohr’s Fourth. But it was a lively topic in
musical and intellectual circles in the 1830s, and Spohr’s Fourth – a huge
success when first performed, even among those who did not care for program
music – helped make the debates about tone-painting even livelier. The work as
a whole is very well made and has some innovative elements (notably in the
martial third movement and gentle finale), but to modern ears – and even to
those of the late 19th century – its pedestrian portions outnumber
its unusual ones. The lack of familiarity with Pfeiffer’s poem (fortunately
presented by CPO in both German and English) also makes it hard to find Spohr’s
Fourth fully involving. His Fifth was also a well-received work (although less
so than the Fourth), and it too is crafted expertly – but here the reason for
its lack of durability in the repertoire is fairly easy to explain. In this
symphony (and also in his Third), Spohr was overtly looking for an alternative
to Beethoven’s approach to symphonic structure – and in so doing invited
comparisons with Beethoven, which did not work to Spohr’s benefit. Spohr wanted
symphonies of dignity and close-knit development rather than the somewhat
sprawling and (by the standards of the time) ill-mannered ones that Beethoven
produced. The Fifth certainly works well by Spohr’s own standards – but it
tends to sound somewhat stodgy and even prim, lacking not only Beethoven’s
innovative approaches but also the forthright emotionalism of other Romantic-era
symphonies. The monothematic overture to Der
Matrose is as well-ordered and carefully assembled as the symphonies heard
here, and all this music is interesting in its historical context; but none of
it is likely to raise Spohr’s reputation much above its current modest level.
Clementi was not the
symphonist that Spohr was: Clementi’s four surviving mature symphonies were not
even published in the composer’s lifetime. Nor was Clementi much interested in
striving for new symphonic forms or moving ahead in new directions. His
symphonies show him to be a transitional figure, largely wedded to the
structures and harmonies of the past, handling them well and producing
pleasant, eminently listenable works tied closely to those of their direct
antecedents, Mozart and Haydn. Clementi’s Third, which makes considerable use
of the tune “God Save the King” as a theme and as a result is known as “The
Grand National,” is in many ways his most interesting symphony: the popular
tune is not only developed skillfully in the second movement but also brought
in as an “interruption” in the third and then used as part of the thematic
grouping in the finale. The Fourth Symphony, like the Third, is well organized
and conventionally assembled – and the same may be said of the Overture in C, which is actually the
opening movement of a symphony that is now lost. The Orchestra Sinfonica di
Roma under Francesco La Vecchia plays the symphonies and overture with
straightforward skill, and the Naxos sound is quite good. All these works are
reconstructions, made in the 1970s by Pietro Spada; the original manuscripts
have long since disappeared. Whatever their provenance, these pieces fit well
into the time of their composition and into what is known of Clementi’s
compositional style – and they are quite pleasant to hear, even if they are
scarcely earthshaking in any way.
Rachmaninoff’s First
Symphony was earthshaking for its composer, in a sense – and not a good one.
The work was a disaster at its première
in 1897 and not heard again until after Rachmaninoff’s death – although it has
since become reasonably popular. The symphony’s failure led Rachmaninoff to
abandon composition entirely for a time, not returning to it until after his
famous treatment with hypnotherapy and psychotherapy by Nikolai Dahl in 1900.
The likely differences in Rachmaninoff’s creative life if this symphony had
succeeded, even modestly, are impossible to know, but there is no question that
its failure became a seminal event in Rachmaninoff’s future endeavors as
conductor and pianist as well as his eventual return to composition. Leonard
Slatkin and the Detroit Symphony get the youthful exuberance of the symphony
right in their new recording, although Slatkin does not cope especially well
with the work’s sprawl and its tendency to meander, wandering off its emotional
track for a while before finding its way back. The orchestra plays well but
without the sumptuous string tone and warm brass that would fit Rachmaninoff –
particularly this symphony – to better effect. Therefore, this well-recorded
Naxos CD, which completes Slatkin’s Rachmaninoff symphonic cycle, gets a (+++)
rating. The symphony is paired with The
Isle of the Dead, a highly atmospheric and suitably gloomy tone poem
pervaded by the Dies irae that
Rachmaninoff used so often. Slatkin handles it skillfully, although it is less evocative
than it can be: the ghostly stillness with which it begins and ends, for
example, is here on the matter-of-fact side. These are good but not particularly
idiomatic presentations of significant works for which Slatkin seems to have
some affinity, but not enough for complete involvement.
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