Johann
Sebastian BACH (1865-1750)
Toccata and Fugue in D minor, BWV565a
(arr. Stokowski) [9’42]
Alban BERG
(1885-1935)
Violin Concerto, ‘To the memory of
an angel’b (1935) [25’29]
Richard STRAUSS
(1864-1949)
Vier letzte Liederc
(1948) [20’00]
Richard WAGNER
(1813-1883)
Tristan und Isolded
- Prelude to Act 1; Liebestod.
Wolfgang Amadeus
MOZART (1756-1791)
Symphony No. 39 in E flat, K543e
(1788) [24’21].
Ludwig van BEETHOVEN
(1770-1828)
Symphony No. 8 in F, Op. 93f
(1812) [25’46]. Leonore Overture
No. 3, Op. 72bf (1806)
[15’03].
Igor STRAVINSKY
(1882-1971)
Chant du rossignolg
(1919) [12’54].
bLouis Krasner (violin);
cSena Jurinac (soprano);
Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra/aLeopold
Stokowski, bcFritz Busch,
dArturo Toscanini, eBruno
Walter, fWilhelm Furtwängler;
gVictor de Sabata.
Rec. aMay 25th,
1939, bApril 20th,
1938, cMay 2nd,
1951, dDecember 2nd,
1934, eSeptember 8th,
1950, fNovember 13th,
1948, gSeptember 24th,
1947.
Volume 2:
Johannes BRAHMS
(1833-1897)
Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98a
(1885) [39’02].
Richard WAGNER
(1813-1883)
Siegfried-Idyllb (1870)
[17’47].
Jean SIBELIUS
(1865-1957)
Pohjola’s Daughter, Op. 49c
(1906) [12’42]
Goiacchino ROSSINI
(1792-1868)
Guillaume Tell (1829) - Overtured
[11’14].
Peter Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY
(1840-1893)
Symphony No. 5 in E minor, Op. 64e
(1888) [43’49].
Arnold SCHOENBERG
(1874-1951)
Chamber Symphony No. 1, Op. 9f
(1906) [23’37].
Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra/aOtto
Klemperer, bHans Schmidt-Isserstedt,
cTor Mann, dCarlo
Maria Giulini, eFerenc Fricsay,
fJascha Horenstein.
Rec. aApril 16th,
1958, bMay 22nd,
1963, cApril 27th,
1958, dApril 1st,
1960, eMarch 6th,
1957, fDecember 7th,
1967.
Volume 3:
Carl Maria von
WEBER (1786-1826)
Oberon - Overturea
(1826) [9’57].
Johannes BRAHMS
(1833-1897)
Variations on a Theme by Joseph Haydn,
Op. 56ab (1873) [18’18].
Ottorino RESPIGHI
(1879-1936)
Antiche danze ed arie - Suite
No. 1, II-IVc (1917) [13’48].
Gabriel FAURÉ
(1845-1924)
Requiem, Op. 48d (1888)
[36’32].
Serge PROKOFIEV
(1891-1953)
Symphony No. 5 in B flat, Op. 100e
(1944) [40’23].
Hugo ALFVÉN
(1872-1960)
En skärgårdssägen
(Legend of the Skerries),
Op. 20f (1904) [18’54].
Antonín DVOŘÁK
(1841-1904)
Slavonic Dances, Op. 46/B83 (1878)
- Nos. 1, 3 & 8g [13’20].
dGunilla af Malmborg (soprano);
dRolf Leandersson (baritone);
dÅke Levén (organ);
dMusikaliska Sällskapet
Choir; Royal Stockholm Philharmonic
Orchestra/aJosef Krips, bConstantin
Silvestri, cPierre Monteux,
dRafael Kubelík
Rec. aApril 5th,
1973, bMarch 14th,
1962, cOctober 26th,
1961,
Volume 4:
Richard STRAUSS
(0864-1949)
Don Juan, Op. 20a
(1888) [16’56]
Anton BRUCKNER
(1824-1896)
Symphony No. 7 in Eb (1881-83)
[60’21].
Daniel-François-Esprit
AUBER (1782-1871)
Gustave III (1833) - Overturec
[7’23].
Antonín DVOŘÁK
(1841-1904)
Symphony No. 6 in D, Op. 60/B112d
(1880) [41’50].
Franz BERWALD
(1796-1868)
Symphony No. 3 in C, ‘Sinfonie singulière’e
(1845) [27’55].
Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra/aSixten
Ehrling, bRudolf Kempe, cGennadi
Rozhdestvensky, dAntal Dorati,
eIgor Markevitch.
Rec. aJune 10th,
1964, bApril 9th,
1975, cMay 8th,
1978, dDecember 7th,
1973, eSeptember 13th,
1978.
Volume 1: RSPO1001/2.
It is Stokowski that
gets proceedings off in typically flamboyant
style. His arrangement of Bach’s Toccata
and Fugue in D minor, BWV565 is
a great splodge of colour and largesse.
The recording, which dates from 1939,
is taken at quite a high level. The
orchestration makes us aware of different
sections of the orchestra as contrasted
organ stops. It will probably not come
as any surprise that contrasts are absolutely
massive. This remains a fascinating
take on the Bach, less a product of
its time than a reflection of Stokowski
himself. There is a ‘fluttering’ extraneous
sound from around 5’28 to 5’38 which
some may find distracting although wait
until you hear the Toscanini/Wagner,
of which more below. Stokowski elicits
an appropriately robust response from
the Scandinavians.
The move to the Berg
Violin Concerto is a cosmic leap
to a different universe. Despite the
fact this is an earlier (April 1938)
recording, the quality is substantially
better. What little hiss there is, is
not distracting. And the presence of
Louis Krasner guarantees its historic
status. Krasner commissioned the work
and had premiered it in 1936 in Barcelona.
One can certainly experience the sweetness
of Krasner’s tone and also his strength;
this concerto demands almost a surfeit
of both. Krasner’s harmonics at around
8’50 are a thing of wonder - pure of
tone, spot-on tuning. A pity the ‘lullaby’
theme at around 9’35 is too distanced.
Just a touch louder,
and the ‘scream’ that opens the second
part of the concerto would have done
the trick. Nevertheless, the cadenza
is gripping and there is a tremendous
sense of calm around the chorale.
As if one top-flight
soloist were not enough, the Berg is
immediately followed by Sena Jurinac’s
Four Last Songs (Strauss). Again,
a recording anomaly - here the date
of recording is substantially later
- 1951 - yet Jurinac is too distanced.
She provides a considered, involving
interpretation, varying her tone carefully.
She begins the first song with a creamy
sound, adding an edge for the second
verse. Fritz Busch handles the orchestra
here, as in the other songs, with consummate
mastery; try the orchestral introduction
to the third song, ‘Beim Schlafengehen’,
where the texture is light, with every
strand clearly audible. A shame Jurinac
is on the literal side for ‘September’.
Special mention should go to the solo
violin in ‘Beim Schlafengehen’. Whoever
it was was in possession of an unending
bow. But, alas, the horn solo is marred
by an aberration (a clumsy slur) right
at the end. By the time the fourth song
arrives, Jurinac is beginning to sound
all the same - the hypnotic coda almost
rescues a though-provoking account.
Finally for the first
disc, a December 1934 Toscanini Tristan
Prelude and (orchestra-only) Liebestod.
And here the recording quality really
does sound as if we are travelling back
to the very beginning of time. The source
is damaged and there is tremendous swish
that is several times louder than anything
the orchestra does. At 1’19 the swish
is replaced by a ‘whooshing’ sound.
The performance itself is actually lyrically
expansive, perhaps surprisingly so,
yet as the Prelude moves on so does
Toscanini, steam-rollering his way through,
ruining the tensile build-up. The sound
threatens enjoyment again at the climax;
it simply cannot cope. The beginning
of the ‘Liebestod’ is almost inaudible
underneath the extraneous noise. Despite
this, the climax still works.
The second disc (each
volume is a twofer) is on more classical
ground with Mozart juxtaposed with Beethoven,
finishing off with some Stravinsky.
Firstly, Bruno Walter’s
Mozart needs no introduction. Here it
is in all its big-boned, resplendent
glory, in a 39th Symphony
dating from 1950. The sound is rounded,
helping the first movement’s slow introduction
to give off a sense of space. The Allegro
really is fast, in stark contrast, but
includes period mannerisms such as occasional
swoops and scoops from the strings and
a few gear-changes. Yet overall it is
a remarkable balance of the civil and
the robust. It is a pity the sound –
congested mid, muddy and weak bass -
means that detail is lost. The slow
movement again speaks of its epoch.
Indulgent, yes, but taken on its own
terms one can hear in every note Walter’s
love of this music. The stomping Menuetto
does not hang about. Neither doe the
Trio, but this latter is imbued with
the spirit of the dance. It is the orchestra
that is not up to Walter’s demands for
the finale; it is easy to imagine what
the VPO would make of it! The performance
has spirit, but in the end the limitations
of the orchestra take away outright
enthusiasm.
Over to the mighty
Furtwängler for two Beethoven items,
the Eighth Symphony and Leonore
3. Although recorded only two
years earlier, the Eighth is recessed.
Despite this the opening manages to
retain an imposing strength of purpose.
As always with this conductor, slowings
of tempo always have a point in the
higher scheme of things. Some of the
slower passages have a positively Wagnerian
slant to them; not what one easily associates
with this particular symphony. The chords
towards the very end of the movement
(around 7’34) emerge as hammer-blows!
The naughty, cheeky
aspect of the second movement is to
the fore, complementing the heavy beginning
of the third. This latter really does
sound like heavy machinery slowly heaving
itself into some sort of movement; similarly
Furtwängler slows down before the
Trio which is dominated by some vibrato-ed
horns. Typical for this conductor, he
refused to compromise on the tempo for
the finale. Undeniably exciting though
it is, the Stockholm strings do struggle.
Stravinsky’s Chant
du rossignol received its first
performance in the Stockholm Concert
Hall in this very performance, conducted
by Victor de Sabata; that conductor’s
only guest appearance with the Stockholm
orchestra. It is a colourfully-imagined
performance, with the orchestra clearly
revelling in the sometimes acerbic language
and sometimes luxuriating in the lusher
passages.
Volume 2: RSPO1003/4.
Otto Klemperer’s Brahms
is always welcome - expansive, in fact
with a sense of the massive about it,
it breathes a very identifiable Germanic
seriousness of intent. Klemperer, on
the strength of this recording, inspired
the RSPO to great things and this version
in fact makes an interesting complement
to his Philharmonia version on HMV/EMI
CDM5 67031-2. There is a further live
Brahms 4 with the Bavarian Radio Symphony
Orchestra, this time from 1957, on Orfeo
d’Or C201-891D, which unfortunately
I have not had access to. The tenuto,
perhaps over-long, on the very first
note of the Stockholm account is indicative
of the time-stretched, autumnal aspect
of this reading. The problem is that
the RSPO is not the Philharmonia, to
state the obvious, so that the upper
strings are not entirely at home in
the difficult, high-lying lines Brahms
requires. This is however balanced by
the sense of inexorable onward movement
Klemperer creates. The sound detracts,
too; it definitely sounds pre-1958.
At levels above forte, the whole becomes
brash and un-Brahmsian. Perhaps this
is not entirely inappropriate to the
gritty and dramatic climax around 10’40.
The slow movement flows,
yet is not really relaxed. The boldness
of the initial horn calls is a statement
of intent Klemperer doggedly sticks
to. Some textures glow, while Klemperer
becomes grimly determined towards the
end. His reading of this movement is
multi-hued - a pity the more autumnal
passages do not have an orchestra that
can do them full credit.
There is no denying
the excitement of the third movement,
where Klemperer is not above the occasional
‘push’ to make a point; ensemble could
have been tighter, too. Nevertheless,
one gets swept away in the liveness
of the occasion.
Perhaps Klemperer had
been saving his heaviness for the finale.
This appears as a great leviathan of
an entity. Orchestral shortcomings -
muffed trombone entries, some scrappy
strings - suddenly seem much less important.
The trombones around 6’46 make a tremendous
impression, almost like a call of Fate.
Well worth hearing, despite its obvious
blemishes.
Perhaps Hans Schmidt-Isserstedt
is forever to be known as a dependable,
read ‘boring’, conductor and indeed
his hack-through of Wagner’s Siegfried-Idyll
from May 1963 attests to a lack of reflective
ability. A not entirely in-tune solo
violin adds discomfort and detracts
from Schmidt-Isserstedt’s choice of
tempo - neither too indulgent, nor too
fast. A pity, then, that the oboe’s
entry at 4’48 is rather literal. It
can and should appear as a shaft of
light. An undeniably exhilarating climax
around ten minutes in leads to passages
(around 15’) that clearly and atmospherically
invoke nature. The close is calm and
peaceful.
Tor Mann’s Sibelius
reminds us that this orchestra is at
its best on home turf in a dark Pohjola’s
Daughter that exudes a strong sense
of Sibelian logic. Interestingly, some
parts of this short work (12’42) emerge
as a Scandic ‘Forest Murmurs’, an intriguing
effect coming immediately after the
Siegfried-Idyll. A touch of hysteria
(around 7’40) is particularly effective.
A highlight.
The presence of Carlo
Maria Giulini means a small addition
to this conductor’s discography, away
from his starrier orchestras. Giulini’s
softly-softly approach seems to have
inspired the Stockholm orchestra’s principal
cellist to great things, for the long
introductory solos are magnificently
expressive. Similarly on top form, the
trombones excel themselves; and brace
yourself for the famous bit. Giulini
sprints through it! A cor anglais solo
that threatens to veer out of control
is the only blot on the landscape.
Fricsay’s Tchaikovsky
is magnificent. Again, he shows just
what a fine conductor can do with this
orchestra, for the first movement is
quixotic, positively chameleon-like
in its propensity for tracking the music’s
mood changes. The dark side of Tchaikovsky
is very much to the fore here, with
fortes and fortissimi that blaze with
incendiary anger. The close of this
movement is almost pitch black.
Contrasts abound again
in the slow movement. Impassioned string
swellings are here much more than an
introductory gesture to the (here fairly
played) horn solo, but act as an indicator
that the clouds of the first movement
have not budged an inch. The horn’s
lyricism therefore takes on the mantle
of pleading: violent swellings later
in the movement tell us this is in vain.
The third movement
moves towards happier territory, with
a suave beginning; presumably the most
rehearsed part of the movement, as things
become lumpier later. Fricsay beings
us back to black for the finale, a movement
with a permanent rain-cloud over its
head. A huge pause (more than
a comma, certainly) before the coda
is strange; even stranger is the way
the coda resembles the coda to the last
movement of Shostakovich’s Fifth in
its empty bombast.
This remains a must-hear
in many ways, not least for being far
more than a run-through.
Schoenberg was fairly
obviously new territory to the Swedes
in 1967. Just what happens at the opening
of the First Chamber Symphony? Tuning
is approximate as are notes, come to
that, textures chaotic and these traits
are not just restricted to the opening.
Yet there is an undeniable excitement
that comes through - or is it just panic?
Lack of understanding of harmonies and
their direction make this a rather meandering
account, leading to an almighty scramble
at the end. It is disturbing to listen
to and a shrill recording doesn’t help.
Volume 3: RSPO1005/6.
It was the thought
of Rafael Kubelík’s Fauré
Requiem that ignited my curiosity
about this volume, with evidently local
soloists. Right from the start, this
is no light, Rutter-like narcissistic
stroll. Rather, it is meditation on
death itself. The sheer heft of the
opening octaves and the warm, large
choir immediately imply that Kubelík
is tending towards the mystic. The danger
is that this can degenerate into turgidity,
which it does move towards later in
the movement.
The second movement
(Offertoire) is reverential but not
too slow, and the soloist Rolf Leandersson’s
light voice fits the music well. Kubelík
finds shadows in the movement’s close
(fittingly for his conception).
Perils of live performance
beset the Sanctus, with a hesitant entry
by the ladies of the chorus; the Hosanna
is similarly low-voltage. Gunilla af
Malmborg gives a touching Pie Jesu although
there is naturally more vibrato than
a boy would use. Leandersson’s Libera
me is lyric rather than dramatic and
is accompanied by remarkably restrained
pizzicati. This movement is in fact
spoiled by some distortion at the choral
statement of the words ‘dum veneris’.
Horns blare rather than call authoritatively.
A hyper-delicate ‘In Paradisum’ completes
the work - the choir is not entirely
up to it, admittedly, not exactly together;
neither is the entry of the full choir
at the word ‘Jerusalem’ the moment of
magic it can be. Perhaps the audience
felt this too, for the applause begins
immediately, with no breathing space
to absorb Fauré’s magic. Still,
this remains an important document.
Josef Krips conducting,
very lovingly, Weber’s Oberon
Overture gets this particular volume
off to a good start. The string parts
are lovingly shaded and with the staccato
wind comments easily evoke a Midsummer
Night’s Dream-like atmosphere. The Allegro
begins scrappily, though, and Krips
allows it to sag towards the end. A
disappointing end to an Oberon
that began in the most promising fashion.
The thought of Constantin
Silvestri conducting the Brahms Haydn
Variations is an appealing one and
indeed, each variation is carefully
and individually characterised, from
hunting horns through to lilting 6/8
rhythms. There is certainly lots of
audible page-turning before the finale,
which itself breathes an easy contentment.
Monteux’s 1961 realisation of excerpts
from Respighi’s Ancient Airs and
Dances brings delight, from the
dignified, to the gentile and on to
the sparkling.
The major offering
of the second disc of this volume is
Prokofiev’s Fifth Symphony. The conductor
is Paul Kletzki. Kletzki’s recordings
usually bring something special and
indeed his interpretation transcends
any orchestral weaknesses that may be
encountered; high strings, for example.
This 1968 performance has a dark, determined
aspect and a sure command of the work’s
structure particularly in the interpretatively
tough first movement. This is the RSPO
on inspired form. It is so obvious that
they just go for it, providing acidic
wind in the second movement and real
depth in the third where the long lines
carry much tenderness. The finale is
a similar triumph in the orchestra’s
ability to manage Prokofiev’s shifts
and juxtapositions. Another highlight.
This was to be Kletzki’s last visit
to the RSPO.
The danger was that
the Prokofiev would completely overshadow
the Alfvén. Yet the latter piece
emerges as a warm, skilful work.
Herbert Blomstedt gives
Alfvén’s long, lazy lines all
the time they require. A lot of the
time, this twenty-minute work (usually
translated as ‘Legend of the Skerries’)
is warmly lyrical and the orchestra
is obviously at home here. Blomstedt
understands that there is drama here,
too, and underscored the whole with
this. Alfvén’s ability to invoke
pictures is astonishing, and this is
a gripping account.
It would be hard to
top István
Kertész in Dvořák as an ‘encore’,
and that is what we get - three fizzing
Slavonic Dances. Not home
turf for the orchestra, naturally, yet
woodwind manage to trip along nicely
and rhythms are finely honed and border
on the infectious.
Volume 4 (RSPO1007/8):
The penultimate disc
(and the first disc of the final volume)
of this mega-box is special. There are
only two works. Don Juan, conducted
by Sixten Ehrling, comes across in good,
spacious sound. The solo violinist has
a sweet tone that is most appealing;
the horns are swaggeringly heroic. To
follow, Bruckner’s magnificent Seventh
under Ehrling. Musicality is at the
forefront right from the opening, intense
and with the arpeggio well-moulded.
There is a sense of space, almost of
flexing of muscles that works particularly
well. The intensity remains in the flowing
slow movement, dominated by strings
displaying real depth. There is no cymbal
crash, but the climax is a great arrival
point nonetheless; the third movement
is dynamic, but always controlled. Perhaps
it is only the finale that contains
a surprise, in its almost frenetic pace.
Nevertheless this is an account to return
to.
Gennadi Rozhdestvensky
gets the final disc off to a fascinating
start with Auber’s Overture to Gustave
III. Light and frothy, full of energy,
it is a lovely way to spend seven minutes.
Dvořák’s
Sixth Symphony is given impassioned
advocacy under Antal Dorati, who inspires
the orchestra both individually, great
wind solos in the first movement; piping
and pastoral in the finale, and
collectively, terrific spirit and verve
to the third movement. The close is
jubilant and life-affirming.
The final item of the
entire box returns us to RSPO’s home
turf: Berwald’s Third Symphony. It remains
a mystery why we do not hear more of
this composer in the UK. The RSPO were
indeed privileged to have been under
the baton of Igor Markevitch on this
occasion. From the shifting, mysterious
opening, a Nature evocation if ever
there was one, to the joyous finale,
this is a magnificent achievement. Despite
small caveats, for example a shift in
recording perspective around two minutes
in to the first movement and some scrappy,
high strings, this remains a thoroughly
enjoyable way to close the set.
There is a huge amount
of fascinating listening here. There
are top conductors (Giulini, Kempe,
Toscanini, Furtwängler, de Sabata,
Walter ...) working with, and inspiring,
an orchestra that is obviously devoted
to its craft. No-one investing in this
set will be disappointed. Quite the
reverse.
Colin Clarke
see also
review by Jonathan Woolf
Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra