For most music lovers,
George Enescu still amounts to Romanian Rhapsody No.1.
That exhilarating squib has been recorded scores of times, but
it's only recently that the great Romanian's later output has
made international inroads. As with Janáček, Enescu’s music
was for many years his homeland’s best-kept secret. A victim
of his own talent, his fame as violinist, teacher and conductor
left little time for self-promotion; and unlike Janáček,
he lacked a Mackerras to take his goods to the dominant Anglo-Saxon
market. Until recently most recordings of his work emanated
from Eastern Europe.
An exception: they ordered
these things differently in France, where “Georges Enesco”
partly lived and worked from his student years until the end.
If he has a performing tradition in the West, that’s where it
is to be found; thus slowly, unobtrusively, hopping between
French orchestras and labels, his American champion Lawrence
Foster has been able to build up a set of Enescu’s major orchestral
works on disc. EMI’s brand-new Lyon recording of
Vox Maris and Symphony No. 3 is coupled with a
reissue of his Monte-Carlo Nos.1 and 2, to more or less complete
his survey.
The field is stronger now
than it was when that CD emerged in 1993, at which time competition
consisted of a heterogeneous collection on Marco Polo. Since
then we’ve had two fine orchestral intégrales from Romanian
orchestras, under Horia Andreescu (Electrecord/Olympia) and
Cristian Mandeal (Arte Nova,) as well as an inferior one from
the Philharmonia Moldava under Alexander Lascae on Ottavo. There’s
also a lacklustre cycle from Rozhdestvensky and the BBC Philharmonic
on Chandos. Great as Enescu’s symphonies and suites are, that
Anglo/Russian combo proved that they are not unsinkable where
idiom and style are glossed over, or where recording takes place
in a superannuated bathtub.
How does the French/American
team measure up? Symphony No. 1 (1905) is the shortest
and easiest challenge, grounded as it is in procedures familiar
from Brahms and Franck, though the young Enescu’s intensity
and rhythmically subtle Romanian folk melodic models make it
sound startlingly original. Foster succeeds admirably in this
summary work of Enescu’s first maturity, pacing and balancing
its three movements well. EMI’s recording has plenty of sap,
and if the final impression is less exhilarating than Mandeal’s
– let alone George Georgescu’s dazzling 1942 classic, vividly
recorded in Bucharest by occupying German engineers – the Monte-Carlo
string and woodwind playing is passionate, poetic and properly
romantic throughout.
One of the hallmarks of
Enescu’s development was the vigorous dialectic carried through
each and every work, as he wrestled to invest 19th century bottles
with the wine of modern sensibility. Symphony No. 2 (1914)
is in some ways a transitional work, in which Enescu develops
his special brand of melos within the constraints of
symphonic sonata form. Exotic, melodic flowers bloom and expand,
shooting up to the sky and sending tendrils into the earth,
to create what the critic Pascal Bentoiu described as a “magic
jungle.” Containment is on a mammoth scale, with the last movement
functioning partly as development section for the first two,
counterpointing their ideals against limpingly grotesque martial
material and a near-Ivesian march. Beauty may triumph, but the
ghostly horrors of the time are not easily laid to rest in this
enigmatic, intricate, impressively lovely work.
The symphony’s profusion
of inner voices are not easy to balance, but Foster deploys
his forces well. Their final climax, with manic piano helter-skeltering
through powerful string and woodwind cantilenas, is visceral
stuff. Mandeal encompasses a wider range of moods and allows
us to hear even more of the detail, occasionally at the expense
of that structural cohesion which Andreescu manages best of
all. None of them evoke the intensity of line conjured by Ion
Baciu, live with his Iasi Philharmonic on a long-vanished Electrecord
Stereo LP; but Foster’s Monte-Carlo version holds its head high
as a good all-round modern choice lacking, perhaps, the last
degree of character.
Tacking a Lisztian Faust/Dante
programme onto the Symphony No. 3 (1918) is limiting,
sure, but it may serve to help listeners get their bearings
in this gargantuan epic. A questing, lyrical and heroic first
movement (Faust/Earth/Purgatory) is followed by a sardonic,
chaotic scherzo (Mefisto/Hell) and a serene finale (Gretchen/Paradise)
where the huge orchestra is supplemented by a full, wordless
choir. Despite its religioso smells-and-bells, organ and all,
the miracle of that last movement is to present no bland simile
of heavenly stasis but a warmly moving celebration of creativity
and change. The Third sees Enescu refine his syntax without
losing the fertile motivic prolixity of the Sedond. It is the
summit of his orchestral achievement, one of the greatest 20th
century symphonies, and it repays countless auditions.
Two recordings stand out:
Ion Baciu’s rough, mistily recorded but ecstatic reading with
the Cluj-Napoca Philharmonic and Choir on Marco Polo, and –
in infinitely better sound – Mandeal’s powerfully characterised
and magnificently played Bucharest version. These
are hard acts to follow, but there’s plenty to admire about
Foster’s just tempi, the skill with which he shapes and clarifies
Enescu’s textures, his sure feeling for style. The orchestral
change of air is more problematic, the opulent lushness of Monaco’s Salle Garnier hardly upstaged by the flatter
acoustic of the Auditorium de Lyon. This difference is reflected
in the playing. Despite Foster’s grasp there’s a hint of reserve
about the Lyon orchestra after
their Mediterranean counterparts, and this limits the emotional
range of the performance despite its admirable accuracy as to
bare notes. Dynamic cut and thrust, idiomatic passion and character
are much better communicated in the rival Romanian accounts.
The shortcomings are less
marked in Foster’s descent into the terrifying maelstrom of
Vox Maris (1929/54,) Enescu’s psychological seascape
of oblivion and despair, a sort of musical equivalent of Goya’s
Perro Semihundido (more prosaically known in English
as “The Drowning Dog”). The grey swell of orchestral textures
and mounting encroachment of the fatal storm are nicely calibrated
by conductor and recording engineers, and Cardiff Singer of
the World Marius Brenciu sings the brief traveller’s declamation
poignantly. It’s a blemish that he, the off-stage chorus and
Catherine Sydney’s unnecessarily operatic shriek of drowning
despair at the climax are too forwardly placed to make the intended
effect of putting humanity in perspective. A pity, for otherwise
Foster’s reading is on a level with Mandeal’s vertiginous account
of a monochrome, forbidding masterpiece.
Lawrence Foster deserves
much praise for his championing of this towering and still under-prized
master. His recording of Enescu’s operatic magnum opus,
Oedip is clear first choice, more subtle than the older
Electrecord version, and with his star-studded cast singing
in the original French. His recordings of the suites, sundry
orchestral and concertante works (on Erato Ultima Double and
Claves) are also enjoyable, if not so consistently focused as
this symphonic cycle. If it’s the complete works you’re after,
Cristian Mandeal’s super-budget set remains the clear first
choice. But whatever the reservations – especially concerning
the new Lyon Third – Lawrence Foster’s competitively-priced
and conveniently packaged double album merits a place in any
serious Enescu collection.
Christopher Webber
LAWRENCE FOSTER’S ENESCU DISCOGRAPHY
Complete Symphonies,
Vox Maris: Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte-Carlo, Orchestre
National de Lyon et. al. (EMI 2-CD 7243 5 86604 2 5, 4/05 rec.
1990, 1992, 2004)
Complete Orchestral
Suites, Romanian Rhapsodies, Poème Roumain Op.1, Symphonie
Concertante for cello and orchestra Op.8: Franco Maggio-Ormezowski
(cello), Jean-Paul Barrellon (oboe), Orchestre Philharmonique
de Monte-Carlo (Erato Ultima 2-CD 3984-24247-2, 9/98 rec. 1984-7)
Oedipe, Op. 23: José van Dam, Barbara Hendricks, Nicolai
Gedda, Gabriel Bacquier, soloists, Orféon Donostiarra, Orchestre
Philharmonique de Monte-Carlo (EMI Classics 2-CD box set CDS
7540112, 11/90)
Chamber
Symphony, Decet, Two Intermezzi: Lausanne Chamber Orchestra (Claves
508803, 7/88)
Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte-Carlo/Lawrence Foster (CD1)
