During Toscanini’s
lifetime it was virtually a truism that
he was the greatest of all conductors;
even in my own youth, by which time
he had been dead for about a decade,
his last London concerts a cherished
memory dating from around the time of
my own birth, the myth still held. If
Toscanini’s impact on the collective
conscious is anything to go by, the
legend must be true; Toscanini is one
of the few musical names that the average
man in the street, totally uninterested
in classical music, is likely to have
heard of, whereas a mention of Klemperer
or Furtwängler will draw a blank.
As proof of what I have just said, my
Word 2003 programme has just underlined
these last two conductors as "spelling
mistakes", while it accepted Toscanini.
Excessive adulation
led to a backlash, while the work of
many of his contemporaries came in from
the cold. "Overdriven", "brutal",
"rabid" were the adjectives
typically applied to his performances,
though this has not prevented the issue
of many of his radio performances, often
by more than one rival company, as a
complement to the very wide range of
"official" recordings he made
for RCA. Here we have the "official"
versions of the first two Brahms symphonies
and at least one "truism"
can be disposed of. It was always claimed
that these RCA recordings were unduly
strident in their tone quality and did
not do justice to Toscanini’s phrasing,
and on their original issue this was
often true. The sound here is clear
but warm and, if it is vibrant rather
than mellow, with the upper lines predominating
over the lower, this is plausibly a
reflection of Toscanini’s melos-oriented
approach. As now presented, the sound
seems to me extremely good for its date.
Is it possible to get
some perspective today on these much-discussed
performances? Here, for a start, are
the timings of the first symphony, together
with those of three other conductors
whose careers ran alongside Toscanini’s
for many years and were noted for their
Brahms. I only regret that I haven’t
a version by Bruno Walter to hand.
The Toscanini/Furtwängler
comparison perhaps yields the sort of
results one might have expected, that
with Klemperer and Boult rather less
so, especially in the finale. But, as
we shall see, the timings tell us remarkably
little about the type of performance
on offer.
Toscanini treats the
first movement as a gripping tragedy,
keeping a firm hand on things right
through the introduction, which is kept
moving inexorably forward. In the main
body of the movement it is again forward
thrust which dominates. Second subject
material is allowed to relax just a
little, only to be cast aside brutally
as the first tempo returns. Eruptive,
bracing, dynamically charged though
it is, it is possible to feel this is
a rather one-sided view of Brahms.
With Klemperer, more
than a gripping tragedy, this is a monumental
tragedy. Key moments in the introduction
almost grind things to a halt, the subsequent
themes rising from the debris, as it
were. It is massively impressive but
unfortunately the Allegro is less so.
Klemperer brings a rugged grandeur to
those moments which respond to an "Eroica"-like
drive, but lyrical moments seem not
to interest him and he allows the tempo
to slacken and hang fire.
Furtwängler appears
to see the music not so much specifically
tragic as dramatic. Each moment in the
introduction is presented as if it represents
one of the actors in the drama which
is to follow. The introduction is not
interpreted as a steady progress from
A to B but as a prologue. It is really
useless to analyze the ensuing Allegro
in terms of tempos and timings, since
it veers from moments of extreme incandescence,
when it moves faster even than Toscanini,
to moments of contemplation, where he
goes slower than Klemperer, though without
a similar loss of tension. With Furtwängler
you have to let yourself be caught up
in the total experience; if you cannot
(with comparisons well away from me
I find I usually can), you will be forever
disturbed by the details.
I get the idea that
Boult is seeking neither a tragedy nor
a drama, but an abstract musical argument.
He closes the introduction, for example,
rather as though he has just finished
a Bach Prelude and is now about to launch
the Fugue. And yet he is subtle; in
this introduction he has something of
Furtwängler’s way of making each
moment seem like the presentation of
one of the actors in what is to follow,
but musical actors. In the Allegro
he is not much slower than Toscanini
(considering that he plays the repeat,
it is remarkable how little difference
there is between his timings and those
of Klemperer and Furtwängler) but
he finds more space to express the more
lyrical moments. He may not knock you
out of your seat (though the movement
gains in excitement as it proceeds)
but I am bound to find his a more complete
performance than Toscanini’s and far
preferable to Klemperer’s erratic, disappointing
version. Furtwängler is hors
concours.
It would be nice to
think that the beefy mezzoforte with
which Toscanini’s second movement opens
was the result of the recording rather
than the performance, but since a degree
of piano shading is to be heard here
and there later on I fear we have to
take it that what we hear is not far
from the truth. Passionately sung as
it is, this movement again seems to
concentrate on only one aspect of the
music. No twilight poetry at the end,
where the solo violin has to fit his
flight of fancy into a rigidly strict
tempo.
Each conductor, in
fact, is true to his own lights in this
movement, Klemperer finding a Mahlerian
angst and Furtwängler a
Tristanesque love-scene. (Incidentally,
in another of his recordings, he draws
out the closing pages quite incredibly,
suspending our disbelief with the rapt
poetry he extracts). Alongside these
Boult, for all his affectionate shading,
may seem a little contained. On the
other hand, it could be argued that
he is the only conductor of the four
who lets us hear Brahms’s own voice
without trying to impose another voice
on it. For myself, I agree in principal
with everything he does, but feel that
this is not an especially inspired example
of his art; I wonder if BBC Legends
could lay their hands on a first-rate
Brahms 1 from Boult.
In the third movement
Toscanini again concentrates on soaring
melodic lines and forward movement,
though he is not actually particularly
fast and avoids the temptation to press
on in the central section.
It is difficult to
believe that Boult is only 15 seconds
longer, for he expresses a completely
different mood, vernally fresh, tender
and springlike (shades of "The
Wand of Youth"?), the countermelodies
given an almost Debussian refinement.
He does not permit the central section
to break too much with this mood, preferring
a Schubertian lyricism.
Vernal freshness was
not notably part of Klemperer’s make-up;
he sees that the melodies sing and seems
here, in fact, to be a graver cousin
of Toscanini.
It is surprising to
find Furtwängler opening the movement
in a very similar manner to Boult; however,
he takes the chugging string accompaniment
from b.45 as an excuse to forge ahead
with much agitation, as he does again
in the central section. It may be wondered
if this brief movement does not burst
at the seams under so much imposed contrast,
but Furtwängler is Furtwängler
and he seems to get away with it.
The introduction to
the finale finds the four conductors
repeating their methods from that to
the first movement. Toscanini keeps
thinks moving inexorably forward, though
two details jar; the fact that the horn’s
vulgar crescendo on the fourth note
of his famous theme was allowed to remain
on the record presumably means that
Toscanini accepted it or even asked
for it; and the chorale theme is delivered
surprisingly ponderously. But this is
Toscanini’s best movement; he takes
the great C major theme unexpectedly
grandly and broadly, and does not whip
things up unduly at the ensuing animato;
furthermore, his relatively relaxed
tempo allows more affectionate shaping
of the second subject material than
anything we have heard up to now. All
in all, he builds the music up powerfully
but less one-sidedly than in the other
movements and restores our faith in
his powers as a Brahms interpreter.
A pity that he ruins everything by subjecting
the concluding "Più allegro"
(Brahms said nothing about "prestissimo")
to a tasteless display of speed.
Boult and Klemperer
certainly do not feel faster
than Toscanini, whatever the chronometer
may say. Boult takes up the C major
theme in a more free-flowing manner
and characterizes the various moments
with more subtlety than Toscanini, reaching
his final climaxes more gradually. Klemperer
is urgently forthright while Furtwängler
is once again sui generis. The
timing is virtually meaningless, for
he draws out the introduction enormously,
creating a pregnant Wagnerian drama,
and then is faster than anyone in the
Allegro, incandescent if not febrile
and even in the more lyrical passages
he is accommodating but lingers little.
This finale caps an enthralling performance
which can really only be compared with
others by the same conductor. Of the
other three, Toscanini’s single-mindedness
(the coda apart) is certainly impressive,
but this is also Klemperer’s best movement
while Boult’s comes as a just finale
to his finely structured account.
It will be evident
that Toscanini is hardly a first choice,
yet one would logically have supposed
this symphony to have suited him better
than no.2. Oddly enough, it isn’t quite
like that, but first, some timings.
This time I have Mengelberg as an "idiosyncratic"
choice in place of Furtwängler,
and I have added four more recent performances,
one from one of the major conductors
of our times, the others as typical
examples of Brahms interpretations from
the 1990s. I will discuss these very
briefly at the end.
*
includes repeat
Toscanini’s opening
does not bode well, since the cello
motto is gruff and, while the horns
are romantic enough, the magical violin
entries are too present, directly hitting
the note rather than easing into it.
However, as the flowing violin melody
takes over from the threatening trombones,
all is light and grace, with no attempt
to hustle things on. Later Toscanini
is forthright in the stronger passages,
the strings soaring passionately, but
this does not prevent him from caressing
the second subject and presenting a
quite lovely performance.
Boult’s opening is
actually faster than Toscanini’s but
this is because he begins as he means
to continue. This mood is caught ideally,
gently lilting and quite in tune with
Brahms’s own description s "so
merry and tender, as if it were specially
written for a newly-wedded couple".
It is less highly powered than Toscanini
but reveals its strength as it builds
up.
Klemperer takes his
time over the opening, relishing the
dark colours and creating an air of
foreboding. In much of the movement
he is briskly Beethovenian, his basic
tempo faster than Boult’s, but in second
subject territory he slows down for
an amiable ramble around the Austrian
woodlands.
Mengelberg is something
else again. His basic tempi is very
fast indeed, but right from the outset
he is willing to dwell on phrases and
even single notes, creating a sense
of almost tempo-less flexibility. Orchestrally
it is one of the most beautiful performances
ever recorded, quite without that grumpiness
which often seems part and parcel of
Brahms’s orchestral writing, and it
is convincing enough to make you wonder
if this is actually what Brahms might
have liked (remember that he walked
out of a Hans Richter performance because
the tempo was to rigid). But who ever
could control an orchestra well enough
today to bring such an interpretation
off?
The cellist Toscanini
produces some very careful, detailed
phrasing at the opening of the Adagio
non troppo, but when the woodwind take
up the themes his insistence on full
tone at all times becomes a little four-square.
Boult is more naturally flowing and
gracious though some will find this
another of those key moments where he
"digs in" less than the others.
Klemperer certainly digs in, his burnished
string tone suggesting a noble threnody;
but later, though his tempo is not really
all that much slower, it is enough so
to sound a little doleful at times.
Mengelberg is slower still, but his
plastic, vocal phrasing avoids any sense
of heaviness. Almost needless to say,
he moves on far more than the others
in the central part.
Toscanini is precise
but rather cautious and tight-reined
in the Allegretto grazioso, the contrasting
episodes prophetic of Prokofiev’s motor
rhythms. It is hard to believe that
Boult is actually faster, so much more
relaxed and delicate does he sound.
However, the execution is a little slack
– the first of the oboe’s acciaccaturas
is smudged and might reasonably have
been retaken. No smudge with Klemperer
who exploits the acciaccaturas to give
the music the feel of a tangy Mahlerian
landler. On the whole I feel it is he
who finds the most character in this
movement. Mengelberg’s extreme range
of speeds in such a short movement sound
somewhat confused.
Toscanini’s finale
is basically a taught, fiery affair,
marred only by a tendency to rush ahead
at times, already noticeably in the
first tutti. Boult takes more
time to build the music up, finding
character in moments where Toscanini
barges onwards. Klemperer is closer
to Toscanini in his brisk urgency –
if his timing is longer it is only because
he does not hurry within is chosen tempo.
He stronger on overall surge than individual
moments – and is positively bluff with
the second subject material. Mengelberg
cannot resist the temptation to begin
below tempo and the burst in excitedly,
but thereafter he is very fine and indulges
the second subject material less than
one might have expected.
So how has the Toscanini
myth emerged? As far as these two symphonies
are concerned, the myth of the racing
tempi is not borne out (only in the
first movement of no.1 is he notably
faster than the others); nor, for that
matter, is that of Klemperer’s ponderousness.
That of Boult’s architectural idealism
seems to hold (I know my American colleagues
will have been chortling with mirth
at the idea of putting Boult in this
company; I have already been taken to
task once. For reasons I don’t quite
understand, an Englishman who admires
Boult is considered a hopeless provincial,
while an American who admires Bernstein
is not). If we set Furtwängler
and Mengelberg aside as representatives
of a different type of interpretation,
we nevertheless find that Toscanini’s
supremacy over the other two hardly
bears examination. Quite the reverse;
what the comparisons reveal is that
Toscanini tended to approach each work
with a fixed idea about it and pursue
that idea rigorously to the end, come
what may. Unfortunately, what came across
to a simpler-minded world than ours
as impressive single-mindedness, risks
seeming merely simple-minded in our
own more complicated age. Nevertheless,
these are performances which still need
to be heard.
In matters of tempo,
my four modern comparisons show that
it is not really a question of Toscanini
versus Klemperer but of the "oldies"
against the moderns. Brahms performances
have been getting disconcertingly slow
recently. Christian Mandeal’s first
movement development all but grinds
to a halt under its own weight – he
seems to think he is conducting Shostakovich
10. Virtually any older performance
will provide a refreshing antidote to
this trend.
Christopher Howell
NBC Symphony Orchestra/Arturo Toscanini 
