I think we’re all familiar with the rule that states that people
we don’t encounter for a long time will remain unchanged, never
aging, no grey hairs, no stoop. Bernard Haitink at eighty seems
unthinkable, yet here it is, the eightieth birthday tribute
to one of the greatest of conductors. Over seven discs, the
set comprises sixteen major works and one (very) minor one.
Almost all of them first appeared on the Philips label, but
its sad disappearance means that only the Decca logo features
here. The earliest recording is the Dvorák, set down in Amsterdam
in 1959, and the latest is the 1995 Boston Ravel.
Accepted notions of Haitink tend to dwell on his apparent personal
modesty and unswerving dedication to the composer rather than
to his own ego. In reality, every musical performance is a reflection
of the performer as well as of the composer since, in seeking
the essential truth of the work, what the performer finds is
the truth as he or she sees it. Nonetheless, Bernard Haitink
seems less interested than most conductors in personal glory,
preferring, so it would seem, to see himself as the medium through
which the work passes from the composer to the listener. This
has sometimes tended to produce performances tending towards
the bland, but the seriousness of the conductor’s intent, plus
the immense technical skill with which it is put into practice,
ensures that disappointing performances are relatively rare.
Compiling a collection such as this is always a compromise,
and no one listener is likely to be totally satisfied with the
choices made. That said, there are three performances here that
do not, in my view, show the conductor in his best light. And
then, alas, I am obliged to point out to potential purchasers
two failings they should take into account before deciding whether
or not to invest in this set. The first is that the channels
are reversed on the whole of Disc 5. Those who always listen
through headphones have no problem, of course, but for others
hearing the first violins coming from the right in Haitink’s
quite magnificent performance of La Mer will probably
be a disturbing experience. Perhaps even more serious is the
failure to provide pauses between the different movements of
many of the larger works. This is particularly noticeable in
the symphonies, with the slow movement of Mahler’s First, for
example, following on far, far too quickly after the exciting
close of the first. And although I’m not enthusiastic about
Haitink’s performance of The Rite of Spring, it is in
any event severely compromised by the almost instantaneous appearance
of the first notes of Part 2 after the climactic close of Part
1.
There are signs that some thought has been given to coherence
of programming in the order of the works on the seven discs,
but in reality timing will have been the governing factor. I
listened to the set in chronological order of recording, and
it is in this order that the performances are now discussed.
Haitink was just thirty, then, when he recorded Dvorák’s Symphony
No. 7 with the Concertgebouw Orchestra. The work is glorious,
of course, but I’d never heard this performance of it and I
was taken by it from the very first notes. The orchestral playing
is superb and Haitink seems totally at one with the idiom, with
a particularly Bohemian-sounding furiante scherzo. One
wonders, with a set like this one, if comparisons are of any
value. Admirers of the conductor will buy the set anyway – assuming
they don’t already have everything in it – but for those who
don’t know the conductor the repertoire may be a deciding factor.
There are some superb performances of Dvorák’s Seventh about.
I’m particularly fond of Mackerras’s reading on EMI Eminence,
for example. But all the time I was listening to this Haitink
performance I found myself thinking that it would do perfectly
well as the only reading in a collection. I was surprised, then,
to read a distinctly lukewarm review published when the disc
first appeared.
Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra was one of the works imposed
for study in the year I was an “A”-level music candidate. I
decline to say how long ago that was, but Haitink’s was one
of the LPs the school bought to help us get to know the piece.
I don’t think I’ve heard the performance since then, but I now
feel that it is one of the conductor’s less successful readings.
I adored the work when I was eighteen, but my view of it has
changed with the passing years too. I now find I am impatient
with it, sensing all too obviously the dying, impoverished composer
desperate to spin out the notes to a full-length work when the
inspiration was no longer there. The first movement makes too
much use of indifferent material subjected to sundry contrapuntal
devices. The second is more successful, the couples a genuinely
good idea and well executed, though perhaps a little overlong
for the material. The slow movement, one of Bartók’s night pieces,
now seems rambling and unmemorable, and the fourth movement
a patchwork of uninspired and desperately unfunny material.
Only the finale is up to scratch, where the ever-present scrubbing
of the strings at least has a structural and dramatic purpose.
To make a success of this it needs to be conducted at white
heat, and for my money Reiner is the most successful at that.
Haitink seems to hold the piece somewhat at arm’s length. The
opening lacks mystery, and he fails to hide the paucity of invention
throughout this first movement. A jumbo-sized harp makes a surprising
appearance in a recording otherwise exemplary, especially for
the period. Haitink finds some humour in the second movement,
and this is the most successful of the five, in spite of the
famous choral passage being too loud. The two following movements
both lack conviction and it is in the opening of the finale
where the comparison with Reiner – and with Fricsay (DG) and
Solti (Decca) for that matter – seems most to the Dutchman’s
disfavour.
The performance of Smetana’s lovely tone poem Vltava,
on the other hand, is very successful. Haitink’s reading is
both forthright and atmospheric, from the delightful opening
where the river springs from the ground to the majestic close
as the great river flows into the sea. He is very successful,
too, at conjuring up the picturesque incidents which appear
along the way, the wedding polka being particularly delightful.
In the early days of the Mahler revival the choice for record
collectors was between Bernstein, Kubelik and Haitink. Crudely
characterised as the most straight laced of the three, Haitink’s
Mahler was too often – with a couple of honourable exceptions,
that is – placed in third position of preference. This Mahler
First Symphony demonstrates what were then his strengths as
a Mahler conductor, characteristics which hold true today, though
the wisdom of age has brought with it a greater capacity to
convince. I have never heard this performance before, and do
not know if the first movement exposition repeat was respected
on the original issue. It certainly does not feature in this
incarnation, and that is a serious disadvantage as the movement
is unbalanced, the exciting rushing quavers which close the
exposition – and later the movement – are now heard only twice
instead of three times. The end is very exciting, however, though
the opening doesn’t really convey the mysterious awakening of
nature which the music is meant to embody. The scherzo is loud
and rustic but not very playful, though Haitink refreshingly
avoids exaggerated glissandi and accelerandi rather
pasted on by other conductors. The slow movement is marvellously
done, revealing the bare bones of the scoring and making it
sound as much like Berg as like Mahler, but the finale seems
tame in comparison with other readings, and some listeners will
prefer a wilder and more overtly passionate reading than this.
Liszt’s symphonic poem Festklänge comes next. Composed
in 1853, it is loud and tuneful in Liszt’s characteristic orchestral
manner. I had never heard it before and the atmosphere of good
humour it conveys – one might translate its title as “Festive
Noises” – struck me as similar in nature to that pervading much
of Wagner’s Mastersingers. Mastersingers it is
not, however, but those who like that kind of thing will find
Haitink’s performance a thrilling one, the conductor surprisingly
liberated and unbuttoned, and the orchestra in superb form.
Tchaikovsky never wrote a more Liszt-like work than Francesca
da Rimini. Haitink’s performance is a masterly one. He seems
at one with the idiom from the gloomy opening onwards, and the
drama of the work is superbly controlled. He convinced me more
than any conductor yet has that this piece, not one of my favourites,
is might well be worth the work required to get to know and
understand.
There are many fine things in Haitink’s Le Sacre du Printemps.
The control of orchestral balance is masterly, with no unnatural
spotlighting, though many details emerge which listeners may
never have heard before. The crescendo at the end of the Dances
of the Young Girls is superbly exciting, and you won’t hear
a more outlandish gong crescendo than that in this reading of
the Dance of the Earth, the end of which brings the first
part to a superbly exiting close. The second part begins, grotesquely,
almost immediately, but things take a very different turn thereafter.
The opening is curiously prosaic and lacking in mystery and
atmosphere. This continues right up to the infamous series of
eleven hammered chords which Haitink for some reason decides
to take much more slowly than the preceding passage, and in
any event significantly more slowly than the crotchet = 120
stipulated in the score. The following Glorification of the
Chosen One lacks tension and the jazziness of the chords
– surely deliberate, even if one struggles to understand why
– in the Evocation of the Ancestors is wholly absent.
Things improve in the following passage, but the final Sacrificial
Dance is again ordinary, and in event would need to be phenomenal
to rescue the performance.
Haitink’s reading of Wagner’s Tristan Prelude and Liebestod
is characterised by a quite remarkable erotic charge. He positively
conspires with the composer to delay the climax in each piece
until the final possible moment, the crescendi leading up to
these points almost unbearable in their intensity, and the whole
superbly realised by his magnificent orchestra.
One of the many miracles of Schubert’s Unfinished is
that it can sound completely different according to who is conducting.
Some find as much serenity in the first movement as in the second.
Others – I’m thinking of Günter Wand in particular – present
the work in the darkest hues: there is no limit to the depths
of despair explored in his live recording from Berlin in 1995
(RCA Victor Red Seal). Haitink typically keeps the music moving
in both movements, and nicely brings out the difference in mood
of the two themes of the first movement. It’s a middle of the
road performance, beautifully played, but not one to challenge
accepted views of the work.
Haitink’s performance of Debussy’s La Mer is now accepted
as one of the classics of the gramophone, and rightly so. He
consistently finds just the right tempo, and his control of
dynamics, texture and balance is truly remarkable. Control,
indeed, is perhaps the key word in this performance, and some
listeners have found that that very control leads to a certain
coolness and lack of abandon. I do not share this view. Haitink
and his superb orchestra – what extraordinary brass, in particular!
– deliver perhaps the most exciting reading of the final pages
I have ever heard. I only wish he had not chosen to include
the optional horn fanfares in the eight bars before this final
coda. Debussy had doubts about this passage, but I have always
thought his original thoughts were best. This aside, this is
truly a marvellous performance. What a pity then, that the stereo
channels are reversed in this transfer.
The sobriety and control which have come to be Haitink’s most
frequently evoked characteristics – and which are sometimes
used as criticisms – were much in evidence in his Shostakovich
symphony cycle from the seventies. Just as many felt he lacked
Bernstein’s passion in Mahler, so others took the view that
the wildness and abandon of, say, Mravinsky, escaped him in
Shostakovich. The scherzo of the tenth symphony is a case in
point: in Haitink’s hands there is huge momentum here, and violence
too, but it never threatens to go out of control, and there
is no overstatement. The long, brooding first movement is magnificently
done, with a shattering build-up to an overpowering, long, central
climax. Some might think that some passages in the third movement
lack mystery, though I don’t think I’ve ever heard the Mahlerian
links more overtly brought out. Then the finale seems an unequivocal
success, the final pages as exciting as in any version in the
catalogue. The orchestra plays superbly well, but the recording
is showing its age somewhat, with some congested sound and even
a little distortion in the more heavily scored passages. This
is a superb reading overall, but you will have to listen to
it with your remote control to hand in order to lengthen the
pauses between the movements.
I’ve been resistant, up to now, to a fair bit of Richard Strauss’s
orchestral music, with Tod und Verklärung a particular
example. But that was before I encountered Bernard Haitink’s
reading. I now feel his view of the dying artist to be the most
convincing I have heard. I find much of Strauss’s autobiographical
music too indulgent and subjective, though he transcends this
in certain works, notably Metamorphosen. By scrupulous
attention to detail, dynamics and balance, and by careful pacing
which makes not only for a series of tempi perfectly wedded
one to the other, but also that the final climax of the work
be the strongest, Haitink here succeeds in making this listener
hear the work afresh. I cannot recommend this performance too
highly, and so, once again, can only lament the technical error
which has allowed the channels to be reversed.
Haitink’s view of Beethoven, at least in 1985, was traditional
without being old-fashioned, which is to say that his Seventh
Symphony is thoroughly enjoyable and convincing without being
particularly individual. At a measured tempo, the slow introduction
to the first movement is weighty, sober and serious, the Concertgebouw
strings rich and sonorous, particularly in the bass. The main
part of the movement dances just as it should, its remarkable
mixture of light heartedness and drama perfectly realised, and
the difficult dotted rhythms brilliantly sustained. The slow
movement moves forward at a pace perhaps less slow than was
the norm, Haitink looking toward period practice, perhaps, but
at any rate respecting Beethoven’s indicated Allegretto.
He keeps the music moving too in the dramatic trio of the third
movement, and the finale is superbly propulsive, though it’s
a pity he elects not to respect the exposition repeat. It’s
difficult to know what more one could ask for, but trawling
through the hundreds of alternative readings available, one
would surely find versions one preferred. This one would suit
me, however, even if it were the only one in my collection.
Haitink recorded Bruckner’s Symphony No. 3 in 1964 with the
Concertgebouw Orchestra, but the reading included here is a
later one, from Vienna. Interestingly, in both versions Haitink
preferred Bruckner’s second version of the work, from 1877,
over that from 1889 which was, at least at that time, the overwhelming
preference of most of his colleagues. This is not the place
to explore in detail the differences between the three versions,
and even less to try and choose between them, but I have heard
all three and find that Bruckner’s second thoughts, as recorded
here, strike me as the best solution to performing a work which
is structurally very difficult to hold together. One of Haitink’s
strengths, of course, is his mastery of large-scale forms, and
though even he cannot disguise the fact that the composer did
not find the one, inevitable way to present the multitude of
material which makes up this work, his is certainly a most convincing
view. He controls climaxes with a sure hand, and the slow movement
is beautifully shaped. In particular, I think, Haitink’s way
with the folk-like elements is particularly convincing. The
Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, naturally enough, play like gods.
Stravinsky’s little Scherzo ŕ la russe was originally
composed as a breadwinner for the Paul Whiteman Orchestra, but
its textures are surprisingly Petrushka-like in this
later reworking for standard orchestra. The composer is his
most unbuttoned mood here. It makes a strange, if entertaining
curtain-raiser to The Rite of Spring in this exuberant
performance from Berlin.
The music of Brahms has formed a central part of Haitink’s
repertoire and hearing this Brahms Third from Boston has been
a particular pleasure. The performance opens with a tremendous
sweep and scrupulous attention to the crescendo markings in
the opening bars ensures drama and passion. Haitink observes
the first movement repeat, as is almost universally the case
nowadays, but the opening music returns with a bit of a jolt
due to a rather uncomfortable difference in tempo. I don’t presume
to suggest that this is anything other than what the conductor
wanted, but the effect is rather strange. The slow movement
flows well, and the beautiful, almost Mahlerian final climax
is kept within the bounds of decency. The third movement communicates
restrained sadness rather than passion, which is fine by me.
The return of the main theme played by the solo horn is very
touching. The finale is superb, with just the right balance,
for this listener, between romantic passion and that very characteristic,
Brahmsian, classical self-discipline. This is a most satisfying
performance, then, of this rather elusive symphony.
The other Boston performance in this collection is also the
most recent of all, that of Ravel’s ballet Mother Goose,
recorded in November 1995. I’m surprised at Haitink’s apparent
preference for the ballet rather than the original suite of
five pieces. Ravel’s oeuvre is made up almost exclusively of
perfectly finished jewels, and I think the music he composed
to extend his suite into a ballet is among his least inspired.
It is, in most performances, quite atmospheric, however, but
not here, where Haitink and the Boston players quite fail to
bring the different scenes to life. The solo wind playing, though
technically brilliant, lacks character, or rather, lacks conviction.
There seems little attempt to enter into the magical world that
Ravel thought was childhood. How dull the conversation between
Beauty and the Beast must have been, and even as they dance
together there seems to be little spark between them. Then there
are the calls of all those naughty little birds that ate up
Tom Thumb’s crumbs: they seem dutiful here, and one can only
wonder why the same notes sound so much more evocative when
the players are from the London Symphony Orchestra and the conductor
is Monteux, or, more to the point, in Haitink’s own, earlier
recording with the Concertgebouw. Laidonerette makes heavy weather
of her bath. Where is the fragile artifice of this preposterously
lovable chinoiserie? I don’t think the players were ready to
succumb to the music during these sessions, and in any event,
even if they had been, their performance would have been well
and truly scuppered by a recording which seems to place a microphone
under each player’s nose, ensuring that we hear the wind players
breathing, not to mention sundry creaks, clicks and even pages
turning.
William Hedley
CD 1 [75:02]
Antonin DVORAK (1841-1904)
Symphony No. 7 in D minor, Op. 70 (1885) [35:59]
Bedrich
SMETANA (1824-1884)
Vltava (The Moldau) (1874-9) [13:06]
Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828)
Symphony No. 8 in B minor, “Unfinished”, D759 (1822) [25:50]
CD 2 [78:39]
Ludwig van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827)
Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92 (1812) [40:05]
Johannes BRAHMS (1833-1897)
Symphony No. 3 in F major, Op. 90 (1883) [38:33]
CD 3 [72:00]
Franz LISZT (1811-18886)
Festklänge (1853) [19:54]
Gustav MAHLER (1860-1911)
Symphony 1 in D major (1898) [52:06]
CD 4 [78:31]
Richard WAGNER (1813-1883)
Tristan und Isolde – Prelude and Liebestod (1859) [16:39]
Anton BRUCKNER (1824-1896)
Symphony No. 3 in D minor (1877) [61:28]
CD 5 [78:49]
Richard STRAUSS (1864-1949)
Tod und Verklärung (1889) [26:53]
Claude DEBUSSY (1862-1918)
La Mer (1905) [23 :25]
Maurice RAVEL (1875-1937)
Ma Mčre l’Oye (1912) [28 :11]
CD 6 [74 :46]
Igor STRAVINSKY (1882-1971)
Scherzo ŕ la russe (1944) [3:47]
Le Sacre du Printemps (1913) [34 :18]
Béla BARTÓK (1881-1945)
Concerto for Orchestra (1945) [36:41]
CD 7 [79:09]
Pyotr Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893)
Francesca da Rimini (1876) [24:36]
Dmitri SHOSTAKOVICH (1906-1975)
Symphony No. 6 in E minor, Op. 93 (1953) [54:24]
Concertgebouw
Orchestra
rec. Concertgebouw, Amsterdam, September 1959 (Dvorák); September
1960 (Bartók); September 1961 (Smetana); September 1962 (Mahler);
May/June 1975 (Schubert); September 1972 (Tchaikovsky); December
1974 (Wagner); December 1976 (Debussy); December 1981 (Strauss);
October 1985 (Beethoven)
London Philharmonic Orchestra
rec. Walthamstow Assembly Hall, November 1917 (Liszt); February
1973 (Stravinsky, Sacre); Kingsway Hall, London, January
1977 (Shostakovich)
Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
rec. Sofiensaal, Vienna, December 1988 (Bruckner)
Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
rec. Philharmonie, Berlin, October 1989 (Stravinsky, Scherzo)
Boston Symphony Orchestra
rec. Symphony Hall, Boston, March 1993 (Brahms); November 1995
(Ravel)
DECCA 478 1429 [7 CDs] 
