Ludwig van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827)
Sir Simon Rattle conducts Beethoven: Symphonies, Piano Concertos Nos. 1
and 2, Fidelio
Symphony No. 1 [25:31]
Symphony No. 2 [32:08]
Symphony No. 3 [49:46]
Symphony No. 4 [33:52]
Symphony No. 5 [31:57]
Symphony No. 6 [44:41]
Symphony No. 7 [39:59]
Symphony No. 8 [25:56]
Symphony No. 9 [69:57]
Barbara Bonney (soprano), Birgit Remmert (alto), Kurt Streit (tenor), Thomas
Hampson (baritone)
Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/Rattle
City of Birmingham Symphony Chorus/Simon Halsey
rec. live, Musikverein, Vienna, April-May 2002
Symphony No. 5 [31:46]
Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/Rattle
rec. live, Musikverein, Vienna, December 2000
Piano Concerto No. 1 (cadenzas by Beethoven) [37:14]
Piano Concerto No. 1 (cadenzas by Glenn Gould) [34:45]
Piano Concerto No. 2 [28:48]
Lars Vogt (piano)
City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra/Rattle
rec. Butterworth Hall, University of Warwick, October 1995
Fidelio (1814) [110:00]
Leonore (mezzo) – Angela Denoke; Florestan (tenor) – Jon Villars; Don Pizarro
(baritone) – Alan Held; Rocco (bass) – Laszlo Polgar; Marzelline (soprano)
– Juliane Banse; Jaquino (tenor) – Rainer Trost; Don Fernando (bass-baritone)
– Thomas Quasthoff;
Arnold Schoenberg Choir; Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra/Rattle
rec. in concert, Philharmonie, Berlin, April 2003
EMI CLASSICS 4575732 [9 CDs: 10:00:00]
This is the latest and, they tell us, the last of EMI’s Simon Rattle Edition,
gathering together the conductor’s complete forays into certain composers
and repertoire. As with any such project the sets hitherto released have contained
both treasures and duds. Even though not everything here is perfect, this
set sends the series out on a high with his complete Vienna recording of the
Beethoven symphonies.
Not everyone has been convinced by Rattle’s 2002 Beethoven set, but I admit
that I was sold on it from the start. Repackaged here at bargain price, even
if the documentation is minimal, it makes an outstanding bargain and a fantastic
purchase. The keynote of the set is energy: pulsating, crackling, electrifying
energy. Rattle’s white-hot vision injects these scores with a level of vigour
that I have seldom heard elsewhere on disc. In particular he relishes the
punch and excitement of Beethoven’s rhythms. Unsurprisingly this approach
works best in the Seventh where the relentlessness of the beat bounds
off the page. The Scherzo, in particular, is unstoppable, while the first
movement is expansive and majestic in its control. Ineluctable, unarguable
logic characterises the unfolding of the Allegretto, secure in pacing and
awesome in its scale, though next to all this the opening of the finale comes
across as surprisingly slow.
This approach also works brilliantly in the early works, particularly the
Second which here comes across as a work of fully mature genius. The
first movement positively crackles, recreating for me the infectious excitement
of discovering these works – of hearing them for the first time. Similarly,
the finale positively leaps out of the speakers, while the Larghetto
is beautifully judged and gorgeously played. The First too is full
of bustling energy and the Andante is taken at a fair lick, though
this isn’t something Rattle does in all slow movements. In fact his attitude
to period practice on the whole is fairly à la carte. The VPO’s playing
is often brisk and transparent in the manner of smaller period bands, but
there is no hint of the hair shirts that some period practitioners bring to
this music: Rattle is happy to broaden out and revel in the beauty of the
sound at key moments. On the other hand the playing is not just homogenous
post-Romantic soup; there are plenty of moments that make you sit up and take
notice as a particular element is highlighted by a touch such as vibrato-less
strings, braying brass or occasional sforzandi. It is the selectiveness
of these touches that makes them effective, meaning that for most middle-of-the-road
listeners they will find this something to enjoy rather than to distract.
As for the quality of the instrumental playing, with an orchestra of this
stature it is outstanding. I could pick out occasional moments that stand
out for their extra-special quality – the solo winds in the slow movement
of the Fourth, for example – but there would be too many to make this
a useful exercise. Discovering them for yourself is one of the great joys
of this set.
What about those craggy masterpieces in the middle of the cycle? Be satisfied
that in Rattle’s hands they are not merely safe; they are towering. He gives
us an Eroica of stature and power. The playing carries tremendous weight
and scale: this is clearly a symphony orchestra we are listening to.
It also feels very live with its minor fluctuations of tempi and the sense
of a conductor straining at the tiller to keep the great ship on course. There
is an almighty sense of build to the funeral march while the scherzo romps
along with titanic energy. The finale unfolds with logic and argument and
the tempo broadens out majestically (and surprisingly) for a coda which marks
a fitting culmination of not just the movement but of the entire work. The
Fifth is vibrant and dramatic, the first movement incisive and visceral,
while the finale blazes with a white-hot sheen. As a bonus we are also given
Rattle’s earlier (2000) account of this symphony with the same orchestra.
It’s interesting to compare the two, but the 2002 account is easily finer:
it’s more dramatic, more live and has a better recording to help it on its
way. Only in the transition to the finale and the emergence into sunlight
at the start of the last movement does it start to rival the later set.
Only in the Pastoral does Rattle’s preference for the dramatic develop
into a problem, the first two movements sounding taut and even a little strained
in places. Things improve after this: the peasant wedding fairly frolics along
and, after a terrifying storm, the shepherds’ hymn is broad and expansive.
The Eighth, too, is relatively light on its feet with a satisfyingly
big sound to its first and third movements and plenty of tongue-in-cheek humour
to the second and fourth.
Rattle’s Ninth is evidently the climax of his cycle, not just chronologically
but emotionally. Everything here seems calculated to produce an impact of
shattering grandeur, from the first, stunning emergence of the opening movement’s
main theme through to the headlong dash for the finishing line of the finale.
Not everyone will love it: some will find his selective pauses irritating
and others will quibble with his tempi and use of stresses, but I was fully
convinced. The Scherzo bounds along with titanic power and, after this, the
expansive tempo of the Adagio sounds daring and inventive. The finale
comes with its own sense of scale, but Rattle’s pacing and control of the
transitions allows it all to unfurl in a way that sounds, to me, unarguable.
He is helped by a top-notch team of singers. His old friends from the CBSO
Chorus guest star, demonstrating that they have lost none of the power that
so distinguished his Mahler recordings, and his soloists are as starry a team
as one could imagine. Thomas Hampson sings with poetry and refinement, not
just gusto, and both ladies bring lyricism and breadth to their music. Kurt
Streit, too, sounds convincingly perky in his “Turkish” episode.
So where does Rattle’s Beethoven set sit in the overall scheme of things?
To my mind he carries the best of the old and the best of the new. He has
a sense of structure and scale that harks back to Furtwängler and Karajan,
while his lithe sense of movement contains the best of the period movement
heard in, say, Norrington and Gardiner. It’s probably still true that the
conductor who best encompasses both of these worlds is Harnoncourt in his
set with the Chamber Orchestra or Europe, but Rattle’s sound is bigger and
somewhat more Romantic. I recommend his set to anyone who hasn’t planted his
flag squarely in the camp of either extreme. I certainly wasn’t disappointed.
The symphonies are undoubtedly the main reason for acquiring this set, but
the other items are of value too. The CBSO plays with some fitting period
(vibrato-less) twang for much of the two concertos, and Lars Vogt scales back
his often big-boned playing to accompany in a style that is utterly sympathetic.
Again, though, there is no hair-shirted asceticism in either orchestra or
piano and this is still a performance of red-blooded vigour. Vogt plays like
the master we know he is, and the cadenzas tickle the listener’s ear suggestively.
As another bonus we are given two versions of the First Concerto: it’s the
same recording but in one version we get Beethoven’s cadenzas and in the other
those of Glenn Gould. Gould’s cadenza for the first movement is witty and
almost Bachian and it works tremendously well, but his version is too frenetic
in the finale, which Rattle already paces with frantic busyness. Still, it’s
an interesting comparison. I wonder if this was the beginning of a complete
set that never emerged? A pity, but then Rattle’s later achievement with Brendel
takes some beating.
I have already written about Rattle’s Fidelio
elsewhere in these pages. There’s really nothing to add to that, save to say
that after a gap of a couple of years Rattle’s conducting seems less wilful
and Denoke’s Leonore a little more amenable, but this performance still can’t
hold a candle to the likes of Bernstein or Klemperer.
So if this is the last instalment in EMI’s Rattle edition then they have gone
out on a high. Rattle flowered later in Beethoven than he did in, say, Mahler
or Britten, but for me the results are every bit as satisfying and deserve
comparison with the best. Throw in the super budget price and the decision
makes itself.
Simon Thompson
The keynote of the set is energy: pulsating, crackling, electrifying
energy.