-Reviewed by:

John Canarina Scott Cantrell Kenneth Cooper R. D. Darrell Peter G. Davis Kenneth Furie Harris Goldsmith Matthew Gurewitsch David Hamilton Dale S. Harris R. Derrick Henry Joseph Horowitz Nicholas Kenyon Allan Ko:inn Paul Henry Jung Irving Lowens Karen Monson Robert P. Morgan James R. Oestreich Conrad L. Osborne Andrew Porter Patrick J. Smith Paul A. Snook Susan T. Sommer

above: Virgil Thomson, Gertrude Stein: creators of Four Saints in Three Acts.

BACH: Goldberg Variations, S. 998

BACH: Mass in B mino

BARTOK: Quartets for Strings (6).

Lindsay Quartet. [Mark Brown. prod.] VANGUARD AUDIOPHILE VA 25011/3. $38.94 (digital recording: three discs, manual sequence).

COMPARISONS:

Juilliard Qrt. CBS D3S 717

Vegh Qrt. MHS 1501/3

Hungarian Qrt. DC Priv. 2728 011

Tokyo Qrt. DG 2740 235

The Bartok quartets-once considered "modern" and " inaccessible"--have decisively entered the standard repertory.

They now turn up on the programs of virtually every student ensemble, and some crowd-pleasing concerts have featured the quartets in toto. (Near-toto, anyway: a student work, composed before the turn of the century, which the Tatrai performed against Bartok's expressed wishes, has never entered the "complete" canon. which dates from 1908-39.) Recently the Juilliard Quartet, which recorded the first complete cycle in early LP days and another in stereo in the 1960s, taped a third version digitally. But Van guard has beaten CBS to the punch with this integral performance by the little-known tin America, anyway) Lindsay Quartet. The Lindsays hail from England, although the annotations belabor the fact that they studied these works with echt-Bartok specialists such as Sandor Vegh, Alexander Mosz kowski, Vilmos Tatrai, and Zoltan Szekely. (Their basic training was with Sidney Griller.) Their performances, which display sincerity of purpose, basic musicality, and certain probing interpretive points, are nevertheless staid and mild-mannered, under playing the works' power and virtuosity.

Though the first movement of No. 2 has a direct, unvarnished, "let's get down to the basics" quality, and many of the pianissimo high violin passages in all the works emerge with a rapt luminosity (aided to some degree by the digital conics), the Lindsays seem unwilling (or unable'?) to take the bull by the horns. Their playing, earnest and mostly competent, lacks the motoric precision, the rhythmic bite, the passion and energy we have come to expect in this music. Nor does their cool British civilization really measure up to the rich vein of native lyricism found in the Vegh and Hungarian versions. It's the same thing over and over: The outer movements of No. 4 amble along, and the concluding phrase they share lacks the requisite slashing conclusiveness both times. No. 5's dynamic, hammering first movement is small-scaled.

No. 6's yearning is distinctly tepid and constrained.

Furthermore, there are signs that, in the effort to corner (momentarily) the digital market, these recordings were hastily processed. For instance, certain extraneous noises--such as the horrendous chair squeak in the third movement of No. 2 were allowed to remain. In music so rich in atmosphere and special effects, such intrusions are intolerably distracting.

Many collectors prize the Juilliard interpretations, virtually identical in the first two sets. (I expect the newest accounts to be somewhat looser and more lyrical.) The group's approach to No. 5, so taut and fiercely dynamic, has always seemed ideal to me: elsewhere, though, the Juilliard of 1946-66 tended toward brittle acerbity and a certain unyielding formality. Its highly varnished, slightly metallic, and very un-nuanced sound makes these pieces sound more like Elliot Carter than Bartok. I favor the Vegh and Tokyo interpretations. The Vegh's No. 4, brimful of audacious vitality, is just as unique as the Juilliard's No. 5 (and the New Music Quartet's No. 3 on an old Bartok Society LP: these three ensembles "own" those works). The Vegh else where provides fuel for thought with its clipped, structurally-oriented approach and achieves a kind of pulsating nuance that makes the music speak with a native Hungarian dialect. The Hungarian's performances, similar to the Vegh's in most ways, provide an excellent medium-price alternative. The Tokyo, on the other hand, excels in finesse and technical virtuosity. It has the most color and flexibility of any of these groups and is wondrously well recorded in the bargain.

-H.G.

BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 4, in B flat, Op. 60; Ah, perfido!, Op. 65. Eva Marton. soprano: English Chamber Orchestra. Michael Tilson Thomas, cond. [Steven Epstein, prod.] CBS MASTERWORKS IM 37209 (digital recording). Tape: HMT 37209 (cassette). [Price at dealer's option.]

BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 5, in C minor, Op. 67; Egmont Overture, Op. 84. London Symphony Orchestra. Pierre Monteux. cond.

LONDON TREASURY STS 15519. $5.98.

BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 7, in A, Op. 92; Egmont Overture, Op. 84. London Symphony Orchestra. Enrique Batiz. cond. [Brian B. Culverhouse, prod.] VARESE SARABANDE VCDM 1000.160. $15 (digital recording).

A little sticker appended to the outer sleeve of the CBS release bills the unfolding Michael Tilson Thomas cycle as the "first recordings of the complete Beethoven sym phonies in their chamber orchestra versions." For one thing. these are no special versions; Beethoven wrote for smaller forces than one usually hears today. and about the only difference in instrumentation here is that the woodwinds aren't doubled and the strings quadrupled-or whatever.

For another, CBS itself recorded the Nine with Bruno Walter and the Columbia Sym phony. an aggregation of virtually "chamber" dimensions. (Neville Marriner also recorded a Fourth, as well as a First and Second. with the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. ) A small orchestra has advantages and disadvantages in the Beethoven symphonies. One of the gains ought to be greater clarity and crispness, and in that respect.

the Thomas Fourth scores over the Walter (Odyssey Y7 30051) and the Marriner (Philips, deleted), both of which use electronic trickery to bloat the sonorities and approximate a larger orchestra. But at least for me, this performance lacks the sense of power-in-reserve that makes the Beethovenian effect potent.

The introduction, though respectfully phrased and well paced, loses its requisite mystery from being too close and loud. Nor does the outburst at the beginning of the Allegro vivace pack the wallop it should.

Even with his scrawny forces, Thomas could have projected greater power if his timpani weren't so bloody discrete. And so it goes throughout: The Adagio is jaunty rather than inward, the scherzo-though crisply phrased-ineffectual and small-scaled, the moto perpetuo finale volatile in pacing but frivolous in effect. It's not a bad performance, just an innocuous and un-stimulating one--emotionally tepid and coloristically neutral.

Ah, petfido! , a much earlier work than its opus number implies (and all the more remarkable for its 1796 vintage), suffers less from the mode of presentation. Eva Marton, a Hungarian soprano, sings securely and artistically. If she lacks some of the grandeur of a Nilsson or Flagstad (not to mention the vehemence--or venom--of Crespin's woman scorned in her Odyssey performance with Schippers, just deleted), the music's pathos comes across admirably.

Thomas' phrasing is poised and scrupulous, and the orchestra responds adroitly. The pressing is fine.

The inexplicably belated release of Pierre Monteux's c. 1961 Fifth completes, at long last, that distinguished maestro's cycle of Beethoven symphonies. This isn't quite the way I remember his Fifth in con cert: Here, for example, he waxes rhetorical, taking the motto much slower than the first movement in general. It gives the movement greater breadth than it had in his performances at Tanglewood and Lewis sohn Stadium, but at the price of some idiosyncratic dislocation. The three subsequent movements are more traditional, although the finale is distinctly brisk. The playing, aside from a few tentative attacks and releases, is admirable, and this classically cool and reserved interpretation is welcome, particularly at the price. The Egmont (another first in Monteux's discography; would that London had also included the Leonore No. 3 it has in the vault) is, if any thing, even more compelling: This is a massive reading that rivals the great 1939 Toscanini broadcast once issued on HMV 78s.

The recording is almost modern--very impactful and clean, with good woodwind detail.

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Critics' Choice

The most noteworthy releases reviewed recently

ALKAN: Piano Works. Smith. ARABESQUE 8127-3 (3), July.

BACH: Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I. Horszowski. VANGUARD CARDINAL VCS 10138/ 40 (3). Oct.

BARTOK: Orchestral Works. Budapest Phil harmonic, Budapest Symphony. loci. SEFEL SEFD 5005/9 (5). Sept.

BERLIOZ: Beatrice et Benedict. Minton, Domingo, Barenboim. DG 2707 130 (2), Nov.

BRAHMS: Cello Sonatas (2). Perenyi. Kocsis. HUNGAROTON SLPX 12123, Nov.

CHERUBINI: Requiem in C minor. Ambrosian Singers, Philharmonia, Muti. ANGEL DS 37789, Nov.

DEBUSSY, RAVEL: String Quartets. Galimir Quartet. VANGUARD VA 25009. Sept.

DOWLAND: Songbooks (4). Consort of Musicke, Rooley. OISEAU-LYRE DSLO 508/9 (2), 528/9 (2), 531/2 (2). 585/6 (2), Aug.

FAURE: Penelope. Norman, Vanzo, Dutoit.

ERATO STU 71386 (3), Dec.

GILLES: Requiem. Ghent Collegium Vocale, Cologne Musica Antigua, Herreweghe. ARCHIV 2533 461, Sept.

HAYDN: Paris Symphonies (6). Berlin Philharmonic, Karajan. DG 2741 005 (3), Oct.

HAYDN: Piano Sonatas (6). Gould. CBS 12M 36947 (2). Nov.

HAYDN: Symphonies, Vols. 1, 2. L'Estro Arrnonico, Solomons. SAGA HAYDN I (3), 2 (3), Oct.

JANACEK: Cunning Little Vixen. Popp, Jed Uka. Mackerras. LONDON LDR 72010 (2), Nov.

MacDOWELL: First Modern Suite; Piano Sonata No. 4. Fierro. NONESUCH H 71399, Nov.

MENDELSSOHN: Violin Concerto.

BRUCH: Concerto No. 1. Mutter: Berlin Philharmonic, Karajan. DG 2532 016, Dec.

MOZART: Apollo et Hyacinthus. Mathis, Wulkopf, Hager. DG 2707 129 (2), Dec.

MOZART: String Quartets Nos. 17, 21. Panocha Quartet. DENON OX 7004-ND. Nov.

MOZART: Two-, Three-Piano Concertos, K. 365, 242. Eschenbach, Frantz. ANGEL DS 37903, Oct.

NIELSEN: Symphony No. 4. Berlin Philharmonic. Karajan. DG 2532 029, Oct.

SHOSTAKOVICH: Symphony No. 10. Berlin Philharmonic, Karajan. DG 2532 030, Nov.

TCHAIKOVSKY: Piano Concerto No. I. Cliburn, Kondrashin. RCA ATL 1-4099. Dec.

BERLIN PHILHARMONIC: 100 YEARS.

EMI ELECTROLA IC 137-54095/9 (5), Dec.

BERLIN PHILHARMONIC: 100 YEARS, VOL. 2. Furtwangler. DG 2740 260 (6), Dec.

FLUTE MUSIC OF LES SIX. Boyd, Schmidt.

STOLAT SZM 0119, Oct.

HEINRICH STROBEL: Verehrter Meister, lieber Freund. Southwest German Radio.

SCHUMANN/DG 0629 027/31 (5), Oct.

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The Mexican-born Enrique Batiz shows signs of lyrical sensitivity and coloristic awareness in the Seventh, but his performance lacks what the work most needs-a firm sense of rhythm. Often the very fast tempos are negated by shapelessness and lack of breathing space. Together with the reverberation of the recorded acoustic, this uncontrolled hurtling ahead gives the disconcerting impression of a rocket broken in half-part zooming into the stratosphere, part remaining on the launching pad. The spineless, unarticulated precipitation combined with oozing legato (the third-movement trio emerges like toothpaste from a tube!) makes the performance sound like a caricature of Karajan's 1961 Berlin reading, unsuccessful enough in itself. The Egmont, though somewhat better, is again scrambled by the "spacious" recording. Batiz undeniable talents arc misplaced in this demanding and familiar music.

BERNSTEIN: Dybbuk: Suites Nos. 1*, 2.

Paul Sperry, tenor*: Bruce Fifer. bass-baritone*: New York Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein, cond. [John McClure. prod. ] DEtrrsatt: GRAMMOPHON 2531 348. $10.98.

BERNSTEIN: Halil.* Mass: Three Meditations.t On the Waterfront: Symphonic Suite.

Jean-Pierre Rampal, flute*: Mstislav Rostropovich, cello: Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. Leonard Bernstein. cond. [Hanno Rinke, prod.] DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 2532 051, $12.98 (digital recording). Tape: 3302 051, $12.98 (cassette).

Premiered in 1974. the ballet Dybbuk is one of several collaborations between Leonard Bernstein and choreographer Jerome Robins--their first since the tremendously successful West Side Story, of 1957. Bernstein's Columbia recording of the complete score with the New York City Ballet Orchestra is no longer available. Here we have essentially the same music rearranged into two suites for concert purposes. Bern stein and the New York Philharmonic per formed the suites in the spring of 1975 and presumably recorded them then; one wonders why it has taken seven years for this disc to see light of day.

In Jewish folklore a dybbuk is the disembodied spirit of a dead person that seeks to enter the body of a living being. The ballet is based on a play of the same name by Shlomo Ansky (1863-1920), involving love, death, and exorcism. Bernstein has called it a story of "Good and Evil, Ends and Means, Male and Female, Justice and Necessity, Self and Society, . . . and especially the duality of the so-called True World as opposed to this world in which we seem to reside." In composing Dybbuk, Bernstein took his inspiration from the kabbalah, the Jewish mystical system of numerology. Every note was chosen through cabalistic or mystical manipulation of numbers. One might expect the result to sound contrived, but no--Dybbuk is one of Bernstein's most striking and powerful scores, and it's difficult to imagine how a single note might be changed. As befits the subject, it's also one of his starkest and grimmest works, unrelieved by any suggestion of the wonderful Bernstein lightheartedness.

The first suite, lasting slightly more than half an hour, is the more dramatic and successful entity, dealing with what the composer calls the "poetry of earth," a term by which he affirms his belief in tonality. More ephemeral is the much shorter second, the "poetry of air," which avoids key centers and employs scales of eight notes rather than the conventional seven or twelve.

This authoritative performance cannot be faulted in any way. Surely Bernstein knows how his music should go, and he elicits brilliant and committed playing from the Philharmonic, as well as vigorous and expressive singing from Paul Sperry and Bruce Fifer, who intone the Hebrew texts interspersed throughout the first suite.

The Philharmonic, in its sole appearance on DG, receives sound superior to what CBS usually gives it-clearer, more natural, less reverberant-even though the producer is the same as for most of Bernstein's old Columbia recordings. Different microphones, perhaps? Halil is the Hebrew word for "flute," and Bernstein's 1981 score was written in memory of a nineteen-year-old Israeli flutist killed in the 1973 war. "I never knew Yadin Tanenbaum," writes the composer, "but I know his spirit." The subtitle Nocturne for Solo Flute, String Orchestra, and Percussion is not meant to evoke the music of Chopin and others. Rather, this work inhabits the eerie night world of Bartok.

Again in Bernstein's words: "It is a kind of night-music which, from its opening twelve-tone row to its ambiguously diatonic final cadence, is an ongoing conflict of nocturnal images: wish-dreams, nightmares, repose, sleeplessness, night-terrors-and sleep itself, Death's twin brother. . . ." As with much of Bernstein's work, tonal and non-tonal elements struggle and compete with each other, but the composer has the talent and, yes, the mastery to combine them in a totally convincing musical statement. This is particularly true of Halil; like Chichester Psalms, it contains one of those achingly beautiful melodies only Bernstein can write.

Jean-Pierre Rampal, who gave the premiere, is the soloist, and there's no faulting his performance either. Let's hope other flutists (and conductors) take up this eloquent and dramatic work. (The designation "string orchestra and percussion" is not entirely accurate, as there are moments when the solo flute is joined by alto flute and piccolo, whose players, in concert, are meant to be unseen by the audience.) The "Three Meditations" from Mass are somewhat in the same vein-contemplative, with an eerie and disturbed nocturnal atmosphere. Yet Bernstein is not one of those composers who seem continually to be writing the same piece. The solo cello part, while lyrical, is less overtly so than Halil's flute part. In fact it is mostly quite subdued, accompanied by frequent percussive outbursts, with a number of quiet, skittering cadenza-like passages in the third section, in which a brief but lively Israeli-type dance provides the only un-meditative moments and throws the surrounding music into stark relief. The work's general mood is one of restless, troubled searching, and even the peaceful conclusion does not imply that an answer has been found. Like its parent work, this is one of Bernstein's most provocative compositions.

Mstislav Rostropovich, long a champion of twentieth-century literature for his instrument, succeeds in harnessing his normally ebullient personality to convey beautifully the score's basically introverted spirit.

The suite from On the Waterfront has been familiar for many years through Bernstein's previous recording with the New York Philharmonic (CBS MS 6251). The percussion fugue is one of his most exciting creations, the love music one of his most eloquent-an adjective to which one must return again and again in describing his music. And if the majestic coda owes some thing to Billy the Kid, the composer would probably be the first to acknowledge the debt (and no doubt has).

Under Bernstein's authoritative leadership, the Israel Philharmonic plays beautifully throughout its disc, though it must cede pride of place to its New York colleagues when it comes to the rhythmic vitality of On the Waterfront. Recording and surfaces are first-class.

The disc's liner notes refer to "Arnold Schoenberg's demand that everything of supreme value in art must show 'heart' as well as 'brain'-something that can rarely be said about Schoenberg's own work. I submit that Bernstein's music, by virtue of its ability to touch the heart, will be around much longer than that of many of his more cerebral contemporaries.

-J.C.

BRAHMS: Sextets for Strings: No. 1, in B flat, Op. 18; No. 2, in G, Op. 36. Cleveland Quartet; Pinchas Zukerman, viola; Bernard Greenhouse, cello. [Jay David Saks, prod.] RCA RED SEAL ARL 2-4054, $19.98 (two discs, manual sequence). Tape: ARK 2-4054, $19.98 (two cassettes).

BRAHMS: Sextet for Strings, No. 1. Les Musiciens.HARMONIA MUNDI FRANCE HM 1073, $11.98 (distributed by Harmonia Mundi U.S.A., 2351 Westwood Blvd., Los Angeles, Calif. 90064).

Apart from the youthful F-A-E Scherzo and the posthumously rediscovered A major Piano Trio, the string sextets are Brahms's earliest surviving chamber works. (The B major Trio, of course, is virtually always given in the drastically revised 1889 version rather than in its 1854 original.) For all that, an autumnal quality, akin to that of the much later string quintets, pervades these handsomely wrought works.

Both of the sextets are "big" pieces, and the combination of large-scale structure and expanded string scoring (in relation to the quartet "norm") carries the temptation to go all out for a billowing "string orchestra" effect in performance. At the same time, however, Brahms was a master orchestrator and an inherent classicist, and a re-creative viewpoint that lays stress on the tightly coiled rhythmic foundation, the precision and luminosity of balance and the touch of self indulgence is typical of modern American chamber playing, sonority, the subtle implications of all the expressive, agogic, and dynamic indications (not to mention the consummately gauged tempo modifications)--in other words, a specific rather than a generalized approach-produces even greater dividends.

The Cleveland Quartet recorded the sextets several years ago, just prior to the departure of its original violist. Martha Strongin Katz (whose position is now occupied by Atar Arad). Comparing these performances to the Cleveland's debut recording, the Brahms string quartets (RCA VCS 7102), one is pleased to note the ensemble's maturing of style and greater technical address. Whereas the quartet performances lacked clarity and pulse, here the rhythmic outlines are clear, and tempo changes are geared in such a way that the total effect is firm and cumulative. The performances are steady, sober, and mostly well considered.

A touch of self-indulgence remains, however, in the players' almost reflexive response to such directives as espressivo, tranquillo, and animato. As in so much of the modern American, Marlboro-derived chamber playing one hears today, espressivo means turning on the vibrato switch, souping up the phrasing in a simpering way; tranquillo and animato mean slowing down or speeding up the tempo rather than merely modifying mood within the basic pulse.

And the Cleveland-plus-friends' collective sonority continues to bother me. The violins tend to squeal in the high register, and their vibratos tend to beat against one another in octave playing; the dark cellos and violas provide a drab, "down in the dumps" opacity instead of the requisite firm backbone that would come from a more compact, incisive articulation. Still, there are moments that come off handsomely, particularly in the G major: The Presto giocoso middle section of the Scherzo is particularly well realized in the Clevelanders' rustic, bouncy, bucolic reading.

But I find greater elevation in the French players' version of Op. 18. Their performance is Apollonian in the best sense of that word, with a lustrous, suave ensemble texture that allows every figuration in the printed score to tell. At first, the restraint and leisurely tempos appear a bit unforthcoming, yet before long, the easy pulsation and keen attention to balance, accentuation, and articulation (as well as color) propel the music along "on wings of song." Following the score, one is impressed by a seeming absence of "interpretation," but in fact, the combination of supreme technical competence and re-creative imagination selflessly put at the ser vice of the text represents interpretive artistry at its highest. In its more elegant way, this account is fully the equal of the wonderful old 1952 Prades Festival recording by Stern, Schneider, Katims, Thomas, Casals, and Foley (CBS M5X 32768).

The first-movement exposition repeats are observed in both recordings. The French Harmonia Mundi sound is beautifully balanced, with greater brightness in the violins and more definition below than in the Cleveland edition. Both labels offer excellent processing.

-H.G.

HANDEL: Messiah

MAHLER: Das Lied von der Erde.

Jessye Norman, soprano; Jon Vickers. ten or; London Symphony Orchestra, Colin Davis, cond. PHILIPS 6514 112, $12.98 (digital recording). Tape: 7337 112. $12.98 (cassette).

COMPARISONS:

Ludwig, Wunderlich, Klemperer Ang. SB 3704 Chookasian, Lewis. Ormandy CBS D3S 774 Forrester, Lewis, Reiner RCA (OP-see text) F.-Dieskau, King, Bernstein Lon. OS 26005 Ludwig. Kollo, Karajan DG 2707 082 Miller. Hat-liger, Walter Odys. Y 30043 This is an immediately striking performance that has grown more appealing with acquaintance. Both soloists are interestingly chosen, and Davis brings off most of his series of audacious choices, thanks in large part to the committed orchestral playing.

The London Symphony may not display the distinctive tone qualities of Klemperer's Philharmonia (Angel) or Ormandy's Philadelphia (CBS), my favorites in this music, or of the Chicago Symphony under Reiner (last in print here as Victrola V1CS 1390, but recently available in a French RCA edition), the Vienna Philharmonic under Bernstein (London) and Walter (his 1936 and 1952 recordings--respectively, Seraphim 60191 and London Treasury, deleted), the Concertgebouw under Haitink (Philips 6500 831), the Berlin Phil harmonic under Karajan (DG), or perhaps even the New York Philharmonic under Walter in 1960 (Odyssey). But the winds in particular play with a sense of purpose that enables Davis to scoot through the opening "Trinklied vom Jammer der Erde" in a breathless seven-and-a-half minutes and to stretch the culminating "Der Abschied" to very nearly thirty-five.

The "Abschied" is obviously the most immediately arresting feature of the performance (the first I've heard in which "Der Abschied" actually runs longer than the first five movements combined), lasting almost three minutes longer than the previous slowest on records, Solti's (London OS 26292). What's noteworthy is that Solti's "Farewell" sounds long, almost endless in fact, breaking down into a series of fits and starts and sorely taxing the soloist, Yvonne Minton, who should be able to make some thing special of this music.

Davis' "Farewell" doesn't sound so much long as full. He has the advantage of a bigger-voiced and longer-breathed soloist, who can more easily fill these wide open spaces, but it's at least as important that he and his players have found the imaginative wellspring of all those little instrumental motifs out of which the movement is built.

Note for example the figure associated with the clarinets and horns, heard for the first time in its full form-with clarinet trills just before the alto's soaring "O sieh! wie eine Silberbarke." Once you have found this kind of inner life for the music, it's possible for the performance to begin evolving organically, at almost any pace.

The momentum will come from the progress of this inner life rather than depending on a particular choice of tempo.

For the same reason, Davis' "Trinklied," although undeniably heady, doesn't sound rushed: Quick as the pace may be, the component elements have been allowed their full imaginative value. Of course it helps that after the giddy opening orchestral outburst Davis can deploy Jon Vickers' voluminous upper midrange ("Schon winks der Wein" is set on middle C, D, E, and F) to sound the invitation to this singular drinking song. Even allowing for Vickers' idiosyncratic vowel preferences-by which "winkt," for example, comes out "veenkt"--this is a pretty overwhelming sound. And a bit later, on "klingen," Vick ers is even able to muster a ringing B flat and sustained high A.

Davis' Das Lied is a performance of extremes in the inner movements as well.

Only the fourth and fifth movements, the alto's "Von der Schonheit" and the tenor's "Der Trunkene im Fruhling," are taken at what we might call a "normal" pace, and even the former falls at the slow end of the band. For the rest, the first alto song, "Der Einsame im Herbst," ranks with the slowest on record; the already brief second tenor song, "Von der Jugend," with the fastest.

About these choices I'm not entirely sure. "Der Einsame im Herbst" strikes me as the trickiest song in the symphony, with its predominantly reflective quality and spare orchestral textures all too often reducing to an anticlimax after the rousing "Trinklied," and with no particular preparation for the glowing and somewhat surprising climax at "Sonne der Liebe, willst du nie mehr scheinen" ("Sun of love, will you never again shine")--surprising in that this sudden outpouring of warmth is ostensibly expressing the speaker's doubt that the sun will reappear to dry her bitter tears.

In this case, I don't think Davis has quite found where the music has come from, and the movement doesn't really catch fire until the very end: not even at the "Sonne" climax itself, but on the word "Liebe," where the singer has suddenly leapt from the E flat of the break ("der") to the E flat an octave higher. Here we are in plausible soprano country, and Jessye Norman comes into her own with a luscious crescendo as that word "Liebe" drops from and then climbs back toward the E flat, and with a thrilling climax on the F of "nie." This is not to say that Norman doesn't encompass the writing's lower reaches, where she in fact puts out more sound than many of the mezzos who have recorded Das Lied. But this isn't where her voice's center of gravity lies, where she can make some sort of special vocal impact. The best examples of such impact are Christa Ludwig's vocally rock-solid first recording (with Klemperer) and the work of the for-real contraltos, Maureen Forrester (with Reiner) and Lili Chookasian (first with Ormandy, later with Susskind and the Cincinnati Sym phony, Candide QCE 31117). At the same time, Norman offers satisfactions of her own up where a contralto is straining at the top of her range-for example, in the gal loping description of the young men on horseback ("O sieh, was tummeln sich fur schane Knaben dort . . .") in "Von der Schiinheit." For "Von der Jugend," Davis has paired two choices that I would have thought, and may still think, incompatible.

Other conductors have taken relatively quick tempos (if not this quick), but they have generally had their soloists lightly trace the song's conscious chinoiserie.

Such lightweight tenors as Ernst Hafliger (with Walter in 1960), Murray Dickie (with Kletzki, Seraphim S 60260), and Richard Lewis (with Reiner and Ormandy) have achieved lovely results in such performances.

Davis, however, has Vickers singing not only at full throttle but at full blast, producing a parody effect that for me blunts the special perception of the song, in which the enviability of those idyllic youths in their porcelain pavilion evaporates by the simple perceptual shift of suddenly seeing them reflected, upside down, on the surface of the pond. This, the symphony's shortest song, seems to me next to "Der Abschied" possibly the most remarkable. There are wonderfully suggestive performances in both Klemperer recordings, first with Anton Dermota (Turnabout THS 65089) and then with Fritz Wunderlich (Angel). The latter performance, nearly twice as long as the new one, is a revelation for the beauties of Wunderlich's singing and the ravishing orchestral playing.

"Von der Jugend" is, incidentally, the only movement in which Klemperer takes a tempo that could be called slow. The glory of this performance--and I am more and more astonished by it on each hearing--is the thoroughness of its investigation of the music coupled with the stunning work of Ludwig, Wunderlich, and the orchestra. To my taste, none of the songs has been performed better elsewhere on records.

This doesn't mean that there aren't many other interesting performances. The spontaneous-sounding and orchestrally vibrant Ormandy, now available only in a box with his complete Tenth Symphony, is infectiously upbeat. The somewhat more reserved (and more distantly recorded) Reiner has, in addition to the vocal and orchestral virtues already noted, a special sense of balance and proportion not at all incompatible with real involvement and life. The boldly played and recorded Bernstein/Lon don recording has a good, strong tenor in James King and the interest of Mahler's baritone option for the alto songs, though Fischer-Dieskau came closer to meeting the music's demands in the earlier recording with Kletzki and Dickie (see above).

The Karajan recording is quite diffe ent in spirit from the others, valuing the bleakness of the emotional state of Mahler's observers over the unquenchable optimism that keeps shining through (cf. "Sonne der Liebe..."). It's all most impressively executed, with the Berlin Philharmonic in excellent health, with Ludwig still able to manipulate the music to reasonably good effect, and with Rene Kollo a solid tenor of a piercing sort, as he is in the Solti and Bernstein/Israel recordings. If this is the one Das Lied recording that consistently depresses rather than cheers me, it does keep me coming back.

Also different from the other recordings, but in a different way, is the Walter/Philharmonic version, whose autumnal glow pays real dividends in the problematic "Der Einsame im Herbst." Mildred Miller sings her music more appealingly than most of her more famous recorded rivals, and Hafliger gives much the most impressive of his three recorded accounts, sounding almost heroic in the "Trinklied." At Odyssey price, this is an attractive buy, but then, the budget collector has quite a choice: the dusky Susskind account with Chookasian and Richard Cassilly (Candide), the above-mentioned Fischer-Dieskau/Dickie/Kletzki recording on Seraphim, Hans Rosbaud's beautifully detailed and tolerably sung account on Turnabout (TV-S 34220), and the intense 1936 Walter performance on Seraphim.

In fact, after several months of living with nineteen recordings of Das Lied, I'm most struck by their overall quality; the score tends to coax the best out of its performers. And its recording crews. Sonically speaking, the new version is most impressive--broad in span, rich in detail, warm and full in tone. Davis' performance may not displace the Klemperer and Ormandy and perhaps Reiner recordings in my affections, but it seems to have joined the other listed comparisons in my current select group of favorites.

-K.F.

MONTEVERDI: Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda; Lamento d'Ari annat; Lamento d'Olimpiat. FARINA: La Desperata.

Patrizia Kihella. sopranos; Carolyn Watkinson, allot; Nigel Rogers, tenors; David Thomas, bass: Cologne Musica Antigua, Rein hard Goebel. dir. [Andreas Holschneider and Gerd Ploebsch, prod.] ARCHIV 2533 460. $10.98.

COMPARISONS--Combattimento:

Van Egmond, Leonhardt Tel. (OP)

Alva, Leppard Phi. 6768 175

Malaguti, Loehrer None. H 71090

In Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda, Monteverdi consciously broke new stylistic ground, experimenting with unusual rhythmic devices in an attempt to mold text and music into a dramatic unity. As he explained in the introduction to his Eighth Book of Madrigals (published in 1638, it included Combattimento, first performed some fourteen years earlier), music ought to be able to express agitated as well as moderate emotions; yet (to his taste) his colleagues and predecessors had succeeded in conveying only the latter.

On the authority of the ancient philosophers, Monteverdi determined that "the quick pyrrhic meter was used for all warlike and powerfully excited dances, and that the slow spondaic meter was used for the opposite"; he concluded that "a semibreve sounded once was the equivalent of one spondaic beat," but "divided into sixteen semiquavers, rapidly sounded one after the other in connection with a text dealing with wrath and indignation, it would produce something very near to what I have been trying to find."

Torquato Tasso's poetic account of Tancred and Clorinda's tragic battle struck him as an ideal proving ground for this theory, "for here were war, entreaties, and even death to be interpreted in music." Of course Monteverdi's assertions make perfect sense, and Combattimento stands today as a masterpiece of representative scoring.

Strangely, it was not unanimously proclaimed as such in its time: In fact, at the first performance (by Monteverdi's own account) the musicians found the notion of producing dramatic effect through rapidly repeated notes absurd, and refused to play it his way--thereby ruining the intended effect and prompting the composer to insist, at the time of publication, that the instrumental parts "must be played in the form and manner written."

Eventually, elements of the concitato style Monteverdi advocated became standard usages in descriptive compositional language; and these days, performers follow his directions, more or less. Yet historical distance has created different interpretive problems. Each of the handful of available recordings has its own way with the work, but so far as authenticity goes, the new Cologne Musica Antigua recording surpasses the competition on several counts.

Among its attractions, on the most basic level, is the group's by now easily identifiable sonic personality--a sound that combines astringency, brilliance, and a vivid sense of coloristic possibilities. More than Leonhardt and even the normally over-editorial Leppard, Reinhard Goebel gets to the work's pictorial roots, not only with instrumental effects (including, in some of the battle sections, a percussive string and harpsichord sound), but through textural clarity and a regulation of tension by means of tempo variation.

The work is a dramatic scene, to be acted out by the two armored combatants and described by a narrator. Tancred's and Clorinda's relatively few lines are (with the exception of Clorinda's last scene) often underplayed. Here, David Thomas portrays the most belligerent Tancred on disc, and if Patrizia Kwella does little that is either unusual or particularly striking, hers is certainly a respectable Clorinda. But the lion's share of the vocal work falls to the narrator, and here again, the new disc eclipses the others. Nigel Rogers (who sang Tancred on Leonhardt's recording) is lavish and almost athletic with his embellishment of the narrative's slow, grave sections, and remark ably fleet in the tongue-twisting "L'ontairrita lo sdegno a la vendetta" verse. Of the alternatives, Max van Egmond also embellishes tastefully, though not so profusely; Laerte Malaguti embellishes little and often seems on the brink of a Gigli sob; and Luigi Alva avoids thoughtful ornamentation in favor of a thickly larded modern (or rather, Leppard-style baroque) vibrato.

The vocal styles of the competing versions, in fact, are analogous to the instrumental performances that back them. Leonhardt's, naturally, approaches the ideal established by the new Archiv disc but more understated--lacks its tension, particularly at the end. Loehrer's has a rich, modern chamber-orchestra sound that is, nevertheless, deployed effectively; despite its modernity and my reservations about its narrator, I still find this an appealing performance, particularly at budget price. Leppard's is pretty much what one has come to expect from him, with lush, often dominant strings-full of character but somewhat anachronistic.

Musica Antigua also offers the best coupling, although again, none of the choices is bad. Leppard presents complete the Madrigals, Book VIII, in a three-disc set; Loehrer includes selections from that book; and Leonhardt fills out his disc with madrigals from Books VII and VIII and the Lamento della ninfa. Goebel offers another of the better-known and more trend-setting works, the Lamento d'Arianna from the lost opera of 1608. The version for solo voice, though less frequently heard than the later madrigal setting, is in many ways more expressive and touching-particularly so in this magnificent rendering by Carolyn Watkinson, a young but mature-sounding alto.

She is equally affecting in the Lamento d'Olimpia, which closes the disc.

The two laments are separated by, appropriately enough, La Desperata. a violin sonata by Monteverdi's contemporary Carlo Farina, a precursor of the school of Italian violin virtuoso-composers (although this, like all of his published works, dates from his years as Konzertmeister at the Dresden court). Brief and attractive, if not terribly consequential, it serves the dual purpose of separating the vocal works and providing a vehicle for Goebel's zephyrlike violin playing.

-A.K.

The Musica Antigua's attractive sonic personality is by now easily identifiable.

MOZART: Overtures (8).

Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra, Zdenek Kosler, cond. [Eduard Herzog and M. Slavicky, prod.] MUSICAL HERITAGE SOCIETY MHS 4575, $7.75 ($4.95 to members). Tape: MHC 6575, $7.75 ($4.95 to members). (Add $1.60 for shipping; Musical Heritage Society, 14 Park Rd., Tinton Falls, N.J. 07724.)

Idomeneo, K. 366; Die Entfiihrung aus dem Serail, K. 384; Der Schauspieldirektor, K. 486; Le Nozze di Figaro, K. 492; Don Giovanni. K. 527; Cosi fan tutte, K. 588; Die Zauberflote, K. 620; La Clemenza di Tito, K. 621.

COMPARISONS:

Haitink/London Phil. Phi. 9500 882 Marriner/St. Martin's Acad. Ang. DS 37879 Davis/Royal Phil. Sera. S 60037.

This 1978 recording from the Czechoslovak Opus label is another plausible entry in the Mozart-overture field that I surveyed in November. Unlike the recent-vintage Haitink and Marriner discs, which included the long and rather tedious Lucio Silla Over ture, and the long-familiar Colin Davis disc, which included the brief but charming Finta giardiniera, this one offers only eight overtures, but they're the eight essential ones, and they're sensibly thought-out and tidily played. (For more exotic repertory, don't forget the scrappy but well-intentioned Faerber/Tumabout collection, QTV S 34628.) While it's true that Kosler's performances, like Haitink's similarly foursquare though more elegantly phrased and played ones, won't often surprise you, surprises aren't always a good thing. Is the pushiness of Marriner's performances an unalloyed treat? On the other hand, Marriner's Idomeneo and Clemenza di Tito remain uncommonly bracing, and then there's his unexpected Cosi--not pushed at all, and really quite ravishing. There's something to be said for surprises after all.

The Slovak Philharmonic's string tone as recorded here tends to thickness, but the woodwinds sound as warm and natural as those of Haitink's London Philharmonic, giving the MHS disc a certain sonic advantage over the rather gritty Seraphim. The advantage is hardly decisive, though, and Davis' performances remain fresh and attractive.

-K.F.

REICH: Tehillim.

Steve Reich and Musicians, George Manahan. cond. [Manfred Eicher, prod.] ECM 1 1215, $9.98. Tape: M5E 1215, $9.98 (cassette).

Tehillim, a setting of verses from four Psalms, shows Steve Reich embarking on a new and welcome course without sacrificing his familiar sound and style. Scored for four women's voices, strings, winds, electric organs, and percussion and sung in Hebrew (the title is Hebrew for "psalms," or more literally, "praises"), Tehillim brings Reich to terms with several compositional elements he has pointedly avoided in the past-chiefly, long melodic lines, replacing the repeated cells from which his earlier music grew, and tight manipulation of vocal and instrumental textures and harmonic movement.

Actually, he gave hints of this in his last major outing, Music for a Large Ensemble (1978; ECM 1-1168), and in some subsequent smaller works, in which instrumental groups would enter and exit more abruptly than usual (for Reich) and motivic changes were sharper than in his earlier, more smoothly flowing works. But the task of setting a text has clearly pushed the composer on to this next phase. Here the structures within each setting are clear rather than amorphous; and if the music proves entrancing, the trance is uplifting rather than soporific.

The piece has a nice cyclical feel. The first text (Psalm 19:2-5) moves through six settings based on an attractive, rhythmically angular tune heard first as a vocal solo, then in a two-voice canon. String and wind harmonies enter, giving way by the fifth section to four voices and maracas, with organs doubling the voice parts. Finally, this mass is pared back to the original solo melody, over percussion. The percussion continues beyond the melody, forming a bridge to the second text setting (34:13 15). This time, the two- and three-part vocal lines are presented homophonically, doubled at various times by different instrumental sections. (Percussion is the sole constant throughout the piece-but the kinds of percussive instruments vary.) After an interlude for organ and percussion, Reich brings his singers back for an embellished da capo, with sections of the melody elongated.

The third setting ( 18:26-27), the sole slow movement, again deploys the voices contrapuntally (but not canonically), over a pedal provided by marimba and vibraphone. The percussionists gradually quick en the pace, signaling the final setting (150:4-6)-almost a good, old-fashioned recapitulation-which reprises themes and techniques heard earlier and leads up to a glorious, full-ensemble coda on "Hallelujah" (in D major, no less!).

Certain Reichian thumbprints shine through this all: The quick canonic setting of the first text over distinctly Reichian rhythmic figures recalls the tape manipulations of Come Out, although the textures here are obviously more sophisticated. And while the vocal lines (and their repetitions) are now full-fledged melodies, the percussion parts and some of the sustained harmony lines in the winds and strings are cut of the same cloth Reich used for Music for a Large Ensemble and other works.

As always, he maintains the feeling of continuity that joins each of his scores to its predecessors. But this work represents a quantum leap. For one who admired Reich's music of the late '60s and early '70s but found his more recent work a bit tiresome, it's refreshing to discover that he has at last changed-or rather, found-his tune.

-A.K.

SCHUBERT: Symphonies: No. 3, in D, D. 200; No. 5, in B flat, D. 485.

Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Neville Marriner, cond. PHILIPS 6514 149, $12.98 (digital recording). Tape: 7337 149, $12.98 (cassette).

SCHUBERT: Symphony No. 9, in C, D. 944.

Dresden State Orchestra. Karl Bohm, cond. DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 2531 352. $10.98. Tape: 3301 352, $10.98 (cassette). [Recorded in performance. January 12. 1979.]

Marriner's approach to the two early symphonies is trim and appropriate, with fastish tempos and smartly sprung rhythms. The Third is especially attractive here, with an alert, no-nonsense kind of vigor and tempos that-while driving and animated-avoid the eccentric relationships and dogmatic point-making that characterized both Car los Kleiber's reading (DG 2531 124) and his father's. Without turning it into a "big" composition as Karajan (successfully) did (Angel SZ 37754) Marriner nevertheless manages, like Karajan, to find the seeds of the "Great" C major's finale in the last movement.

If the Fifth is less successful, it is simply because of its sound, a bit bass-heavy, overblown, and deficient in detail. The winds and strings produce a blunted, general heft, but neither the violins (early in the work) nor the flute (when it takes a singing solo line, as in the slow movement) can cut through clearly. The orchestral playing here, while tasteful and civilized, is a mite genteel and lethargic.

Returning to Toscanini's old 1953 recording of the Fifth (alas no longer avail able), one is immediately struck by the clarity and balance, old sound or no, and by the refreshing lack of those "feminine" phrase endings that constitute Marriner's only eccentricity. Also noteworthy are Toscanini's success in infusing a molten, passion ate energy (e.g., in the Minuet) without in the least overloading the context and restraint of the writing, and the way his phrasing breathes and expands (albeit subtly) even in the context of a severe classicism. Basically, his is a more purposeful view of the music. Fully aware that some readers tire of my unceasing advocacy of Toscanini, I can only continue to hold up this sort of honest, inspired music-making Bohm's Dresden Ninth will surprise those who know his '60s Berlin version, as a pristine example.

Karl Bohm's Dresden account of the "Great" C major, taped by VEB Deutsche Schallplatten in concert, will surprise those who know his mid-'60s Berlin Philharmonic version (DG 138 877). Maybe the leaner, more acute sound is a factor, but there is much more litheness and chiaroscuro here, a more spontaneous characterization of phrases, and more impulsiveness in the manipulation of tempo. Some of the hauling--about is of the sort one associates with Furtwangler, but with a firmer, brighter, less spongy type of sonority. Once or twice, the sudden "inspiration" produces near-anarchy (as at the approach to the first-movement recapitulation and at the end of the finale), and the Scherzo, for all its song-fulness, is a bit stodgy and un-galvanic. Yet surprisingly, I found myself quite often enchanted by a heart and freedom I hadn't known in Bohm, usually the model of a modern Kapellmeister. In short, an affecting memento, and one that definitely augments our view of a masterpiece.

-H.G.

TCHAIKOVSKY: Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, No. 2, in G, Op. 44.

Shura Cherkassky, piano; Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, Walter Susskind, cond. [Marc 1. Aubort and Joanna Nickrenz, prod.] Vox CUM LAUDE VCL 9011, $8.98. Tape: VCS 9011, $8.98 (cassette).

Richard Freed's excellent annotation generously mentions Shura Cherkassky's earlier mono version of this work on Deutsche Grammophon (with the Berlin Philharmonic under Richard Kraus) but ironically over looks a still earlier one on Vox (with the Santa Monica Symphony under Jacques Rachmilovich); this was one of two works (Brahms's Op. 5 Sonata was the other) he recorded in the earliest days of micro groove.

In any case, it is good to have Cherkassky back in the fold. As before, he opts for the Siloti revision in lieu of Tchaikovsky's longer, more rambling original and plays with fine-grained lyricism. His version, thus, is strikingly different from Gilels' (also of Siloti's version; Angel, deleted); here slashing drama is tempered by a whimsical elegance. Cherkassky is a master of what I call the a caprimioso style, and if some of the bravura passages lack the ultimate in rhythmic steadiness, these deficiencies are more than offset by many ravishingly phrased details and dabs of color.

Occasionally, his passagework delightfully suggests that he is tickling the keys with a feather (or wand?). There are very few pianists active who can obtain his kind of limpid, pressureless sonority.

Walter Susskind does his work artistically if unimaginatively, and the resonant recording has fine balance and agreeable expanse. My copy has a few blemishes, however.

-H.G.

THOMSON: Four Saints in Three Acts.

CAST: St. Teresa I St. Settlement St. Teresa II Commere St. Chavez St. Stephen St. Ignatius St. Plan Compere Clamma Dale (s) Gwendolyn Bradley (s) Florence Quivar (ms) Betty Allen (ms) William Brown (t) Joseph de Vaughn (t) Arthur Thompson (b) William Penn (b) Benjamin Matthews (bs-b) Other soloists, Orchestra of Our Time, Joel Thome. cond. [Marc J. Aubort and Joanna Nickrenz, prod.] NONESUCH DB 79035, $23.96 (digital recording; two discs, automatic sequence). Tape: D2 79035, $23.96 (two cassettes).

No, this first full-length Four Saints isn't so great, and I do find it hard to believe that it's possible to rehearse and perform the piece and make this little contact with (if nothing else) those infectious rhythms drawn from Thomson's Southern Baptist upbringing. Still, this is the only recording we're apt to have for the foreseeable future, and since it happens that most of the principal singers are well suited to their roles, the operative question seems how we might make the performance work for us.

The best hint is provided by the com poser. In a revised and expanded version of the essay written originally for the RCA reissue of his own 1947 abridged recording (last available as LM 2756), he writes of the all-black original cast, so chosen "for beauty of voice, clarity of enunciation, and fine carriage": "Their surprise gift to the production was their understanding of the work. They got the spirit of it, enjoyed its multiple meanings, even the obscurities, adopted it, spoke in quotations from it." Clearly this had a lot to do with the circumstances of the 1934 production, in which essentially the same group of per formers-a number of whom can be heard in the 1947 recording-worked together over an extended run, making it possible for them to absorb the piece. so that they not only found their own connection to Thomson's modes of musical speech but intuitively reached through to the underlying sense of Gertrude Stein's seemingly nonsensical words.

If the new cast hasn't achieved this with any consistency. the recording does allow us as listeners (if possible with the aid of the vocal score, to help see the shapes) to do some of this work on our own-to relax and let our response mechanisms cope, for example, with Thomson's decision to split the chiefest saint, St. Teresa, into a soprano and a mezzo part. Put on Side 2, which lands you in their first duet, consisting mostly of chromatically ascending arpeggios (standard vocalise, in other words, only set to Stein text), and you're likely to stop worrying about whether they're one character or two.

St. Teresa I. the soprano, arpeggiates upward ("Very many go out as they do"), and St. Teresa II, the mezzo, arpeggiates downward in response C 'And make him prominent"), and it all makes perfect sense, just as it does a bit later in Act I when St. Teresa I launches an ecstatic hymn with the proposition: "There can be no peace on earth with calm with calm." Looking at these eleven words on paper, I haven't a clue what they mean, but as movingly sung in both recordings, they couldn't be clearer.

It's almost impossible to describe the opera for someone with no experience of it.

That it has more than three acts and many more than four saints somehow doesn't seem terribly important. That it's set in Spain does. Thomson tells us that Stein "had lived in Spain and loved its landscape, its intensity," and Four Saints radiates sunlight and faith, though not necessarily religious faith. Perhaps for the creators St. Ignatius' Act III "Vision of Holy Ghost," the immortal "Pigeons on the grass alas," was a religious expression, but to me the faith expressed is more down to-earth. Four Saints has the power to make such debased values as decency, affection, and wonder seem not at all cliched, to seem in fact like the most important things in the world.

Thomson's musical setting is often described as "simple," which description suits it about as well as it suits Mozart's music. His sensitivity to speech rhythms has been widely commented on, and it' especially important when he is setting a text whose coherence is almost entirely nonlinear. His pleasure in Stein's words shows up most delightfully in the way stage directions are incorporated into the text, as when, in Act I, the Commere in her role as co-narrator announces, "Scene 7," and the chorus tears into a series of descending D major scales: "One two three four five six seven all good children go to heaven.. . ." But stage directions also form the basis for the "Love Scene" of the Commere and Compere in Act II: "Scene 8" "To wait." "Scene 1" "And begun." Etc.

Without slighting the ingenuity and sensuousness of Thomson's orchestral interludes (I might note the little guitar song in Act I introduced by the St. Teresas' "Leave later gaily the troubadour plays his guitar"), I'm inclined to single out the score's sensitivity to and delight in the singing voice, whether in the form of chorus, smaller ensemble, or solo. The music's shapes should allow singers, and certainly singers as talented as Nonesuch's, to really explore their vocal properties. One good example is the St. Teresas' arpeggio-duet., which Clamma Dale and Florence Quivar sail through. Too much of the rest of the performance sounds like a quick first impression frozen in time.

Actually, Quivar is very good throughout; too bad we can't hear what she might do with this music with the kind of experience the original cast had. Dale and the lighter-weight Gwendolyn Bradley as St. Settlement both sing very prettily in a sight-reading sort of way. Arthur Thompson, for whom the Met has never found better use than the likes of the Mandarin in Turandot and the Jailer in Tosco, makes an excellent start here on what might evolve into a grand St. Ignatius, and Benjamin Matthews does a good deal of lovely singing as the Compere. The tenors sound less promising, and Betty Allen as the Commere is plain badly cast, parched-sounding and personally unsympathetic.

Nonesuch's double-fold album includes complete texts. The sound is less immediate than I'd like for so intimate a piece, and the surfaces of my copy are on the noisy side. If this adds up to an even less impressive premiere recording than New World's Santa Fe Mother of Us All (NW 288/9, reviewed by Conrad L. Osborne in July 1977), at least we now have both works in their entirety. With a certain amount of work, it's certainly possible to get something out of Four Saints, and goodness knows how desperately we need what the opera has to offer.

-K.F.

Recitals and Miscellany

AGNES BALTSA: Operatic Recital.

Agnes Baltsa. mezzo-soprano: Munich Radio Orchestra, Heinz Wallberg, cond. [Theodor Holzinger, F. Axel Mehrle. Dieter Sinn, and Dieter G. Wameck, prod.] ANGEL DS 37908. $12.98 (digital recording). Tape: 4XS 37908. $9.98 (cassette).

DONIZETTI: La Favorita: Fla dunque vero .. O mio Fernando . . . Su, crudeli, e chi v'ar resta? MASCAGNI: Cavalleria rusticana: Voi lo sapete. MERCADANTE: II Giuramento: Ah si, mie care . . . Or IA sull'onda . . . Di tua fede bello ognora. MOZART: La Clemenza di Tito: Parto, parto. ROSSINI: II Barbiere di Siviglia: Una voce poco fa. La Cenerentola: Nacqul all'af fanno . .. Non piit mesta. La Donna del lago: Tanti affetti in tal momento. VERDI: Macbeth: La luce langue.

The vocal attractions of this program account in part for its frustrations. Here we have a voice that actually functions under control over two full octaves (the high and low B flats are legitimately encompassed, not reached for)-a voice of pleasing if not seductive timbre, reasonably adept at difficult passagework, governed by a strong performer's will. So why aren't the results more compelling? The Rossini/Mozart side is repertory that should ideally suit the voice's lean timbre and weight, and yet these performances, sleek and energetic as they are, rarely catch fire. The paradox is that as the program moves into progressively later and weightier material, vocally less suitable for Baltsa (I don't see how you can make even "O mio Fernando" happen without enough vocal force down in the vicinity of the break to be able to really roll those phrases that curl round it), she begins to demonstrate that she is capable of drawing on her personal resources.

Already in the Mercadante cavatina (a standard-form recitative, aria, and cabaletta), although we don't hear much projection of Bianca's immediate stakes, Baltsa does find a rhythmic impulsion that drives her through an andante that might otherwise seem a fairly humdrum nostalgic specimen, and she then contrasts this movement with the more obvious physical momentum of the cabaletta. My suspicion is that by instinct she is making an increasingly more direct expressive connection to the vocal writing as it evolves into styles that at least for a present-day performer seem emotion ally more "natural." In Lady Macbeth's "La luce langue," still a throwback form, a human being begins to emerge (might Baltsa have really cut loose in the formally fluid Sleepwalking Scene?), but it's not until we reach the verismo world of "Voi lo sapete" that we encounter a woman of real dimension. If Santuzza hardly seems a terribly healthy role for this voice, this performance of the aria conveys an aching need almost impossible to imagine from those neatly contained Rossini accounts on the flip side.

What depresses me is that a performer of such demonstrable talent, technical accomplishment, and enthusiasm seems never to have come in contact with anyone who would help her explore how the more stylized forms of Mozart, Rossini, and Donizetti express human needs as strong and urgent as those of Mascagni. Wouldn't you love to hear a Rosina, a Cenerentola, maybe even a Sesto as "real" as this San tuzza? The accompaniments and engineering are adequate, but the absence of printed texts will be a problem for even seasoned collectors in so rare a selection as the seven-minute Mercadante scena.

-K.F.

BERLIN PHILHARMONIC CHAMBER ENSEMBLES.

Berlin Philharmonic members. DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 2741 011, $64.90 (digital recordings; five discs, manual sequence).

Sides 1, 2: V. ALBRICI (arr. K.-J. Weber): Sonata. Andreas BERGER: Canzon octavi modi. G. GABRIELI: Sonata XIII (arr. H.-D. Schwarz); Sonata plan e forte. GRILLO (art. Schwarz): Canzone I, II. Georg MUFFAT (arr. Woehl): Ouverture; Sarabande; Bourree; Rondeau. PEZEL: Bal; Intrada; Courante; Bal.

S. SCHEIDT Suite. STORL: Sonate I, III. IV. VIADANA: Sinfonia-La Padovana." J.D. ZELENKA: Reiterfanfare. (Brass Ensemble) Sides 3.4: MOZART: Serenade No. 10. in B flat, K. 361. (Wind Ensemble) Side 5: MENDELSSOHN: Octet for Strings, in E flat, Op. 20. (Brandis, Westphal Quartets) Side 6: BRUCH: Septet for Winds and Strings, in E flat. (Philharmonic Octet mem bers) Side 7: BOCCHERINI: Quintet for Strings, in E, Op. 13, No. 5: Minuet. (Westphal Quartet) HAYDN: Divertimento in C, H. 11:11 (Der Geburtstag). (Philharmonic Soloists) MEN DELSSOHN: Quartet for Strings, No. I. in E flat, Op. 12: Canzonetta. (Herzfeld Quartet) Side 8: HAYDN: Quartet for Strings, in D. Op. 20. No. 4. (Brandis Quartet) Side 9: FUNCK (art. Kapler): Suite in D.

HAYDN: Baryton Trio in D, H. XI:81: Finale.

Baryton Trio in D, H. XI:113: Adagio. 1.

KLENGEL: Hymnus, Op. 57. A. SCARLATTI (art. Berge!): Concerto No. 2: Grave; Minuetto. (Twelve Cellos) Side 10: KHACHATURIAN (art. Vogler): Gayane: Sabre Dance. (Piano. Percussion, and Double-Bass Ensemble) ROSSINI: Rendezvous de chasse. (Eight Horns) Duetto for Cello and Double Bass, in D. (Philharmonic Duo) J. STRAUSS II (art. E. Hartmann): An der schonen, blauen Donau, Op. 314. (Nine Double Basses) This curious cornucopia, a kind of Anhang to DG's magnificent centenary tribute to the Berlin Philharmonic, differs in almost every respect from the main, six-volume limited-edition documentary anthology (HF, December 1982). It doesn't represent the full orchestra or any of its famous conductors, just directorless sections and chamber ensembles. It doesn't delve into past recordings, but is entirely new; indeed, it features ultramodern digital technology.

It contains too few complete works and too many snippets-and its interest is in any case narrowly specialized (executant and technical) rather than general (musical). I can recommend it to fans of the individual players involved, to their opposite numbers in other orchestras worldwide, to aspiring and apprentice instrumentalists, to connoisseur audiophiles-and to no one else at all.

Well, maybe I should qualify that condemnation a bit: There's real if minor musical fascination in the recently discovered septet for winds and strings by the eleven-year-old Max Bruch--a prodigy of near Mendelssohnian if scarcely Mozartean gifts. Haydn's quirky Birthday Divertimento for winds, strings, and harpsichord has been recorded before, but surely never as skillfully. The elephantine derangements of Blue Danube (double basses) and "Sabre Dance" (percussion, piano, and double basses) would rank among the most amusing of musical caricatures-would, that is, if played with the slightest glint of humor.

Throughout, the ultrabravura virtuosity, breathtaking in itself, achieves spellbinding impressiveness in sonic realism that is sometimes even larger and more life. If any orchestral horn, brass, or double-bass section has ever been captured more thrillingly, I haven't heard it. Then, too, if you've ever had difficulty differentiating xylophone, marimba, vibraphone, and percussive piano timbres, just listen to the digital distinctions in the "Sabre Dance." Remarkably, this state-of-the-art audio excellence is consistently maintained despite the number of producers (five) and recording engineers (six) involved.

Lamentably, though, such aural thrills are dearly paid for. Quite apart from a complete lack of any sense of historical stylistic authenticity, the readings betray revolting insensitivities. Many of the interpretations--like that of the gracious Mozart serenade-are so brutally ferocious, heavy handed, and stonyhearted, that I can't help recalling the phrase of Lucan applied in this century to alleged World War I atrocities furor teutonicus . And where the more characteristic Germanic Romanticism allows sentiment to stray well over the boundary of schmaltz, I'm reminded of an apt Italian term for "affected expression"--smor fioso.

Just as war has been deemed too important to be left to the generals, many of us have long thought musical interpretation too important to be left entirely to star conductors. But now it seems that it's no less risky to leave it to orchestra members on their own.

-R.D.D.

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Theater and Film

E.T. Original motion-picture sound track recording.

Composed, conducted, and produced by John Williams. MCA 6109, $8.98. Tape: 6109, $8.98 (cassette).

POLTERGEIST. Original motion-picture soundtrack recording. Composed, conducted, and produced by Jerry Goldsmith. MGM MG 1-5408, $8.98. Tape: CT 1-5408. $8.98 (cassette).

STAR TREK II: THE WRATH OF KHAN. Original motion-picture sound track recording.

Composed, conducted, and produced by James Horner. ATLANTIC SD 19363, $8.98. Tape: SD 19363, $8.98 (cassette).

Interestingly enough, the major efforts of 1982 by Hollywood's two busiest and most celebrated film composers are both tied to films closely identified with Wunderkind director Steven Spielberg.

For the space-age Peter Pan fantasy E.T., John Williams has woven a sweeping but tasteful sound-tapestry, with an altogether suitable stress on childlike wonder and tender enchantment. This is perhaps Williams' most intimate and gracious score, insistently sounding notes of wistful fancy, innocent yearning, and rhapsodic non-sensual rapture.

Music accompanies much of the film's parable-like action and thus serves as a very conspicuous factor in its touching and compelling suspension of disbelief. Williams makes the most of several opportunities to create extended, symphonic passages, orchestrated with almost crystalline buoyancy and delicacy by veteran Herbert Spencer.

Some may discern strong residues from the more airborne moments of Superman and Close Encounters, but the over tones of grandiosity and awe are kept to a merciful minimum. MCA's sonics, some what superior to the general run of its recent product, afford a reasonable facsimile of the Dolby theater soundtrack.

For the suburban horror tale Poltergeist--which also centers around children--Jerry Goldsmith has pulled out all the stops. But instead of settling for a kind of Omen III, he has dropped the chorus (except for a couple of brief segments) and attempted to meld his characteristic strengths-asymmetric ostinatos, dissonant harmonies in contrary motion, and the like-with more conventionally expressive modes. A deceptively innocuous lullaby theme-complete with ghostly children's choir-laces the whole score; it is heard at the start of Side 1 in a rather maudlin arrangement that in the theater merely backs up the closing credits. There are pas sages of almost Ravelian opulence, and the "redemption" theme heard during the exorcistic struggle for a little girl's soul is comparable in its ecstatic chromaticism to Williams' " Ark" theme in Raiders.

But the larger part of Side 2 presents fairly lengthy symphonic elaborations of typical Goldsmith cellular motifs, which reach truly numbing peaks of frenzy and terror. MGM provides a clean, balanced digital acoustic for orchestrator Arthur Morton's dense yet always intelligible textures.

James Horner, a comparatively little known composer who has heretofore specialized in low-budget horror and science-fiction films, graduates with Star Trek II into the cinematic big time. His score, resplendently outfitted by orchestrator Jack Hayes, is an appealing, but not terribly individualistic, farrago of elements now (since Star Wars) mandatory for the genre:

ceremonial fanfares, heroic themes, eerie "outer space" tremolos, and pulsing tension music, with only one unusual device a recurring series of overlapping trills in the brass. All of this handsome clangor is superbly rendered in a very warm and full bodied digital ambience.

All three of these tracks belong in any self-respecting film-music buffs collection. Yet one cannot completely banish a perhaps subversive reflection on the tremendous discrepancy between all the sophisticated paraphernalia of subsidiary film artistry in special effects, production design. photography, and-most pertinent here-music, and screen stories whose psychological content and adult interest are nil and whose imaginative range is restricted to the wish-fulfillment banalities and manipulative terror-tactics of a comic-book vision of the world. When will composers of the caliber of Williams and Goldsmith get another chance to score films with at least a marginal concern with real people in a real world?

-P.A.S.

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(High Fidelity magazine, Jan 1983)

Also see:

Classical recordings (Oct. 1977)

Re-climbing Everest (remastering recordings of the old Everest label) (Jan. 1990)