These recordings were originally made for the now-defunct Tring
label, who specialised in the production of cheap discs for
sale mainly through supermarket outlets. As such it will already
have attracted many purchasers who would not otherwise regard
themselves as fans of classical music. They will have been well
served by orchestral performances of the highest order - the
RPO horns cover themselves with glory - conducting that is at
once sympathetic and characterful, and a natural recording which
allows all of Strauss’s glorious counterpoint to be clearly
heard.
This reissue will, I hope, attract more such buyers, but they
will not be ideally served by James Murray’s new booklet notes.
In order fully to appreciate the music of these symphonic poems,
the listener needs to have some idea of the exact ideas that
Strauss is attempting to convey. Here, although we are given
the titles of the individual sections in Also sprach Zarathustra
in German, translations are only provided for some
of these in the booklet. The appearances of plainchant melodies
in the second section, for example, are not only unexplained
but unmentioned. The scene where Zarathustra encounters maidens
dancing in the woods is described merely as a “waltz”, and although
the natural placing of the solo violin in the aural perspective
obviates to some extent the unfortunate impression one sometimes
receives that the hero has strayed into a Viennese café, nothing
is said in the notes about the real inspiration behind the music.
The original release credited Hugh Bean as the solo player,
but this is no longer mentioned. In the final section the bells
– depicting what Nietzsche calls “the deep midnight
bell” are a couple of octaves too high, just ordinary tubular
bells in fact.
Karajan had a particular affection for this piece – he asked
that it should be his first recording for Decca in 1958 – and
he took considerable trouble to make sure that the bell sounds
were right, as his producer John Culshaw explains in his autobiography
Putting the record straight. Indeed any one of his
recordings show a greater sympathy for the score, and more character,
than Mackerras does here. The latter is for example rather perfunctory
and efficient in the philosophical final bars, moving the music
along faster than is ideal. The contrast between the unrelated
keys at the very end may no longer have the power to disturb
that they did at the time of the first performance, but the
sense of mystic dissociation and loss of direction that Strauss
conveys is missing. The pause after that conclusion before the
rushing entry of the strings in Don Juan is far too
short, a mere six seconds or so, which leaves an unwary listener
with the unfortunate impression that it is simply a continuation
of the same piece. The same observation applies at the end of
Don Juan, where the first notes of Till Eulenspiegel
enter far too soon.
In Till Eulenspiegel the booklet notes are again insufficiently
detailed. We are given no explanation of the various adventures
of the raffish hero, which leaves such programmatic orchestral
details as the sudden appearance of the rattle in the market
scene sounding unmotivated. Room however is found in the four
pages of booklet text for a page and a half of listings of other
CDs reissued by Alto; these include some very interesting items
– including re-masterings of the Giulini Don Giovanni
and Karajan’s gala Die Fledermaus – but purchasers
who may be unfamiliar with the music would have been better
served by more detailed information on the music performed on
this disc.
Impulse buyers will not be short-changed by the performances
themselves, which display plenty of life; but others in search
of a bargain may perhaps be better served by Karajan’s Vienna
recordings for Decca which still sound excellent even after
fifty years – it was after all this recording of Also sprach
Zarathustra which, employed by Stanley Kubrick in the soundtrack
2001, finally established the work in the standard
repertory. Karajan for example achieves more ‘lift’ in the rushing
string passages (track 3, 1.02 et seq in this recording)
which erupt in protest against the religious music of the second
section. In his Don Juan solo the RPO oboist has a
more naturally beautiful tone than Karajan’s somewhat sour VPO
player, but the result - despite beautifully poised phrasing
and expression - is slightly lacking in character. However the
RPO horns make the very most of their rip-roaring moment of
glory at 9.43. The hanging of Till Eulenspiegel is
vividly portrayed by the piccolo clarinet, but the booklet note
gives no explanation for the return of the opening material
after that – the notion that the condemned character has now
become a folk legend.
The back of the CD box quotes approving remarks from a review
published in the Gramophone at the time of the first
release, although the Gramophone online archive reveals
that in that review David Gutman actually recommended Karajan’s
later Berlin DG coupling of the same works - with the addition
of the Dance of the seven veils - in preference to
this one.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Sir Charles Mackerras