An online correspondent, some years ago, likened the reverence
accorded in some quarters to conductor István Kertész, who died
in his forties in a swimming accident, to that given John F.
Kennedy - parallel cases in which, perhaps, the actual accomplishments
of a truncated career have been overvalued. The argument had
some merit: some of the conductor's Decca recordings -- particularly
the early Dvorák symphonies - could be square and rather careful
rhythmically, which didn't exactly suggest the white heat of
inspiration.
Well, this BBC Legends collection should put those questions
to rest. This 1965 performance of the Schumann - a score that
didn't figure in Kertész's commercial discography - finds the
conductor drawing a performance from his orchestra through a
combination of fine musicianship and a palpable, contagious
enthusiasm.
Kertész's strengths, on this showing, were not primarily those
of a disciplinarian: the transition into the first movement's
Allegro molto vivace takes in some oozing, generalized
sonority, and tuttis in motion go with more vitality
than real precision. Still, it's hard to resist the hearty swing
of the main theme's dotted rhythms; the transition into the
second group goes smoothly, without disrupting the basic pulse;
and in the development the flute takes over the theme with real
relish. The Larghetto has an expansive tenderness; Kertész
surprises us in the Scherzo by sticking to the basic
tempo for the second Trio, contrasting the resultant weightiness
with the buoyancy of the principal theme. The conductor's care
over varied articulations enlivens the finale; he maintains
tension in the development at a steady tempo, and elicits a
searching quality from the horns' transitional phrase at 3:30.
The coda's sheer exuberance is the sort of thing that must have
led the Cleveland Orchestra players to request him for their
Music Director, though the orchestra's board opted for the better-established
Lorin Maazel.
The conductor's stylistic grasp is less sure in the Brahms symphony
- which, paradoxically, he did take into the studio, not in
London, but als Gast in Vienna - but his natural musicality
enlivens the basically conventional interpretive framework.
Thus, he doesn't go to great lengths to clarify the first movement's
rather full textures, but he makes sure that the right musical
elements are always heard. In the Adagio non troppo the
conductor seems to be marking time through the admittedly elusive
first group - Brahms's various melodic fragments never quite
coalesce into a full-fledged melody - but at least he keeps
it moving, which is hardly the worst strategy; the more mobile
second subject has an appealing lightness. The Allegretto
grazioso is a pleasant and airy intermezzo. Kertész's finale
chugs along nicely, giving us a jolt - the good kind - at 7:47
when the syncopated second subject motif emerges audibly in
the basses. Unfortunately, the triumphant finish is marred when
some nincompoop in the audience begins applauding in the spaces
between the final three chords!
The Locke seems a unlikely choice for a symphonic concert, but
before the advent of "historical" performance, the
instrumental repertoire was less rigidly stratified than it
has since become. This account exemplifies the best qualities
of contemporary orchestral playing: the lively passages are
buoyant, propelled by a quasi-syncopated "push," while
the broader ones have a dignified carriage. At the start of
the funeral march at 6:27, the trumpet wanders sharp; otherwise,
the tuning is exemplary, and the resplendent, full-bodied sonority
is the sort that only a modern brass choir can supply.
The sound is good broadcast-quality analog, with a closer perspective
and fuller sound in the 1966 performances. For what it's worth,
Kertész, who regularly observed exposition repeats in his commercial
recordings, omits them here; I missed those in the Schumann
- particularly that in the first movement - but minded losing
the long one in the Brahms less.
Stephen Francis Vasta
London Symphony Orchestra/István Kertész 
