Furtwängler
goes Pops? Not really, but when it
comes to listening to Wilhelm Furtwängler
conduct, I am accustomed to listening
for the overarching lines in a Bruckner
symphony or the long thread in a Brahms
symphonic motif. This disc shows that
with someone of the Maestro’s artistic
depth, there is no "lighter side,
but it is all music, thought out and
considered." This CD also shows
us a rare glimpse of him in brilliant
artistic partnership with another
great artist, Yehudi Menuhin.
All of the pieces
on this CD are taken from commercial
78s and sound remarkably clear, with
very little extraneous noise. There
is some flattening of the mid-range,
but overall the audio side is good,
with credit due to Ward Marston for
the fine digital transfer. Their original
HMV catalogue numbers are provided,
and they have all been released variously
on LP and CD, most notably the Brahms
concerto, coupled with the Brahms
Violin Sonata no. 3, and 5 Hungarian
Dances on the Menuhin "Great
Artists of the Century", fortunately
later remastered on EMI Références
63496, coupled with a Double Concerto
featuring Willi Boskovsky and Emanuel
Brabec. There is another recording
of the concerto from Lucerne in 1949
on Tahra, dated 7 October 1949.
The CD opens with
The Hebrides overture. It is
reported that Mendelssohn was inspired
by the strange sounds and echoes he
heard when he visited the sea cave
in 1829. Indeed, in Gaelic this cave
is called Uamh-Binn, meaning "cave
of melody". This piece, like Smetana’s
Moldau, is often played simply
as a watercolor sketch, but in the
hands of Furtwängler it becomes
an oil painting, with broad, dark
strokes laying the ground for the
play of light and air. Through the
mist we see the outline of the Scottish
Islands on the dark waters. The clearing
light reveals the majestic colonnade
of stone which frames the entrance
to the great cavern. The pacing is
what one would expect, slow but not
dragging, and Furtwängler’s rubato
ebbs and flows like the dark waters
that enter and disappear into the
cave.
In the hands of Furtwängler,
the Hungarian Dances are like tone
poems. They are still dances, but
they imply much more. They seem to
be more "Brahms" than Hungarian,
and to my ears they are imbued with
a gravitas usually reserved for the
"deeper" repertoire. But
perhaps that is one of the things
I love about Furtwängler — in
his hands all is important and replete
with depths to be plumbed.
Speaking of plumbing
depths, next comes the Brahms Violin
Concerto. I find this to be one of
the most lyrical and satisfying performances
of this concerto on record. My comparisons
are, for historical performance, Neveu
and Dobrowen on Dutton CDBP 9710,
and for modern recordings Mutter and
Karajan on DG 400 064-2, Bell and
von Dohnányi on London 444
811-2, and lastly, Salerno-Sonnenberg
and de Waart on EMI CDC 7 49429 2
- a quirky but interesting interpretation.
The opening movement
is charged with anticipation and excitement,
but with the broadness to which we
are accustomed from Furtwängler.
When Menuhin enters he charges right
into the opening solo phrase, without
holding the first note as many soloists
do. From that moment on there is a
balanced and charged exchange between
the orchestra and the soloist, carrying
them along to the soft, poetic end
of the first movement. It is so satisfying
that one could almost stop listening
there and be quite content.
The Adagio
is a paragon of lyricism and elegance.
At 9:56 it is longer than all the
others on my list except for Nadja
Salerno-Sonenberg and Edo de Waart’s
version coming in at a whopping 10:25;
I did say it was quirky. The difference
is that their thread is sometimes
strained, while Furtwängler never
loses the line. The sweetness of Menuhin’s
melody never becomes sticky, and the
silences are as charged with meaning
as the music.
The finale, marked
"allegro giocoso"
is truly joyful. The pace feels vivacious
but unhurried, and yet, at 8:09, this
version is among the shortest times
— only Neveu and Dobrowen make it
significantly shorter, coming in at
7:42. In Furtwängler’s hands,
and with the complicity of Menuhin,
the syncopation has an elastic lilt
that plays slightly with one’s expectations,
making it all the more playful. This
spirit carries over into the closing
chords, when everything slows to a
breathless pause and I imagine an
imperceptible nod to each other to
bring the concerto to a satisfying
close.
There are quite a
few satisfactory recordings of this
concerto, my comparison discs among
them, each having their particular
high points. But this transfer puts
the listener in the Lucerne Kunsthaus
in 1949, to hear a great European
orchestra and two of the greatest
artists that ever lived, making full-blooded
music in one united spirit. It doesn’t
get much better.
Furtwängler
only recorded the Siegfried Idyll
once, although his Wagner conducting
is legendary. This tone poem was written
in 1870, for a small chamber orchestra
since the musicians had to fit in
the staircase landing of Wagner’s
villa at Tribschen — today, coincidentally,
part of Lucerne. Today it is commonly
performed by a full orchestra, and
on this disc the Vienna Philharmonic
truly make it sound like an instrumental
excerpt from an opera. Furtwängler’s
command of the Wagnerian sound-world
is in evidence, and the piece is performed
with love and reverence, as befits
its original purpose as a birthday
present for Cosima.
Ian Julier’s liner-notes
are informative, if not copious. He
gives much interesting information,
such as Yehudi Menuhin, despite being
Jewish, pleading Furtwängler’s
case over and over again, when many
were trying to brand him as a Nazi
collaborator.
This CD is an important
document, giving the listener a glimpse
of Furtwängler arguably at the
height of his powers, during a six-month
period in 1949. It shows him triumphing
over politics and human intrigue,
to exercise his gift and his mission:
to make music that stirs the human
soul and lifts the spirit to a higher
plane.
Miguel Muelle
