Sony has embarked on
a mid-price reissue series of twofers,
some of which are temptingly consolidated
versions of items previously scattered
throughout the catalogues. Others, such
as Casals’ Marlboro Brandenburgs or
Bruno Walter’s Mahler have been only
intermittently available over the years,
at least in the UK. And some, such as
this Beecham set fulfil two functions,
albeit frustratingly for those who have
been following the Beecham reissue singles
from Sony. It gathers together the complete
Beecham CBS Berlioz recordings from
1951-54 and in doing so also consolidates
two powerfully important performances
recently issued in that Beecham Edition
– the Te Deum and Harold in Italy. These
were reviewed recently on this site
– Sony Classical SMK91167
and Sony Classical
SMK87964 respectively. In the interests
of this review I’ll reprise some of
my comments here and add something about
the Overtures, previously unissued in
the single edition of Beecham reissues.
Beecham performed Harold
in Italy with three elite violists,
all British. The earliest performance,
so far as is known, was with Lionel
Tertis in 1933, the middle ones were
with William Primrose and the last with
Frederick Riddle. Although no trace
of his collaboration with Tertis now
survives, fortuitously this commercial
Primrose recording has been augmented
recently by the 1956 Edinburgh performance
with Riddle on BBC Classics. Comparisons
are, as ever, instructive. In the 1951
Primrose recording the first movement
repeat wasn’t taken – unlike the Edinburgh
broadcast – and there are commensurate
gains in tension in the live context.
There are also losses: audience coughing,
a few intonational concerns and a greater
sense of the luminous orchestration
in the studio. Riddle-Beecham is rather
more full of nervous energy and declamatory
élan in the opening, with the
soloist slightly slower and more ruminative
than Primrose-Beecham. In the second
movement one is faced with the studio
veil of exquisite tonal shading or the
live performance’s infinitesimally greater
sense of lyrical curve in the détaché
writing. Of the two recorded sounds
the Usher Hall is less ingratiating,
the studio richer. Of the soloists Primrose
is the more poised, but he had the advantage
of studio retakes, though Riddle’s understanding
of Beecham’s cantilever is distinguished.
Berlioz suggested a
choir of eight hundred for his Te Deum
– a work he characterised, albeit with
a degree of understatement – as "colossal,
Babylonian". He subsequently agreed
to a reduction to one hundred and fifty
thus probably cutting out most of the
600 choirboys he’d originally envisaged.
For this 1953-54 recording Beecham and
his forces made further necessary reductions
– but we can nevertheless still hear
the vaunting forces of the London Philharmonic
Choir and Dulwich College Boys Choir
in the acoustic of Hornsey Parish Church.
Denis Vaughan, a bassist in the Royal
Philharmonic at the time, plays the
organ on this recording and Alexander
Young is the splendid tenor. It should
be noted that Beecham omitted the Praeludium
and the final March for the Presentation
of the Colours; otherwise everything
is grandly conceived, gloriously and
even heroically in place. Vaughan reminisces
in Graham Melville-Mason’s witty and
knowledgeable notes that Beecham walked
down the aisle during the recording
to listen to a playback whilst sporting
a wreath on his head. It’s the kind
of work – and the kind of performance
– to encourage such Caesarean attitudes.
The Dulwich choir is
pitched straight in; they maintain discipline
and shape and sing with characterful
tone. Beecham whips up the passionate
conviction, the dramatic diminuendi,
the fissure and passion as we near the
outburst of Te aeternum Patrem. Vaughan
tried to cultivate the characteristic
French organ sound in Hornsey – he used
four stops in the Tibi omnes, a mixture
and three reeds – and he succeeds to
a large degree. The climaxes here are
judged splendidly but what most lingers
in the mind is the orchestral conclusion
to the movement where the string gravity,
its weight calibrated to just limits,
carries depth of concentration to the
outermost limits. Dignare, Domine sees
much antiphonal writing for choir and
organ; the singing here is beautifully
refined and raptly intense. To hear
the Tu, Christe burst into measured
life is also to appreciate the excellent
balance between the constituent parts
of the performance – no easy matter
when, as here, Berlioz writes for full
choir (boys choir and both divisions
of the full choir), organ and orchestra.
The climax is truly resplendent in Beecham’s
hands and never grandiloquent or forced
but rather a natural accumulation of
musical direction. Young’s ever-attractive
voice, plangent and expressive, is heard
in the Te ergo quæsumus and he
is matched by the choir’s delicacy behind
him. The immutable tread of the concluding
Judex crederis brings with it an intense
uncoiling, the ostinati driving ever
onwards, towards the truly blazing climax
of brass, percussion and organ. Listening
again to this recording, especially
in proximity to those items recorded
at Walthamstow Town Hall, makes me aware
of something I really should have pointed
out at the time of my first review,
which is the occasionally constricted
and generally unsatisfactory sound quality.
The remastering can’t do much for it
and it won’t spoil your enjoyment if
you listen on its own terms but it’s
something to consider.
Berlioz’s overtures
were mainstays of Beecham’s repertoire,
though some more than others. Le Carnaval
romain was a calling card and he chose
it to introduce two of his new orchestras,
his eponymous Symphony Orchestra in
1909, full of youthful free spirits
and led I believe by Philip Cathie;
and the LPO in 1932, led by Paul Beard
and with him George Stratton, Anthony
Pini, Léon Goossens, Gerald Jackson,
Reginald Kell et al (and I’ve not seen
it for some time but wasn’t this the
piece played in the famous newsreel
taken at the time?). Le Corsaire entered
his repertoire surprisingly late – 1946
– and Les Franc-juges seldom (only four
traced performances in forty years).
He concentrated on Waverley for just
under a decade, from 1948 to 1956, and
King Lear considerably more often, with
a previous recording in 1947. The music
from The Trojans – especially the March
– was often played. Le Corsaire is every
bit as powerful as I’d remembered it
and Les Francs-juges is full of the
most pensive wind writing and strong
brass portent – though here the recording
does sound a bit woolly. Marvellous
colour though and layering of the string
choirs. It’s noticeable listening to
the March and the Overture to The Trojans
that the latter has a mite less immediacy
and presence. The RPO winds make their
royal presence very apparent in Le Carnaval
romain – and for the first time I heard
the profound Berlioz influence on Smetana
– though King Lear again suffers the
Trojans effect and is just that bit
less bright and forwardly miked. He
may not have played Waverley in the
early part of his career but by now
Beecham had it in his bloodstream and
he drives it with perky insouciance.
Graham Melville-Mason
has expanded his ever-readable notes
for this issue and tells you all you
need to know. Beecham meanwhile gives
you all you need to hear.
Jonathan Woolf
Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Sir Thomas Beecham
