In the booklet essay accompanying this issue, Harald Reiter refers
to “acclaimed concerts” in Rome in 1989. There’s
no way of knowing, however, if the present disc is a recording
of a single one of these concerts or an amalgam of more than one.
Curiously, video credits roll over the screen at the end of what
one imagines to be the first half of the concert, but otherwise
we have the impression that we are present at a single event.
This is a recording, then, of a concert, quite simply and with
no extras. As such, it is a valuable record of a live performance
from Bernstein toward the end of his life.
Two quotations adorn the DVD box, one, from
Il Giornale,
“Bernstein’s Debussy is neither ethereal nor gelatinous,
but uncommonly vital, caught in the full light of the midday sun”;
the other, from
La Stampa, “An unprecedented triumph”.
Certainly the audience reacts enthusiastically to these performances,
and Bernstein himself seems uncommonly satisfied at the end. His
later performances were often characterised by extreme points
of view, in particular in respect of tempi. In the first of Debussy’s
orchestral
Images,
Gigues, he adds a minute or so
to Haitink’s timing in that conductor’s Philips reading
from 1977, but this is mainly due to the slower passages, in particular
the closing pages, highly atmospheric at a very steady tempo.
Scrupulous attention has clearly been paid in rehearsal to matters
of balance, so carefully are the important wind solos given prominence
whilst remaining wholly integrated in the overall sound picture.
This is a performance of one of Debussy’s more inscrutable
pieces - in spite of its being based on
The Keel Row -
which brings out more than most its atmospheric, impressionist
character. Bernstein chose to follow with the third piece, and
Rondes de printemps, receives a similarly fine and detailed
performance. He then launches the first of the three pieces which
make up
Ibéria in characteristic fashion, communicating
the dance rhythms with his whole body rather than just with the
stick. Tempi in the two rapid pieces are again steady, and a comparison
with Haitink again - especially when you listen to Bernstein without
looking at the screen - confirms the view that the Dutch conductor
is more successful at making the music dance. But Haitink’s
is a truly exceptional Debussy collection, and a rather unfair
comparison, and given the combined sound and vision of this issue,
no collector will find Bernstein wanting. There are, in any event,
some very fine things in this performance. Orchestral colour is
remarkably well controlled, for example, all the more so given
that this is a live performance. Then the gradual awakening of
the town on the morning of Fiesta day - the third movement of
Ibéria - is spectacularly well evoked. Another feature
not to be missed is the solo playing, wind and strings, and in
particular some truly inspired playing from the principal viola
in the first movement.
The second half of the concert begins with
Prélude à
l’après-midi d’un faune. This is an expansive
performance by any standards - including Bernstein’s own,
recorded in New York in 1960 - and I don’t think these performers
conjure up the sultry heat or the erotic charge as well as do
the finest performances available. But once again it is the beauty
of the orchestral sound which strikes the viewer: several details
usually hidden are clearly audible, and Bernstein and the orchestra
conjure up a dramatically rich palette of colours.
La Mer
again features some very slow speeds, and there are certainly
moments when one wishes he would move the music on. In addition,
he is remarkably free with rhythm and pacing in linking passages,
holding back, luxuriously savouring the moment. Were this not
a concert performance, some of these moments might pall on repetition.
Nonetheless this is a fine and convincing performance on its own
terms. Bernstein drives the second movement to a fine climax,
as he also does in the final movement which brings the concert
to an end in suitably exciting and crowd-pleasing fashion.
Bernstein was always a very physical conductor, with a tendency
toward two-handed, cutlass-swinging baton work, or, in quieter
passages, taking the stick in his left hand in order to shape
the phrases with his right. Another speciality, frequently encountered,
was for both feet to leave the ground. Here, some sixteen months
before his death, his arrival on and departure from the platform
are stately, and he cuts a sadly tired-looking, and paunchy, figure.
His stick technique is impressive, giving a clear yet flexible
beat, and further nuances are communicated by facial expression
plus whole-body movements rather than by the left hand. Indeed,
for much of the concert he holds his glasses in his left hand,
and the viewer can spend many a happy minute playing “hunt
the specs” when one realises that once again they have disappeared
from his face. His gestures are far more economic than they once
were, and there is a feeling of thorough preparation about these
performances, with little left to chance or spontaneous inspiration
on the night.
The camera work is skilful and unfussy on the whole, allowing
one to listen to the music. But, as at a live concert, the visual
element is an important part of the whole experience. Bernstein
is frequently seen in close-up, so we have a better view than
the Roman audience of the perspiration dripping from his fevered
brow, and even, at one point, from his fevered nose. And as a
keen observer of conductors, I could have done with rather less
in the way of close-up filming, as Bernstein, of all conductors,
should be seen whole! The orchestra, let it be said, are a glum
lot. Thank goodness their playing is so communicative, as you’d
never guess they were having a good time to look at them. The
camera generally finds the right people at the right time, and
with fine sound this is as satisfying a way to experience this
concert as one could imagine.
William Hedley
Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia/Leonard
Bernstein 
[82:46] 
