Brahms knew, and so did Mahler: Being a for-real functional artistic genius is (gosh!) really hard work

"Mahler's way of thinking in music did not easily conform to the rules of the symphonic scholars. He could not contain himself in the A B A divisions of symphonic form. In this unique first movement he adapted large-scale sonata form to his own power of improvisation. He believed that music should continually grow, phrase by phrase, one section balancing another, by laws not only of musical form as usually obeyed but also by psychological and organic growth and the logic of contrast. . . ."

-- Neville Cardus, in his "Appreciation of Mahler's Third"
[reproduced in part in the last post in this Mahler 3 series]

"This final published version [of the Andante sostenuto of Brahms's First Symphony] is clearly both tauter and richer, for there is less repetition and more diversity, and Brahms has cast fresh light on his themes by bringing them into new relationships. Altogether these changes provide a deeply fascinating insight into genius at work."

-- Robert Pascall, vice chair of the New Complete Brahms Edition (and editor of the symphonies), in his notes for the Mackerras-Teldec Brahms 1

REMEMBER THE VERY DIFFERENT VERSIONS WE'VE
HEARD OF THE ANDANTE SOSTENUTO OF BRAHMS 1?

BRAHMS: Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 68:
ii. Andante sostenuto

► A reconstruction of the "initial performing version":

► And this: the familiar published (i.e., final) version
(which we'll be hearing -- and thinking about -- a lot more!):

Scottish Chamber Orchestra, Sir Charles Mackerras, cond. Telarc, recorded in Usher Hall, Edinburgh, January 1997

WE'LL TALK ABOUT THEM, BUT FOR NOW MIGHT WE HAVE
MAESTRO M. PLAY US ANOTHER SYMPHONIC ANDANTE?

BBC Philharmonic, Sir Charles Mackerras, cond. BBC Music Magazine, recorded live in Bridgewater Hall, Manchester (England), Nov. 16, 2002 (published 2005)

by Ken

It's taken us a long time and a crazy path to get here, "here" being out-the-other-end of the first movement of the Mahler Third Symphony --

OUR CRAZY PATH TO WHEREVER WE ARE NOW:

► "Setting out to trace the lineage of Boston Symphony concert-masters back to 1962, we wind up trapped in the gigantic first movement of the Mahler Third Symphony," July 23

► "Coming momentarily (if not sooner): An adventure in musical metamorphosis -- presented in a pair of mutually accessible parts," Sept. 22

► "Part 1: Marching in anguish, or to triumph, or toward what? In the 1st movement of Mahler 3, we've sure left BrahmsWorld behind!," Sept 23

► "Part 2: Marching in anguish, or to triumph, or toward what? In the 1st movement of Mahler 3, we've sure left BrahmsWorld behind! (Then again, are we so sure?)," Sept. 27

► "Brahms knew, and so did Mahler: Being a for-real functional artistic genius is (gosh!) really hard work," today

BECAUSE THE ANDANTE SOSTENUTO IS SO DEAR TO ME,
THE SC ARCHIVE TEEMS WITH PERFORMANCES OF IT

While we've got another whole group of recordings coming up in this post, for immediate hearing I've plucked out two, from the Brahms symphony cycles I feel closest to, returning to them regularly with tingly expectation that's always rewarded. Kurt Masur's Andante sostenuto and Kurt Sanderling's are different; notably, though Masur sounds in no way rushed, Sanderling sets a still-more-spacious pace, which the Dresden players fill with glowing life. But both draw me back above all because the orchestras have achieved real identification with the music, playing not just with heart-enriching beauty and finesse but with a soul-stirring sense of really living the music, whether in melodic or accompanimental or ensemble writing -- all of it sounded and made to fit together with such fullness and depth and general "rightness" of expression.

(It sobers me to realize that I've been loving the Sandering-Dresden Brahms cycle for something like half a century now, especially enjoying, in the early decades, those beautiful Eurodisc LP pressings.)

Coming momentarily (if not sooner): An adventure in musical metamorphosis -- presented in a pair of mutually accessible parts

EARLY MORNING UPDATE: Part 1 of the post is now posted. Part 2 will be coming soon.

UPDATE: Two more clips added, clearly related to each other, and to the other clips -- can you figure out how they're related?

STAGE 1 -- a grand old theme, which comes to us stated in three distinctly different ways:


Vienna Philharmonic, Rafael Kubelik, cond. Decca, recorded September 1957

Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded April 1977

Staatskapelle Dresden, Kurt Sanderling, cond. Eurodisc, recorded Nov. 1971

STAGE 2 -- Talk about a transformation! Again, we hear it at three slightly but noticeably different paces:


Berlin Radio Symphony, Heinz Rögner, cond. Berlin Classics, recorded 1983

Bavarian Radio Symphony, Rafael Kubelik, cond. DG, recorded May 1967

Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded April 1993

STAGE 3 -- This one's a doozy, which'll really come into its own in Part 2 of the post:


Bavarian Radio Symphony, Rafael Kubelik, cond. DG, recorded May 1967

Vienna Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein, cond. DG, recorded live, April 1972

BBC Symphony Orchestra, Pierre Boulez, cond. Live performance, Nov. 1974

by Ken

That's right, what's coming up is a two-part post, whose two parts (and I've never attempted this) are going to be posted at the same time and be mutually accessible, meaning that you can, if you wish, jump back and forth between them. I apologize for, but am not going to further comment on here, my long blog silence. (There'll be a few words in Part 1 of the post. But I can't change what is, or was. What is, or was, is -- or was.

Setting out to trace the lineage of Boston Symphony concertmasters back to 1962, we wind up trapped in the gigantic first movement of the Mahler Third Symphony

"It is well known that I cannot be without trivialities, but this time all permissible bounds have been passed, and 'one frequently feels he has landed in a tavern or a pigsty.' "

-- Gustav Mahler, writing to his 19-year-old assistant Bruno Walter
in July 1896 about his nearly completed Third Symphony, sarcastically
incorporating critical characterizations of his work as a composer

Joseph Silverstein, BSO concertmaster 1962-84,
talks about what it takes to be a concertmaster

From a December 2014 interview (Joseph S., age 82): "William Steinberg once said to me -- and he was certainly a marvelous conductor and a great man to work with -- said to me one day, 'You're playing everything louder, softer, longer, and shorter than everybody in the section.' And I said, 'I thought that was my job.' And he said, 'It is, but don't do it too well.' "

[NOTE: Eventually we'll have a fuller version of Joseph S.'s answer.]


We hear (sort of) Nathan C.'s two predecessors playing the lyrical
countersubject of the first movement of Mahler's Third Symphony

Joseph Silverstein, violin; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Erich Leinsdorf, cond. RCA, recorded in Symphony Hall, Oct. 10-11, 1966

Malcolm Lowe, violin; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded in Symphony Hall, April 1993

by Ken

I should look up the quote, but my recollection is that Bruno Walter expressed his diffidence about the Mahler Third Symphony in terms of a fear that somewhere in that gigantic first movement the devil had crept in.

Sorry, but for a change I haven't been able to piece together the post I was aiming for, a proper end to the series celebrating the accession of the Boston Symphony's new concertmaster, Nathan Cole. I hoped some of the fragments might stand on their own, and instead wandered into a trap. I'm sorry that my experiment with homing in on that lyrical second subject of the first movement of Mahler 3, as played by Nathan C.'s two immediate BSO predecessors, for whom he has expressed such admiration, didn't work out so well -- it just isn't so easy to hear either of our star fiddlers dispatching the solo.

But it's not a bad thing to make sure we all understand why I wanted to focus on the BSO concertmaster succession -- to appreciate by sight and especially sound the legacy that Nathan Cole is so aware of inheriting. It's also maybe a chance to linger a little over that gigantic first movement of Mahler 3 -- the movement where, Bruno Walter once wrote, he felt sure the devil had crept in. In his lifetime Bruno W. -- to whom the responsibility fell for conducting the premieres of Das Lied von der Erde and the Mahler Ninth Symphony, would remain probably the leading champion of Mahler's still-widely-patronized music, but even he turned his back on Mahler 3, 6, 7, and 8, which would have an even longer, more arduous path to repertorial daylight.


WOULD YOU BELIEVE WE HAD ONLY ONE RECORDING OF
THE FIRST MOVEMENT OF MAHLER 3 IN THE SC ARCHIVE?

Interim post: The proper post is in its final stages -- I got caught up in what I'm calling "Tales of a 'tail' "

I GUESS THIS COULD BE THOUGHT OF AS "Part 2b-ii"
OF OUR ONGOING SEIJI OZAWA REMEMBERANCE

Laurence Thorstenberg, English horn; Boston Symphony, Seiji Ozawa, cond.

by Ken

What we hear (and see!) above is the haunting English-horn solo that sets us in the "Chambre de Marguerite" -- the bedchamber of the now-"fallen" Marguerite, accused of murdering her mother by gradual poisoning and abandoned by Faust, of Part IV of Berlioz's Damnation of Faust. As we will see, or rather hear, however, abandoned though she may be, she spends all her days waiting by the window or outside her house waiting for him to return.

BERLIOZ: The Damnation of Faust, Op. 24: Part IV,
romance, Marguerite, "D'amour l'ardente flamme"

Rita Gorr, mezzo-soprano; Robert Casier, English horn; Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra (Paris), André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded in the Salle Wagram, Oct. 5-10, 1959

Maria Callas, soprano; Orchestre de la Société des Concerts du Conservatoire de Paris, Georges Prêtre, cond. EMI, recorded in the Salle Wagram, May 2-8, 1963


SPOILER ALERT

Seiji Ozawa (1935-2024)Part 2b: It takes a vibrant imagination to enter fully Berlioz's and Mahler's worlds

"Romeo, trembling with an anxious joy, reveals himself to Juliet."

From Part I, the Prologue to Berlioz's R&J "dramatic symphony"

SMALL CHORUS: The feast is concluded,
and when all noise dies down,
under the arches one hears
weary dancers grow more distant, singing.
Alas! -- and Romeo sighs,
for he has had to leave Juliet! --
Suddenly, in order to breathe again
that air that she breathes,
he vaults over the garden walls.
Already on her balcony the pale Juliet appears --
and believing herself alone until daybreak
confides to the night her love.
[1:28] Romeo, trembling with an anxious joy,
reveals himself to Juliet,
and from his heart fires burst forth in their turn.

New England Conservatory Chorus, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. DG, recorded in Symphony Hall, October 1975
[NOTE: For the immediately following alto-solo "strophes" (stanzas), "Premiers transports que nul n'oublie," scroll down a ways. -- Ed.]

From Part III: "Où sont-ils maintenant?" ("Where are they now?")

CHORUS OF CAPULETS AND MONTAGUES:
Ah! what a frightful mystery!
[0:30] Récit., Father Laurence, "Je vais dévoiler le mystère"
I am going to unveil the mystery.
This corpse, this was the husband of Juliet.
Do you see that body laid out on the ground?
That was the wife, alas!, of Romeo.
It's I who had married them.
BOTH CHORUSES: Married?
FATHER LAURENCE: Yes, I must confess it.
I saw in it a salutary marker
of a future friendship between your two houses.
BOTH CHORUSES: Friends of the Montagues/Capulets, us!
We curse them!
FATHER LAURENCE: But you've restarted the war between families!
To flee another marriage, the unhappy girl came to find me.
"You alone," she cried, "would be able to save me!
There's nothing more for me but to die!"
In this extreme peril
I had her take, in order to ward off fate,
a potion, which that same evening
lent her the pallor and cold of death.
BOTH CHORUSES: A potion!
FATHER LAURENCE: And I came without fear
here to rescue her.
But Romeo, deceived,
to the pregnant funeral
had arrived ahead of me -- to die
on the body of of his beloved;
and promptly on her awakening
Juliet, informed
of this death that he bears in his devastated breast,
with Romeo's sword had armed herself against herself
and passed into eternity
when I appeared -- there is the whole truth.
BOTH CHORUSES: Married!
[3:27] Air, Father Laurence, "Pauvres enfants, que je pleure"
Poor children, for whom I weep,
fallen together before your time,
on your somber resting place will come to weep.
Great through you in history,
Verona one day, without thinking about it,
will have its sorrow and its glory
solely in the memory of you.

[6:19] Where are they now, those fierce enemies?
Capulets, Montagues! Come, come, touch,
hatred in your hearts, insults in your mouth,
these pale lovers, barbarians, approach!
God punishes you in your tendernesses.
His chastisements, his avenging thunderbolts
hold the secret of our terrors.
Listen to his voice which thunders:
so that on high My vengeance will pardon you,
forget, forget your own furies!

José van Dam (bs-b), Father Laurence; New England Conservatory Chorus, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. DG, recorded in Symphony Hall, October 1975

by Ken

You could say we're getting ahead of ourselves, jumping from Part I, the Prologue, all the way to the Finale of Berlioz's "dramatic symphony" Roméo et Juliette, or you could say we're just catching up with the second of the four "musical talking points" I outlined for our remembrance of Seiji Ozawa, which we heard -- most recently in last week's Part 2a of our remembrance of Seiji Ozawa ("Thinking big musically doesn't preclude making every moment fully alive") -- so eloquently sung by the great Belgian bass-baritone José van Dam. It's "The Oath" that Father Laurence (promoted by Berlioz from "friar" to "father," we notice) pretty much shoves down the vituperating throats of the once-again-warring houses of Capulet and Montague, in the shock of the deaths of their precious children, Juliet and Romeo. We'll be rehearing "The Oath," "Jurez donc par l'auguste symbole" ("Swear then, by the august symbol"), shortly, when we work our way through the Finale of Berlioz's R&J.


AS WE LEARNED FROM THE CONVERSATIONS WITH SEIJI
IN THE BERLIN PHILHARMONIC'S DIGITAL CONCERT HALL --

Seiji Ozawa (1935-2024)Part 2a: Thinking big musically doesn't preclude making every moment fully alive

MAHLER: Kindertotenlieder (Songs on the Death of Children):
No. 4, "Oft denk' ich, sie sind nur ausgeganen!"
("Often I think they've only gone out!")

Jessye Norman, soprano; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded live in the Alte Oper, Frankfurt, December 1988

MAHLER: Symphony No. 8 in E-flat:
Part I, Allegro impetuoso, "Veni, Creator Spiritus"

Faye Robinson, Judith Blegen (and Deborah Sasson?), sopranos; Florence Quivar, mezzo-sorano; Lorna Myers, contralto; Kenneth Riegel, tenor; Benjamin Luxon, baritone; Gwynne Howell, bass; Tanglewood Festival Chorus, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded live in Symphony Hall, Oct.-Nov. 1980
[SOPRANO NOTE: A third soprano is called for in Part II but not Part I. However, I can't swear that there's been no redistribution of parts in Part I.]

by Ken

If you've visited the previous installment of this series, "Seiji Ozawa (1935-2024), Part 1: Being the preface to a probably-inappropriately-impressionistic (at least at the start) musical remembrance" (Feb. 11), you know that this isn't where we expected to be beginning Part 2. We had, by gosh, a formal agenda! And we'll be coming back to it, though I'm afraid not completing it in this installment.

That plan changed, or at least got rejiggered, as I pondered the possibilities suggested by the presence, among the large volume of Ozawa holdings in the SC Archive, of the complete Part I of his BSO recording of Mahler's grandest symphony, the Eighth, his setting of the old Latin hymn "Veni, Creator Spiritus" -- one of his most extraordinary, and extraordinarily dense, musical concoctions, unlike anything else I know in the musical literature, definitely including Part II of the Eighth, his cherry-picked rendering of Part II of Goethe's Faust, which is as discursive and, er, spaced out (in more ways than one) as Part I is concentrated and compact.

Then, since the content list for this musical talking point already included Nos. 3 and 4 of the Mahler Kindertotenlieder (settings of, altogether, five of Friedrich Rückert's poems on the death of children) in the powerful live recording Seiji and the BSO made with Jessye Norman on tour in Frankfurt, I slipping one of them in here, partly to hear Jessye and Seiji -- whom we've heard collaborating so splendidly in Gurre-Lieder Part I -- together again, but more to illustrate both Mahler's and Seiji's complete comfort with the formally simple and wildly complex musical structures.


WE'll RETURN TO THE "PART 2 TALKING POINTS," BUT FOR READERS GRIPPED BY "VENI, CREATOR SPIRITUS" MANIA --

FLASH: Want to see 'n' hear Seiji Ozawa conduct Mendelssohn's Elijah for free? Act now!

We're also going to hear (right here!) Seiji conduct Beethoven's irresistible Choral Fantasy with its great champion Rudolf Serkin

The Berlin Philharmonic's Digital Concert Hall is honoring Seiji Ozawa with free access to the performance of Mendelssohn's Elijah -- built around a commanding assumption of the crucial title role by baritone Matthias Goerne -- recorded on May 17, 2009. But I don't know how long it'll be free!

AN APOLOGY: This is really inexcusable. There's no good reason why I couldn't have gotten this "FLASH" up Monday, but here it is Sunday (well, actually, Monday again by the time this is posted), and .*nbsp. . . In one source I saw something like "On demand through February 29, but I didn't know if that was a legit cutoff date for free access. I dithered. The good news is that the 2009 and 2016 interviews shouldn't be going away anytime soon. Sorry!

by Ken

For once, I heard that clock ticking and punched up the 2009 Seiji-Berlin Elijah right away, and watched the whole thing. It took me a long time to come to grips with the piece, but I did, and it occupies a special place in my affections. I was especially happy to discover how strong Matthias Goerne's performance of the title role is, because without a strong Elijah the piece kind of doesn't make a lot of sense. But there's still a serious burden on the conductor, because a fair amount of the piece really does need a major effort of motivation-defining, and this is the sort of thing Seiji was so good at: helping his co-performers feel the importance of what they're performing in the moment and how it relates to a piece's grand design.

There's also some important history embedded in the Elijah performance, as I came to understand from watching the 2009 and 2016 interviews in the Digital Concert Hall archive. Onsite they're described as "conversations," and they truly are -- with a member of the orchestra, sometimes even in English, and always with subtitles even if they aren't. It turns out that the Elijah, owing to what I recall him describing in the 2016 "conversation," with his countryman Daishin Kashimoto, as "my mysterious illness" (all week I've been thinking I should really rewatch the 2016 conversation to pin down his exact words; this'll have to be close enough), would be his last Berlin appearance until he was finally able to return in 2016 to conduct an all-Beethoven second half of a concert that began with a conductorless performance by elite winds of the Berlin Phil of Mozart's stupendous Gran Partita Serenade, K. 361.


MORAL: DON'T OVERLOOK THE INTERVIEWS!

Seiji Ozawa (1935-2024)Part 1: Being the preface to a probably-inappropriately-impressionistic (at least at the start) musical remembrance

[As if impressionisticity were utterly unknown in this department]

In Part 1 we preview four musical talking points we'll be starting from in Part 2: (1) Andante sostenuto, (2) "Pandaemonium,"
(3) "Le Serment" ("The Oath"), and (4) A snatch of Nietzsche

-- from the Feb. 6 "Tribute to Seiji Ozawa" on the BSO website

#1 of 4 [see above & below]: Andante sostenuto

Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. DG, recorded in Symphony Hall, Apr. 2, 1977

by Ken

Seiji died Tuesday, at 88, after a number of years of diminished health, but also after a remarkably full (and I hope satisfying; he did an awful lot to feel satisfied about) run. If you need reminding of how productive a life it was, I do commend to you that "Tribute" posted on the website of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, whose music director he was for a, well, remarkable 29 seasons (1973-2002). I've been fascinated in particular by the well-filled-out "Timeline of Seiji Ozawa with the BSO," which although specifically BSO-focused can't help but touch on non-BSO doings.

I know we have all sorts of desperately important business pending -- and as you can see, this "musical remembrance" is now itself mostly pending, though I'm hoping its pendency will be brief; Parts 2 and 3 are taking shape. A quick peek in the Sunday Classics Musical Archive confirmed my sense that Seiji has been a frequent guest here, and Part 3 will consist mostly (I hope!) of just pulling a buncha stuff out of the archive for our listening pleasure.

Part 2, however, as you may have noted, is going to spring from four "musical talking points" that have leapt out of my wanderings through memory. The first we've heard above, in its intact, self-contained form -- self-contained except for the story attached, which has to do with my happening to hear Seiji and the BSO play the piece from which this Andante sostenuto is drawn, a symphony I imagine I thought I knew reasonably well at the time (the summer of 1974) but in the case of this movement seemed to be hearing for the first time, to overwheming effect. For the record (pun possibly slightly intended), the recording was made several years later, in April 1977, when Seiji was rounding out his fourth season as BSO music director -- and I wonder how many people imagined that 25 more seasons were to follow.


THE OTHER THREE "MUSICAL TALKING POINTS"

Before we take our closer look at Gurre-Lieder, I want to think about two performers who make one performance a special case

The ruins of Gurre Castle (as of 2007), in the far northeast of Denmark (on the map Gurre looks like a stone's throw across the water from Sweden) where King Valdemar I is supposed to have tucked away his beautiful, dearly beloved mistress Tove -- until, well, thereupon hangs a tale.

Which we'll get to. Just maybe not right away.

So it begins --


Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Rafael Kubelik, cond. DG, recorded live in the Kongress-Saal of the Deutsches Museum, Munich, March 9-12, 1965

Staatskapelle Dresden, Giuseppe Sinopoli, cond. Teldec, recorded live in the Semper Oper, August 1995

Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra, Andrew Litton, cond. Live performance from Grieg Hall, in the Bergen International Festival, June 4, 2008

Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Josef Krips, cond. Live performance from the Vienna Festival, in the Vienna Konzerthaus, June 10, 1969

In time, these Gurre-Lieder, or Songs of Gurre, come to Tove's declaration, "Nun sag' ich dir zum ersten Mal, 'König Volmer, ich liebe dich'" (replaying the performances we've already heard) --

Now I say to you for the first time, "King Volmer, I love you."
Now I kiss you for the first time, and fling my arms around you.
And if you were to say I had earlier said it
and ever given you my kiss,
then I say, "The king is a fool,
who recalls vague rubbish."
And if you say, "Indeed I am such a fool,"
then I'll say, "The king is right."
But if you say, "No, I'm not that,"
Then I'll say, "The king is bad."
For I have kissed all my roses to death,
all the while I was thinking of you.

Gundula Janowitz (s), Tove; Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Josef Krips, cond. Live performance from the Vienna Festival, in the Vienna Konzerthaus, June 10, 1969

Jessye Norman (s), Tove; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded live in Symphony Hall, April 1979

by Ken

Believe it or not, we're making progress, even if it's of a kind of sidewise sort. I remember there was a plan to illustrate the special qualities I hear in the conducting of Josef Krips (1902-1974), which at the time seemed to require nothing more than plucking an abundance of for-instances out of the Sunday Classics Archive. I'm not so good at just-plucking-out, however, and as soon as I started, the project began to grow and shift, especially when I found myself taking a better listen than I have before to a performance I've owned for ages: Krips's 1969 Vienna Festival rendering of Arnold Schoenberg's monumental cantata-oratorio-or-whatever (I'm not aware of a term that begins to cover it), Gurre-Lieder.

At that point it seemed necessary to pause the Krips quick-tour and spend a jot of time with Gurre-Lieder, one of the most arresting and astonishing musical creations I know. No sooner had I set out on that tack (well, maybe many, many hours of toil after I set out on that tack), I realized that before we got to that, it might be useful for me to explain why that particular performance exerted such a fascination for me. Which meant a closer look at conductor Krips and the singer who incarnated King Waldemar's inamorata Tove, which is to say the soprano Gundula Janowitz (born 1937).

Again, I first thought this could be accomplished easily and painlessly by a simple raid of the archives. And probably it could have. But again, my mind doesn't work that way. Soon enough I was back at work crafting whole new sets of audio clips and puzzling out a navigable path through them. And in just a moment we're going to partake of a teasing taste of G.J.


BUT FIRST, BACK TO THE BEGINNING -- OF GURRE-LIEDER

On the way to our archival array of performances by conductor Josef Krips, we stall at a piece that cries out for more considered attention

Stanley Drucker, clarinet; New York Philharmonic, Zubin Mehta, cond. Sony, recorded in Avery Fisher Hall, May 23-28, 1991

by Ken

In fairness, we should probably hear a bit more than this, and even though we're not going to get to a proper version of the post with which I had hoped to follow up last week's "Josef Krips's Requiem," we are going to hear a proper rendering -- two, in fact -- of the source of this haunting theme. For now, though, I was delighted, in working on that still-in=progress post, to find an occasion for another Stanley Drucker "moment" -- after all, we do still have important unfinished business to finish in our remembrance of Stanley D.

And this theme, originally sounded first by the solo clarinet and then taken up by the soprano as the start of the meltingly beautiful solo we're about to hear, takes me back to the summer of 1974, with the late Michael Steinberg -- in his pre-San Francisco days, when he was still the much-admired music critic of the Boston Globe, when Michael played it on the piano, in a small meeting space on the grounds of the Tanglewood Festival, for attendees of that year's annual meeting of the Music Critics Association. It was my first MCA meeting, and my first-ever (and so far still only) visit to Tanglewood, and there was Michael at the piano, so overcome wrought that you wondered if would be able to get through it.


SO LET'S HEAR OUR THEME AS IT WAS WRITTEN

Nun sag' ich dir zum ersten Mal, 'König Volmer, ich liebe dich.'
Nun küss ich dich zum ersten Mal, und schlinge den Arm um dich.
   (Now I say to you for the first time, 'King Volmer, I love you.'
   Now I kiss you for the first time, and fling my arms around you.)

Gundula Janowitz, soprano; Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Josef Krips, cond. Live performance from the Vienna Festival, Vienna Konzerthaus, June 10, 1969

Jessye Norman, soprano; Harold Wright, clarinet; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded live in Symphony Hall, April 1979
[NOTE: Of course we're hearing another legend of American clarinettery here: the BSO's Harold "Buddy" Wright]

Whenever I hear or even think about this, I still see and hear Michael playing it on the piano that day at Tanglewood. Of course I understand why he was so overcome. If we were to undertake a mission as silly as trying to list the Most Beautiful Pieces of Music Ever Written, the excerpt would have to hold a place all the way to the end. I re-encountered it in the process of extracting, as promised last week, performances by the wonderful conductor Josef Krips from the SC Archive, which is teeming with them, including a number of excerpts from the work our clip comes from.


OF COURSE WE SHOULD HEAR THE WHOLE SOLO

All the major players in "Carmen" gather outside the bullfighting arena in Seville

The Entr'acte to Act III is played by the Berlin Philharmonic under Gustavo Dudamel, with Emmanuel Pahud as flute soloist, at the orchestra's 2010 Silvesterkonzert (i.e., New Year's Eve concert)

by Ken

As I explained in Friday night's preview ("Enter the Toreador"), we're picking up on our look at the unfolding of the romantic obsession of the Army sergeant Don José, a Basque who has left his home in Navarre for the southerly latitudes of Seville, for the free-spirited gypsy Carmen, whose original interest in José was the very fact that he was one of the rare man who shows absolutely no interest in her. However, by the end of Act II, where we left the couple in part 1 of this series ("'And long live the music that falls on us from heaven' (Carmen)"), he was thoroughly under her spell.

We're going to move pretty quickly through Act III to get to the climactic meeting of the now-former lovers in Act IV.

BIZET: Carmen: Entr'acte to Act III

We already did the Act III Entr'acte pretty thoroughly in a February 2012 flute-and-harp post, and we just heard (and saw) it again at the top of the post. Well, here it is again.


Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Paris, Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos, cond. EMI, recorded 1969-70

Orchestre National de la Radiodiffusion Française, Sir Thomas Beecham, cond. EMI, recorded 1958-59


WE'RE IN THE MOUNTAINS NOW, IN "A PICTURESQUE
AND WILD SITE" WHERE CARMEN & CO. HAVE GONE . . .

Mahler Symphony No. 8, "Veni, Creator Spiritus"

If you can bear the video mis-sync, here's the first 8 minutes of Part I of Mahler's monumental Symphony No. 8, his setting of the medieval hymn "Veni, Creator Spiritus," with Sir Simon Rattle conducting the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain (and soloists and choruses too numerous to mention -- even if I knew who they were) at the 2002 Proms.

by Ken

As I noted in Friday night's preview, there is an unmistakable rupture between Mahler's Eighth Symphony (which has been saddled with the unfortunate rubric "Symphony of a Thousand"; yes, it calls for eight vocal soloists and a double chorus plus children's chorus in addition to orchestra reinforced by organ, but that's a long from a thousand performers) and the song-symphony that followed, Das Lied von der Erde (The Song of the Earth). As everyone surely knows by now, in the interim the composer received the dire diagnosis of his untreatable heart disease.

In the Eighth Symphony, however, we find Mahler from the very outset still at his heaven-stormingest, as we heard in the video clip above.

Performances of the Mahler Eighth were once rare events. By now they have become, if not quite commonplace, then hardly rarities, and recordings . . . well, they have become more or less commonplace. Which makes this once-hardly-approachable work much more readily available, but still hardly easy of approach.

We're going to limit ourselves to Part I of the symphony, Mahler's setting of the medieval hymn "Veni, Creator Spiritus." (Part II, which last more than twice as long, is a setting of the final scene from Goethe's Faust.)