A CHANGE OF VENUE
I owe this column to the combined effect of three experiences: Listening to a new London/Decca CD re cording of Sibelius's Third and Sixth Symphonies (with Vladimir Ashkenazy conducting the Philharmonia Orchestra), learning more about the forthcoming reconstruction of venerable Carnegie Hall, and reading some biographical notes on Gustav Mahler.
As the last passages of the Sibelius Third Symphony came to their triumphant conclusion, and the opening bars of the Sixth began, it was immediately obvious that the latter was re corded in an acoustic environment quite different from that used in the Third Symphony. London/Decca is one of the record companies that thought fully provides information in their liner notes about who produced and engineered the recording and the hall where the music was recorded. Sure enough, the Sibelius Third Symphony was recorded in May 1983, in Kingsway Hall in London, while the Sixth was recorded in June 1984, in the renowned acoustics of Walthamstow Town Hall.
Although nothing is cast in concrete, works presented on the same CD or LP are usually recorded in the same venue. This generally holds true even if the recording dates for the two pieces are far apart--which can be the case if there are problems with artists' avail ability or with hall scheduling. In the case of this Sibelius CD, the change of venue was less a consequence of scheduling than of digital recording, which, with its lack of noise-masking, makes a quiet recording location absolutely mandatory. Kingsway Hall, long favored by Decca engineers for the lovely, warm and spacious ambience of its acoustics, has become a victim of the increasing volume of external traffic noise and rumble in the vicinity of its London location.
Decca's philosophy in recording classical music is the same as mine.
The overriding consideration is a re cording hall with really good acoustics.
Fighting a locale with poor acoustics is a handicap that even the most skilled engineers usually can't overcome. Accordingly, when I was Decca's guest in London last April, Tony Griffiths, digital guru and new general manager of the Decca Recording Complex, told me that Kingsway Hall was no longer a practical choice for recording. He said Decca would make as much use of Walthamstow as they could, though this famous recording hall, with its superb acoustics, is very much in demand and thus difficult to reserve.
Carnegie Hall, located as it is on the corner of 57th Street and Seventh Avenue in New York City, has to contend with a massive volume of traffic and the unrelenting noise this generates. It is interesting to note that when Carnegie Hall was built in 1890-91, the use of structural steel was in its infancy, and thus the hall was built of heavy, solid masonry, with walls some 2 feet thick.
You would think that such massive construction would effectively block external noises, but apparently, through some quirk of the underlying strata or some unknown phenomena, low-frequency rumble is transmitted through the walls. Furthermore, when the New York City subway system was constructed, some tracks were unwisely laid beneath Carnegie Hall, giving it its infamous subway rumble. (I've written previously about how Bob Fine and I were supplied a copy of the sub way train schedule when we were re cording Yehudi Menuhin in the Bartok Second Violin Concerto.) Thus, Carnegie Hall has not been used much for recording despite its fabulous acoustics. In my view, however, I would be happy to record in Carnegie Hall at any time, and I suspect many other engineers would feel the same. While I am unalterably opposed to the use of filters that would roll off audible bass frequencies, I do not think a filter that would remove the really bothersome subsonic frequencies would be out of place. The real reason for the paucity of Carnegie Hall recordings lies more in the difficulty of scheduling sessions in such a busy hall, and also, I am bound to say, in the exorbitant fees demanded by the stagehands union for carting recording equipment in and out of the hall.
I am sure most music lovers know that in 1960 Carnegie Hall was rescued from the wrecker's ball by the heroic efforts of violin virtuoso Isaac Stern, and others who were passionately fond of the acoustics of this most famous of all American concert halls.
Demolition of Carnegie Hall would have been tantamount to a criminal act. Fortunately, Carnegie Hall now en joys the status of a historic landmark.
As you read this, scaffolding is in place for preliminary work on enlarging and rebuilding its foyer, and in May, the hall will be closed to undergo extensive rebuilding and refurbishing and installation of an air conditioning system. It has been emphatically stated that none of this work will in any way alter the fabled acoustics of the hall, which will reopen with appropriate fanfares and special festivities in January of 1987. In the longer view, all this refurbishing is being undertaken with an eye on the approaching centennial of Carnegie Hall in 1991.
Some biographical notes on Gustav Mahler I recently read (from a record jacket, appropriately enough) made much of his two seasons in Carnegie Hall as conductor of the New York Phil harmonic. Up until the construction of Philharmonic Hall (now Avery Fisher Hall) at Lincoln Center, Carnegie Hall was the N.Y. Philharmonic's home. I was fascinated by the interlocking relationships between Mahler and the N.Y.
Philharmonic and Carnegie Hall.
Carnegie Hall was made possible by a gift from Andrew Carnegie, the legendary steel magnate, who was present for the opening concert on May 5, 1891. Walter Damrosch conducted the New York Philharmonic for the first part of the program. After intermission, none other than Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky conducted some of his works; by that time he had composed all his sym phonies except for the Sixth, the "Pathetique." The list of the giants of music, of legendary composers who have con ducted in Carnegie Hall, is mind-boggling. In 1904 Richard Strauss con ducted the N.Y. Philharmonic in performances of his "Ein Heldenleben" and "Also sprach Zarathustra." For the conservative ears of the rich patrons and particularly the patronesses of Carnegie Hall, his "blaring dissonances" were a bit too much! In 1906, Camille Saint-Saens, then 72 years old, played his piano concertos and even the organ part of his beloved Third Symphony. Dvorak was present in the Carnegie Hall audience when his " New World" Ninth Symphony was given its American premiere.
Gustav Mahler had won critical ac claim in 1907 for his performances with the Metropolitan Opera. It is well to remember that in those times, the Opera and the N.Y. Philharmonic were supported by the patronage of the very rich. The wives of the tycoons of that era particularly involved themselves with the Philharmonic board of directors, and with their hands firmly in control of the purse strings, they wielded tremendous power. Needless to say, this included the choice of who was to conduct the Philharmonic and what kind of music would be performed. Re member that all this participation in the Philharmonic was considered a social function, and it came from a desire to participate in cultural activities. Few patrons, if any, were intellectually involved with music.
These, then, were the arbiters of musical taste, and in 1909 they signed Gustav Mahler to conduct the N.Y. Philharmonic for the 1909 and 1910 seasons. The ladies didn't know what they were getting into! Mahler was a very intense man, fanatically devoted to music. He was highly respected in Vienna, and there was no one who questioned his authority.
The first thing Mahler did with the Philharmonic was to drastically weed out all the players who did not perform up to his lofty standards, replacing them with younger, more talented players. Then Mahler began to retrain the orchestra, with endless rehearsals and an emphasis on tonality and ensemble precision. The music of Beethoven was sacrosanct to the Philharmonic patrons, and when Mahler turned his now highly polished Philharmonic loose in vibrant, dynamic performances bristling with energy, the ladies nearly fainted from the shock! Up until the arrival of Mahler, most of the Philharmonic conductors had been nothing much more than earnest hacks. Their performances of the mu sic of Beethoven and other standard classicists had degenerated into a form of devitalized, easy-to-digest musical pablum. The musicologists, as you might expect, were lavish in their praise for what Mahler had wrought, and some of the more knowledgeable critics also applauded his efforts. But the majority of the popular press and the patrons were, outraged. Thus began a battle that was almost without surcease, with Mahler, the absolutist and perfectionist, on one side and the music illiteration the other.
(Incidentally, contrary to what one might expect, Mahler did not over whelm his patrons with frequent performances of his own music. He gave the American premiere of his First Sym phony and then gradually performed the rest of his output. Sergei Rachmaninoff premiered his Third Piano Concerto with Mahler and the Philharmonic, and was much impressed with the care lavished by Mahler on the accompaniment.) The ferment about Mahler grew among the patrons, but surprisingly, they kept him on for the second sea son. However, the strain was beginning to tell on Mahler. After a series of confrontations over some performances, which resulted in his untypical acquiescence to some of their demands regarding choices of music, he grew ill. He never made it through the second season, and in 1911 returned to Vienna, where his weakened heart finally stopped beating. There is no doubt that Mahler's stewardship of the Philharmonic, brief though it was, made it a respectable orchestra.
Through the years since, Carnegie Hall has resounded to great music per formed by great orchestras. The podium has been graced by such legendary figures as Igor Stravinsky, Pierre Monteux, Serge Koussevitzky, Bruno Walter, Leonard Bernstein, my beloved friend Leopold Stokowski, the tempestuous Arturo Toscanini, and his diametric opposite, the rather gentle Dimitri Mitropoulos.
It is one thing to attend a concert at Carnegie Hall, with great music wrapped in the warm embrace of those splendid acoustics. It is quite another thing to record there. The first time I did so was in 1953, for the great "Jazz at the Philharmonic" series. When I first set foot on the hallowed stage to place my microphones, and stood precisely on the spot that had known the presence of Tchaikovsky, Richard Strauss, Mahler, and a whole panoply of other musical giants, I was simply over whelmed. I felt a sense of awe and reverence, and in subsequent visits to the stage, that feeling of awe has never diminished.
So, all hail to grand old Carnegie Hall! I look forward to seeing its refurbished splendor. God willing, my wife Ruth and I will raise a champagne toast on the occasion of its 100th birth day in 1991!
(adapted from Audio magazine, Mar. 1986; Bert Whyte)
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