CELIBIDACHE
The Celibidache Edition
Dvorak: Cello Concerto,
Franck: Symphony in D minor,
Hindemith: Mathis der Maler
Sibelius: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 5,
Strauss: Till Eulenspiegel, Don Juan
Shostakovich: Symphony No. 9
Swedish Radio Symphony
Orchestra/Jacqueline du Pré
Recorded 1965-1971
DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 469
069-2 4 CDs [257'
14"]
Crotchet
£49.95
Amazon
UK £55.99 AmazonUS nya
Sergiu Celibidache (1912-1996) was a flamboyant, charismatic conductor and
a musician of strongly held convictions. He was a meticulous rehearser, usually
from memory and that not only due to failing eyesight but also because there
was nothing he did not know about every detail of the music he was preparing
for performance. He insisted on so many rehearsals ('his musical standards
border on the inhuman', observed an adoring orchestral player) that few
orchestras could afford him ('there is no miracle in music, only work' he
would assert to justify his demands). He pointedly refused to conduct opera
because it meant making too many compromises. He was also an implacable foe
of the gramophone record. For Celibidache listening to a recording of a great
piece of music was 'like going to bed with a photograph of Brigitte Bardot'.
His view of the performance of music was encapsulated thus, 'Music arises
out of the moment, and this moment cannot be fixed or repeated'. His speeds
were judged according to several precepts and conditions including the complexity
of note values (he loathed the metronome), their epiphenomena (in other words
the sounds which appear from the division of the main note after it is played),
and the acoustical properties of the hall in which the performance was taking
place ('time is space'). Many consider his speeds too slow but most concede
that he was capable of producing immaculate articulation, brilliant detail
and vivid colours. His eye for phrasing and his ear for balance was everywhere
in all he conducted.
After his death his widow and son decided to grant permission for his
performances to be put on CD and a flood of live recordings of concerts has
emerged during the past five years. EMI have released his concerts with his
last orchestra, the Munich Philharmonic, whilst DGG have his earlier encounters
with two other orchestras he headed, the Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra
(who could afford to give him plenty of rehearsal time) on discs from the
late 1970s and early 1980s, and with the Stockholm-based Swedish Radio Orchestra.
Unfortunately this set is the first not to include a CD of him rehearsing,
which often proved as revelatory as the results. Celibidache was only briefly
in Stockholm, between 1965 and 1971, but left his mark with both players
and public alike. Significantly he had few encounters with soloists (a marked
exception was Michelangeli), personality clashes generally produced unhappy
results but not with Jacqueline du Pré, who came to Sweden for two
performances of the Dvorak cello concerto in November 1967, and the two got
along well. Her unmistakeable sound with its quintessential physical attack
at her first entry mark a striking encounter between two musical phenomena.
He insisted on (and got) a piano rehearsal followed by three or four sessions
with her and the orchestra, for his view was that the orchestra was not a
servile accompanist but one half of a musical partnership. The result was
a chamber music-like approach; her playing is intensely romantic and while
phrases hang in the air (such as in the wonderful duet with the clarinet
in the finale), the vibrato she uses has passionate warmth. The portamento
sometimes seems old-fashioned but it all falls into place in the amazing
clarity of both artists' musical thought in the Adagio. Du Pré clearly
loved this music almost as much as her beloved Elgar concerto, and the result
is flawless playing. Celibidache had an amazing capacity to make the listener
come fresh to a work, however familiar it may appear to be, but in this instance
we have the glorious playing of Du Pré as well.
What a pity DGG could not have filled the thirty minutes left on this CD
with either some of the rehearsal of the concerto (if any of it was indeed
recorded) or another work conducted by Celibidache. They were far more generous
in eighty minutes of Sibelius, a bubbling account of the youthful second
symphony with its skittish woodwind choruses and blazing brass. This recording
(1965) was made early in the six year partnership between the SRSO and
Celibidache, whilst that of the fifth (1971) clearly shows the difference
he made to the orchestra during his tenure as conductor (he forbade the
designation of his appointment to any orchestra as Chief Conductor). Not
only has the playing quality significantly improved, but ensemble has unified
and the sound taken on more refinement. This is not to denigrate the playing
of the second symphony, there are magical moments aplenty, in particular
the hushed pianissimo the strings achieve at times in the Adagio.
Every programme Celibidache conducted with the Radio Orchestra had to have
a week's rehearsal (hitherto only two and a half days including the dress
rehearsal were allocated) and it shows, particularly in the playing two of
Strauss' tone poems. His detailed work would probably be neither tolerated
not affordable today but in his superbly graphic reading of Till
Eulenspiegel the solos are all immaculately refined in true Straussian
style from that nerve-wracking solo horn passage to the leader's rapid descent
of Till sliding down the bannisters, and the strangulated shrieks of the
E flat clarinet as he goes to the gallows. It is exhilarating playing, and
you can tell what's going on without knowing the story of Till's merry pranks.
Don Juan gets off to a frenetic start but the performance (recorded
in Nuremburg during a tour by the orchestra of Germany in November 1970)
develops into a highly sensuous one with a glorious climax. En route Celibidache
is always considerate for the orchestral solos excellently taken by his leader,
principal oboist, clarinettist and horn player. The degree of accuracy in
this performance of a work notoriously prone to accidents at any point along
the way simply goes to show the extent of Celibidache's meticulous rehearsing,
while his way of drawing the listener's ear through the textures makes for
compelling listening. Coupled with this pair of tone poems is Shostakovich's
quixotic ninth symphony, the 1945 creation expected to celebrate the Russian
part of the victory at the end of World War II. Instead the result is a huge
musical tongue in cheek, full of acerbic wit and acid humour. Celibidache's
view of the work is given in this clean cut performance (March 1971) full
of biting parody and wistful melancholy.
The familiar Franck symphony is easy meat for Celibidache, whose favoured
interpretations of both French and German music find a comfortable synthesis
in this Wagner-influenced work. He succeeds in drawing out the elegance of
the phrasing, while once again giving both space and breadth to his players
in their respective solos. For his powerful interpretations of music from
the German repertoire, turn to the EMI set of Bruckner symphonies or the
DGG Brahms cycle, but Celibidache also had a special affinity of a contemporary
German composer, Paul Hindemith. Furtwängler took a defensive stance
against the Nazis over Hindemith's 1934 opera Mathis der Maler and
paid the price with the loss of his post as State Music Director, while
Celibidache did not have to make such a sacrifice when he conducted most
if not all of the composer's orchestral output. His interpretation is
unsurprisingly full of powerful conviction, drawing on the strengths of the
work's vivid orchestration and, in places, its contrapuntal infrastructure.
Celibidache, unlike Stokowski, was not one for effects but a conductor whose
conviction and drive was both purposeful and unshakeable in the pursuit of
interpretation. There is never a moment when your attention will wander when
listening to this man's musicmaking.
Christopher Fifield
Performance
Recording
