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Beethoven

Fidelio (part)  

Salzburg Festival, 1935

conductor: Toscanini

 Something a little different this week. The sound quality of this legendary performance from the 1935 Salzburg Festival is poor - it's a private recording of a short-wave radio transmission picked up in the USA.  

As an XR remastering is pointless at this level of sound quality, we've decided not to try and sell one, but instead to give lightly cleaned-up copies away to anyone who cares to download it, either as an MP3 or a lossless FLAC.  

Download it now from the Toscanini Fidelio page!

For most of the 19th Century, the genius of France went into opera and theater music. French composers did write orchestral and chamber works, but comparatively speaking, either the composers or the efforts were minor. Not until Saint-Saëns do we get anything comparable to German accomplishments, and you can put Fauré and Debussy at the level of Dvorák and Brahms without laughing or cringing.

There's really no mystery to it. French audiences flocked to opera and theater, while a narrow slice of cognoscenti subscribed to specialist chamber and orchestral societies. A composer didn't make his money there. The truly professional instrumental composer generally had a paying gig somewhere else. Franck and Saint-Saëns directed music for the church and taught, as did Fauré. Debussy essentially lived on patronage throughout his career and spent beyond his means. All these writers to a great extent, by their creations, leveled the hierarchy ever so slightly. Ballet and opera continued their popularity, but more listeners opened up to purely instrumental music.

A pioneer, César Franck did, I think, his best work in his Piano Quintet and Violin Sonata. Franck's music tends to bother me, since I find that its joins show through in obvious ways and that his use of cyclical form strikes me as mechanical. The cyclical form seems to me to derive both from Liszt and from Wagner and his Leitmotiven. In the latter, however, it directly serves the dramatic action, and drama and rhetorical focus is precisely what Franck's music generally lacks. The motives tend to reappear for no good rhetorical reason and thus become mechanical and arbitrary. Indeed, one might even suspect that Franck resorts to them when he runs out of new ideas. These weaknesses plague the Violin Sonata less, although they haven't disappeared. In four movements, the work begins with a melancholy serenade, not in sonata form -- more a development of two ideas in alternation. A neat moment occurs toward the end where the second idea morphs into the first, thus showing their kinship. The second movement works up a great passion, using, among other things, the two main ideas of the previous movement and the germ of the opening theme to the finale. An improvisatory movement follows, essentially allowing the violin to mull over the all the themes so far. What sounds like a new strain, a lyrical Slavic-like theme, actually turns out to be a variant of the sonata's opening idea, which Franck beautifully makes clear as the new leads to the old. Much has been made of the "canonic" finale. As a canon, it's pretty small beer, nothing more than soul music call-and-response, such as we got from Sam & Dave, where the last note of one instance overlaps the upbeat of the repetition. Fortunately, the outpouring is so heartfelt, the fact of canon means very little. After the main strain (itself deriving from the second movement), Franck again parades previous themes in variation -- the "Slavic" bit from the third movement, the opening basis of the second, and the subsidiary theme of the first -- all punctuated with the canonic idea. This finale satisfies me the most of the four.

With Fauré, we get a composer who has so absorbed classical structural principles that he can play masterfully with form. The first sonata begins with a melody I immediately think of as French, perhaps because of the strong hints of modality. The harmonies indicate Fauré, a composer with an idiosyncratic ear, who puts unexpected chords beneath passing tones and loves the enharmonic modulation. Compare this to Brahms's first (1878), for example. It's a different musical universe. The first sonata comes early in Fauré's career (1876) and forty years separates it from its successor, but even here Fauré has achieved a masterpiece which owes some debt to German practice, yet isn't a knock-off. The opening movement is an impetuous sonata, dominated by a singing line. The melancholy second moves to a languorous barcarolle rhythm. A puckish, syncopated scherzo follows, and, in refreshing contrast to common practice, a leisurely finale, something else that endears Fauré to me. He doesn't try to overwhelm a listener with slam-bang. Instead, he lets the listener come to him. One senses a tremendously cultured mind with, at times, an elfin whimsy, and always a sane, measured sense of proportion. This is music for mature listeners.

The Berceuse comes from 1879. Fauré later orchestrated it, a task he disliked, so he must have had really warm feelings toward this morceau. It's a light salon-like work, exquisitely done. It sings very tenderly.

Debussy projected a violin sonata as early as 1894. He didn't complete one until 1917, among his last works and the occasion of his final public concert appearance. This is the latest of a series of three chamber works begun in 1915, during World War I, and intended as a tribute to the spirit and culture of France. The triptych also includes the Cello Sonata (1915) and the unusual Sonata for flute, viola, and harp (1915). Each of these works inhabits weird universes, and each shows tremendous concentrated power. The violin sonata I find especially enigmatic, both rhetorically and emotionally. Compared to the luxuriousness we normally associate with Debussy, this sonata is stripped-down, with lean clear textures, and the movement structures come across as odd and fragmented. The first, "Allegro vivo," eschews sonata form. Its unusual shape begins meditatively and ramps up a bit at the very end. The scherzo second movement, "Intermède" (intermezzo), changes mood capriciously. "Finale" rounds things off with a busy dance, interrupted by pauses for breath.

" Minstrels" appeared in the first book of piano preludes of 1910. These minstrels have little do with the medieval minnesinger. Instead, Debussy evokes the proto-jazz of dances like the cakewalk and its capering steps.

Thibaud and Cortot miss only in "Minstrels." Thibaud treats the piece as mere grotesquerie and so distorts the rhythm that Cortot can't follow him -- yet another classical musician condescending to jazz. However, they play the other works magnificently. I can't think of a better version of the Franck sonata. They manage to convince you that Franck isn't really a klutz and handle the padding of the work with concentration and conviction. Concentration and elegance characterize their Fauré -- certainly one of the top five recordings of this work I've heard. It presents the composer's surface modesty while allowing its depths to come through. The Debussy sonata is a fine reading, even though it holds on to its secrets. I haven't heard a more penetrating account. Keep in mind that the score was still relatively new and "advanced" when the duo recorded it in 1929.

The other recordings come from 1927-31. Producer Mark Obert-Thorn transferred them from shellacs. There is a bit of hiss and swish, but for the most part, he has cleaned up the sound without losing the timbre of the instruments. Cortot's playing comes through in all its tremendous subtlety. Thibaud commits fully to every work but "Minstrels." Breathe the genius of France.

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Thank you Pristine Audio for these remarkable reissues! . Furtwängler's 1952 EMI recording of Tristan and Isolde is surely one of the greatest operatic performances ever recorded commercially . Producer Walter Legge assembled a fine cast headed by Kirsten Flagstad, known in all opera houses as the Isolde of her era. Although at the end of her fabulous career, she was still in fine voice (although after the recording was issued it was found that Elisabeth Schwarzkokpf had contributed two brief high C's). Furtwängler's impassioned conducting brings out detail never heard before, and the superb Philharmonia Orchestra is in top form. The mono sound is well-balanced, but there were a few problems with the master recording all solved by Andrew Rose's XR remastering that provides extended frequency range and correction of pitch problems. This remarkable recording has always been in the catalog, and currently is available on other labels at budget price. However, even if you already have this recording , you should investigate this important issue to hear it in all its glory.

In 1961 the Met presented Turandot, an opera they had not given for three decades because of the difficulty of finding singers who could cope with the two principal roles. February 24, 1961 they gave the first performance of a new production and there was no question they found what they were looking for: Birgit Nilsson and Franco Corelli were available, and an added plus was Leopold Stokowski had agreed to conduct. Dimitri Mitropoulos was scheduled for this but he died from a heart attack late in 1960, and when Rudolf Bing approached Stokowski, he accepted immediately. Stokowki and Bing disagreed over many production details, but everything eventually worked out. The premiere of the new production, with scenery by Cecil Beaton, took place February 24, a benefit performance, and it was a triumphant occasion. Thirteen performances were given including one each in Philadelphia and Boston. Nilsson and Corelli sang all of them except for two performances in which Richard Tucker replaced Corelli. Liù was sung by Anna Moffo 3 times, Teresa Stratas sung it twice, Lucine Amara 5 times, and Leontyne Price and Licia Albanese each sang it once-as did Gabriella Tucci in an extra performance led by Zubin Mehta. This new Pristine Audio set is of the broadcast March 4, 1961, and it is exciting indeed. Both Corelli and Nilsson are at their peak and seem to be trying to outsing each other. Moffo is wonderful as Liù; three years later she made her fine RCA recording of Songs of the Auvergne with Stokowski on the podium. Stokowski, 78 at the time of the premiere performance, had broken his hip and walked with crutches but once he started conducting he was the essence of vigor. He does make a few changes in orchestration, particularly in the final pages where he adds smashing gongs to great effect. This performance has been around for years in pirated versions, but Andrew Rose's restoration is superior to any of them. Lover of fine singing must have this set!

In 1960 Decca decided to issue a deluxe series of opera recordings, and this Fledermaus was the first. Their roster of singers was unrivaled at the time, and casting could not be more perfect. It included a gala sequence with guest appearances by a number of major singers performing for the assembled guests at Prince Orlofsky's party in Act II: Renata Tebaldi (Villa-Lied); Fernando Corena (Domino); Birgit Nilsson (I Could Have Danced All Night);Mario del Monaco (Passione); Teresa Berganza (Lullaby); Joan Sutherland (Il Bacio); Jussi Björling (Dein ist mein genzes Hertz); Leontyne Price (Summertime); Giulietta Simionato & Ettore Bastianini (Anything you can do); Ljuba Welitsch (Wien, Wien nur du allein). Applause and party sounds are heard, and everyone seems to be having a great time. The rich and resonant sound, an example of early Decca two-channel recording, was engineered by John Culshaw and his crew.The original album was issued on two disks for Fledermaus, with a separate disk for the Gala party sequence, and that 's the way Pristine Audio offers it. To fill out the Gala we have four Strauss waltzes conducted by Karajan with the Berlin Philharmonic recorded 1940-1942k, mono recordings remastered in effective ambient stereo. Karajan's 1955 Fledermaus recording with a cast headed by Elisabeth Schwarzkopf is still available, as is a live performance recorded live at the Vienna State Opera New Year's Eve 1960.

Recently Sony Classical issued a performance of Donizetti's L'Elisir d'amore featuring Carlo Bergonzi and Roberta Peters, a Met broadcast from March 5, 1966, and now we have another live performance of this opera from the Met. This features lyric tenor Bruno Landi (1900-1968) and Bidu Sayao (1902-1999), a broadcast of January 3, 1942. This issue is particularly important as the remarkable Brazilian soprano made few recordings in spite of the fact that she was loved in major opera houses, particular the Met. Sayao is best known for her 1945 recording of Villa Lobos' Bachianas Brasilieras No. 5 with the composer conducting. She sang at the Met from 1937 to 1951. Sayao is enchanting as Adina, totally secure vocally and it is easy to understand her popularity. Don't overlook her 1947 Met Gounod Romeo and Juliet in which she is paired with Jussi Bjöerling (REVIEW). It's unfortunate we don't have that luxury on this new reissue. Bruno Landi is adequate but little more. He sang 56 performances at the Met, 31 of which were as Count Almaviva in The Barber of Seville. Salvatore Baccaloni is perfect as Dulcamara, and conductor Ettore Panizza keeps things going at a brisk pace. The transfer was made by a master in audio restoration, Ward Marston, who used a set of five 16-inch glass base lacquer coated disks, and he worked his usual magic, audio is remarkable for an 80 year old recording.