Bernard Haitink (1929-2021),part 2

In 1961-63 Haitink's career path merged with Eugen Jochum's. We'll hear them side-by-side in Bruckner, and in Mahler side-by-side-by-side with their Concertgebouw predecessor Eduard van Beinum

HOLD EVERYTHING! We're going to need a "part 3," for a Haitink-Jochum Beethoven Ninth face-off: an anticipated five performances of the Finale ranging in time from 1938 to 2005 -- coming soon!

Bruckner in Vienna's Stadtpark (City Park) -- bronze bust by Viktor
Tilgner, crop of photo by Mealisland from Wikipedia Commons

Concertgebouw Orchestra (Amsterdam), Bernard Haitink, cond. Philips, recorded Nov. 1-3 1966

Concertgebouw Orchestra (Amsterdam), Eugen Jochum, cond. Live performance, Mar. 3, 1970

Vienna Philharmonic, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded 1976

Orchestre National de France, Eugen Jochum, cond. Live performance from the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Feb. 6, 1980

by Ken

Do you notice any progression in the four clips above, of what I'm calling the "main theme" of the second-movement Adagio of the Bruckner Seventh Symphony, even though it comes maybe half a minute into the movement? We could hear it as a continuation or branch of the opening theme, but in harmony and orchestration it seems so clearly a new, benedictory idea, and an idea of such physical power, intersecting with that opening theme that it seems to me clearly a second theme, and one of such power that it can only be the "main" theme, can't it?

The progression I'm thinking of happened fairly accidentally. It started with the Böhm clip, simply for convenience -- we've heard it before, so it was sitting in the SC Archive waiting to be called upon again, and indeed for a time it saved me from having to make a new clip. Except I felt guilty that it left us starting off without reference to the conductor we're remembering, or the conductor who's our secondary focus today. So I must have made first the 1966 Haitink clip and then, still feeling guilty, the 1970 Jochum one. And still I coudln't relinquish the Böhm clip, even though it seemed to have outlived its purpose and usefulness; the problem was that I like, I really like it. Eventually, many thousands of clips later, it seemed only natural to tack on the 1980 Jochum-in-Paris clip.

Okay, so this is part 2 of our remembrance of Bernard Haitink, who died peacefully in his sleep, we're told, on October 21, at the age of 92. Since he remained active through 2019, that leaves us a heap of remembering to do, and I thought we would start with a point I kept meaning to make last week, in "Bernard Haitink (1929-2021), part 1." In fact, we've got a subhead left over from the drafting of last week's installment, when I still imagined that all our Haitink remembering could get remembered in one fell swoop. This subhead was planned to be the first of a series of them; now it seems a good way to get us started on part 2.

(1) IT'S GREAT TO BE GOOD, BUT
IT'S ALSO SMART TO BE LUCKY

That's "lucky" as in, for example, being in the right place at the right time, which in Haitink's case meant being an up-and-coming young Dutch conductor at a time when a critical need arose for just such a commodity.

He'd had a formal relationship with the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra since 1955, and been its principal conductor since 1957, when the Concertgebouw Orchestra's chief conductor, Eduard van Beinum [right], died suddenly (though his health seems to have been iffy for a long while) following a heart attack in April 1959, creating an urgent need for a Dutch conductor capable of taking the reins of what was not just the Netherlands' premiere orchestra but one of the world's elite ones. The 30-year-old Haitink was offered the position of "first conductor" (previously given in 1941-43 to a fellow name of . . . Eugen Jochum), but there was clearly still reluctance to elevate him to the chief conductorship. For the record, Van Beinum himself had served a period as "second conductor" to Mengelberg before being made co-chief conductor, remaining as sole chief in 1945 when the orchestra severed ties with Mengelberg over his overfriendliness with the Nazi occupiers. Van Beinum thankfully had an unimpeachable anti-Nazi record.


HAITINK FINALLY GOT HIS BUMP-UP, IN 1961,
BUT PROBABLY NOT THE WAY HE HAD HOPED

Even if Brahms's new work-in-progress was going to be a piano concerto rather than a symphony, he still had to create forms for it

aka Part 2 of "More 'pre-post' than 'tease': If our sights are set on Brahms's First Symphony, why are we listening to his First Piano Concerto? (Part 1)" -- also now variously updated

MONDAY EVENING UPDATE: The promised after-post, "As promised, here's a proper quick-sampling of the three Brahms piano quartets," is up now

TUESDAY MORNING UPDATE: Now comes with a box at the end: "(SPOILER ALERT!) THE PATH TO BRAHMS 1: The series so far"

Hungarian-born George Szell (1897-1970) was past 40 when he first recorded the Brahms D minor Concerto -- in 1938, with no less than the great Artur Schnabel! We see him here c1965, after his recordings of the concerto with Leon Fleisher and Clifford Curzon but before his second recording of it (the one we've been hearing) with Rudolf Serkin.

by Ken

I've left you hanging (from Thursday's "pre-post") with those unidentified Performances A, B, anc C -- plus two "bonus" performances -- of the enormous and enormously complex first movement of the Brahms First Piano Concerto, into which we crashed at the start of our look at the composer's enormously difficult path to the creation of his First Symphony. The young Brahms, you'll recall, flush with the excitement of his "discovery," notably via the gushing seal of approval delivered by Robert Schumann (and now enjoying the warm support of both Robert and Clara Schumann), thought he was on the way to nailing the symphony that would be expected of any touted successor to the line of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Mendelssohn, and of course Schumann himself.

Somewhere along the line, alas, during the hopeful repurposing-into-a-symphony of a sonata for two pianos of which he'd composed three movements, he found himself faced with an impasse: a first movement growing to supersize which his inner voices told him he couldn't make a symphony of. It doesn't seem to have taken him long, though, to conjure up a Plan C: not a sonata for two pianos, not a symphony, but . . . .

MAYBE, JUST PERHAPS, A PIANO CONCERTO?

Say, can you do this in a symphony?


Emil Gilels, piano; Berlin Philharmonic, Eugen Jochum, cond. DG, recorded in the Jesus-Christus-Kirche, June 1972