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In the midst of the economic depression of the 1930s US President Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882-1945) was famous for broadcasting comforting “fireside chats” to a worried nation.  But, on the basis of this recording, it is fair to say that his widow Eleanor was probably quite incapable of anything resembling a “fireside chat”.  Instead she addresses the “dear children” listening to Prokofiev’s piece as if they are a rather hard of hearing audience at a public meeting.
 
As one brought up on the somewhat similar presentational style of the BBC Home Service’s Listen with Mother (“Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin…”), I have to say that Mrs Roosevelt’s delivery didn’t worry me too much at all.  But it’s something that would probably sound very odd indeed to today’s touchy-feely younger generation. 
 
Even then, though, it need not have been done that dry way, as demonstrated by an even older recording from 1941 with Basil Rathbone narrating and Leopold Stokowski conducting the All-American Orchestra (on Avid AMSC 601).  Rathbone’s delivery is both dramatic and sensitive to the meaning of the words, as well as delivered with the benefit of an actor’s professional training.  As such, it has not dated nearly as much as the recording under consideration here and it engages the listener far more effectively.  I can only presume that Mrs Roosevelt was chosen to narrate - or, in this instance, declaim! - Prokofiev’s tale not for her presentational skills but rather because of her celebrity as the country’s previous First Lady.  Probable confirmation of that hypothesis is the fact that RCA chose not to release her recording outside the USA at all.
 
Koussevitzky’s contribution is notably weighty and authoritative, an impression reinforced by the reverberant acoustic.  Did he perhaps feel that Eleanor Roosevelt’s status deserved nothing less than his Boston Orchestra in its plushest mode?  Certainly, Stokowski, recorded in a dryer acoustic, is sharper and edgier – though not necessarily preferable.  There is, I think, easily room for both approaches, even in such a superficially straightforward piece as this.
 
Koussevitzky was one of Sibelius’s greatest champions between the two world wars and his recording of the second symphony will be, I suspect, of greatest interest to most listeners.  It was set down during the 76 year old maestro’s final recording session and, unlike some conductors, Koussevitzky definitely stands down on a high.  It must have been very tempting to consider utilising this great Romantic warhorse to go out with a bang but, as Colin Anderson’s useful booklet notes suggest, this is instead an expertly graded and controlled performance that, while certainly exciting, holds in check any inclination to play to the gallery.   Long admired as an interpreter of Sibelius’s later symphonies – his live BBC Symphony Orchestra recording of the seventh (on Naxos Historical 8.110168) is still very highly rated – Koussevitzky demonstrates on this occasion an equal affinity with the composer’s earlier sound-world with its strong flavour of Tchaikovsky. 
 
An earlier recording of the second symphony from the same forces, made in 1935, is also available as a Naxos Historical release (8.110170) but there is little to choose between the two musical interpretations.  Moreover, given that the earlier recording was inexplicably made using equipment that was actually obsolete at the time, the far superior sound of the 1950 version is likely to decide the issue for most listeners.
 
After setting down the Sibelius symphony there was, it seems, time left for one more (short) recording – and this time Koussevitzky did indulge himself.  Appropriately enough, he directs a rich, mellow and clearly valedictory interpretation of Grieg’s Elegiac Melody no.2 it pulls out all the emotional stops.  With a timing of 5:54 it is, indeed, more than a full minute longer than an earlier Koussevitzky recording from 1940 that had clocked in at 4:42 (also to be found on Naxos Historical 8.110168).  On this very special and no doubt highly emotional occasion, the Boston Symphony’s famous strings – memorably once described as “one of the hedonistic delights of Western civilization” – play their considerable hearts out for their departing maestro who was, sadly, to die within less than a year.
 
Once again, Mark Obert-Thorn has made a superb job of rehabilitating the sound from a wide variety of sources - at this transitional period, many recordings were being issued simultaneously on 78 rpm, LP and 45 rpm formats. 
 
As I have already indicated, Colin Anderson’s booklet notes are once again a wise guide to the music, although his assertion that those final 1950 recordings took place on 29 September conflicts with the 29 November date given twice elsewhere in the documentation.  He is also a somewhat shaky guide to US politics, repeating the schoolboy howler that Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the country’s 32^nd President, was the son of 26^th President Theodore Roosevelt – whereas he was actually no more than a fifth cousin.  That slip would certainly have earned a stern reproof from First Lady Eleanor and ought to be corrected in any future printings. 
 
Rob Maynard
 

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