After listening a few
times to this set it crossed my mind
to write the shortest review ever posted
on Music Web. It would have read: "Absolutely
superb! Indispensable! Buy it!"
However, even if our Editor would permit
such unsupported brevity this recording
of the Verdi Requiem and the
occasion its release celebrates demands
more comment.
In a few year’s time,
we can survey the twentieth century
with a greater sense of perspective
than is possible just four and a half
years into the twenty-first century.
When that time comes I feel confident
that Carlo Maria Giulini will be ranked
as one of the handful of truly
great conductors of the century; to
be mentioned in the same breath as Bernstein,
Furtwängler, Karajan, Toscanini
and Walter (other readers will, no doubt,
adjust that shortlist according to taste).
Now retired for some years, his recorded
legacy stands as a telling reminder
of his genius, especially for those
who, like me, were never fortunate enough
to see him conduct "in the flesh".
These recordings, previously unissued
in audio format, have been released
by BBC Legends to mark his 90th
birthday in May 2004. Doubtless other
tributes are in the pipeline, from EMI
and DG. However, I venture to suggest
that this present issue, in very good
sound, will prove to be the most significant.
On several occasions
I’ve strongly criticized BBC Legends
for poor documentation, especially the
lack of texts and translations to accompany
releases of vocal music. Let me say
at the outset, therefore, that on this
occasion they have come up trumps. The
documentation isn’t just good; it’s
inspired. Firstly there is a gracious
and typically perspicacious appreciation
by Alan Blyth. If this were not enough,
someone has had the marvellous idea
of reproducing in its entirety the original
programme book (price, one shilling
and sixpence!) that was available that
night to those attending the concert.
That programme included artist photographs,
the full text and an English translation
and very good note by Andrew Porter.
Even the adverts are reproduced, including
one for the forthcoming release of Giulini’s
studio recording of the Requiem
for EMI.
It was with that very
recording that I first learned the work.
I must have nearly worn out my father’s
LP set before buying my own, and then
the subsequent CD reissue. In the intervening
years I’ve heard the work many times
in concert under various conductors
and I’ve also sung in several performances.
I’ve greatly admired a number of alternative
recordings, including those by Robert
Shaw, Serafin, Toscanini and, from a
rather different standpoint, by John
Eliot Gardiner. I’m also acutely conscious
that the recording through which one
first gets to know a particular work
may colour one’s future judgement of
other versions. Nonetheless, it has
always seemed to me that, more than
any other conductor, Giulini is "right"
in this work. In particular he seems
to balance with unique success the huge
moments of public drama on the one hand
and, on the other, the prayerful intensity
of the many quieter, more introspective
passages. This view was reinforced about
four years ago when BBC Legends issued
another Giulini performance, a Proms
performance given in August 1963. (BBCL
4029-2). My copy of the EMI set
does not specify recording dates. I
have read elsewhere that it was made
chiefly in September 1963 with a few
final takes in April 1964. However,
this may not be correct for Alan Blyth
in his notes accompanying that Proms
BBC Legends issue specifically states
that the Proms performance took place
after the EMI sessions. Each
of the three recordings has a completely
different team of soloists but the orchestra
and chorus are the same in all cases.
With two Giulini recordings
already gracing the catalogue it may
well be wondered if we need a third.
My answer is an unequivocal "yes".
Without detracting from the great merits
of the other two recordings I think
this latest one shows Giulini’s interpretation
at its peak.
In the first place,
though the Philharmonia Orchestra and
Chorus perform magnificently in the
other two versions, here they surpass
themselves. Collectively and individually
they seem to be galvanized by Giulini
to attain levels of intensity, technical
prowess and sheer commitment that perhaps
some of them didn’t know they possessed.
The choir sings with tremendous fervour
(in sotto voce passages as well
as in the "big" moments) but
never is there even a suspicion of the
tone being forced. The orchestral playing
is peerless and, to be honest, I think
we hear more of it on this occasion
than in the other two recordings. This
may seem a strange comment to make but
it seems to me that despite the fairly
ungrateful acoustics of the Festival
Hall at that time, the BBC radio engineers
achieved a better balance and greater
clarity than did even their EMI counterparts,
working in studio conditions. They also
succeed in putting more space and ambience
round the sound. The other BBC Legends
recording also bests the EMI recording
in this respect, I feel, but there’s
a little less detail captured in the
more spacious acoustic of the Royal
Albert Hall (the Proms venue, of course)
than is managed in the Festival Hall.
Then there’s the crucial
matter of the soloists. Over the years
I’ve come to have reservations about
the EMI set and these centre on the
soloists, chiefly the ladies. Christa
Ludwig (EMI) sings splendidly but lacks,
I think, the bite and heft of a true
Verdian mezzo. Grace Bumbry, then only
in her twenties and near the start of
an illustrious career raises no such
doubts. I’m a great admirer of Elisabeth
Schwarzkopf but increasingly I’ve come
to feel that the Verdi Requiem was
not a role to which she was ideally
suited (at least on the evidence of
the EMI recording.) By contrast, Ilva
Ligabue is entirely suited to the role.
She’s quite outstanding here, singing
with great drama and feeling yet there
is never an ugly note to be heard. Hers
is a performance of great conviction
and distinction.
When it comes to the
men matters are more even. Nicolai Ghiaurov
(EMI) is very good but Raffaele Arié,
a sonorous bass, is no less distinguished.
I have a very slight preference for
Nicolai Gedda (EMI) over Sándor
Kónya because the former’s attack
is, to my ears, slightly cleaner and
he is less overtly Italianate. However,
such preference is marginal and personal
and there is no denying that Kónya
gives a notable performance with ringing,
heroic tone where necessary but also
the good sense and taste to fine his
voice down in quieter moments and to
blend well with his colleagues. Indeed,
in this 1964 performance I find that
the soloists sing well both individually
and collectively; for example the ladies
blend beautifully in the Agnus Dei.
As Alan Blyth puts it, the soloists
"merge imperceptibly into a compact
ensemble, without losing their individuality
of timbre." Listen to the ‘Quid
sum miser’ trio and, above all, the
‘Domine Jesu Christe’ quartet to hear
what he means.
The soloists on the
earlier BBC Legends performance also
make a fine team. David Ward need feel
no fear of comparison with either of
his peers on the other recordings. His
strong, sturdy voice is excellently
projected in his solos and he is also
a firm bedrock for the ensembles. Richard
Lewis was not then in the first flush
of youth but he was still a most sensitive
and musical singer and throughout he
phrases most intelligently. His ‘Hostias’
is floated on plangent tone. Anna Reynolds
also sings very well indeed, consistently
spinning a musical line but not afraid
to be dramatic when this is called for.
Soprano Amy Shuard has just the right
voice for the part, dramatic but lyrical
too. She is extremely characterful and
positive in the ‘Libera me’, demonstrating
here and elsewhere a tremendous attack
However, as she proves later in this
same movement, she can sing the quiet
high passages with great purity of tone.
And this team sing together as a true
team as we discover above all in the
‘Domine Jesu Christe’.
Right now, were I pressed
to nominate a "dream team"
from these three excellent quartets
I’d opt for Ligabue (by the shortest
of heads from Shuard); Bumbry (a clear
first choice); Gedda (very marginally
over Kónya); and Arié
(just shading out Ward). However, let
me make it clear that no one investing
in any one of these Giulini sets will
feel shortchanged on account of the
soloists.
The final and clinching
reason to prefer this new release over
the other Giulini recordings is the
contribution of the maestro himself.
At the risk of making an obvious point,
no interpretative differences are apparent
in the three readings, spaced as they
are over about eight months. In the
accompanying conversation with Michael
Oliver, Giulini specifically states
that he does not believe conductors
should take risks in concerts. It is
the spirit of this 1964 traversal
that’s so remarkable. Giulini’s total
conviction and dedication are evident
throughout all three recordings but
on the evening of 26 April 1964 he was
on fire. This is an incandescent, almost
driven reading (though I don’t mean
by that that anything is forced), which
blazes with conviction from first note
to last. It is this subjective, intangible
quality, allied to total fidelity to
the score, that in my opinion sets this
reading apart and reveals to us Giulini’s
conception of this work at its visionary
best. The sweep and shape of his reading
are hugely impressive but there’s no
doubt that fastidious preparation and
dedicated attention to detail lie at
the core of the interpretation. There
is no grandstanding here.
I could list umpteen
points of distinction in this performance.
Here are just a few. The very opening
of the work seems not just to begin
but, with the most daring hush, the
music is "with us". The start
of the ‘Dies Irae’ is as electrifying
as you are ever likely to hear it with
scintillating attack and great power
from the choir, after which their whispering
at ‘Quantus tremor’ is spine tingling.
‘Liber scriptus’ is superbly projected
by Grace Bumbry. At ‘Rex tremendae’
we hear awesome power and majesty from
both choir and orchestra. Kónya
is suitably lyrical and beseeching at
‘Ingemisco’ and sings ‘Hostias’ sweetly.
I was also greatly impressed by Arié’s
account of the ‘Confutatis’ where he
opens powerfully but then relaxes into
a noble ‘Oro supplex.’
The Sanctus fairly
skips along, as it does in Giulini’s
other versions. There’s a trifling inexactness
of ensemble, very quickly corrected,
at the start of the fugue but that was
virtually the only technical blemish
I spotted during the whole performance.
Bumbry launches ‘Lux Aeterna’ with tremendous
presence, after which Arié enters
with cavernous majesty against a black
brass accompaniment. This trio is harmonically
treacherous but the three soloists here
achieve absolute stability and great
expressiveness. Finally the ‘Libera
me’ is searingly dramatic. Ilva Ligabue
is highly charged at the start and inspires
the chorus to follow her lead. The recapitulation
of ‘Dies Irae’ is stunning and after
this tumult has subsided we hear a hushed
‘Requiem aeternam’, radiantly led by
Ligabue. There is great drive and clarity
in the ‘Libera me’ fugue, indeed clarity
is a quality of the performance from
start to finish. Finally, the work dies
away, as it began, in an awed hush.
This extraordinary
performance of the Verdi Requiem
is an awesome achievement. I doubt I’ll
ever hear a better one. With less that
half of 2004 behind us I’m pretty confident
that I know what will be my Recording
of the Year. This is an outstanding
birthday tribute to an outstanding,
dedicated and self-effacing musician
and BBC Legends are to be congratulated
warmly on issuing it. It’s a very important
addition not just to Giulini’s discography
but to the catalogue as a whole. If
you don’t have a recording of this masterpiece
in your collection you can buy this
with confidence as a library choice.
If you do already have a recording,
even if it’s by Giulini himself I urgently
recommend you not to pass up the opportunity
of hearing this remarkable performance
caught on the wing.
To complete the attractiveness
of this set BBC Legends give us a fiery,
dramatic account of the Forza del
destino overture. This
seethes with life and passion and once
again Giulini draws superb playing from
the Philharmonia. Finally, there’s a
short, illuminating conversation between
the maestro and the late Michael Oliver;
how good to hear once again his distinctive
voice and intelligent questioning. In
these few minutes Giulini’s humanity,
humility and sincerity are readily apparent.
This is no mere filler. It’s a very
happy postscript to the set, which just
as surely as the performances, show
us the greatness of Carlo Maria Giulini.
I hope that I’ve conveyed
my enthusiasm and justified it in this
review. But, in the end I find I come
back to the same five words: "Absolutely
superb! Indispensable! Buy it!"
John Quinn
Ilva Ligabue (soprano); Grace Bumbry (mezzo-soprano);
Sándor Kónya (tenor); Raffaele Arié
(bass) 