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Henry Merckel – Celebrated Historical Recordings:
1930-35 Camille SAINT-SAËNS (1835-1921)
Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor, op.61 (1880) (rec.
27 June 1935) [25:19] Danse Macabre, op.49 (1875) (rec. 4 April 1930)
[7:00]* Edouard LALO (1823-1892) Symphonie Espagnole, op.21 (1873) (rec. 15/16
February, 1932) [31:33] Concerto Russe: Intermezzo (1879) (rec.
27 June, 1935) [4:26]
Henry
Merckel (violin)
L’Orchestre des Concert Pasdeloup/Piero Coppola
Orchestra/Philippe Gaubert * MUSIC & ARTS
CD1178 [66.17]
During the course of my review of Malibran’s
first volume of their L’Ecole Franco-Belge de Violon I
wondered aloud that it mightn’t have been better to have
substituted Merckel’s Symphonie espagnole for Lola
Bobesco’s, attractive though that was (see review).
That would have made for a well-deserved, previously un-reissued
all-Merckel disc. Two years later my hopes have been realised
by Music & Arts.
Henry
Merckel - I’ve seen both Henry and Henri given as first names
in French and English language sources, though on my 78s
it’s Henry and Henry that is surely the correct usage - was
a distinguished player, born in Paris in 1897. Like many
another elite violinist he became concertmaster whilst also
managing to pursue a necessarily limited career as a soloist.
He led the Paris Opera Orchestra for nearly forty years and
was successively concertmaster of the orchestras of the Concerts
Straram and the Société des Concerts du Conservatoire. He
was leading the last named when he made the recordings enshrined
in this disc.
His Symphonie espagnole was the
first on disc to contain the Intermezzo; an earlier recording
with Ysaÿe
pupil Leo Strockoff - who always claimed to have recorded
it complete with Hamilton Harty - was issued without it
whilst Menuhin’s recording came slightly later. Merckel’s
playing is a roll-call of Gallic sensibility. The lexicon
of piquant colouristic devices and ear-titillating slides
is bewitching. Above all Merckel characterises with great
individuality and depth; there’s a rather feminine cast
to this kind of playing, a pliant, small-toned but incessantly
varied palette that keeps one intoxicated. Of Merckel’s
French colleagues the older Thibaud, in his two live recordings – the
1941 Ansermet on APR is the better known but there’s a
later German broadcast on Tahra – possesses a greater oratorical
breadth, whilst the very slightly younger Francescatti
(Cluytens, 1946) is cleaner, clearer - and whilst still
distinctly Gallic - that much more masculine and cosmopolitan.
The suggestive liquidity of Merckel’s playing
is best savoured in the Scherzando, a bewitching
display of sweet and tightly toned brilliance, flecked
with rapid portamenti, neither as sensuously inward as
Thibaud nor as elevated as Francescatti. In the Andante
he takes a tempo equidistant between both his august French
peers and presents a beautifully vocalised lament, his
timbral shading never veering toward over-vibration. His
trills in the finale are deliciously quick though not quite
of optimum electric velocity; elsewhere he exemplifies
French style in all he does, arguably even more so than
Thibaud, though no one ever possessed Thibaud’s sensual
tonal reserves.
The Saint-Saëns Concerto was recorded three
years later. Once again we find expected divergences in
approach. Merckel employs elfin, highly expressive, and
perfumed tonal resources. Francescatti is more direct and
assertive with a broader tone. There may be hearers who
might occasionally tire of Merckel’s incessant colour – too
much “business” – but not, I think, of the first movement’s
fluid portamenti or the floated sound. The slow movement
is pure avian songfulness, the finale verdant, aerial and
athletic. Merckel proves a master of rhythmic incision,
witty characterisation, as well as flexible and wonderful
bowing.
There are two other valuable additions. Lalo’s Intermezzo from
his Concerto Russe was recorded at the same time
as the Saint-Saëns and we savour Merckel’s pirouetting
over the orchestra and exploring some of the more deliciously
schmaltzy areas of the movement. Then there’s the vibrant
and evergreen Danse Macabre, which is relished with
unselfconscious brio and no little charm. Incidentally
though this is credited in the booklet documentation to
the Concert Pasdeloup and Piero Coppola I was always under
the impression that this was actually an unidentified band
directed by Philippe Gaubert.
A similar programme was issued on the Japanese
label Opus Kura – minus the Concerto Russe Intermezzo – but
this was very hard to track down and I’ve not encountered
a copy. Music & Arts have used good originals and judiciously
transferred them to fine effect. Their notes are cogent
and biographically helpful.
This is a truly delicious disc, and the coterie
of Merckel admirers can here savour his very special musicianship
in works entirely congenial to him.
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