Strasbourg-born Charles Munch was Music Director of the Boston
Symphony Orchestra from 1949 to 1962. He returned permanently
to France in 1963, and in 1967 became the first conductor of
the newly-formed Orchestre de Paris. He died suddenly the following
year.
In an interesting booklet essay, Richard Dyer, late of the Boston
Globe, recounts how Munch’s “sturdy build, shock
of white hair and mischievous smile” made him a favourite
with Boston’s “mink-clad musical matrons”.
More seriously, and as these three performances attest, his
period in Boston was a highly successful one. His particular
authority in and affinity with twentieth-century French music
are very much in evidence here. Dyer also refers to the conductor’s
“physicality, rhythmic force, and baton technique …
it is exciting to watch him move from a geometrical beat pattern
into wide circling arcs of controlled excitement. Even when
the stick is not doing very much, Munch is emanating
…” Now all this is true, but at the same time, viewers
hoping to see something of that “mischievous smile”
will be disappointed, as the glimpses we have reveal him to
be as unsmiling as the orchestra, and that is saying something.
Using a score only in the Ravel, his conducting style is curiously
stiff, with two-handed, mirror-image gestures that convey little
in the way of phrasing but are ultra-clear in respect of the
beat, which he frequently and meticulously subdivides. The players
never seem to be looking, but they follow him slavishly and
ensemble is impeccable. He barely acknowledges the audience
on arrival, nor at the end of the performance. After the final
chord of the Ravel - which is held for a long, long time - he
half turns to them and then apparently changes his mind and
brings the double bassoon player forward instead. There is a
moment of humour just before Ibéria, when Munch
is obliged to wait, once arrived on the podium, as sirens from
the fire station on the other side of the street die away. The
booklet has this taking place before the Ravel, an unimportant
and easy enough error. The performances were filmed for television,
in black and white, and though the booklet carries copious warnings
about the sonic and visual limitations of the original material,
it’s all perfectly viewable, though the film of La
Mer had apparently deteriorated more than the others, the
picture quality poorer and the sound less stable, with particularly
acid trumpets. Few cameras were used, and the viewer is amused
to find the operator “hunting” the woodwind soloists,
and not always finding them. At one point in the opening movement
of the Ravel the picture settles on the first flute - Doriot
Anthony Dwyer, one of only two women in the orchestra - and
only slipping off to her oboist neighbour when he starts to
play.
What of the performances? On this evidence, Munch was more excitable
in concert than in the studio, and not always to the music’s
advantage. The reading of Mother Goose is rather more
interventionist in style than we expect from Ravel performances
nowadays, with a fair bit of variety of tempo and exploration
of expressive byways. There is a marked slowing down in the
middle section of “Laideronette”, but for the most
part her bath is rapid and lacking in charm. Indeed, in this
of all works, charm is short supply. One is surprised to see
the vehemence of Munch’s gestures at climactic points,
even in the Fairy Garden, and the inevitably limited
dynamic range contributes too, everything seeming more or less
forte. This does not distract from the superbly controlled
crescendo at the end of the work.
Audiences nowadays seem to contain a fair number of people who
wish to show how well they know the piece by being the first
to applaud, frequently with a loud and obtuse “bravo!”
Such individuals would be forgiven for thinking that the Boston
audience weren’t sure that the good old thwack Munch encourages
from his players at the end of Ibéria was really
the last note of the piece. The performance as a whole is superb,
colourful, rhythmically alive and seductive by turns: it certainly
would have engendered a few “bravos” in London.
Richard Dyer tells us that Debussy was particularly proud of
the transition between the second and third movements, and that
passage is very sensitively managed here. La Mer is very
atmospheric too, and the orchestral discipline is remarkable.
The storm that Munch whips up in the second movement is certainly
very exciting, but it’s rather too much for me, I’m
afraid. Parts of the final movement too, are about as fast and
hard-driven as I have ever heard them, undoubtedly effective
in a concert but less so for repeated listening.
The sound quality ensures that this DVD can never be a substitute
for an audio CD. Admirers of the conductor will want it, as
will those interested in American orchestral playing of the
period.
William Hedley
Boston Symphony Orchestra/Charles Munch 
[68:01] 
