This is a set of some
historical importance. It collates all
Franz Schreker’s known recordings, which
were made over the period of a decade,
between 1923 and 1933. The whole enterprise
has been assisted by the Franz Schreker
Foundation and a large number of copies
have come from the Yale Collection of
Historical Sound Recordings – a guarantee
of quality originals. There are also
previously unpublished sides – one provided
by the conductor Adriano – which only
enhances the desirability of the three
discs, which are incidentally sold for
the price of two. As if this wasn’t
enough there’s a fine booklet essay
by the Foundation’s director, Christopher
Hailey, and some well-reproduced photographs
of the composer/conductor and his glamorous
wife (and equally glamorous motorcar,
a Hoch 450 Cabriolet, which comes complete
with specifications in the notes).
There are two recordings
of The Birthday of the Infanta Suite,
in its 1923 version. The earlier
was a late acoustic probably made in
1924 and issued very early in 1925.
The remake, under early electric conditions,
followed in (provisionally dated to)
1927. This was a similar situation to
Holst’s recordings of his Planets Suite.
There are inevitable compromises in
the acoustic recording. The orchestra
sounds relatively spartan, there are
audible bass reinforcements and a high
ration of surface noise. Subtleties
of orchestration don’t really register
with any great impact and the sound,
though not bad for a late acoustic,
is compressed. The later recording is
an improvement in every respect; the
orchestra is stronger and more secure,
and whilst there is surface noise of
course, extension of higher frequencies
are welcome. It’s worthwhile paying
attention to Schreker’s affectionate
pointing of The Marionettes at daringly
reduced dynamic levels (something the
acoustic couldn’t cope with) and the
way he so richly characterises the Dance
of the Dwarves – supple winds, well
judged pauses and the like. That Schreker
had few problems in rousing drama can
be heard in the eighth track, Im
rotten Gewand in Herbst, which is
rousing and full of subtle excitement.
Another of Shreker’s
pantomimes, Ein Rokoko-Tanzspiel,
is here played by a rather hit-and-miss
orchestra. But it’s entertaining to
hear the perky winds in the Minuet contend
with the big low bass though it still
sounds as if some form of bass reinforcement
was needed in these early electrics
Nevertheless more than a little of the
sheer romantic effulgence of the Madrigal
gets across the grooves and even the
Gavotte survives the palm court swooning.
Something of a contrast is the 1932
Kleine Suite played by
the Berlin Philharmonic. Not only is
the sound quality far better than one
has experienced before but we can hear
the re-jigged version of the Suite prepared
for the recording. This includes a –
happily – very audible piano part in
the grotesqueries of the opening March,
the sinuous attractions of the Canon,
the insistence of the Intermezzo and
the fine brass calls in the concluding
Capriccio.
The second disc offers
a more partial and almost exclusively
vocal slant on Schreker’s music and
introduces us to the voice of his wife,
Maria. She had a rather short operatic
career and the voice was a small instrument,
not so resonant, but well modulated
and capable of considerable character.
She sings in a 1927 sliver from Der
Ferne Klang and then joins Charles
Kullmann for a preserved 1932 radio
broadcast (just under five minutes in
length) in a snippet from Das Spielwerk.
This has been preserved in terrifically
good sound and one can appreciate her
rather better here than in some of her
more constricted and vocally covered
commercial discs. The voice here is
far more open and penetrating than it
is, for example, in the unissued 1928
disc of an aria from Die Gezeichneten.
These rare survivals are an especially
pleasing aspect of the release as is
the Act III music from the same work
and the 1927 unissued Wiegenlied from
Der Schatzgräber which Maria
Schrecker sings with fully vested romanticism.
Completists will note that a couple
of folk songs, suing by her, are also
included – one by Irving Berlin. To
conclude the miscellaneous nature of
disc two we have our first glimpse at
Schrecker conducing music other than
his own – something for which he was
greatly esteemed as indeed he was for
his commercial recordings in respect
of his marshalling of the forces at
his disposal and his command of colour
and nuance. Grieg’s Peer Gynt
may seem unpromising material for him
but he actually proves an adept – if
occasionally a sometimes bluff - one.
The third and final
disc is given over to his two attempts
at Bizet’s L’Arlésienne –
both suites. Both these were commercial
recordings but it was clearly felt that
the earlier set had been superseded
by technology because there was only
a two-year gap between recordings, the
earlier with the Staatsoper, and the
later with the Berlin Philharmonic.
There’s quite a deal of shellac hiss
with the 1926 set and the orchestra
is patently inferior to the Philharmonic,
who were so soon to record it. Even
so in 1928 there are still moments where
distant recording caused problems –
try the Prelude to the Suite No.1 in
the 1928 recording. Back in 1926 the
orchestra also seems predicated at least
on a quasi-acoustic set up, and the
band sounds reduced in numbers. Turn
to the second suite’s Intermezzo to
confirm the greater range of subtleties
and colour forged from the 1928 recording
– real finesse and a good ear for internal
balance, and no hell for leather over-dynamism
anywhere at all.
So all in all, an important
and well-documented set. It gives us
the opportunity to encounter Schrecker
in the round, to appreciate his conductorial
strengths and priorities, and to be
enriched by the recordings he has left
to posterity – both of his own music
and that of Grieg and Bizet.
Jonathan Woolf
SYMPOSIUM 1271-1273 [3 CDs: 70.59 + 66.52
+ 69.22]
