Bernard Haitink (1929-2021),part 1

1st Addition: Finale of the Beethoven Ninth Symphony (added at the end)
2nd Addition: the Adagio of the Shostakovich Seventh Symphony, plus texts for the Siegfried scene (now moved toward the end of the post) and for the Mahler songs -- and, oh yes, some blocks of text.
Final Addition: Note the "part 1" now appended to the post title. Rather than continue stuffing more stuff into this post, I decided it makes more sense to spin it off into a separate post. Prime exhibit: what we might call -- if we were the sort of person who was inclined to think in such terms -- "Haitink vs. Jochum, in Mahler and Bruckner." Of course it's not really a competition (and so, as Dave Letterman used to say, "No wagering!"). Nevertheless, the careers of these two important conductors, of decidedly different generations, intersected importantly in Amsterdam in the early 1960s. Among the exhibits (and helping plug the Bruckner gap so troubling in part 1 of this post): the Adagio from Haitink's first and last recordings, from September 1966 and June 2019, thus more than half a century apart, of the Bruckner Seventh Symphony.
Wait, One Post-Final Addition: a block of text explaining the inclusion of the Beethoven Ninth finale.

Now, back to business --

FIRST, SOME QUICK MUSICAL IMPRESSIONS OF B.H.

Haitink, who turned 92 in March, remained active up to the end [well, not quite the end; I note that he did a round of "farewell" performances in 2019 -- Ed.], and is reported to have died peacefully in his sleep on the 21st of this month. Not a fancy or excess-prone conductor, but a committed and sincerely musical one -- it was a heckuva career.

HANDEL: Music for the Royal Fireworks:
i. Ouverture

Concertgebouw Orchestra (Amsterdam), Bernard Haitink, cond. Philips, recorded in the Concertgebouw, c1962

BRAHMS: Double Concerto in A minor, Op. 102:
ii. Andante

Henryk Szeryng, violin; János Starker, cello; Concertgebouw Orchestra (Amsterdam), Bernard Haitink, cond. Philips, recorded in the Concertgebouw, September 1970

SHOSTAKOVICH: The Age of Gold (ballet suite), Op. 22a:
iii. Polka: Allegretto

London Philharmonic Orchestra, Bernard Haitink, cond. Decca, recorded in Kingsway Hall, November 1979

SHOSTAKOVICH: Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 54:
iii. Presto

Concertgebouw Orchestra (Amsterdam), Bernard Haitink, cond. Decca, recorded in the Concertgebouw, December 1983
[NOTE: For those unfamiliar with the strange musical beast that is Shostakovich 6, it begins with a fairly long and quite lovely Largo -- worthy of Mahler, who has to have been on Shostakovich's mind -- and then dashes into a startlingly goofy Allegro that segues into this giddy, dare I say foot-stomping Presto, about the last thing we could have seen coming from that opening Largo. AFTERTHOUGHT: I'm thinking we ought to spend some time with Shostakovich 6, perhaps with some hindsight-driven wonder at its position in the otherworldly sequence of Shostakovich's Sixth through Ninth Symphonies.]

by Ken

After I'd been thinking for a while as to what music might go into a proper Haitink memorial, I thought I'd just take a peek in the DWT Archive. I had no idea how much there is there, so at this preliminary stage, before I've given much thought to making this a proper Haitink memorial post, I thought we might just listen to a small portion of music we've already heard from him, starting with another Brahms concerto slow movement, hearing how he adjusts to noticeably different sorts of soloist -- note how he's a little more assertive with Brendel, more supportive with the more self-starting Arrau (with whom, we might recall, Haitink had already recorded a cycle of the five Beethoven piano concertos).

BRAHMS: Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat, Op. 83:
iii. Andante

Claudio Arrau, piano; Concertgebouw Orchestra (Amsterdam), Bernard Haitink, cond. Philips, recorded in the Concertgebouw, October 1969

Alfred Brendel, piano; Concertgebouw Orchestra (Amsterdam), Bernard Haitink, cond. Philips, recorded in the Concertgebouw, December 1973

And while we're following up on our opening selections, we might look at a very different side of Shostakovich from the jolly music we heard above: the searing Adagio of the Leningrad Symphony. Haitink, we might recall, recorded all 15 Shostakovich symphonies, split between the Concertgebouw and his beloved second orchestra, the London Philharmonic.

SHOSTAKOVICH: Symphony No. 7 in C, Op. 60 (Leningrad):
iii. Adagio

London Philharmonic Orchestra, Bernard Haitink, cond. Decca, recorded in Kingsway Hall, 1979


OF COURSE WE'VE GOT MAHLER . . .

Do we dare let Schubert's Gastein Sonata nudge us into the question of what we're looking for in music?

NOTE: THE POST IS STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION, BUT AT A MORE ADVANCED STAGE (THERE'S LOTS TO LISTEN TO NOW)


dba "Schubert in a happy place, part 2"  [continued from "Schubert in a happy place: More on our mystery 'Con moto,' part 1"]

Historical Events
"New Faces of 1956" opens at Barrymore Theater NYC for 221 performances
Famous Birthdays
• Fred Funk, American golfer (The Tradition 2008, 10; US Senior Open 2009), born in Takoma Park, Maryland
• King Diamond [Kim Petersen], Danish heavy metal musician (Merciful Fate; King Diamond), born in Copenhagen, Denmark
• Sam Irvin, American director and producer (Guilty as Charged), born in Asheville, North Carolina

-- with thanks to onthisday.com

SCHUBERT: Piano Sonata No. 17 in D, D. 850 (Gastein):
ii. Con moto [With movement]

iv. Rondo: Allegro moderato

Sviatoslav Richter, piano. Praga, recorded live in the Rudolfinum, Prague, June 14, 1956

by Ken

No, on the evidence of Onthisday.com, June 14, 1956, doesn't seem to have been a day of great historical moment -- unless we count what we know happened in the Rudolfinum in Prague that day. I'd like to say "that evening," since it was after all a Thursday (finding out that it was a Thursday was what led me to Onthisday.com in the first place), and we can hear at the end that there was indeed an audience present, but can I say for sure that it happened in the evening?

As I've explained (see "What effect (if any) does this 32-second audio clip have for you?," Sept. 26, in which we heard four pianists play the movement, and that day's follow-up post, "Our four pianists revealed"), and last week's "Schubert in a happy place: more on our mystery 'Con moto,' part 1"), it was the Con moto from the Richter performance that day in Prague -- from which we've now heard the opening movement of the sonata as well -- that so forcefully grabbed hold of me and got me listening to and pondering the sonata.


WELCOME TO THE GASTEIN SOUNDWORLD!
LET'S PLUNGE RIGHT IN -- WE CAN CHAT LATER!

Schubert in a happy place: More on our mystery "Con moto," part 1

Enchanted souvenir of an enchanting getaway spot: It's not surprising that the grand piano sonata Schubert composed during his August 1825 sojourn in the Austrian spa town of Gastein (in Salzburg state) has always been known as the "Gasteiner." Sources seem well agreed that Schubert's time in the storied resort area was something of an idylllic interlude.

SCHUBERT: Piano Sonata No. 17 in D, D. 850 (Gastein):
ii. Con moto [With movement]

Walter Klien, piano. Vox, recorded in the early 1970s

Wilhelm Kempff, piano. DG, recorded in the Beethovensaal, Hannover, August 1968

by Ken

If you were here last time ("What effect (if any) does this 32-second audio clip have for you?" and "Our four pianists revealed," both Sept. 26), you'll recall the above performances as two of those we heard, under the spell of one of the others, which you can be sure we'll be hearing again), of the second movement of this now-properly-identified Schubert piano sonata, which -- unlike so much of the composer's output -- was published in lifetime, and is still often known as Op. 53.

And among the performances we'll have sampled between the earlier posts and today's, I'm now designating the two we've just reheard as our Group I: renderings that seem to hear this sonata generally, and its lovely slow movement in particular, as more than anything, charmed expressions of the something-like-carefree state of mind (so unusual for this mind!) induced by the composer's Gastein experience.


IF THIS IS GROUP I, WHAT ARE GROUPS II AND III?

Our four pianists revealed

UPDATE: Oops, I forgot to include my "ranking" -- see below

NEXT UPDATE: Oops-oops-oops! I was in such a rush this morning that the only audio clips included were the four movement-openers. Now fixed, I hope!

ii. Con moto [With movement]

Performance X

Just the opening

The complete movement

Sviatoslav Richter, piano. Praga, recorded live in the Rudolfinum, Prague, June 14, 1956

by Ken

And here again are the other performances we heard earlier today:

What effect (if any) does this 32-second audio clip have for you?

HOW 'BOUT THESE PERFORMANCES -- SAME EXCERPT?

Performance A


Performance B


Performance C


by Ken

I'll tell you what effect that top clip has for me: It makes me want really badly to hear whatever follows it.

No, we're by no means done with Dvořák -- or Brahms, for that matter. (Parenthetically, isn't it curious how our inquiries into how Brahms became the composer he was have accidentally detoured into Dvořák, a composer Brahms ardently championed, and who was so strongly influenced by him. Different as the two men were, in so many important ways they can seem like almost the same person.) But while the next installments are writing themselves -- at least I hope they are, 'cause I sure don't seem to be making much headway writing them -- I thought I would throw out this performance I mentioned awhile back which kind of clobbered me, now that this particular missing CD has resurfaced.

In a moment we're going to hear the complete movement of which what we're going to call "Performance X" is the opening 32 seconds, and even read some words of Wikipedia-gleaned wisdom, or at least information, about it. What we're not going to do, I think, is identify either the work or the performer -- just so you're not unduly influenced in your listening by these names. Unless of course you recognize one or both. Which might not be that difficult, since the work is hardly an obscure one, and I'm not sure the pianist could be anyone other than who he is. (Okay, yes, it's a "he.")

I WILL SAY THIS MUCH --

This week's post could go in several directions -- while we wait, here's some mighty fine music

i. Lento maestoso -- Allegro vivace
ii. [at 4:04] Poco adagio -- Vivace non troppo

Josef Suk and longtime Suk Trio colleagues Jan Panenka, piano. and Josef Chuchro, cello, play the first two (of six) movements of Dvořák's Dumky Trio (Piano Trio No. 4 in E minor, Op. 90), in a May 1978 Supraphon-Denon recording.

DVOŘÁK: Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104:
iii. Finale: Allegro moderato


Yo-Yo Ma, cello; New York Philharmonic, Kurt Masur, cond. Sony, recorded in Avery Fisher Hall, Jan. 27 and 30, 1995

#

Dvořák comes to the New World -- plus afterthoughts on last week's audio clips

The first page of the contract (put on public display in 2013 after being recently rediscovered) proffered by Mrs. Jeannette Thurber and signed by Antonín Dvořák in 1892 which brought the composer to New York to serve as director of her new National Conservatory for Music [from a photo by Chang W. Lee for The New York Times]

It was an audacious act of Gilded Age New York. Jeannette Thurber, a wealthy patron trying to create not just a new American music school but, more broadly, a new American school of music, decided in 1891 to hire one of the greatest composers of the day: Antonin Dvorak.

She offered him $15,000 a year — more than 25 times what he made at home in Prague — and promised him summers off. In exchange, she made him promise to work regular hours six days a week at her school, instruct “the most talented pupils only” and conduct concerts.

After months of trans-Atlantic negotiations, they eventually struck the deal that brought Dvorak to New York City in 1892 for an eventful three-year sojourn to lead Mrs. Thurber’s National Conservatory of Music of America — a period in which he composed some of his best work, including his American-inflected “New World” Symphony and Cello Concerto. . . .

-- Michael Cooper, in The Times, Aug. 24, 2013

Vienna Philharmonic, Rafael Kubelik, cond. Decca, recorded in the Sofiensaal, October 1956

by Ken

The last time I took the walking tour that Francis Morrone calls "Dvořák in Love" (a title borrowed from the novel by the Czech-Canadian novelist Josef Škvorecký, which takes off from the true-life story of the composer's three-year sojourn in the U.S., Francis gave me a quizzical look and asked, hadn't I already taken this tour?

Before I get to my answer, I should explain that while the title Dvořák in Love to most of us suggests some sort of romantic dalliance, in fact, as a Goodreads blurb puts it, "This splendid novel tells the story of Dvorak's utterly requited love affair with America."

Now, back to Francis's question. I acknowledged that I had taken the tour before, and explained that, first, even among Francis's tours, than which walking tours don't get any better, this one had left a powerful imprint in my imagination, and, second, given how much I forget of what I "learn" on a tour (my standard estimate is that I remember on a good day maybe 10 percent of what I've been told), not to mention how much probably never properly registered, I wanted a chance to "fix" more of the tour in my brain.

I might have added something I know from experience of other tours of Francis's that I've done more than once: that even when he repeats a tour, it isn't exactly the same tour. Not to mention that on the later occasion(s) I'm not exactly the same person I was.


I STILL MEAN TO TALK ABOUT THE "DVOŘÁK IN LOVE" TOUR,
BUT LET'S GET BACK TO THE BIT OF MUSIC WE JUST HEARD

For one thing, it was Francis who got me to thinking about Josf Suk and Kurt Masur as they relate to the subject of Dvořák, as you may have noticed in last week's post -- and maybe not just on that subject, which will also involve some more talk and, more happily, more music. I wasn't surprised, when I took a look in the Archive, to see how much from each of these special performers we've heard. This wasn't planned; it just happened that way.

And speaking of last week's post, I also want to make some remarks of a housekeeping nature about the audio clips, which I'm emboldened to want to talk about a bit -- just not right now.

What we've wound up with: (1) We inch our way back toward Dvořák's New World Symphony, and (2) We explore the problem of stuff going missing, G&S-style*

*Technically this should be "B&S-style," I know, but there's no such thing, is there? -- Ed.

UPDATE: I GIVE UP! THOSE CDs I NEEDED, WHICH I HAD LYING
ABOUT OR IN MY HAND, ARE MIA -- LET'S JUST GET ON WITH IT
(No "Schubert piano performance that knocked me over," for now)

When, in 1997, this statue of Dvořák by the Croatian-American sculptor Ivan Meštrović found a new home near the northern edge of Manhattan's Stuyvesant Square, it constituted a "homecoming" of sorts. There's a story here, and a personal story, er, inside the story which involves a remarkable walking tour and two remarkable musicians who both have powerful connections -- of very different sorts -- to the great Czech composer.

DVOŘÁK: Violin Concerto in A minor, Op. 53:
iii. Finale: Allegro giocoso, ma non troppo

Josef Suk, violin; Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, Karel Ančerl, cond. Supraphon, recorded in the Rudolfinum, Prague, August 1960

DVOŘÁK: Piano Trio No. 4 in E minor, Op. 90 (Dumky):
the first two of the trio's six movements --
i. Lento maestoso -- Allegro quasi doppio movimento -- Lento maestoso (Tempo I) -- Allegro
ii. Poco adagio -- Vivace non troppo -- Poco adagio -- Vivace

[ii. at 4:04] Suk Trio: Josef Suk, violin; Josef Chuchro, cello; Jan Panenka, piano. Supraphon-Denon, recorded in the Domovina Studio, Prague, May 11-13, 1978

DVOŘÁK: Symphony No. 8 in G, Op. 88:
i. Allegro con brio

New York Philharmonic, Kurt Masur, cond. Teldec, recorded live in Avery Fisher Hall, Jan. 1-4, 1993

DVOŘÁK: Slavonic Dance No. 15 in C, Op. 72, No. 7

Gewandhaus Orchestra (Leipzig), Kurt Masur, cond. Philips-Deutsche Schallplatten, recorded 1984-85

by Ken

Nothing continues to come together right, but we forge ahead, with one qualification: Tomorrow I'm going to the Richmond County Fair, come hell or high waters. On second thought, we best not kid around about "high waters, of which we Gothamites had a plentiful share this week. In fact, I'm going to have to check the website to make sure the fair is up and running -- they were supposed to open yesterday, which would have been quite a feat so soon after the deluge.

Anyway, that's my nonnegotiable schedule delimiter, and it remains to be seen how far further I can get tonight, especially with multiple CDs going missing on me. Meanwhile, these audio clips are ready to roll, so why don't we let them? (For the record, as it were, three of the four clips so far in place are Sunday Classics premieres, I think -- I did find an older version of one of the three in the Archive.)


FOR NOW, WE CAN AT LEAST HAVE THE STORY
OF THE STATUE THAT "FOUND ITS WAY HOME"

Soon to be a post of some sort (or maybe not), for anyone in need of some bucking up (courtesy of the master bucker-up, W. A. Mozart)

FRIDAY UPDATE: Now doubled in size!
(See "BACK TO THE BEGINNING" addition below)

Gerhard Unger as David in Die Meistersinger at Bayreuth, 1951

MOZART: Die Entführung aus dem Serail (The Abduction from the Seraglio), K. 384:
Act II, Aria (Pedrillo), "Frisch zum Kampfe" ("Brightly into battle")



Gerhard Unger (t), Pedrillo; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Sir Thomas Beecham, cond. EMI, recorded in Kingsway Hall, May 9-25, 1956

Gerhard Unger (t), Pedrillo; Vienna Philharmonic, Josef Krips, cond. EMI, recorded in the Theater an der Wien, February 1966

Murray Dickie (t), Pedrillo; Vienna Philharmonic, George Szell, cond. Live performance from the Salzburg Festival, July 25, 1956

Michel Sénéchal (t), Pedrillo; Paris Conservatory Orchetra, Hans Rosbaud, cond. Live performance from the Aix-en-Provence Festival, July 11, 1954

Robert Gambill (t), Pedrillo; Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Bruno Weil, cond. Sony, recorded in the Sofiensaal, Apr. 2-10, 1991

Plácido Domingo, tenor; Munich Radio Orchestra, Eugene Kohn, cond. EMI, recorded in Bavarian Radio Studio 1, January 1991

by Ken

While I continue to struggle -- or maybe not so much "struggle" as "be paralyzed by" -- writing about things that oughtn't to be that difficult, more of a struggle than with some other things I expected would be hard, I thought I could use some bucking up. Which for me means channeling the master bucker-up, in particular a number that would do the job for me if music could really do this job: Pedrillo's Act II aria, in which he does his best to buck himself up -- to give himself courage he's probably pretty sure he doesn't have. With [UPDATE! now --] two exceptions, we've heard the performances arrayed above before. I don't see why we shouldn't hear them again, though.

Plot-function-wise Pedrillo, the second tenor of Die Entführung aus dem Serail, is a comic foil to the romantic lead, Belmonte. Still, it can be a swell role, with a string of great ensemble and also solo opportunities. It's written for what's usually called a Spieltenor, a "play" or comic tenor, of which perhaps the most distinguished recorded specimen we have is Gerhard Unger (1916-2011), who sang, and I mean really sang, these roles for so long with such distinction. And he needed all his vocal resources for Pedrillo's bravura aria, which takes him high up and drops him way down -- notably in all the settings of that line that so haunts Pedrillo, "Nur ein feiger Tropf verzagt" ("Only a cowardly rascal loses heart"). With regard to the "Frisch zum Kampfe" with Beecham, I have to say, doesn't Sir Thomas create a whoppingly grand -- I think we might say utterly battle-worthy -- framework?

[UPDATE -- re, our 2nd "new" clip (for the 1st, see below):

Post tease: "Speak, and the world is full of singing" -- isn't it a shame this fine singer is prevented from continuing this lovely song?

In these unglamorous surroundings, our guy records his most famous role.

Speak, and the world is full of singing,
and I am [or "I'm"] winging
higher than the birds!
Touch, and my heart begins to crumble!
The heavens tumble,
darling, and I --

by Ken

I expect everyone recognizes this wondrous musical moment, and though I don't recall hearing or reading anyone else say so, I can't be the only witness to it who always hopes against hope that the song might be allowed, if just this once, to go on. Stopping it from going on should take something pretty remarkable, but I think we can agree that "pretty remarkable" is a fair description of what happens at just the point where we've left off.

We'll come back to this, but for now --


IF YOU CAN'T QUITE PLACE THAT MOMENT,
THIS ONE'S SURE TO BE A DEAD GIVEAWAY

(I think it's safe to say that this is the song our tenor was recording when the photo was taken.)

And oh, the towering feeling,
just to know somehow you are near.
The overpowering feeling
that any second you may suddenly appear.

WE NEED TO TAKE THEM IN REVERSE ORDER -- SO . . .

DON'T LET THE PICTURE FOOL YOU, WE'RE IN LONDON!
IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE AT 27-A WIMPOLE STREET

Maybe we should listen more to try to locate the wonderfulness of Till Eulenspiegel and the Largo of the New World Symphony

“I have already put together a very pretty scenario [i.e., for an operatic treatment of the part-historical, mostly-legendary figure of Till Eulenspiegel -- Ed.]," Strauss wrote in a letter, “but the figure of Master Till does not quite appear before my eyes.”

But if Strauss could not see Master Till, he could hear him, and before 1894 was out, he had begun the tone poem that he finished the following May. As always, he could not make up his mind whether he was engaged in tone painting or “just music.” To Franz Wüllner, who conducted the first performance, he wrote: “I really cannot provide a program for Eulenspiegel. Any words into which I might put the thoughts that the several incidents suggested to me would hardly suffice; they might even offend. Let me leave it, therefore, to my listeners to crack the hard nut the Rogue has offered them. By way of helping them to a better understanding, it seems enough to point out the two Eulenspiegel motifs [Strauss jots down the opening of the work and the virtuosic horn theme] [BUT SEE BELOW* -- Ed.], which, in the most diverse disguises, moods, and situations, pervade the whole up to the catastrophe when, after being condemned to death, Till is strung up on the gibbet. For the rest, let them guess at the musical joke a Rogue has offered them.”

-- from Michael Steinberg's San Francisco Symphony program
note on Richard Strauss's tone poem Till Eulenspiegel

*Strauss's "Eulenspiegel motif" no. 1

Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond.

*Strauss's "Eulenspiegel motif" no. 2 (played twice)

With the horn solo played by Philharmonia principal Alan Civil

THREE REMINDERS THAT A SPECIAL CONNECTION HAS
ALWAYS EXISTED BETWEEN STRAUSS AND DRESDEN

The composer hailed from Munich, and the Bavarian capital has a storied Strauss tradition, and he was at home in the musical capitals of the German-speaking world -- Berlin and especially Vienna, of course -- but the musical connection with Dresden was, well, something else.

R. STRAUSS: Till Eulenspiegels lustige Streiche
(Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks), Op. 28


Staatskapelle Dresden, Herbert Blomstedt, cond. Denon-Deutsche Schallplatten, recorded in the Lukaskirche, February 5-9, 1989

Staatskapelle Dresden, Rudolf Kempe, cond. EMI-Deutsche Schallplatten, recorded in the Lukaskirche, June 1970

Staatskapelle Dresden, Franz Konwitschny, cond. Broadcast performance, Aug. 7, 1959

by Ken

So, for starters, we've got three Dresden performances of Till Eulenspiegel, same basic orchestra but pretty different performances, to which we can apply the wisdom left to us by that fine writer on music Michael Steinberg: that when it comes to the Strauss tone poems that seem to have "programs," do they really or don't they? I often worry that I'm not sufficiently up on the story-telling elements of even as short a piece as Till Eulenspiegel, let alone the considerably longer pieces that would come, and even with one I love as much as I do Don Quixote, for proper appreciation should I be listening with my nose buried in a printed "program," which I hate doing?

So, it seems that Strauss himself took a pretty casual view of the program business, at least as applied to Till. I still have to wonder, when we come eventually to the Alpine Symphony and Symphonia domestica, don't we really need to know what the composer thinks is going on section by section? I usually settle for taking in the "effects" I "get," with maybe the occasional glance at some sort of cheat sheet, but should I be more rigorous about all this? For what it's worth, as we make our way again through Till, I note that there are really useful Wikipedia articles both on the background of the character Till Eulenspiegel and on Strauss's musical rendering. (We're not done with Till, by the way.)

In case it hasn't been obvious, or you weren't here for the previous post, I should say for the record that I've already been referring back to Wednesday's "Post tease (I guess?): Does music get wonderfuller than this?" Almost as soon as I put that post up, I realized that I didn't want to tell the story I thought I was going to about the day that had been marked by my happening upon Blomstedt and Karajan performances -- in totally different media -- of Till Eulenspiegel and the Largo of Dvořák's New World Symphony.

I thought I was kind of looking forward to sharing, um, what I was setting out to share, and had only been held up by the teensy-weensy complication that the story is pretty complicated to tell, and also pretty sensitive, so that unless I get it close enough to "right," I can't even think of posting it.

What I think we can accomplish without an inordinate amount of fuss is taking a closer look at the wonderfulness of these two pieces, since this can take us into territory that the dozen or so still-loose threads of posts past were designed to nudge us toward: what it is that we're looking for from music and what it's offering.


IN A MOMENT I'LL SHARE THE BARE BONES OF THE "STORY," BUT RIGHT NOW MAYBE SOME MORE MUSIC WILL HELP . . .

Sure! Why don't we move on to our other "core piece" from Wednesday, the New World Largo, doing basically what we started going above with Till Eulenspiegel: listen again to the performance we heard in the post "tease" and setting it alongside some others, mostly drawn from the SC Archive? For the record, while the Kempe-Dresden Till indeed came from the archive, I just made the Konwitschny-Dresden clip.

Let me check what we've got stashed away to add to the Karajan-Vienna New World Largo we heard last time. Then we can pick up on the other side of the jump.

Post tease (I guess?): Does music get wonderfuller than this?

UPDATE: Now with (more than) twice as much music!

Herbert Blomstedt (born July 11, 1927), seen here at 90-plus

R. STRAUSS: Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks, Op. 28

Staatskapelle Dresden, Herbert Blomstedt, cond. Denon-Deutsche Schallplatten, recorded in the Lukaskirche, Feb. 5-9, 1989

Herbert von Karajan (1908-1989)

DVOŘÁK: Symphony No. 9 in E minor (From the New World), Op. 95: ii. Largo

Vienna Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. DG, recorded in the Musikverein, Feb. 9, 1985

by Ken

This isn't so much "a post tease" as "a post so's I can -- as you're no doubt sick of hearing me whine about -- see and listen to the embedded versions of the audio clips and thus actually see and hear them together at will.

For now you'll have to trust me that there's a reason why we're hearing these particular selections. (Like as if we needed some damned reason.)


OKAY, MAYBE A COUPLA BACKGROUND NOTES,
KIND OF RELATIVE TO THE MARCH OF TIME