To
tell the truth, the name of Erich Leinsdorf (1912-1993) was
not particularly one to conjure with in my earlier listening
days. His London visits drew comments from the press such as “Leinsdorf seemed to conduct
every quaver without leaving anything to the imagination of
the players”, and “the symphony was not so much performed as
analysed by Leinsdorf”. His Beethoven 9 at the Proms was dismissed
as “unmusical”. I thought it impressive over the air; a friend
who actually went to it objected to the rich vibrato Leinsdorf
wished on the strings in the slow movement, and he did have
a point. Without really probing the matter, Leinsdorf seemed
to me to belong among those rather heartless American-based
conductors whose popularity on the other side of the Atlantic
just showed what a funny lot our Yankee cousins were. That things
were a bit more complicated than that was revealed when I lodged
with an American student (in Edinburgh in the early 1970s) and made some
sweeping, disparaging remarks about “conductors like Szell and
Leinsdorf”. I got a stiff lecture about the greatness of Szell
- later that decade the British public came to agree - while
Leinsdorf was dismissed with a four-letter word. Potentially
I’ve been a Leinsdorf apologist ever since! Potentially, because
quite a large number of his numerous Boston recordings of the standard symphonic repertoire were never released
in Great Britain
and so I’ve never had much material to go on.
In
recent years there has been a slight re-evaluation of Leinsdorf’s
image. At least one critic in “Gramophone” admires his Beethoven
cycle, prompting, however, a Boston reader to write in pointing
out that Leinsdorf’s years there (1962-1969) saw a decline in
public attendance as a result of concert after concert that
was too professionally prepared actually to get him sent away
but not charismatic enough to draw the crowds. If this were
so, the choice of William Steinberg as his successor – more
of the same, surely – seems odd. One thing I do remember is
his appearance on Joseph Cooper’s “Face the Music” programme.
I could only wonder at the difference between his austere interpretative
image and this dapper little man, bubbling with life and an
irrepressible talker.
The
story did not end with his departure from Boston. Almost exclusively a guest conductor; he headed the Berlin Radio
Symphony Orchestra from 1977-1980 but held no other permanent
post. He shed his baton, feeling he could mould the music more
effectively with his bare hands, and became increasingly interested
in the music’s spiritual side. He also developed a passion for
assembling symphonic sequences from Wagner’s operas which he
fitted together without recourse to a few bars here and
there from other hands, as is customary with concert versions;
he explains this at the opening of the first rehearsal. Unfortunately,
with his departure from Boston, the recording world gradually
lost interest in him, regarding him, perhaps, as a trouble-shooter
who could be relied upon to control a big work like Korngold’s
“Die tote Stadt” of which he made the first recording. Nor,
from the other end of his career, has there been any attempt
to examine his pre-Boston recordings, in Rochester and Cleveland. The
same applies to London,
where, unless I am much mistaken, he was the first conductor
to record the complete Mozart symphonies. Record collectors
mostly know him as an authoritative and sometimes inspired conductor
of opera.
Does
this film, made at fairly late stage in his career - the notes
claim it was made in 1989, when he was 77, but the copyright
date is 1984 - help to focus his image? Yes, I think it does.
The rehearsal sequences show that, whether 72 or 77, he was
still very firmly in command and still enjoying robust health;
he conducts all rehearsals standing. He is unfailingly patient
while pursuing his aims doggedly. He is extremely courteous
to his players – when the flautist gets ahead at one point he
says “My dear colleague, I get the idea you feel this in a faster
tempo” and explains just why he believes it should be very relaxed
in pulse. Then, when she gets it right, he doesn’t just accept
it with a grunt, he tells her “it sounds lovely that way, brava
as they say in Italy”. When after the umpteenth attempt,
he gets the horns to come in all together and softly,
he immediately praises them: “beautiful, you see we’ll get there
in the end”. He is also quite transparent in his directions:
“Just so that there will be no tricks, I’m holding the fermata
for about five beats”. Many a lesser man (and a few greater
ones) would prefer to leave themselves free to hold the fermatas
as they feel. Something similar happens at the end of the Schumann.
It’s tempting to suppose that, before the final coda, the conductor
holds the pause till the tension breaks and then, by the magnetism
of his personality, whips the orchestra into a brilliant flurry
of quavers. Perhaps Furtwängler actually did that. Leinsdorf
has none of it: he counts out the pause for four beats and the
presto starts on the next upbeat. Does this exactness, this
meticulous preparation, give us a clue to both the strengths
and the weaknesses of Leinsdorf’s art? Possibly, but I must
say there is no lack of tension at that point in the performance
itself.
Though
patient and calm, Leinsdorf is nevertheless in total command
and perhaps somewhat aloof from his players, though at the beginning
of the Schumann rehearsal we get a more human glimpse of him
dealing with questions from a group of players who have come
up to the rostrum. At the performance we can see that, like
his early master Toscanini, he makes many gestures which are
directed purely at the orchestra and would be invisible to the
public. A student of conducting will find this DVD a very fine
demonstration of the fact that in conducting, everything must
be anticipated. Every one of Leinsdorf’s gestures has
a point and can be seen to make something happen - how
easy it is to beat along with the orchestra and encourage things
that are happening anyway! At the very least, we are in the
presence of a consummate craftsman.
Considerable
thought has also gone into the rehearsal sequences. Those for
the Wagner concentrate on roughly the same point in the score
at three rehearsals, so we can hear the performance taking shape.
In the Schumann, maybe someone has been a bit too clever since
we get what sounds like a single, logical sequence, and yet,
since it jumps backwards and forwards in the music, it cannot
be. All the same, it is all fascinating, and if the archives
contain the complete rehearsals, I hope more will eventually
see the light of day.
What
of the actual performances? The Wagner, a sequence of some 40
minutes, builds up grandly and spaciously, each section capping
the last. There is that sense of grand inevitability which is
the essential ingredient of Wagner conducting and, if there
is no indulgence, there is plenty of warmth, too.
If
the Schumann were ever to be released in purely aural form,
it would rank pretty high, and very high among the few that
have preferred the first version of the work. It is at the opposite
pole to Furtwängler’s feverishly romantic conception - hors
concours, a truly great one-off and a dangerous model, as
Christian Thielemann has found to his cost. Leinsdorf’s choice
of the first version, on account of its greater transparency,
as he explains to the orchestra, shows he has another agenda.
Yet, within its classical conception, it has great vitality
and warmth, as well as structural cogency. The note-writer suggests
that it looks ahead to period performances by the likes of Herreweghe,
Gardiner or Norrington. It may be that Leinsdorf’s clean, analytical
yet intense interpretative manner will yet come into its own.
This DVD certainly leaves me very curious to get to know his
recorded legacy better.
Videos
of conductors in rehearsal can be disappointing; this one has
something to teach us about the music, about music-making, about
conducting, and about a figure who, for me at least, has always
been rather enigmatic.
Christopher
Howell
for
details
ARTHAUS MUSIK 101 153 
[118:00]
