The post-war period in England, having overcome its
first phase of physical reconstruction in the 1940s, and with the 1951
Festival of Britain safely behind it, began to look to the rebuilding
of its artistic bridges. Where were all the foreign maestros who during
the pre-war years had led the way in the interpretation of the Austro-German
classics that, rightly or wrongly, were felt by the British to be the
backbone of the repertoire? Unwanted during the war years, many of them
were by now dead or nearing retirement, or safely ensconced in prestigious
American and European conducting posts and unlikely to pay more than
an occasional visit to London. For a time the star of the wunderkind
Karajan shone brightly, but his relations with Walter Legge’s new Philharmonia
Orchestra quickly soured and it was well known that he was destined
for Berlin. In any case, the need was felt for a conductor whose roots
went right back to the world of the old German Kapellmeisters,
who would re-forge British links to the culture which had fostered the
great symphonic masterpieces. And so, as a man of providence, a conductor
was discovered whose visits to London before the war had been rare and
not especially happy (the same goes for his period in Los Angeles),
who had known Mahler and had been considered for most of his career
as a proponent of modern music, who had made a very few recordings in
the 1930s and a few more post-war for Vox, none well-known and mostly
controversial, who was rumoured to be of difficult and unstable temperament,
who had suffered appalling ill-health and who was currently "out
of sight, out of mind" in Budapest. He was also possessed of impeccably
anti-Nazi credentials. An Otto Klemperer was needed and an Otto Klemperer
was found. Klemperer’s London years were not without controversy, but
they are now remembered as the stuff of legend, and this period certainly
provided the conductor with a stable base which he had never had before.
But just suppose for a moment that the Otto Klemperer
found had not been, as it were, Otto Klemperer himself but some other
exponent of the great German tradition? Suppose that, into the void
awaiting its Germanic Messiah, had walked some such solidly trained
maestro as, say (just to keep with the "K") Joseph Keilberth,
conductor of the Hamburg and Bamberg orchestras and a Bayreuth regular?
But no, Chris, you’re writing bunk, everyone knows that Keilberth was
just a boring old Kapellmeister and Klemperer set heaven and
earth ablaze with every movement of his ailing limbs. Yes, but that’s
just the problem; because we know this we hear the records that
way and don’t check any more whether its really true. So let’s just
try the experiment of putting the Keilberth recordings of these two
symphonies alongside the "legendary" Klemperer versions here
(generally held to be more successful than his 1960s remakes).
For those who feel like following this up, Teldec have
issued a 2-CD album in the Ultima series containing Keilberth’s recordings
of Beethoven’s 5th (Hamburg Philharmonic), 6th
(Bamberg Symphony) and 7th Symphonies plus a couple of overtures
(Berlin Philharmonic). The recordings are said to be from 1961, but
since that of no. 5 was reviewed in the EMG Monthly Letter in 1959 (and
preferred to Klemperer) this cannot be accurate for all of them. The
number is 0630-18946-5, but check this since my copy with this number
was bought in Italy and has titles and brief notes in French, so there
may be another number for the English-speaking market.
Keilberth’s marginally longer timing for the first
movement of no. 5 (8’43" against Klemperer’s 8’05"; both have
the repeat) is not the result of his tempo, which is identical, but
of his treatment of the pauses. He holds them rather longer than Klemperer
and he also allows a longer breathing space before resuming. There can
be various opinions about this. It is true that Beethoven only has a
quaver’s rest after the pause and this is all Klemperer allows. But
you can also feel that after the music has halted it (and the listener)
needs a breathing space before it re-starts. And there again, you could
say that, having conceded this "creative interpretation" rather
than literal observance, then a pause implies a rallentando to prepare
the ear for it, instead of an abrupt stop. And that gets us into Furtwängler
territory, whereas both Klemperer and Keilberth are fully agreed in
always hammering out the famous four-note motto absolutely in tempo.
What is rather more significant than all this is that Keilberth has
a slightly crisper, more staccato articulation of the hammering quavers
right through the movement which, together with a lighter bass, produces
a leaner, more muscular sound. Both of them bring the movement home
with much conviction. Incidentally, when Klemperer remade the Fifth
in c.1960 (no date on my LP pressing) he was given a brighter, less
cavernous recording (or so it sounds on LP) and also obtained somewhat
crisper articulation (also some rather strange balancing at one point
in the development). For this reason, in spite of a marginally slower
tempo – but at 8’49" there’s precious little in it – the later
version seems more urgent at times.
In the Andante con moto the tempo is again practically
identical: Klemperer 10’07", Keilberth 10’12". There are plenty
of longer versions around for both respect the fact that Beethoven’s
metronome mark implies that the movement has something of the minuet
to it. Klemperer is again graver in his orchestral sound while Keilberth
finds a certain pastoral quality to the woodwind writing. In 1960 Klemperer
began at the same tempo as before but over the opening section lets
the music broaden slightly, increasing the gravity of his approach and
also, perhaps, its conviction.
Keilberth is marginally slower in the scherzo (5’59"
against Klemperer’s 5’41"), but Klemperer has a few miscalculations
here. When the horns enter forte after the mysterious opening, they
do so in a faster tempo, which Klemperer can then be heard clawing back.
The beginning of the trio also has a few tempo wobbles, as though there
is some uncertainty as to whether Klemperer is allowing a slight broadening
or not. Keilberth keeps his tempo (and is at least as good as Klemperer
at placing the accents) and this goes for the trio too, which results
fairly swift and exultant. Klemperer in 1960 holds a tempo closer to
Keilberth’s and has a grandly deliberate trio. With the return to the
trio Klemperer’s principal concern (in both recordings) is that everything
should be heard, and he marks up the dynamics for the pizzicato strings.
It’s certainly clear but not very magical. Keilberth’s more distant
nocturnal rustlings tell us why E. M. Forster, in ‘Howard’s End’, heard
goblins in this music. Klemperer 1955 has strikingly well recorded timpani
in the transition to the finale – so prominent that even Forster’s Mrs.
Munt could have heard what was happening without Tibby’s help. Klemperer
1960 has them more in proportion; Keilberth is more distant still, yet
they are "there".
Richard Osborne, in his notes, makes much of the fact
that Klemperer has a single tempo right through the scherzo and finale,
a bar of the scherzo equal to a half-bar of the finale. He also admits
that Beethoven’s marking was 96 to the bar in the scherzo and 84 to
the half-bar in the finale. So logically, whatever speed you choose
for the scherzo, the finale should be a little slower. Not many conductors
manage this since it means a very fast scherzo if the finale is not
to fall flat (often the relationship is actually reversed); you can
hear it done successfully on Erich Kleiber’s recording. Given that a
single tempo also has its logical attractiveness, both Klemperer and
Keilberth actually do this, at the moments of transition between the
two (including the return of the scherzo during the finale). The difference
is that with Klemperer the tempo in the finale often falls back slightly
whereas Keilberth allows it to move forward just a little, creating
a sense of exultancy which Klemperer misses (timings are meaningless
here, since Klemperer gives the repeat and Keilberth does not). One
becomes increasingly conscious, as the symphony progresses but above
all in the finale, that Klemperer has a way of placing accents that
seems to push the music back while Keilberth (and most others)
use accents to urge the music forward.
If Keilberth’s more exultant finale clinches my preference
for his performance, I have to say that Klemperer in 1960 was something
else again. He takes 19’25" over the scherzo and finale, compared
with 16’50" in 1955, and his finale has a majestic inexorable quality
which seems unstoppable; with the result that, when it is stopped
by the return of the scherzo, it really does seem as if something terrible
has happened. The resumption of the majestic mood after this has a hollow
ring, almost like the false jubilation which concludes Shostakovich
Five; I’m not sure whether either Beethoven or Klemperer meant this,
but it is certainly thought-provoking. If you’re looking for the Klemperer
legend, go to the later version for the full whack.
In the Seventh Keilberth is conducting, not one of
his own orchestras but the Berlin Philharmonic, still rich in Furtwänglerian
memories and now preparing its first Karajan cycle (though also flexible
enough to give André Cluytens the style he wanted in his cycle
which was ongoing at this time). Would Keilberth be taken for a ride?
Not at all, since the lean orchestral sound we hear is quite consistent
with the other symphonies (the Bamberg Pastoral is also a very
interesting performance). In this instance Keilberth is faster than
Klemperer, though not to any great degree. The two are also in complete
agreement over which repeats to omit (most of them!) so the timings
are a reliable guide: Klemperer 12’51", 9’30", 8’21",
7’56", Keilberth 12’00", 8’07", 8’07", 7’06".
The Klemperer starts with another miscalculation; in
the first rising scale the strings push the tempo forward, forcing the
conductor to claw back. Richard Osborne describes this performance as
"beautifully ‘sprung’." The danger in the first movement is
for the dotted rhythms to lose their point, degenerating into a flat-footed
2/4 time. It is the placing of the third and sixth quavers which is
fundamental. Klemperer and Keilberth allow no slackness here, but Keilberth
obtains more lilt and his more forward-moving performance has more spring
in its step. In the Allegretto Keilberth’s much shorter staccatos
and lighter sound, allied to a faster tempo, produce a different kind
of performance altogether, one which recognises Beethoven’s Allegretto.
Beethoven’s first thought was Andante and Klemperer evidently holds
by this. Both conductors see that the major-key interludes are properly
in tempo (they often move forward). At Keilberth’s faster pace the fugato
episodes have a Mendelssohnian lightness while Klemperer keeps them
grave. Again, it is as much a question of longer bows as of actual tempo.
At the end Klemperer keeps his violins pizzicato while Keilberth opts
for the more usual bowed solution.
Differences are minimal in the Scherzo, especially
when both are very clear in their rhythmic phrasing. In a movement where
the bars are very short, and where Beethoven often repeats the same
bar four times over, it is important that every first beat should not
be equal; the ear must hear how the bars are grouped and which is the
most important of each group. Klemperer and Keilberth are both exemplary
over this, and thus keep the music alive at a fairly measured tempo.
The finale finds Keilberth a shade snappier in his articulation, as
well as simply a shade faster. Klemperer’s weightiness often seems (as
in the finale to the 1955 Fifth) to have the effect of damming the tide
and contributes to an overall sense of didacticism. Unfortunately I
am not able to comment on either of his later performances (1960 and
1968).
You will say that I have compared these performances
as if they were the only two available. Obviously, there are numerous
performances to be found which approach the symphonies from a completely
different angle, and in some moods you will prefer Toscanini-like brilliance
and fire, or an "outsider" such as the amazing Beecham performance
of no. 7 from Lugano which I reviewed not long ago (Aura
AUR 142-2), or the revelations of the various original instrument
practitioners. Nor should the famous 1953 Erich Kleiber performance
of no. 5 be forgotten (Decca
467 125-2). My intention has been to analyse two interpreters who
take a basically similar interpretative stance and to show that reputations,
even legends, depend not only on what you do but when and where you
do it. A legend was needed, and a legend was found. And, of course,
history sides with the winners. There was space for one legend, and
several candidates. Events chose Klemperer.
I will admit, too, that I have a tendency to side with
the underdog, composers as well as performers. If Londoners and Walter
Legge had chosen to make a legend of Joseph Keilberth and history had
shunted Klemperer to a relatively marginal position in Hamburg or Bamberg
or wherever, no doubt I would be here to defend his claims and debunk
those of Keilberth. But, you will say, does music amount to no more
for Chris Howell than tempi and timings and phrasing and orchestral
balance? Cannot he not hear the cosmic significance of Klemperer’s interpretations,
his earth-shaking timpani blows, his cataclysmic climaxes, the soul-wrenching
depth of his adagios? Well no, I can’t, I can just hear two conductors
who take a broadly majestic view of Beethoven, one a little heavier-footed
than the other. As for the apocalyptic features of Klemperer’s Beethoven,
I suggest these are like the esoteric connections of the Great Pyramid
or the extra-terrestrial dimensions to the Bermuda triangle. They’re
there for those who believe they’re there. But don’t mind me. These
performances are part of 20th Century history and you’d better
make up your own minds. Though if you want to know what the Klemperer
legend was you’d better get the 1960 Fifth as well.
Chris Howell
Philharmonia Orchestra/Otto
Klemperer