These two discs were issued separately in 2000, though I don’t
know if they have been continuously available since then. They
reappear now, complete with a typically elegant and informative
booklet essay from Michael Kennedy. Any Walton enthusiast who
does not already possess them should snap them up without delay.
The earliest performance is that of the First Symphony, set down
in 1951 with Walter Legge as producer. What a work it is! Walton
reportedly had trouble finding a way of ending it, and the first
performance was given without the finale. In spite of its somewhat
episodic structure, and even a bit of note-spinning, I have never
subscribed to the view that the finale is an anti-climax. The
slow, triple-time opening is wonderfully majestic, and the close,
with its cruelly taxing trumpet solo, is as impressive a symphonic
peroration as one will hear anywhere. The third, slow movement
is marked to be played “with melancholy”, and the
second movement scherzo “with malice”! This is all
wonderful music, but the first movement is the most impressive
of all. A quarter hour of constant development of two short motifs,
it seems to have been conceived in, as it were, a single breath.
The tension never lets up and the orchestral writing is masterly.
There have been a number of impressive recorded performances
of this masterpiece over the years. Previn’s reading is
a classic of the gramophone, but that by Paul Daniels with the
English Northern Philharmonia, recorded by Naxos in 1994 is also
very fine, and I’m an admirer of Slatkin’s 1987 London
Philharmonic Orchestra performance from Virgin. The composer’s
own performance, though, is in a class of its own. There are
some moments of rough orchestral playing, some shaky ensemble,
and I don’t think it could be claimed that the Philharmonia
was making a very beautiful sound on this occasion. But I don’t
think the composer was aiming for that. On the contrary, it was
the white heat of the moment which interested him, I think, and
the result is a performance where the tension is controlled as
in no other, not even in Previn’s, with its touch of luxury
casting, the sensational London Symphony Orchestra throwing off
the work with just a little bit too much easy virtuosity.
The situation with
Belshazzar’s Feast is similar.
Previn recorded it twice, the more successful version of the
two on EMI with London Symphony Orchestra forces in 1972. It
is a superb reading which brings out the harsh pagan atmosphere,
but even more, the incongruous yet strangely convincing jazziness
of much of the music. The composer, who admired Previn, was critical
of many of the tempi in this performance. There are a few moments
of faulty tuning from the chorus, and in any case they cannot
compare to the absolutely stunning Wilhelm Pitz-trained Philharmonia
Chorus from the late nineteen-fifties. Everything is where it
should be: power, tuning, diction, the group cannot be faulted.
Well, hardly: there are moments, notably in the opening unaccompanied
passage for the men, where slight imprecision of attack is perceptible,
but this is probably due to Walton’s technical inadequacy
as a conductor. He only conducted his own music, and was supremely
able to rouse the forces at his disposal. This performance is
electrifying and hasn’t been matched since. I find Donald
Bell just right in the solo part, and he is realistically placed
at the front of the ensemble. The orchestra plays with astonishing
virtuosity and the mono recording, apart from one or two inconsistencies
of balance, and despite its age, is fine.
The
Partita was recorded and released alongside
Belshazzar’s
Feast - nostalgia-philes will be happy to know that the original
LP cover is reproduced on the back of the booklet - and at the
time of the recording was very much a recent work, composed,
so the composer said, to be “enjoyed straight off”.
Two lively movements enclose a central siciliana, and one wonders
what Georg Szell, a fine Walton interpreter, but not one known
for high jinx, made of it. The composer enjoyed a bit of high
jinx, very much in evidence in this exuberant performance.
The curious mixture of Italianate warmth and profound melancholy
are perhaps closer to what William Walton was really like as
a person. The two performances from Menuhin are less indispensable
than the rest of this collection, but should not be missed even
so. The soloist is at once magnetic and technically fallible.
His tone is curiously fragile, with a characteristic, very fast,
vibrato. There are quite a few moments of faulty intonation,
and the playing is effortful in places, most notably in the scherzo
of the Violin Concerto. Nor can it be said that there is much
variety of tone, Menuhin seemingly unwilling to play quietly
for very long. This problem is exacerbated by the recording balance
which has him well forward in both concertos - despite two different
recording teams - a fault I hadn’t remembered from earlier
hearings, and which is particularly damaging in passages such
as the coda of the Violin Concerto’s finale, where the
delicious writing for the piccolo is all but covered by the soloist’s
figuration. Even the composer seems less engaged with his own
music than in the earlier recordings, integrating less well than
other interpreters the long tutti passage in the finale of the
Viola Concerto, for example. Yet in spite of all this, these
performances are compelling ones. At a tempo much slower than
that indicated in the score, the closing pages of the Viola Concerto
are very affecting, and Menuhin is movingly ardent in the opening
melody of the Violin Concerto.
Collectors will want these versions
in any event, if only for historic reasons, and will gain much
pleasure from them. But there are other readings to be preferred
as single choices. Lawrence Power’s superb recent performance
of the original version on Hyperion provides collectors with
the opportunity to decide if Walton was right to reduce the orchestration
when he revised his Viola Concerto. That performance is coupled
with music by Rubbra, but if you prefer more Walton, Lars Anders
Tomter on Naxos is very impressive indeed. Another fine Naxos
disc presents Dong-Suk Kang in the Violin Concerto, conducted,
as is the Tomter performance, by Paul Daniel. But the performance
of the Violin Concerto to seek out is that by Kyung-Wha Chung
with Previn on Decca, a magnificent achievement by all concerned.
Listen to the opening to gauge the difference between her approach
and that of Menuhin. The composer was very impressed by her,
as he wrote to Malcolm Arnold in 1972: “What a girl! She
has to be heard to be believed. In addition she’s very
easy on the eye.”
William Hedley
Donald Bell (baritone); Philharmonia
Chorus; Yehudi Menuhin (violin/viola); Philharmonia Orchestra; New Philharmonia
Orchestra; London Symphony Orchestra/Sir William
Walton 
