CD Review: Stoki's expressionistic Beethoven with the NBC

The destiny and legacy of the NBC Symphony and Arturo Toscanini are so inextricably bound that it is sometimes easy to forget that each had a life of its own, occasionally even far apart. Throughout the orchestra’s existence they collaborated with a long rotating list of guest conductors. But for a brief period spanning the 1941 – 1942 season, the Maestro split altogether, fallout from a fracas with NBC’s management. Though he eventually would return, Leopold Stokowski was appointed his replacement during the interregnum, enlivening the repertoire with a number of world and local premieres of the sort of music Toscanini never touched.

Stokowski also was, as a recent compilation from Pristine Audio reminds the listener, himself a superb Beethoven interpreter, if of a totally different type from his elder colleague. Whereas Toscanini cultivated a lean and tight sound that highlighted the music’s freshness, Stokowski’s interpretations of Beethoven’s Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh are dark-hued, imposing, and Romantic; with flexible tempi, grand rhetorical gestures (listen to the opening “fate” motif of the Fifth), and a quasi-cinematic breadth of sonority. Stokowski had recorded Beethoven before and would do so again much later, but these NBC interpretations arguably capture him at his best. 

The gem of this compilation may be his Reubenesque rendering of the Seventh, which has a voluptuousness of tone rarely heard in Beethoven (or from the NBC Symphony, for that matter). It is songful, yet heaven-storming; with an “Allegretto” whose funereal cast is like something out of the expressionistic world of Murnau and Lang. Nothing drags, however, and it is followed by propulsive and vigorous readings of the final two movements that leave one clutching their seat. How the audience at Studio 8-H managed to keep themselves from screaming their heads off at the vertiginous excitement that Stoki goaded from the NBC strings at the finale’s coda is beyond me.

Of his various recordings of the Beethoven Fifth, this NBC performance may be Stoki’s finest, aided by a touch of rhythmic tightness that sharpens the contours of its drama. When the finale’s blaze of light erupts upon the scherzo, Stoki conveys a sense of implacable triumph: Nothing can (and does) stop Beethoven’s victory.

Stoki’s super sleek approach to the Beethoven Sixth, fine performance though it is, has little of the earthy bumptiousness this music demands. (It is the “Pastoral,” after all.) His is very much an urbanite’s glossy daydream of country life rather than the thing itself; the central scherzo sounding more like the frolicking of impeccably airbrushed models for The Gap, than that of peasants.

Also in this collection are some of Stoki’s Wagner performances with NBC; appropriate given the conductor’s Wagnerian approach to Beethoven, including a steamy, XXX-rated rendition of the “Prelude to Act I” and “Liebestod” from Tristan und Isolde that practically scorches one’s speakers.

While this material has been made available before, the sound restoration by Andrew Rose polishes it further to a lustrous gleam. Nowhere can this be heard better than on Stoki’s NBC Beethoven Seventh, previously heard on a deleted Cala disc which suffered from an unusually over-filtered transfer. Bad memories of that CD are immediately cast aside by this present reissue, with the strings especially taking on a vivid presence nothing like the boxiness one normally expects from this venue.

Here’s to hoping Pristine keeps the treasures from NBC’s vault coming.

Lustrous and bold: Stokowski’s Beethoven with the NBC Symphony.

CD Review: Stokowski Basks in Gallic Sunshine at Studio 8-H

Leopold Stokowski was certainly one of the most versatile conductors of the 20th century. His affinities matched his vast repertoire, which ranged from the centuries old to the freshly inked. Though his living composer contemporaries (and critics) may have bristled at the liberties he allowed himself, there is little doubt that his discography preserves a consistently high level of engaging interpretive commitment, not to mention sonic opulence. 

A born cosmopolitan, Stokowski was home nearly everywhere in the realm of music, but there were certain corners of the orchestral literature which were especially tailor-made for his talents. This selection of his NBC performances of Debussy, Milhaud, and Ravel, for example, finds him at his opulent best; especially in the shimmering colors of the older two composers, whose post-Wagnerian sensibilities called out to Stokowski’s own. 

The NBC Symphony, for all the excellence of its individual members, was not exactly celebrated for the beauty of its corporate sonority. Most of the blame can be laid on the powder dry acoustics of Rockefeller Center’s Studio 8-H, which Stokowski helped to mitigate during his brief tenure at the orchestra’s helm 1941 – 1944. But the ensemble’s fierce loyalty to Toscanini, which made them skeptical of ideas from other conductors, also did not help. Despite those challenges, Stokowski conjured from them playing of spellbinding gorgeousness. 

Listeners here are treated to two of his sumptuous orchestrations of Debussy’s piano music—La cathédrale engloutie and La soirée dans Grenade respectively—with the former opening this compilation, followed by the Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune. A Stokowski favorite, he recorded the score he praised as a “dream world of pagan loveliness” several times. They all follow the same basic interpretive outline, although each has telling details unique to them. This NBC performance from 1944 is no different, boasting a number of retouchings that, while not “faithful” to the score, are undeniably effective. Take a listen to the evocative 3-D effect achieved by the last of the horn calls that echo the opening flute motif, which Stokowski directs to play stopped. Or try his use of chime bars at the coda; very different from the fragile timbre of Debussy’s crotales, but lending a haunting glow to the work’s closing pages. 

The present performance of two “symphonic fragments” from Debussy’s incidental music to Le Martyre de saint Sébastien, on the other hand, are the only ones in Stokowski’s discography. They are quite fine, too, if a tad steelier than one would prefer in this ethereal score. 

Also making its only appearance on his programs is this New York City premiere performance of Milhaud’s brief Symphony No. 1. Although his catalog of works had already by then swollen into triple-digits—with a number of operas, oratorios, ballets, and string quartets already under his belt—he was a symphonic late-bloomer, not penning his first essay in that form until he was nearly fifty. (Perhaps his friend Honegger’s own Symphony No. 1 from ten years earlier had deterred him.) It is a sprightly, lively work alive with Milhaud’s typical harmonic and rhythmic playfulness, all of which Stokowski does proud in this zestful performance. 

Closing is this compilation is an impassioned rendition of the second suite from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé, which turns urgent unto hectic in its “Danse générale.” If its finale could have benefitted from a more measured approach, the preceding “Lever du jour” and “Pantomime” are practically erotic desire itself manifested in sound. While some may prefer Stokowski’s later, more relaxed Decca recording, this performance has its own rewards which demand to be heard. 

Abetting these performances are the superb remasterings from Pristine’s Andrew Rose, who skillfully imparted the illusion of space around the NBC Symphony. One could imagine the sonic wizardry on these restorations having elicited the approval of Stokowski, himself no stranger to the possibilities afforded by the studio mixing console. Especially benefitting from this are the Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune and Daphnis et Chloé. Stokowski’s lushly atmospheric stereo recording of the former for Capitol has been my favorite for as long as I can remember, but the sound on this Pristine issue, which markedly improves upon the sound of the Cala transfer from two decades ago, helps carry this performance to the top. 

A welcome companion for the languid summer afternoons just around the corner. 

Stoki and the NBC get steamy in all-French program from Pristine Audio.

Otto Klemperer’s “Philadelphia Story” In Great Depression America

A large poster of Otto Klemperer, his bespectacled face clenched with intense emotion, looms over the crowds spilling out after concerts at the Hollywood Bowl, his arms jutting out as if imploring them to turn back. This likeness conveys what Raymond V. Lopez, a musical mentor of my teen years, recalled from his boyhood at Los Angeles’ old Philharmonic Hall: “Klemperer was terrifying—a giant with eyes that burned right through you.”

Although it spanned nearly 70 years, only two periods from Klemperer’s professional career are generally remembered: His brief stint as head of the Kroll Opera in Berlin, then his final years leading the Philharmonia Orchestra in London. Overlooked are the two decades in between when his life revolved, for better and worse, around the United States.

“I don’t like how the dollar always [was priority],” he said in a BBC interview in 1961. “This was not good.” Later he explained to Peter Heyworth that the preeminence of lucre in American cultural considerations chafed him, adding that while he lived in the United States he “felt in the wrong place.” He did not always think so.

“My joy, my pride, my gratitude is still stronger because it was an American university [Klemperer’s emphasis]. . . a college of my new fatherland which gave me this decoration,” he said as he accepted an honorary doctorate from Occidental College in September 1936. “You can imagine what a deep gratitude [people] like myself feel to the United States, to this great and generous country. . .” Nevertheless, foretastes of his later disenchantment emerged: “We [musicians]. . .  have to save [music] from the attacks of materialism. . . In a crude world of materialism there is, of course, no room for things making no money.” 

Klemperer’s most important position in the United States would be his six-year leadership of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Taking the reins at the height of the Great Depression in 1933, the conductor grappled with an organization that was ailing financially. Its founder William A. Clark, Jr., heir to a mining fortune, withdrew his financial support; a year later he would be dead from a heart attack. Artur Rodziński, its rising star music director, had abruptly declared that uncertainty over the orchestra’s future forced him to seek stable work with the Cleveland Orchestra.

Into this fray stepped Klemperer, whose first concert with the Los Angeles Philharmonic was described by Bertha McCord Knisely of local weekly Saturday Night as “nothing short of astounding.” Despite this success, Klemperer had no intention of staying in Southern California. He complained to family and friends about a city which seemed to him more “an enormous village. . . an intellectual desert such as we do not know in our Europe.” His real ambitions were set on the great orchestras of the East. In 1935 Leopold Stokowski announced his resignation from the Philadelphia Orchestra. By that December, Klemperer embarked on a guest engagement to lead a series of concerts with Stoki’s band in the hopes of succeeding him. 

Initially he disliked the glossy, immaculately manicured sound that the orchestra had cultivated under its music director, though he eventually came to appreciate their virtuosic responsiveness. (Near the end of his life, Klemperer expressed great admiration for his colleague: “The Philadelphia Orchestra under Stokowski was really a giant.”) 

Edna Phillips, the orchestra’s harpist, remembered well the conductor’s “strange temperament.” She described a New Year’s Day rehearsal for one of his Beethoven concerts as a “war of wills” between recalcitrant orchestra and “imperious maestro,” with oboist Marcel Tabuteau becoming especially flustered.

“Klemperer. . . bent over to speak to the illustrious oboist. . . Tabuteau’s face turned bright red. Afterward, [principal flautist William] Kincaid [said] that throughout the first half of rehearsal Tabuteau had been making derogatory comments in French; and since Klemperer didn’t use a podium, he was close enough to hear him. Worse still, Klemperer had spoken to Tabuteau in French, letting him know that everything he said had been overheard and understood.”

Programs of Beethoven, Mahler, and Bruckner were met with acclaim by the public, if a touch of skepticism from critics. Nevertheless, polls favored him to succeed Stokowski; even his relations with the musicians had become remarkably cordial. It would come to naught—Stokowski ultimately rescinded his resignation. In 1936 he once again announced his abdication. This time it was permanent and there was more: Eugene Ormandy, then with the Minneapolis Symphony, was appointed his successor. Klemperer was livid.

“After the decision in Philadelphia, nothing will come unexpected and nothing will astonish me,” he vented to businessman Ira Hirschmann. “The superficial music will be en vogue (was and will be always).”

A quarter of a century would pass until Klemperer would again appear on the podium of Philadelphia’s Academy of Music.

(This essay will be included in the liner notes of a forthcoming Japanese reissue of Klemperer’s Philadelphia Orchestra broadcasts.)

Otto Klemperer in rehearsal at the Hollywood Bowl (circa 1933).