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reviewed by: Scott Cantrell Abram Chipman R. D. Darrell Peter G. Davis Robert Fiedel Kenneth Furie Harris Goldsmith David Hamilton Dale S. Harris Philip Hart Allan Kozinn Paul Henry Lang Irving Lowens Robert C. Marsh Karen Monson Robert P. Morgan Conrad L. Osborne Andrew Porter Patrick J. Smith Paul A. Snook Susan Thiemann Sommer ALBNIZ: Iberia, Books I-II. BACH: Christmas Oratorio, S. 248. Hubertus Baumann and Frank Sahesch-Pur, boy sopranos; Michael Hoffmann, boy alto; Heiner Hopfner, tenor; Nikolaus Hillebrand, bass; Regensburg Cathedral Choir, St. Emmeram Collegium, Hanns-Martin Schneidt, cond. [Andreas Holschneider, prod.] ARCHIV 2710 024, $29.94 (three discs, manual sequence). Tape: 3376 012, $29.94 (three cassettes). COMPARISONS: Harnoncourt/ Vienna Con. Musicus Tel. 36.35022 Ledger/St. Martin's Acad. Ang. SC 3840 Bach's Christmas Oratorio is a rather special case in the genre, not so much one large-scale dramatic piece as a grouping of six self-contained cantatas for the different days of the holiday season. It's as heavily "in debt" as anything the Leipzig master wrote, most of its major set numbers having been transplanted from others of his works. R H B Budget Historical Reissue Audiophile (digital, direct-to-disc, etc.) A But such was the genius of J. S. Bach that it flows for nearly three hours as cohesively as if written in one uninterrupted surge of inspiration. Contrast there is--of keys, of instrumentation, and of mood, ranging from pageantry to pastoral sweetness. But we who learned it from records rather than religious services could hardly experience it as a pragmatically woven chain of episodes. Archiv's third recording of the oratorio shares with the Harnoncourt/Telefunken set an all-out approach to baroque authenticity: use of replica period instruments that play half a tone lower than their modern counterparts; an all-male vocal contingent; scaled-down vocal and instrumental forces; proper treatment of trills, ornaments, and notes inigales. But baroque scholarship is not always a monolithic "party line" affair. There's much to choose between these two versions--some of the differences by design, others by the breaks of the game. Schneidt, who conducts from the podium, maintains a steady, not to say rigorous, beat. Harnoncourt, presumably leading from a position in the ensemble (cello), occasionally lets tempos race ahead in long stretches of animated arias. The new recording will appeal to those who find Harnoncourt's deliberate focusing on rhythmic and dynamic variation too jerky. The Telefunken will remain the preference of those who find Schneidt bland, with his relative inflexibility about agogic accents and homogenization of note values. Among the points in Harnoncourt's favor are the drama and thrust of the opening chorus and the elucidation of the rocking motion of the Sinfonia that opens Part II. In Part IV, the two conductors choose widely variant tempos, Schneidt pushing the opening chorus more forwardly and Harnoncourt adopting his most propulsive speed in the great tenor aria. Thus the locus of tension falls differently within the larger span. In the soprano and bass collaborations of Part IV, the Archiv recording uses several boy sopranos against a solo bass, while Telefunken employs its (unnamed) treble soloist from the Vienna Choir Boys. I can't help thinking that this choice was dictated less by historical or stylistic considerations than by the relative ability of the youngsters available. The un-credited lad in the earlier recording handles his role (including aria material) with impressive aplomb; in the newer release the boys from Regensburg are insecure and faltering, with pitch and breath literally all over the place. Likewise, Archiv's boy alto, Michael Hoffmann, is no match for the mature counter tenor Paul Esswood, who has graced so much of Telefunken's Bach series, and I turn to Harnoncourt's bass, Sigmund Nimsgern, for the richness and authority lacking in the lighter-weight voice of Nikolaus Hillebrand. Only the tenor among the soloists in the new set gets my vote, Heinz Hopfner managing the Evangelist and aria assignments with grace, style, and a fresh, ringing sound that eludes the more tired Kurt Equiluz. It's nip and tuck between the boy choruses, Regensburg's possibly warmer sound likely being a function of more churchly acoustics. For that matter, stereo space is a trifle more imaginatively deployed in the set under review (e.g., in the Part IV "echo" soprano aria). And the instrumentalists here are by and large a more impressive lot. Those natural horns don't burble the way they do in the Concentus Musicus, and the trumpet virtuosity of Ed ward Tarr in the final chorus of Part VI would have been just unbelievable in the earlier days of the antique instrument resurrection. Whichever of the "super-scholar ship" sets you choose, you should own at least one of the conventional (meaning modern instruments and mixed chorus and soloists) albums. I have admired several of these, including Karl Munchinger's (Lon don OSA 1386) and the mid-Fifties Archiv (now deleted) begun under Fritz Lehmann and completed after his untimely death by Gunther Arndt. But the recent Angel recording under Philip Ledger, which I think rather better of than does Kenneth Furie (January 1978), is in many respects the most fascinating of all: a provocative mix of baroque conventions (in terms of execution and scaled-down forces) and nineteenth-century expressive mannerisms-in tolerable from Robert Tear, at least acceptable from Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, and with beautifully eloquent work from Elly Ameling and Janet Baker. Modern con cert pitch, interestingly enough, doesn't make the work more "brilliant," and I find linear clarity less absolute with contemporary instruments than with the period ones on either of the other versions. A.C. Bartók: Sonatas for Violin and Piano, Nos. 1-2. Gidon Kremer, violin; Yuri Smirnov, piano. [Zenei Rendezo, prod.] HUNGAROTON SLPX 11655, $8.98. Sandor Vegh, violin; Peter Pettinger, piano. TELEFUNKEN 6.42417, $9.98. COMPARISON--NO. 2: Szigeti /Bartok Van. SRV 304/5 Bartok's mature violin-piano sonatas were composed in 1921 and 1922, and both are dedicated to Jelly d'Aranyi, the grand niece of the great Joseph Joachim. The early Twenties were a seminal time for violin technique, since Ravel's Tzigane (also dedicated to D'Aranyi, incidentally) appeared but two years after the second Bartok sonata. No less than Ravel's fiendishly demanding exercise, Bartók’s writing here throws every difficulty known (and a few unimagined ones) at the violinist; unlike the Tzigane (where the orchestra, or pianist, re mains silent through most of the work), murderous demands are made on the pianist as well. I have always found the First Sonata completely fulfilling and the Second slightly arid emotionally-but this is purely subjective and could easily be reversed. In any event, both compositions represent a major interpretive and technical challenge to performers. Posterity received a magnificent gift some fifteen years ago when Vanguard unearthed a Library of Congress recital by Joseph Szigeti and Bartok himself and re leased it on VRS 1130/1 (since reissued in rechanneled stereo). Included was a revelatory reading of the Second Sonata. Over the years, other specialists, such as Yehudi Menuhin and Andre Gertler, have re corded one or both of the sonatas, some times with excellent results. The most serviceable of these recordings, that of Isaac Stern (Columbia M 30944), must now cede honors to both of these newcomers, partly because Alexander Zakin, Stern's pianist, assumes too much of a subsidiary role and partly because Kremer and Vegh are more perceptive interpreters than Stern was. Kremer and Vegh are far removed from one another--and from Szigeti in No. 2--but each sounds completely idiomatic and persuasive in his own way. As against the striking, ruminative grandeur of the Szigeti-Bartok performance, Kremer and his excellent Soviet pianist, Yuri Smirnov, revel in a lighter, more whimsical kind of fine-spun lyricism. This makes the music more immediately accessible without in the least diminishing its primitive energy. Al though Kremer eschews conventional, lush violin tone, he is a supreme virtuoso with a haunting coloristic palette at his disposal. Vegh, whose own fiddling is much more formidable than one might expect from a confirmed chamber musician, presents the sonatas in taut classical con text: His pianissimo playing is marvelously apt and controlled, and, although he does not attempt to make the music more palatable to the uninitiated, his beautifully integrated readings glisten with purity of intention (and realization). The English pianist Peter Pettinger offers stylish, slightly sober support in another true collaboration. The Telefunken disc gets the edge for its superlative processing. The Hungaroton, though perfectly adequate, has slightly flawed surfaces and somewhat tub bier sonority. H.G. BEETHOVEN: Missa Solemnis, Op. 123. Edda Moser, soprano; Hanna Schwarz, alto; Rene Kollo, tenor; Kurt Moll, bass; Hilversum Radio Chorus, Concertgebouw Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein, cond. [Gunther Breest, prod.] DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 2707 110, $19.96 (two discs, manual sequence). Tape: 3370 029, $19.96 (two cassettes) [recorded in concert, February and March 1978]. Bernstein's early Columbia recording of the Missa Solemnis (M2S 619) had its good points; this sequel nearly twenty years later preserves those assets-fervor, emotional warmth, moments of suitable theatrical excitement-and integrates them into a much more meaningful and cumulative progression. In fact, this may be the finest modern recording of Beethoven's towering masterwork, despite the many imposing aspects of the Klemperer (Angel SB 3679), Giulini (Angel SB 3836), Davis (Philips 6747 484), Solti (London OSA 12111), Bohm (DG 2707 080), and Jochum performances. Bernstein's craftsmanship is less formidable than Klemperer's in terms of sheer planning and precision. And, of course, no conductor could be expected to equal the clarity and rhythmic mastery of Toscanini's achievement with this challenging music. But it is quite remarkable how close Bernstein, with his less ironclad control and more genial conception, has come to the Maestro's incomparable 1940 broad cast performance. Critics' Choice: The most noteworthy releases reviewed recently BACH: Brandenburg Concertos, S. 1046-51. Aston Magna, Fuller. SMITHSONIAN RECORDINGS 3016 (2), Dec. BACH: Suites for Orchestra, S. 1066-68, et al. English Concert, Pinnock. ARCHIV 2533410/ (Z), Nov. BEETHOVEN: Works for Cello and Piano. Starker. TELEFUNKEN 36.35450 (3), Oct. BERLIOZ: Harold in Italy. Suk, Fischer Dleskau. QUINTESSENCE PMC 7103, Nov. BOULEZ: Sonata for Piano. WEBERN: Variations for Piano. Pollini. DG 2530 803, Oct. BRAHMS: Choral Corboz. RCA RED SEAL ARL 1-3350, Nov. BRAHMS: Piano Concerto No. 2. Tirimo, Levi. MUSICAL HERITAGE SOCIETY MHS 4001, Dec. DONIZETTI: Lucrezia Borgia. Sutherland, Home, Bonynge. LONDON OSA 13129 (3), Oct. FAURi: Requiem; Pavane. Popp, Nimsgern, A. Davis. COLUMBIA M 35153, Oct. GERSHWIN: Orchestral Works. Fiedler. LONDON PHASE-4 SPC 21185, Dec. HAYDN: Lo Speziale. Kalmar, Fatty, Lehel. HUNGAROTON SLPX 11926/7 (2), Nov. LALO: Trio No. 1. SAINT-SFUNS: Trio No. 1. Caecilian Trio. TURNABOUT TVC 37002, Nov. MENDELSSOHN: Psalms 42, 95. Corboz. ERATO STU 71101, Nov. MOZART: Violin Concertos, K. 211, 219. Spivakov. ANGEL SZ 37511, Nov. SCHUBERT: Quartets Nos. 12,15. Gabrieli Qt. LONDON TREASURY STS 15418, Nov. STRAUSS, J. II: Waltz Transcriptions. Boston Symphony Chamber Players. DG 2530 977, Dec. STRAUSS: Die schweigsame Frau. Scovotti, Adam, Janowski. ANGEL SZCX 3867 (3), Oct. VIVALDI: Motets. Ameling, Negri. PHILIPS 9500 556, Oct. CLEVELAND SYMPHONIC WINDS: Macho Marches. Fennell. TELARC DG 10043, Nov. RIVERS OF DELIGHT: American Folk Hymns. Word of Mouth Chorus. NONESUCH 71360, Nov. STRAUSS FAMILY GALA. Georgiadis. DBX GS 2006, Nov. THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES. Film score by Friedhofer. ENTR'ACTE EDP 8101, Nov. ---------------------------- Dvorak’s "Other" Cello Concerto, Smetana's "Other" Quartet by Abram Chipman Everyone knows the Smetana string quartet and the Dvorak cello concerto. Right? And everyone knows that Dvorak wrote four symphonic poems in the last years of his life. Right? Well, everyone is thrice wrong, and Czechoslovakia's official record company sets things straight in two instances while perpetuating misinformation in the third. Supraphon reminds us--not for the first time--that Smetana's justly renowned E minor Quartet was followed some six years later by a D minor work that continues its autobiographical anguish. But the Second Quartet differs from the First in many ways, mainly in the lack of a slow movement-even a slow epilogue such as the ending of From My Life. Instead, it gives us an angry fugue as its third movement and a frenzied and very brief Presto for a finale. Also, ideas are less logically developed in the later work; the composer's deafness was proceeding apace. I suppose it takes players called the Smetana Quartet to persistently champion their namesake's Cinderella of a work, and they are the only quartet to have made LP recordings of it. Supraphon's stereo catalog lists a previous coupling of these pieces from the same personnel as SUAST 50448; it appeared here briefly in the late Sixties on Crossroads. The remake is better in every way. The sound is darker and richer, and the playing much more in tune. The performance has the extra tensile strength and cohesion required to "sell" the listener on the flawed but fascinating D minor. The familiar warmth and inflection of the Smetana's reading of From My Life is even more in evidence here. And the older record began the Second Quartet after the First's finale, on Side 2, whereas the current issue conveniently keeps each work intact on a separate side. A basic chamber music library item. Dvorak's deservedly immortal B mi nor Cello Concerto of 1895 was actually preceded by one composed thirty years earlier. That has been largely unknown, be cause the composer never got it published and Seems not to have orchestrated it. A posthumously edited score appeared in 1929, but the arrangers of the text per formed in this world-premiere recording regard it as untrue to his manuscript. As heard here, the cello part was revised by Milog Sadlo, who also plays it, and the orchestral part by Jarmil Burghauser, who is to Dvorak what Kochel and Pincherle were to Mozart and Vivaldi. The A major Concerto certainly shows signs of a developing rather than fully !natured creative process. The opening and slow movements merge into one another in the rhapsodic style of concertos by Bruch or Delius. Memorable tunes are limited, though many ideas seem to be anticipations of ones that later flourished in Dvorak's canonical masterpieces. For ex ample, the cellist repeatedly engages in downward chromatic runs that are quite like those in the B minor Concerto's first-movement coda, and the work opens with a tune not unlike the trio section of the G major Symphony. Redundant listening maybe, but also fresh, vital, and sweeping. The finale is dominated by a swaggering triple meter figure that anticipates Dvorak's later fascination with the musical doings of the American Indian. The First Concerto may or may not belong in the forefront of the repertory, but it's certainly deserving of occasional hearings, for reasons of pleasure as well as historical curiosity. It's hard to find fault with Sadlo and Neumann's strong, idiomatic, and technically secure performances. Some folks might question such a novel debut being mated to a two-disc set of the complete cello works. After all, you may not want yet another copy of the B minor Concerto. Rest assured. Sadlo, who evidently hasn't recorded the piece before, knows it thoroughly and loves it passionately. His musing and dusky baritone contrasts with the lyric soprano of Lynn Harrell (RCA ARL 1-1155), the urgent Heldentenor of Pablo Casals (Seraphim 60240), and the effusive and resonant bass-baritone of Mstislav Rostropovich's repeatedly documented-interpretation. There are too many fine recordings of the concerto to pick any one as the all-time best, but Sadlo surely be longs in this exalted company. And he finds a sympathetic collaborator in Neumann, who sounds less square and pompous than he did in Jan Chuchro's version, reviewed by Harris Goldsmith in February 1979 (Supraphon 4 10 2075). The fillers include a slight but attractive polonaise with piano, otherwise un known to me, and the orchestral accompanied versions of the little pieces often appended to the B minor Concerto. Silent Woods has never sounded so heartfelt and simple nor the G minor Rondo so bouncy and earthy as they do in these renditions. The latest purported integral edition of Dvorak's symphonic poems once again is limited to the four programmatic ones based on the horrendous folk legends of Erben and excludes the immediately en suing Hero's Song, a more abstract but en gaging work that has yet to be recorded commercially in stereo. As it happens, Neumann's performances are no more lively or sonically vivid than Zdenek Chalabala's serviceable cycle, also with the Czech Phil harmonic, of the Sixties, which has been reissued by the British Rediffusion/Legend series in a four-disc anthology that includes variously conducted Supraphon recordings of other Dvorak orchestral fare plus a Prague Radio mono tape under Alois Klima of Hero's Song. (That's enterprise and dedication for you.) Neumann himself recorded a livelier Wood Dove for Telefunken (36.35075). If you want just a two-disc package of the Erben poems, Rafael Kubelik's is quite exciting, even if the Bavarian Radio Orchestra is no Czech Philharmonic. DG's inclusion of the Symphonic Variations is a more generous bonus than the Husitskii Overture given on Supraphon. DVORAK: Cello Works. Milos Sadlo, cello; Alfred Hole'dek, piano"; Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, Vaclav Neumann, cond.*. [Pavel Kuhn, prod.] SUPRAPHON 1 10 2081/2, $17.96 (two discs, manual sequence). *Concertos: in A (ed. Burghauser and Sadlo); in B minor, Op. 104. *Silent Woods, Op. 68, No. 5. *Rondo in G minor, Op. 94. 'Polonaise in A. DVORAK: Orchestral Works. Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, Va clay Neumann, cond. [ Milan Slavicky, prod.] SUPRAPHON 4 10 2591/2, $17.96 (two SQ-encoded discs). Symphonic poems: The Water Sprite, Op. 107; The Noonday Witch, Op. 108; The Golden Spinning Wheel, Op. 109; The Wood Dove, Op. 110. Husitska Over ture, Op. 67. COMPARISONS Symphonic poems: Chalabala/Czech Phil. Legend LGDD 101 DG 2530 712/3 Kubelik/Bay. Radio Sym. SMETANA: Quartets for Strings: No. 1, in E minor (From My Life); No. 2, in D minor. Smetana Quartet. [Eduard Herzog, prod.] SUPRAPHON 4 11 2130, $8.98 (SQ-encoded disc). ------------------ He seems utterly caught up in the work and conducts with a combination of transfixed humanity and muscular simplicity that always directs attention to the mu sic, never to its interpreter. The Kyrie is broadly paced, succinct, and flowing; the Gloria, which follows with very little break-a good idea, in this context, is both exultant and concise (the meno Allegro is treated as an integral part of what precedes and follows, not as an inorganic intrusion that dispels continuity). The Credo is slow but never cumbersome or draggy as in most similarly paced readings; the "Et resurrexit," however, lacks the galvanizing impact it had in Toscanini's 1953 version. Bernstein avoids the temptation to milk the "Benedictus" violin solo in a mawkish manner: He lets the music flow without "interpreting," and the musicians are at one with him (and the music). The Agnus Dei is heartrendingly beautiful, and although the warlike hints lurking behind the pleas for everlasting peace are less sinister than in Toscanini's hands, the basic conflict comes through handsomely. My only quibbles are the occasional rhetorical broadenings, such as the one in the last bars of the "Dona nobis pacem," the still rarer wobble in some of the soprano's otherwise rich-toned solos, and one or two details that don't emerge quite compellingly enough in this generally well-balanced live concert recording. One textual item: Bernstein has his soloists insert appoggiaturas on their Agnus Dei phrases, as Toscanini did in 1953 (but not in 1940). In totality, this might well be Bernstein's finest contribution to the phonograph. H.G. BEETHOVEN: Sonatas for Piano: No. 14, in C sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 2 (Moonlight); No. 18, in E flat, Op. 31, No. 3. Bagatelle "fur Elise." Bella Davidovich, piano. PHILIPS 9500 665, $9.98. Tape: 7300 763, $9.98 (cassette). CHOPIN: Preludes (24), Op. 28. Bella Davidovich, piano. PHILIPS 9500 666, $9.98. Tape: 7300 764, $9.98 (cassette). Bella Davidovich is the latest in a growing list of émigré musicians from the Soviet Union, and her first Western recordings were released to coincide with a Carnegie Hall recital. Of her ability to play the piano, there can be no doubt; her music-making has a basic solidity, an honorable dependability, and at times even some communicativeness. Yet on the whole, her playing here-and at the aforementioned concert-seems to me rather plodding and unstylish, with a well-regulated routine of ten taking the place of stimulating sensitivity and genuine insight. At first, I suspected that perhaps Beethoven was not Davidovich's forte and that her true temperament would shine through in the Cho pin preludes, but her Chopin interpretation disappoints as well and for the same reasons. One notices as early as in the A mi nor Prelude (No. 2) a certain bearish deliberation, and in the G major that follows, the purling left-hand ostinato loses the requisite scintillation because Davidovich produces one basic type of sonority-a tone emanating from shoulder and arm weight rather than from finger articulation. Arrau, very much an arm-and-shoulder player himself, shows in his Philips recording of the preludes (6500 622), how much more power and color can emerge when the plush basic sound is occasionally spiced with cutting brightness and other types of definition. In some of the quicker pieces, Davidovich plays the patterns faster than the ear can decipher them, producing a slightly smudged sound. Certainly her account of the F sharp minor Prelude (No. 8) lacks the astute linear separation heard in the performances of Arrau, Ashkenazy (London CS 7101), Pollini (DG 2530 550), and Perahia (Columbia M 33507), and at no time does her generalized lyric approach communicate as do those performers and, for all her careless moments, Martha Argerich (DG 2530 721). In the main, Davidovich is at her most convincing in quiet, lyric preludes, such as the so-called Raindrop (No. 15 in D flat) or the massive C minor (No. 20). Others, such as No. 17, that require a more subtle, tensile delicacy verge on squareness and over-deliberation; the perfervid B flat minor (No. 16), the anguished D minor (No. 24), the tumultuous G minor (No. 22), and the suicidal F minor (No. 18) lack the needed degree of vehemence and clarity. Davidovich rightly plays the E flat in the third bar of No. 20, and most of her other textual options show her to be using a re liable edition. This makes her curious-and apparently wholly unauthorized-G sharp near the end of the A major Prelude (No. 7) all the more baffling. (It is also musically unsatisfactory, since it destroys the three-note pattern that recurs throughout the shortest of the preludes.) Neither is the Beethoven record what one might expect from a pianist whose outlook and training point to the Romantic tradition; the playing isn't Ro mantic at all, but in fact, rather bland, careful, and rounded off. To be sure, it is pleasingly direct and unaffected, but with so many more insightful readings of these sonatas available, Davidovich's prosaic Moonlight and only (to borrow Sullivan's immortal phrase) moderately rapturous Op. 31, No. 3, seem superfluous--a sort of dietetic Rubinstein. Like Ashkenazy in his recent recording and Backhaus in his old one, she modifies Beethoven's figurations in the second movement of the latter work to exploit the extended range of our modern keyboard. It is a defendable option, but not one I favor. Both recordings are up to Philips' usual high standards of sound and processing. H.G. BERLIOZ: Requiem, Op. 5. Kenneth Riegel, tenor; Cleveland Orchestra and Chorus, Lorin Maazel, cond. [James Mallinson, prod.] LONDON OSA 12115, $17.96 (two discs, automatic sequence). Tape: OSA5 12115, $17.96 (two cassettes). COMPARISON: Davis/London Sym. Phi. 6700 019 The way Maazel and his forces sustain and control the quieter passages of Berlioz' Requiem is impressive-as, too, is the smoothness and power of the recorded sound. Kenneth Riegel sings the difficult solo in the Sanctus with sweet and secure tone; not since Leopold Simoneau (in the Munch/Boston recording) has anyone sounded quite as comfortable in this altitudinous writing. But Maazel's control admits of no exuberance; the biggest moments are stodgy and unexciting, though ample in sound. As before, the villain is rhythmic blandness. Maazel, like Ozawa and Barenboim, is one of the modern conductors who cannot make Berlioz' syncopations, cross-accents, and irregularities of phrase come bounding to life as once did Harty, Beecham, Toscanini, Kletzki, and even despite some compensatory bad habits Munch. Those big string chords on the off-beats in the "Lacrymosa" don't sound like syncopations. The grandly expansive he miola at the climax of that movement sags badly, and the gross ritard just before its final chord is simply clumsy. The "Rex tremendae" begins too fast for Berlioz' Andante maestoso; only at the return to Tempo I (at "Qui saloandos salvas gratis") do we get what should have been the initial tempo. In the first quiet section of the "Lacrymosa," the bassoons and string basses don't seem to be quite together. In the "Quaerens me" and the Offertorium, Maazel prefers the longer text of the first edition over Berlioz' revised second-edition score; as far as I can tell from my notes, Abravanel's is the only other current recording to make this choice, which the historical evidence certainly dis-recommends. As I've already suggested, the sound is good, a successful blend of clarity and resonance. The quiet cymbal-and-bass-drum strokes in the Sanctus are registered as events of quiet power, not major detonations. Alas, an under-vibrant Requiem is as unsatisfactory as a hyperactive one; the Colin Davis version still makes the most of both of the work's extremes. D.H. CHOPIN: Nocturnes (21). For a feature review, see page 63. CHOPIN: Preludes (24), Op. 28 See Beethoven: Sonatas for Piano. CIMAROSA: II Maestro di cappella. II Matrimonio segreto: Overture and Aria. II Fanatico per gliantichi romani: Sinfonia. Philippe Huttenlocher, baritone; Lausanne Chamber Orchestra, Armin Jordan, cond. MUSICAL HERITAGE SOCIETY MHS 4040, $5.20 ($3.95 to members) plus $1.25 shipping (Musical Heritage Society, 14 Park Rd., Tinton Falls, N.J. 07724). II Maestro di cappella is a capital farce-not a full-fledged opera buffa, but a twenty-minute intermezzo in the form of a long accompanied recitative that uses the idiom and technique of the purest classical buffa. The theme is familiar and indestructible: Everyone, whether fiddler or timpanist, wants to be a conductor. In this case the aspirant is a singer, boasting to the orchestra that he is no tyro but a disciple of the famous Cavaliere Scarlatti (which the inept translation gives as "Sir Scarlatti"!), and he promises a bonus in the form of a fine aria. The would-be maestro immediately runs into trouble. "What are you doing, my dear oboe? ... Let's start again from the beginning. ... Damned double basses, what the devil is going on? ... Pay attention to the beat!" Then there is apparently a turn for the better: "I am happy. ... Oh, what a blessed orchestra." Obviously, the orchestra is engaging in the age-old game of testing whether they can throw a new conductor; the basses are grumbling, the horns blasting, the flute misses its cue, and so forth, but when they see that the man knows his business, they come around. There is an excellent little overture, the vocal part could not be more skillfully written, and the bubbling orchestra is full of witty tricks but also of bits of nice melodies. Rossini-and even Mozart did not miss any of these things. I could have sworn that the fine baritone who is the entire cast hailed from the foothills of Mount Vesuvius. He has a warm Italian voice, has the style in his bones, and displays a hundred hues and nuances that in this genre one expects only from a Baccaloni or Corena (who, incidentally, recorded it twice for London, most recently twenty years ago on a delightful and still available set). But his name, Philippe Huttenlocher, points perhaps to an Al satian. Whatever the case, he is a real find. The Lausanne orchestra under Armin Jordan functions well, though at times it sounds a little too energetic, which may well be the fault of the sound engineers. On the other side of the record are the overture and an aria from 11 Matrimonio segreto and a so-so overture to another op era. Funny how these people operate. They discover and record a gem, then instead of making a memorable recording by digging for something else unknown and attractive (the libraries are full of them) they fall back on whatever is safe and available. The text of II Maestro di cappella must be fully understood for one to appreciate the amusing goings-on. Musical Heritage furnishes a scurvy page with a hard-to-read text and its translation, as well as some oft-repeated musicology on the sleeve. P.H.L. DVORAK: Cello Works; Orchestral Works. For a featurette, see page 72. GOUNOD: Faust. CAST: Marguerite Siebel Marthe Faust Valentin Wagner Mephistopheles Mirella Freni (s) Michele Command (s) Jocelyne Taillon (ms) Placido Domingo (t) Thomas Allen (b) Marc Vento (b) Nicolai Ghiaurov (bs) Paris Opera Chorus and Orchestra, Georges Pretre, cond. [Christopher Bishop and Greco Casadesus, prod.] ANGEL SZDX 3868, $36.98 (four discs, automatic sequence). COMPARISONS: Bonynge/London Sym. Lon. OSA 1433 Lombard/Strasbourg Phil. RCA FRL 4-2493 Cluytens/Paris Opera Ang. SDL 3622 Cleva/Met. Opera Odys. Y3 32103 This is a better Faust than we have any right to expect, given the present state of the art, and it can be recommended with some confidence over the modern competition, which says as much about the competition as it does about the new version. Let's get the textual stuff out of the way first. What we have here is the complete published score, which means that only the London recording contains music not heard here-a few lines here and there, nothing of substance. As in the London and Erato/RCA recordings, the two familiar scenes of Act IV (church and Valentin's death) are preceded by the scene in Marguerite's room that includes her aria "Il ne revient pas"; the Erato, however, omits Siebel's answering song, "Si le bonheur." The Walpurgis Night is complete, and that's an important first: At the point in the second tableau where the ballet (which may or may not be by Gounod) was in serted, we hear instead the original recitative and drinking song for Faust ("Vain re mords! . . . Dour nectar dans ton ivresse"). This episode appears in current vocal scores but not in any orchestral score I've seen, and I've never heard it performed before. As I suspected, it is an effective number-the recitative in particular gives the tenor some rousing opportunities-and keeps the scene more manageably proportioned than the ballet (which is performed as an appendix on Side 8). In theory, then, the new Angel per forming edition seems to me the best avail able to us, but that theoretical advantage is not fully realized in the performance. Placido Domingo makes a good thing of the "new" number-indeed, the Nuit de Walpurgis as a whole goes very nicely-but neither Mirella Freni nor Michele Command does much to show why the Act IV restorations are a good idea. The competition provides no help in this regard either. At least for "Si le bonheur" there's a lovely 1929 Branzell recording (available on Preiser LV 47, which also includes Branzell's "Faites-lui mes aveux"); for "Il ne revient pas" one must still exercise imagination. Not that Freni is painful to listen to. Marguerite doesn't force her to puff up the tone as do the heavier roles she has re corded in recent years; all the same, the voice shows the same imbalance Conrad L. Osborne described in connection with her Boccanegra Amelia (DG 2709 071, February 1978). The sound curdles under pressure, and the middle octave tends to be breathy and unfocused; the lower-middle area is occasionally reinforced by that same eerie "baby chest"-the A flats of "Park, parte en core" in the love duet sound like a Callas impression. Elsewhere the somewhat blowsy quality may sound like a Caballe impression, until you check out the real thing in the Erato set. Like Caballe, Sutherland ( London) is adroop in cloudland, and the Cluytens/Angel version preserves one of De los Angeles' more sluggish performances. Does that make Freni the cream of the stereo crop? Maybe so, but if you expect a Marguerite to give us some reason why we should care about her, you'll have to go back to Steber on the old Met recording (now on Odyssey). Controlled lyric singing is not Domingo's strong suit either, though I'm not about to complain about the sounds he does make. This is a vocally well-managed performance, and it has all the external markings of a "sensitive" one. So why does it leave me cold? It's true that the voice lacks flexibility around and above the break, but this is even more true of Corelli's (Lon don)-a significantly larger-scaled instrument, of course. And yet Corelli almost al ways seems to me to be trying to create Faust from the inside, whereas Domingo settles for grafted-on gestures. The happy surprise of the new set is Nicolai Ghiaurov's Mephisto, a dramatic improvement over his contribution to the London recording, made when the voice was in its gorgeous prime. In those days Ghiaurov was capable of flaunting his voice obnoxiously, and the earlier Mephisto was characterized by an over-weighted, gloppy, bully-boy legato. In recent years, as the up per part of the voice has fallen apart, he has shown little inclination to adjust to his diminished capacities, to reassert control over what could still be a significant instrument. Suddenly we have a new Ghiaurov. He can still manage a firm, rich sound in the lower area-say, from C to G (the voice never had much real bottom); now he's lightening his handling of the upper part of the voice, producing a sound that may lack the former power and brilliance but does complete the voice plausibly, is agreeable to the ear, and is under the singer's control. And that control is exercised to excellent effect-mature, dignified, un-hysterical. Oh, there's some heavy going (e.g., "Reines de beaute" in the Nuit de Walpurgis), but also much singing that is quite lovely to listen to. Another pleasant surprise is the Valentin of Thomas Allen. He fills out this difficult role with continuously bright and at tractive sound, coupled with some real control of tone color, volume, and attack. What's more, his French is not merely correct, but expressive. For sheer vocal oomph Allen won't be mistaken for Lisitsian (in the old Melodiya recording) or Blanc (in the Cluytens / Angel set), but I had no idea we could muster a Valentin of this quality. As suggested earlier, Command is a weak Siebel (but again, the competition ). Jocelyne Taillon is an above-average Marthe, as she was in the Erato set, al though here the competition includes the redoubtable Rita Gorr (Cluytens/Angel). Marc Vento is a fine Wagner. Georges Pretre is the only major conductor I know of who really believes in Faust, and this shows in his refusal to rush things. His tempos are generally on the broad side (although, as I've pointed out before, Gounod's metronome markings are extremely slow); unlike Erato's Alain Lombard, he doesn't let the bottom fall out of the music. I also like the presence of the lower instruments in rich orchestral balance. Pretre has lots of ideas about the score, but he hasn't entirely succeeded in translating them from conception to performance. More rehearsal might have helped; this is, after all, quite different from the Faust the Parisians are used to performing. Part of the problem may be that the Opera forces, in the process of acquiring a modicum of discipline, seem to have lost some of their native flavor. The choral and orchestral work is reasonably efficient but not especially virtuosic or idiomatic. Okay, so this isn't the Faust to con found naysayers. It's better than what we had and quite adequately recorded. K.F. HAYDN: Sonata for Piano, No. 52, in E flat. For a feature review, see page 63. MOZART: Le Nozze di Figaro. CAST: Countess Almaviva Anna Tomova-Sintov (s) Ileana Cotrubas (s) Jane Berbie (s) Christiane Barbaux (s) Susanna Marcellina Barbarina Cherubino Don Basilio Don Curzio Figaro Count Almaviva Tom Krause (b) Antonio Zoltan Kelemen (b) Bartolo Jules Bastin (bs) Konrad Leitner, continuo; Vienna State Opera Chorus, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Herbert von Karajan, cond. [Christopher Raeburn, prod.] LONDON OSA 1443, $35.92 (four discs, automatic sequence). Herbert von Karajan's prodigious technique is hardly news any longer, but to those still unaware of the sheer mastery of his conducting, this recording will come as a revelation. The smooth blend of instrumental textures, the range of colors at his command, even the varieties of attack he elicits from the Vienna Philharmonic reveal a level of virtuosity (not to mention a degree of willpower) that is almost astonishing. Were technical brilliance the sole criterion of artistic achievement, this Figaro would be something to treasure. As it is, it is little more than a curiosity. To see so enormous a talent applied to such dubious artistic aims is cause for wonderment. In his vocal recordings of the last decade or so, Karajan has created a highly distinctive style, in which spontaneity has been replaced by smoothness, dramatic tension by reflectiveness, the play of character by the exercise of rigid authority. To achieve these ends he will sacrifice the individuality of the singer for a homogeneity of sound that is essentially orchestral in character. The result in recording after recording is a devitalized, dreamlike atmosphere, in which the auditor is made to feel like the witness, not of a drama in progress, but of the conductor's recollections of, and reflections on, that drama. So it proves once again. In Karajan's hands, what is arguably the most richly human of Mozart's operas becomes frigid, re mote, and un-engaging. Though matters improve somewhat later on, Act I in particular seems to take place in a world of shadows and ghosts, where characters murmur to one another abstractedly, or breathe their thoughts aloud to themselves in a manner Frederica von Stade (ms) Heinz Zednik (t) Kurt Equiluz (t) Jose van Dam (b) suggesting moonstruck bemusement. The secco recitative preceding "Se vuol ballare," which, according to the score, is meant to be delivered while Figaro is pacing furiously around the room, is whispered in one's ear almost confidentially; Figaro sounds less defiant of the Count than frightened of him-a situation only aggravated by the aria's lack of all élan and there fore insolence. Cherubino's "Non so piii" isa protracted murmur, during which the page seems to be swooning away with incommunicable ecstasy. Susanna and Marcellina try to best one another at a speed so fast and a rhythm so unyielding that all sense of conflict-and therefore of comedy-is put to flight. Much the same is true of the scene in which Cherubino is discovered hiding in Susanna's chair. In Act III, Marcellina's all-important explanation to Susanna of the former's maternal relationship to Figaro is submerged in orchestral sound. In Act IV, the comic misunderstandings that precede the denouement are taken at so fast a clip and treated so airily that the final reconciliation, which seems insufficiently motivated, is robbed of half its effectiveness. In one or two places, Karajan shows himself aware of the powerful forces that confront one another in this opera: in parts of the second-act finale, for example, or in the Count's aria, which has just the right kind of authoritarian weightiness. But on the whole the performance lacks any real sense of dramatic engagement. Of the singers, only Jose van Dam, an artist of uncommon intelligence and musicianship, manages both to sing well and to create a sense of autonomous characterization. The others are seriously hob bled by the intransigence of Karajan's leadership, Cotrubas' Susanna sounding vocally undernourished and dramatically wan, and the Count and Countess of Tom Krause and Anna Tomova-Sintov inelegant and monochromatic. Frederica von Stade's Cherubino is livelier but white of tone and affected in the extreme; it would be good to hear from this talented mezzo some ex tended singing that was both fully sustained and squarely on pitch. Jane Berbie and Jules Bastin are engaging enough but rather too modestly endowed for the demands of Marcellina's and Bartolo's arias. The latter is also true of the less well characterized Basilio of Heinz Zednik. Like the more enjoyable Zoltan Kelemen (Antonio), Zednik needs better Italian coaching. The chorus is good. The recitatives are closely miked, the rest is recorded more spaciously. I find the double focus, like so much in this recording, disconcerting. In any case, the over-resonant sound favored by Karajan is hard to get used to. My copy of London's pressings was uncharacteristically noisy. Libretto and translation are furnished. For Mozart lovers the best Figares currently available are, I believe, Colin Davis' (Phil ips 6707 014) and, though the sound is somewhat dated, Erich Kleiber's (London OSA 1402). D.S.H. MUSGRAVE: Mary, Queen of Scots. CAST: Mary, Mary Seton Mary Beaton Mary Livingstone Mary Fleming Henry, Lord Darnley James Hepburn, Earl, Earl of Ruthven James Stuart, Earl of Cardinal Beaton Earl of Morton Ashley Putnam (s) Gloria Capone (s) Nancy Boling (s) Ann Scholten (ms) Pamela Scott (ms) Jon Garrison (t) of Bothwell Barry Busse (t) Pietro Pozzo (t) Moray Jake Gardner (b) Carlos Serrano (b) Robert Randolph (b) Kenneth Bell (bs-b) Francesco Sorianello (bs) David Riccio Lord Gordon Virginia Opera Association Orchestra and Chorus, Peter Mark, cond. [Allen House, prod.] Moss Music GROUP MMG 301, $24.95 (three discs, manual sequence). Very few operas written in the past fifteen or twenty years have received the kind of attention that Thea Musgrave's Mary, Queen of Scots received at its world premiere at the Edinburgh Festival in September 1977 and its first American performances in Norfolk, Virginia, in April 1978. But then, very few contemporary op eras have the kind of immediate appeal that this one has. Its success goes to show that, even in an age when ascetic psychodramas have made inroads on our musical stages, opera is still a powerful vehicle for good old intrigue, sex, and blood-and if the characters happen to be queens, lords, courtiers, and soldiers, so much the better. Musgrave's third full-length opera deals with seven years in the life of the ill fated Queen of Scots, from the time of her return to Scotland after the death of her husband, Francis II of France (in 1561, when she was eighteen), until she retreated to England, deprived of her honor and her crown. Within that period, Mary wed her cousin Darnley, her half-brother James staged the "Chase about Raid," Riccio was murdered, the future James I of England was born, Darnley was killed, and plots merged with counterplots. There's obviously plenty of material here for an opera. Or two or three. Like her predecessor Donizetti, Musgrave chose to take certain liberties with history (though while he entered the world of fantasy by staging the meeting of Queens Mary and Elizabeth a la Schiller, she has made her alterations in the name of dramatic and theatrical coherence). She fashioned her own libretto from an unpublished play by Amalia Elguera, who wrote the libretto for Musgrave's The Voice of Ariadne, staged by the New York City Op era in 1977. The grace with which the text and the music dance together demonstrates that the composer made the final decisions about the two simultaneously. Perhaps the most stunning aspect of this opera is its theatricality; Musgrave's sense of timing seems to be all but infallible. This is particularly important for Americans, who are unlikely to know all the ramifications of English and Scottish history and, thus, may miss the almost mythic implications that the story of Mary holds for British subjects. Even now, it has timely lessons for the Empire. Fortunately, this is not a crucial part of Musgrave's op era; indeed, if there is a lesson to be learned from Mary, it seems to me to have to do with the relations of men and women and power, a topic about which the composer apparently felt strongly, even to making the Earl of Bothwell a rapist, ignoring the fact that he would become the queen's third husband. The scope of the subject matter, and the fact that the three acts revolve around scenes in the ballroom, at court, and at table, might suggest that Mary, Queen of Scots is grandiose, not just grand. In fact, the work is easily managed, both by companies of modest size and by first-time listeners. The forty-odd-piece orchestra is used more for its variety of colors than for its concerted impact; Musgrave's scoring is more notable for its delicacy (especially at such moments as when the crown's jewels glitter sonically) than for its force. The instruments' roles vacillate: Sometimes they announce dramatic events, and sometimes they comment, after the fact. It's hard to say whether or not the orchestra was meant to serve this double purpose, but it comes across to excellent effect in performance, not as a liability. The score is at its best in the passages of relative relaxation, such as the arias and ensembles (yes, old-fashioned arias and ensembles) where the mood is reflective. These include some gorgeous sections using old tunes and dance forms that not only fit into the historical context and give the work an ingenious kind of stability, but meld well with the composer's own clean, lucid style, which avoids trendiness at every point. The ways in which Musgrave has woven the vocal lines above and around these sixteenth-century melodies are both revealing and refreshing-revealing of her own musical inclinations, and refreshing in their purity and imaginativeness. The opera is a vehicle for a virtuoso soprano who can handle a high tessitura and take command of the stage while evoking the wit ness' empathy. Fortunately, the Virginia Opera Association, guided by Musgrave's husband, Peter 'Mark, has just such a soprano in the young Ashley Putnam. Jake Gardner's portrayal of James is very fine, and Jon Garrison (Darnley), Barry Busse (Bothwell), and Kenneth Bell (Riccio) are all more than adequate, but it is definitely Putnam's show. The soprano's performance is first-rate in every respect; anyone who might have doubted that she is on her way to stardom has only to hear this to have all doubts dispelled. There are certain aspects of this recording about which one has to have reservations. As good as it is that the Moss Music Group has seen fit to release Mary, Queen of Scots, the advisability of using a tape of a live performance is questionable--and if we did have to have a "live from the theater in Norfolk" ambience, did it really have to include the applause? For the purposes of recording, it would have been better to re-tape some of the ensembles and most of the choruses. The chorus is the performance's weakest link, and there are times when the chain seems to fall apart completely. Still, the opera's appearance on records is a welcome event. This is a very important work; witness not only the performances that have already taken place, but those that are contemplated by companies such as the New York City Opera. There are many pleasures to be derived here-not least the pleasure of knowing that this kind of work can still be created. K.M. MUSSORGSKY: Pictures at an Exhibition. For a feature review, see page 63. PAER: Leonora. CAST: Leonora Marcellina Florestano Pizzarro Fernando Giacchino Rocco Ursula Koszut (s) Edita Gruberova (s) Siegfried Jerusalem (t) Norberth Orth (t) John van Kesteren (t) Wolfgang Brendel (b) Giorgio Tadeo (bs) Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Peter Maag, cond. [Ray Minshull, prod.] LONDON OSA 13133, $23.94 (three discs, automatic sequence). For long, Ferdinando Paer (1771 1839) has been known to record collectors-if at all-as the composer of a delightful aria, from his 1821 opera-comique Le Maitre de chapelle, in which the eponymous hero describes an opera he is writing about Cleopatra; complete with instrumental imitations (in the style later and further developed by Peter Ustinov), this was recorded in the late 1920s by the famous French basso Lucien Fugere, then a vivacious eighty years of age. More recently, a "complete" recording (without the spoken dialog) was issued by Barclay/ Inedits ORTF (995.004). This amiable curtain-raiser apparently remained in the active Paris repertory until the Second World War. In truth, Paer's contribution to the pleasure it engendered rested mainly on his thorough knowledge of the period's operatic clichés and a vivid sense of how to send them up [see also PHL's review of Cimarosa's I] Maestro di cappella. Though he occupied several important positions and wrote quite a number of operas, Paer's place in the history books is not large. From his native Parma, he moved to Vienna in 1798, as Kapellmeister at the Karntnerthor Theater, and then to Dres den's Hoftheater (in 1802, 3, or 4, depending on which source you consult); when Napoleon marched through, he added Paer to his retinue and took him off to Paris to run the Opera-Comique and teach music to the imperial family. In 1812, Paer succeeded Spontini as music director of the Theatre des Italiens, a post he held until 1827. (I'm telling you all this because Decca/London's booklet contains not a jot of biographical information, as if the com poser were as familiar as Beethoven or Verdi!) Most of Paer's posthumous celebrity is based on the historical happenstance here given recorded actuality: At Dresden in October 1804 he presented his setting of the same operatic subject that Beethoven used for Fidelio, first performed in Vienna in November 1805. Both Paer's anonymous librettist (presumed to have been one Giacomo Cinti, a singer) and Joseph Sonnleithner, who prepared the text of the first version of Fidelio, were translating (into Italian and German, respectively) and adapting the same source material: a French libretto by Bouilly, Lionore, ou l'amour conjugal, originally set to music by Pierre Gaveaux and performed in Paris in 1798. The consider able similarities between Cinti's recitatives and Sonnleithner's dialogue ought not to be surprising, nor the close correspondence in the sequence of musical numbers. Beyond that, however, scholars have noted certain common divergences from the Bouilly libretto shared by Leonora and Fidelio, suggesting that Beethoven might have known Paer's work. Furthermore, the catalog of the posthumous auction of Beethoven's effects indicates that he owned a manuscript score of Paer's opera-though we have no idea of when he acquired it (and there is some suspicion, too, that the dealer of that auction sneaked in some things never owned by Beethoven, in the hope of getting higher prices on the basis of association value). These ears heard nothing of resemblance between the two works to argue any connection beyond the common source and their chronological and geographical propinquity, and I suspect their common divergences from Bouilly are most simply explained by the hypothesis that Sonnleithner had access to Cinti's libretto soon after October 1804. As for Beethoven's copy of the score, that probably came into his hands later, when Leonora was privately performed in 1806 at the Lobkowitz Palace or when he heard it in a public performance in 1809 (in German). Paer uses the lingua franca of post Mozartean Italian-opera-in-Central- Europe very proficiently. In his overture, he summons up a melody in the noble vein of Cherubini and Beethoven, and later brings it back in Leonora's big scena (the equivalent of "Abscheulicher”) but he is evidently unable to develop it into a structure of Beethovenian substance. Throughout, Pair's aspirations toward nobility of style founder on his inability to transform his fluent discursiveness into genuine musical-dramatic argument. The emphasis of this libretto is personal rather than ethical, a trait it shares with Beethoven's first version and not with the more monumental final revision of Fidelio that we know best. Marcellina and her tiresome subplot are even more pervasive; she makes a quite disastrous appearance in the dungeon scene, after Pizzarro and Rocco have gone off to investigate the trumpet call, simperingly extracting a promise of love from the supposed "Fe dele" in return for taking a message to Don Fernando. This tasteless episode trivializes the opera's climax beyond redemption. Unquestionably, a recording of Paer's opera fills a historical gap; we have precious few recordings of operas written between Mozart's death and Rossini's rise, and it gives us some idea of the kind of thing people were listening to. But its relationship to Beethoven-and to great mu sic-is purely coincidental; whatever Beethoven might possibly have learned from Leonora, it was certainly not any of the things that make him Beethoven, that make Fidelio a transcendent, galvanizing work his genius for inventing music of dramatic structural density and unprecedented expressive gravity, for deriving from harmonic and rhythmic processes a tension that could ignite and illuminate theatrical actions and characters. Paer's amiable note-spinning knows nothing of such possibilities. In the absence of a score, I am reluctant to vouch for the probity of this recording. Peter Maag's note includes the curious statement that his "task as arranger was ... limited to completing the viola part, which in many places was merely sketched in, to setting the secco recitatives, and to making cuts as carefully and as reverently as possible (i.e. by shortening over-long cadenzas while keeping faith with the idiom of the epoch). The only real liberty I took was in changing some secco recitatives into accom meant/ particularly at points of high drama. All the rest is authentic." It isn't clear whether some of these editorial intrusions were made necessary by the imperfect condition of the source materials or resulted merely from the conductor's whim. Where the latter was the case (as in changing secco into accompagnato) it is hard to avoid the feeling that a recording of such a work, of interest primarily to historians and students, ought insofar as possible to reflect the historical facts, avoiding anachronisms and falsifications. At any rate, we certainly ought to be given a much more precise ac count of any such and of the reasons for committing them. By the same token, London's booklet ought to have provided much more historical information than it does, placing Paer and his work in a broad context rather than effusing at length about the "fascinating" (in reality, obvious and mostly inevitable) "parallels between the two works." (For that matter, there is no biographical information about the mostly unfamiliar singers, either.) Since reviving Leonora in Parma in 1974, Maag has conducted it several times, and he knows how to make it move along fluently. What he cannot do anything about is the lack of singers with the flexibility that this music demands. Ursula Koszut, a soprano whose basic timbre shows some of the vibrant edginess we associate with Regine Crespin, is also frequently erratic of intonation, while her provincial Italian diction (from the province of Baviera, that is) results in a less than convincingly fervent delivery of Leonora's lines. Edita Gruberova (Marcellina) makes a better showing with both words and notes, and Giorgio Tadeo (Rocco), though rough of voice, is at least vividly at home in both the verbal and musical languages. I found Siegfried Jerusalem (Florestano) surprisingly Italianate in sound and diction; it cannot be said, however, that he moves his impressive and attractive sound about the florid lines with great facility. In this version, both Pizzarro and Fernando are tenors; both would benefit from more substantial voices than here pro vided, and Norberth Orth's Italian is execrable. Conversely, Jaquino is a baritone, acceptably sung by Wolfgang Brendel. There is no chorus. The Bavarian Symphony Orchestra plays well, and the re corded sound is clean and naturally placed. The usual libretto and translation are provided. D.H. SCHUMANN: Orchestral Works. Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Rafael Kubelik, cond. COLUMBIA M3 35199, $26.98 (three discs, manual sequence). Symphonies: No. 1, in B flat, Op. 38 (Spring); No. 2, in C, Op. 61; No. 3, in E flat, Op. 97 (Rhenish); No. 4, in D minor, Op. 120. Manfred Overture, Op. 115. COMPARISONS--Symphonies: Barenboim/Chicago Sym. DG 2709 075 Szell/Cleveland Orch. Odys. Y3 30844 Karajan /Berlin Phil. DG 2709 036 There are three fundamental problems in performing the Schumann sym phonies: achieving the right sound, an un broken line, and a unifying pulse. The problem of sound is rooted in Schumann's difficulties in finding the instrumentation that precisely represented his ideas. His re visions of his scores, like Mahler's, reflect a search for greater precision and clarity in registration, making explicit the colors and textures he had in mind. He was never completely successful, but never so unsuccessful that a conductor with a good ear and stylistic insight cannot secure a strong effect with either textual editing or careful rehearsal--or with (most commonly) a mix ture of the two. Szell's clarifications of the orchestration (based on those of Weingartner) made his edition a landmark in the early 1960s. In these symphonies the rhythm is frequently supported by the harmony, and both are employed to enhance a flowing melodic line that moves with enormous flexibility. The conductor's task is to keep the music moving-even in the slowest phrases there must be a sense of thrust-and to link the many transitions in pulse and thematic material into a seamless fabric of sound. Here Barenboim fails; the line is not always sustained, and many of the transitions are abrupt. Karajan, whose performances are somewhat more militant and assertive than Szell's or Kubelik's, manages these matters well. For those who prefer power to poetry, his set remains the one to acquire. Kubelik has been playing this music throughout his career, and an earlier recording of the four symphonies (with the Berlin Philharmonic) is available on DG Privilege single discs (2535 116/8). I prefer the newer set: The engineering has improved; Kubelik has matured and mellowed; and he is heard with his own orchestra, a group of musicians who in years of close association have learned how best to realize his ideas. His underlying approach is based on the assumption that Schumann is an unabashed Romantic-that his music is sup posed to evoke our feelings and awake our imagination and that this is to be achieved by shaping a melodic phrase with the most intense regard for every detail. This was Szell's approach, and he was so successful that the Odyssey discs remain of prime historical importance. Unfortunately they are not all of the same technical quality, but their faults (a tendency to boomy bass, for example) can be remedied with a large equalizer. Kubelik has extremely good, modern recording that exploits the resonance of a fine hall, and although there is significant variation in detail between his performances and Szell's (especially in matters of tempo), one can argue that this album will take the place in the catalog that the Szell set held for many years. Kubelik's First Symphony gets off to a wonderful start, with the brass heralding the coming of spring and the introductory phrases leading us into the energetic primary theme of the first movement without any loss of poetic eloquence or musical vitality. Not surprisingly, the entire performance proves to be solidly grounded in the finest elements of the German Romantic tradition. The Second Symphony must move successfully from a very assertive opening movement to a tricky scherzo. The awkward stops and starts heard in many readings are missing here. The Adagio espressivo is surely Schumann's finest slow movement for orchestra. Most conductors manage the espressivo better than the adagio: They get worried about letting the line go slack and quicken the pace. Kubelik sticks to Schumann's markings with impressive results and then follows with a highly energetic account of the robust finale. The Rhenish is an exceptionally dramatic, extroverted symphony, and the problem is to keep it Schumannesque rather than make it sound like bastardized Brahms. This is accomplished in part by recognizing the distinctive features of the instrumentation, as Kubelik does here. I confess, I would be happier if the middle section of the third movement (Nicht schnell) were a trifle quicker, but it works well at his slower tempo. And he succeeds in making the fifth movement a convincing resolution, not the anticlimax it frequently becomes. The Fourth Symphony is bound together by the cyclical return of thematic material, and here it is important that the form of the work be made explicit. Again Kubelik meets all requirements, and I especially admire the way he keeps the rhythm firm, without exaggerated ostinato-like effects. The result is a very refined statement of a work that is frequently played rather crudely. This album, which also includes a fine, Byronic account of the Manfred Over ture, is a touchstone. We will be using it as a standard for many years. R.C.M. SHOSTAKOVICH: Quartets for Strings: No. 1, in C, Op. 49; No. 2, in A, Op. 68. Fitzwilliam Quartet. [Peter Wadland and Raymond Ware, prod.] OISEAU-LYRE DSLO 31, $9.98. COMPARISON: Borodin Qt. Sera. 5 6034 And so the Fitzwilliam Quartet completes its traversal of the Shostakovich Fifteen. It's a remarkable achievement: remarkable because the quartet is young, and few such groups are willing to begin their recording careers with a huge and demanding body of contemporary classics; remark able because it's a financially risky venture for any Western record company, when not even all of Shostakovich's fifteen sym phonies can be found in SCHWANN (No. 3 is missing); remarkable because the Fitz william's general level of technical prowess and musical comprehension matches that of the composer's countrymen, as heard on various Soviet recordings. The contrast apparent throughout the series between the Fitzwilliam versions and the most widely available rival-the Borodin Quartet's boxed sets-remains in this earliest pair of quartets. The Fitz william's balancing of voices is quite even handed. The First Quartet, for example, avoids both the over-prominent cello glis sandos found in the first movement of the Gabrieli Quartet version (London Treasury STS 15396) and the viola-dominated texture of the Borodin's second movement. The Fitzwilliam's intonation remains rather more secure than the Borodin's through the savage outbursts of the Second Quartet. In that work's giant Passacaglia finale, the new performance may be less breathlessly exciting in the rapid variations, but it more effectively points the climax of the movement toward the final, slow restatement of the theme. On the other hand, the Borodin digs more wickedly into the clucking sarcasm of the First Quartet's opening movement, the spectral atmosphere of its scherzo, and the utter vivacity of its finale. In these movements the Fitzwilliam is relatively earthbound, and in parts of the Second Quartet it is less rapt and intense than the Borodin. To take the cycle as a whole, the Fitz william stresses formal coherence, classical reserve, and technical finesse, in contrast to the earthiness and color of the Borodin set. L’Oiseau-Lyre's sonics are considerably cleaner than Melodiya's in the Seraphim pressing, but Seraphim compensates with an attractive price and more extensive notes. Of course, the Borodin had done only the first eleven quartets at the time of its two-volume American release; Nos. 12 and 13 had been added by the time of the British issue in a single box (SLS 879), worth seeking out from import sources. But you'll still have to supplement the Soviet recordings with another coupling of Nos. 14 and 15-either the Taneyev Quartet's (Columbia/Melodiya M 34527) or an import that is in some respects even better, the Beethoven Quartet's (EMI HQS 1362). Whether you choose a composite Soviet series or the Fitzwilliam set, you should have at least one version of this important body of literature. A.C. SMETANA: Quartets for Strings. For a feature, see page 72. Recitals and Miscellany LUCIANO PAVAROTTI: O solemio: Favorite Neapolitan Songs. Luciano Pavarotti, tenor; Bologna Teatro Comunale Orchestra, Anton Guadagno, cond.; National Philharmonic Orchestra, Gian Carlo Chiaramello, cond.* [Ray Minshull and James Mallinson, prod.] LONDON OS 26560, $8.98. Tape: 0S5 26560, $8.98 (cassette). DI CAPUA: O sole mio*; Maria, Mari'. TOSTI: 'A vucchella*; Marechiare*. CANNIO: 'O surdato 'nnammurato. GAM BARDELLA: 'O marenariello. DE CURTIS: Torna a Surriento*; Tu, ca nun chiagne! PENNINO: Pecche? D'ANNIBALE: 'O paese d'o sole. TAGLIAFERRI: Piscatore pusilleco. DENZA: Funiculi, funicula. ANON.: Fenesta vascia. Luciano Pavarotti's immense popularity derives, there can be little doubt, from the irresistible combination of un usual vocal talent and great personal charm. The former was originally manifested by an individual timbre, a forward placement of tone, a solidly warm middle register, and a remarkable upward extension to at least C sharp. The charm, I am convinced, has its origins in the visual rather than the vocal and has much to do with the kind of vulnerability evinced by certain men of Falstaffian girth, like Jackie Gleason or Fatty Arbuckle. Therefore the effectiveness of Pavarotti's charm is pretty well limited to his personal appearances whether live or televised-and, except by his most fervent fans, is not easily discernible in his records, where his vocal talents must fend for themselves. Sad to say, the steady over-exploitation of Pavarotti's voice during the past few years-his assumption of such heavy roles as Manrico, Cavaradossi, and Fiesco de serves no other judgment-has impaired its once considerable attractiveness and the ease with which he used to produce his brilliant high notes. The present disc, recorded between 1977 and 1979, only con firms the vocal decline one hears these days in the opera house and in such recordings as his Tosca with Mirella Freni. There is no getting around the fact that in these Neapolitan songs, where a relaxed and ingratiating manner is every thing, Pavarotti sounds strained, anxious, and un-beguiling. The long-held, loud high C in " 'O surdato 'nnammurato," for example, is neither easily produced nor pure in tone. But high notes are by no means his only problem. The mezza voce he uses in " vuc chella" is little more than a hoarse croon, and in places (such as in the second verse of-Fenesta vascia-) the tone simply flakes. Perhaps it is because Pavarotti's de livery is so much more strenuous than it used to be that he feels a need to aggrandize these songs, to drag out the middle section of "Marechiare," for instance, or the opening of " 'A vucchella.- The effect, in any case, is hardly winning. To compare these performances with the records of Schipa, Gigli, or Di Stefano is to see very clearly that Pavarotti is out of his element as well as out of voice. London's recording is close and resonant. There are notes and texts with translations, as well as an enthusiastic chorus, un-credited on the record liner. D.S.H.
(High Fidelity, Jan. 1980) Also see: Are Your Old Records Worth $$$?
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