RECORDING OF THE MONTH
Hector BERLIOZ (1803-1869)
Symphonie fantastique,
Op. 14 (1830) [54:48]
Lélio, ou le retour à la vie, Op. 14b (1831) [59:54]
Gérard Depardieu (narrator), Mario Zeffiri (tenor), Kyle Ketelsen (bass-baritone)
Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus/Riccardo Muti
rec. live, 23-25, 28 September 2010, Orchestra Hall, Symphony Center, Chicago,
USA
Reviewed as a 24/96 download from eClassical.com
Pdf booklet includes sung and spoken texts (French and English)
CSO RESOUND CSOR9011501 [114:42]
Not another Symphonie fantastique, I hear you groan.
You might well shake your head but this is one piece that, in the right hands,
can sound as fresh and innovative as the day it was written. Robin Ticciati’s
recording certainly reveals and revitalises this masterly score in ways I
scarcely thought possible; not surprisingly that SACD was one of my Recordings
of the Year in 2012 (review).
Much less familiar is the sequel to this symphony, Lélio, ou le retour
à la vie (Lélio, or the return to life). As the piece is half
music half monologue Berlioz dubbed it a mélologue. In fact
the two works were supposed to be performed together; they were presented
that way in Paris on 9 December 1832, and again at a Weimar concert in 1855.
In 2010 Riccardo Muti and the CSO paired the pieces in a series of concerts,
from which this recording was made.
Muti and his Chicago band certainly turned heads and tweaked ears with their
recent CSO Resound recording of Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet
suites (review).
That confirmed both maestro and orchestra are in good health; the engineering
is first-class too, and that augurs well for Berlioz’s more spectacular
moments. Those seeking alternative versions of these two pieces might wish
to try Charles Dutoit and the OSM on Decca, or Jean Martinon’s double
bill on EMI/Warner (review).
Sir Colin Davis’s Lélio (Philips) is somewhat disappointing;
he omits the narration and, for once, his performance lacks conviction.
No such caveats about his legendary Concertgebouw recording of the Symphonie
fantastique, which has come up very well as a re-mastered high-res
download (review).
Both performance and sound are staggering, and despite a host of promising
pretenders – Ticciati prominent among them – Davis has yet to
lose his crown. That said, it did slip a little with his Berlioz re-makes
for LSO Live; they just don’t have the proselytizing zeal that makes
his Philips sets so very special.
Muti isn’t a conductor I associate with Berlioz, but in the concert
hall and on record he’s demonstrated he has the temperament for this
kind of repertoire. If anything he can be too volatile at times, so it will
be interesting to see how he deals with the delirious and potentially overheated
elements of this mould-breaking score. The opening bars of Rêveries -
Passions should cause an outbreak of goose bumps; I’m pleased to
report that Muti succeeds on that score. As if that weren’t impressive
enough the playing is simply ravishing, as is the detailed, tonally sophisticated
sound. So often live recordings demand sonic compromises, but that's emphatically
not the case here.
Goodness, this is shaping up to be a memorable performance. The strings are
silken and the all-important woodwinds are both articulate and characterful.
Most importantly Muti delivers a compelling narrative, and that’s what
sets the superior performances apart from the merely interesting ones. Also,
the timps are punchy but not overbearing, and these Chicagoans respond to
Muti's direction with all the commitment and passion that the piece demands.
Another good sign is that one is awed anew by the sheer range and subtlety
of Berlioz’s orchestral palette; indeed, there’s an iridescence
to the closing bars of this movement that took my breath away.
If anything Un bal is even lovelier; Muti springs the waltz rhythms
with ease and elegance, and the gorgeous harp is very well caught. I’m
especially grateful for the conductor’s sense of pace and proportion,
which allow all-important strands and phrases to emerge in a most natural
and organic way. There are no polemics here, no unnecessary emphases or underlinings,
and the narrative thread is never stretched or broken. Such seamless and beautifully
shaped readings of this movement are rarer than you’d think; some might
feel Muti is a little too refined here, but when the playing and
sound are this distinguished that hardly seems to matter.
In fact I’d say this symphony has never been so well recorded, its body
and brilliance so effortlessly rendered. The central Scène aux champs
is as beguiling as it gets, and the forensic recording brings forth all manner
of hidden detail. As before tension is never allowed to dissipate, and the
shepherds’ gentle piping hangs, as if suspended, in the storm-charged
air. It’s actually quite a difficult effect to pull off, but Muti and
his doughty band make it look so easy. It helps that the soundstage is so
wide and so deep, as this contributes to a palpable sense of space, of a grateful
acoustic in which the music is able to live and breathe. In short, a genuine
you-are-there experience.
As expected the dynamic swings of the Marche au supplice are encompassed
without strain, although Muti isn’t quite as vivid or as visceral as
Davis here. Then again there are many ways to play this music, and Muti is
no less riveting. Indeed, the elegance of both the playing and the recording
bring a frisson of their own. The sizzle- and spit-free cymbals are
superbly caught, as is the bass drum, and the pause and reprise of the idée
fixe just before the blade falls is as theatrically intense, as breath-bating,
as I’ve ever heard it.
The Songe d’une nuit de sabbat is no less satisfying; energetic
yet expertly focused, with decent, real-world bells and a bass drum to die
for, this is the perfect end to a truly fabulous performance. Where does that
leave Davis? His Concertgebouw recording is still a classic, but thanks to
Muti's fine musicianship and the technical prowess of David Frost and
his team Sir Colin’s forty-year reign might just be at an end. Yes,
this newcomer really is that good.
If the symphony was Berlioz's impassioned response to his infatuation with
the Irish actress Harriet Smithson then Lélio deals with the despair
that followed his break-up with (Marie) Camille Moke. In that sense there's
a pleasing symmetry to these pieces; indeed, the idée fixe that symbolises
the beloved in the first is reprised in the second, along with other material
Berlioz had penned earlier. The difference here is that the artist flirts
with death but is pulled back from the abyss by his abiding love of Shakespeare
and his belief in the healing powers of great music. The work ends simply,
with Lélio’s artistic and emotional equilibrium restored.
In essence Lélio charts that typically Romantic tussle between head
and heart, optimism and despair; it’s made up of six titled movements,
linked by spoken text. In this recording the narrator is none other than the
noted French actor Gérard Depardieu, who first caught my eye in Claude Berri’s
1986 film of Marcel Pagnol’s Jean de Florette. Depardieu's
roles may have become less pivotal in recent years, but there’s no doubting
his star quality here.
The first musical number, Le pêcheur, is a lovely French setting
of Goethe’s ballad Der Fischer (The Fisherman). The intimate,
salon-like style of the piece – pianist and tenor atmospherically distant
– is simple yet poignant. For a composer (in)famous for his large-scale
creations it's inward ones such as this that linger longest in one’s
mind. The Chicago chorus are wonderfully incisive in the Chœur
d'ombres (Chorus of the Shades), which recycles music from
La morte de Cléopâtre (1829). The muffled bass drum and
flashes of pomp that bring to mind the composer’s great ceremonial pieces
– the Requiem (1838), the Grande symphonie funèbre et triomphale
(1843) and the Te Deum (1855) – are presented here
with astonishing presence and power.
The Chanson de brigands (Brigands' Song) finds Berlioz in
sparkling, unfettered form. Both the all-male chorus and their Captain - the
latter sung by the bass-baritone Kyle Ketelsen - acquit themslves with a bracing
blend of style and clarity. One senses that Muti’s decades in the pit
give this music an electric presence that speaks more of the opera house than
the concert hall. Ditto the Chant de bonheur - Hymne (Song of Bliss
- Hymn), in which the artist - represented by the tenor Mario Zeffiri - celebrates
his return to life and happiness. This is Berlioz at his loveliest and most
transparent; the playing here and in the purely orchestral La harpe
éolienne (The Aeolian Harp) is simply magical. Both pieces are drawn
from Berlioz's La mort d’Orphée (1827).
After those travails life’s luminous possibilities are glimpsed at last.
Depardieu, magnetic throughout, calibrates his delivery with care; now pensive,
now passionate he really immerses himself in the part. The audience seems
just as captivated by the unfolding drama, the spell broken only by their
gentle, susurrating laughter. As for the now stormy, now diaphanous Fantaisie
sur la Tempête de Shakespeare (Fantasy on Shakespeare's The
Tempest) Muti ensures it's blessed with both body and a lightness
of touch. And while those taut drums, impeccable brass chords and ringing
fanfares are a joy to hear the transported chorus deserve a special mention
here.
As a Berlioz devotee of many years standing I never tire of hearing this music,
even less-well-known pieces such as Lélio. It’s taken this
new recording to convince me that the latter is more than just a curiosity;
when played, sung and declaimed with such conviction it becomes a work of
genuine worth and stature. A bold claim, perhaps, but then Muti’s Lélio
– like his Symphonie fantastique – is very special indeed.
All I can do here is echo Depardieu’s parting words: Encore! Encore,
et pour toujours! ...
Superb, even revelatory accounts of both works; top-flight engineering, too.
Dan Morgan
twitter.com/mahlerei
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