CD Review: Pristine's latest urges second look at Schnéevoigt

One typically thinks of conductors from the 78 RPM era as having been conferred a halo of greatness which sometimes seem to glow brighter the worse the quality of their recordings get. But in the case of Georg Schnéevoigt, the reception of his posthumous legacy is, at best, “mixed.” If he is remembered at all, it is for his championing of the music of his compatriot Jean Sibelius, of whom he was a pioneering proponent on records. But unlike his colleague Robert Kajanus, whose recordings remain touchstones of Sibelian authenticity, posterity has been not as kind to Schnéevoigt’s shortcomings. His 1934 recording of Sibelius’ Symphony No. 4, for example, was privately criticized by the composer, leading HMV to withhold its commercial release. It was not hard to hear why it remained in the vaults for so long upon its eventual release over 40 years later: Simply put, it was a sloppy and ragged performance. (Small wonder then that HMV engaged Sir Thomas Beecham and his London Philharmonic for a remake which remains a classic.) Further tarnishing his reputation was the retrospective view of his helming of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. “The bland Finn,” was local critic Gilbert Brown’s pithy appraisal of Schnéevoigt’s abilities. It does not help that the conductor made few recordings.

So what to make of Pristine Classic’s latest release, comprising of an all-Sibelius program led by Schnéevoigt with the NBC Symphony? The concert was part of Finland’s contribution to the 1939 World’s Fair, the crowning moment of an entire “Sibelius Week,” with Schnéevoigt appearing in New York City as a musical ambassador. Miles Kastendieck, reviewing the concert the following day in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, proclaimed it a “virtuoso performance of striking brilliance” in which Sibelius’ genius was “revealed in all its greatness.” Schnéevoigt’s Carnegie Hall audience seemed to agree, lavishing warm applause upon the performance. Whatever his faults may have been, on this evening at least Schnéevoigt was anything but “bland.”

His readings here are direct, unaffected, controlled, and powerfully inflected. Sibelius’ Symphony No. 2 opens up with an almost Stravinskian clarity and dryness, starkly prefiguring the comparatively more severe sound world of this score’s successor; although the big, muscular moments in this music (especially the recapitulation of the mighty theme in the finale) emerge all the more impressively for it. No less fine is Schnéevoigt’s interpretation of Sibelius’ Symphony No. 7, which surges forward as if in a single breath. Its restraint makes for telling contrast with Serge Koussevitzky’s BBC recording from around the same period (another Sibelian classic). Only the omission of the symphony’s opening minutes—the unfortunate result of NBC needing to accord space to its announcer—mars what would otherwise be an essential recording. Preceding the symphonies are two movements from what eventually became designated as part of the Lemminkäinen Suite. The movements—“Lemminkäinen and the Maidens of the Island” and “Lemminkäinen in Tuonela”—had only been recently published after having been withdrawn by the composer shortly after their completion. Schnéevoigt’s was their first American performance and while his reading has plenty of brawn, it is tempered by a sense of dignity. Opening the concert was a carefully proportioned and unsentimental interpretation of Finlandia.

Andrew Rose’s transfer sounds splendid over speakers. The balance of the mid-range and the definition of the treble are especially good.

Was Schnéevoigt unjustly maligned by posterity? This important release makes abundantly clear that at the very least his art deserves a second look from committed Sibelians.

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.

CD Review: Mengelberg and “His” Concertgebouw’s living “lingua franca,” courtesy of Pristine audio

It has been a bit of a sentimental journey listening to Pristine Audio’s latest release. Thanks to a $20 gift certificate to The Wherehouse a friend gave me on my 18th birthday, these recordings, albeit in a now long out-of-print compilation from the defunct Pearl label, were my gateway to Willem Mengelberg and historical recordings about 20 years ago. What dazzled me then continues to now: The crisp, tart sound of the Concertgebouw Orchestra; and the marshalling of its musicians into feats of seemingly spontaneous virtuosity by their music director with the shock of red hair that matched his temper.

Of course, these recordings hardly need another recommendation. The just over 100 sides that Mengelberg and the Concertgebouw Orchestra cut with English Columbia represent some of the finest things ever preserved on records. Their glittering reading of the once popular Anacréon overture by Cherubini is a capsule demonstration of the best qualities of this artistic partnership: Vibrant tone color that is skillfully blended and offset as needed, flexibility of phrasing held together by steely ensemble unanimity; all of it embodying a belief in musical performance not as ossified ritual, but as a living act of the moment. Then there is their flashy strut through Beethoven’s “Turkish March” from The Ruins of Athens, which with its sly charm and play of color gives Sir Thomas Beecham a run for his money. Best of all, arguably, is the June 1929 recording of Liszt’s Les préludes, a swashbuckling symphonic drama in miniature approached by very few other conductors and surpassed by none. 

Only the fallible (and cut) recordings of Mendelssohn and Berlioz stumble, but even giants must trip every now and again. 

Some of this repertoire was re-recorded for Telefunken (or captured in live broadcasts) a few years later, but by then interpretive bloat and a perceptible drop in the orchestra’s near-superhuman standards crept in. It is in these recordings made between 1926 – 1931 where Mengelberg and the Concertgebouw can be heard at their staggering prewar peak; a partnership which combined interpretive verve, orchestral color, precision, and flexibility of response that was equaled perhaps only by Leopold Stokowski and the Philadelphia Orchestra. 

The second volume of that aforementioned Pearl set had been fetching handsome sums on the second-hand market for years, which alone makes this new and inexpensive recompilation from Pristine something to celebrate. Better still, these discs now sound better than ever thanks to fresh transfers by Mark Obert-Thorn (who also transferred that earlier set, as well as selections of this material for Naxos Historical). Much has changed since the 1990s and that era’s preferences for taming as much as possible the inevitable “bacon fry” that 78 RPM records make as the needle drags through their shellac grooves. The unavoidable trade-offs, however, were often fuzzy sounding instrumental attacks, tubby bass, and a glassy treble. Some collectors continue to have their sleep disturbed by the horrific, chalky, over-CEDARed nightmares produced by the likes of Grammofono 2000 and Iron Needle (“Rusty Needle” would have been more fitting). These present transfers are discreetly noisier than their predecessors, but gain over them considerably in depth and presence. 

Compare the opening attack of Mengelberg’s dramatic recording of Beethoven’s Coriolan with previous iterations. The articulative bite of the Dutch strings finally comes through with an arresting immediacy and sharpness, underlining the surface gloss with a sense of danger. Tuttis cut through, rather than thump; textures sound taut. Or listen to their joyous romp through Weber’s Euryanthe overture, a deceptively tricky score with overlapping and contrasting layers that shift with dizzying speed. For once, listeners hear the immaculately etched lines that Mengelberg (and Weber) surely intended, rather than runny pastels. 

“I study the score daily and continue to discover new things,” Mengelberg once admonished his orchestra who was languishing under one of his infamously intensive rehearsals of a work they knew well. Garrulous though he may have been in life, these stunning series of recordings are a poignant testament to a time when the language of Bach, Beethoven, Weber, Mendelssohn, were a living lingua franca, not dusty relics codifying rituals in a dead language. 

(A previous Pristine compilation of Mengelberg’s Tchaikovsky for Columbia and Odéon can be found here.)

Latest release from Pristine Audio: The first of a two-part compilation of maestro-auteur Willem Mengelberg and “his” Concertgebouw Orchestra’s recordings for Columbia.