In his liner notes to this second Horenstein release on BBC Legends, Bernard
Keeffe wonders why German-speaking composers dominated music in the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries. He concludes that in Central Europe where East
meets West “earthy energy” became controlled and refined by “the
intellectual discipline of sophisticated society.” He illustrates the
effect of this by citing a Sibelius quotation that to get electric power
you need a dam as well as a torrent and extends the metaphor to Jascha
Horenstein’s conducting . Horenstein, too, was a product by birth and
upbringing of these forces so is it surprising, Keeffe wonders, that his
conducting reflects this—earthy torrent refined and controlled by the
dam of a sophisticated intellect. An apt metaphor representing a delicate
creative balance.
It would be easy to compare Horenstein’s Bruckner with that of other
distinctive stylists, but I prefer to consider what Horenstein’s Bruckner
is, rather than what it isn’t, in reviewing this live performance of
the Eighth Symphony from the 1970 BBC Proms. Here are many of the characteristics
that made Horenstein’s music making so distinctive applied to the greatest
of Bruckner’s works.
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A grasp of the structure across the entire piece and within individual movements
and, most important, how each fits in one with another to make a satisfying
whole without subsuming emotion and expression—rather, setting them
in relief.
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A healthy respect for, but not a slavery to, the passing moment, achieved
by modular tempi set at the start, barely deviating and then only gradually
and without jolting.
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A terraced, chamber-like sound palette where each section is balanced equally
but never loses its identity: an orchestra that is the sum of its sections
and sub-sections rather than one organic piece.
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Joins and edges allowed to show and contrast, a limb with bones, sinews,
and blood vessels clenched for activity, not resting in repose.
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The long breath.
No other phrase is adequate for Horenstein’s ability to manipulate his
material (and in Bruckner this is a supreme gift) over the longest of spans
to encompass within the broadest of paragraphs parameters of, at one extreme,
despair that never becomes self-indulgent and, at the other, ecstasy that
never becomes histrionic. That long-breathed approach means his own emotional
compass points, which are often narrower than those of some of his colleagues,
are kept in mind by the listener allowing all shades in between to be more
deeply appreciated because they are heard in the round. In Bruckner, as in
much else, Horenstein was the philosopher-actor able to bend his distinctive
voice into what ever composer he interpreted and yet always remain himself,
art concealing art. The first movement of the Eighth Symphony shows all these
attributes. This is very serious, sober Bruckner conducting, the interpretation
of a man wedded to the belief that the music speaks for itself. But it also
manages to be grand and mysterious Bruckner, dramatic but not melodramatic.
Notice, for example, how the approach to the movement’s final tragic
climax is built with a stern inevitability so that when the last, bleak fanfares
blast out across what, we soon realise, is an especially desolate landscape,
there is nothing forced or mannered. It emerges from within what has been
a closely argued conflict where Horenstein notices thematic links between
each of the tiny musical building bricks of which Bruckner is master. Like
that between the opening figure of the whole symphony and the ascending one
after bar 51. This is a small detail but on such details great interpretations
can hinge. If a conductor is alive to detail as concentrated as this, the
same will apply to the larger picture.
The scherzo of Bruckner’s Eighth has always been, for me, another example
of Horenstein’s ability to pitch a tempo that fulfils everything the
music asks for. (It was just the same in his old Vox recording from the 1950s
with the Vienna Symphony. One of his other attributes was creative consistency.)
Neither too fast nor too slow, it has forward momentum but it also has weight.
Amazing how few conductors achieve this. It’s a delicate balance but
is, I think, the most easily illustrated part of this work where the
“dam” and “torrent” analogy used by Bernard Keeffe is
in evidence. Here is drama that becomes cumulative on each rehearing of the
main material. The Trio, too, is a miracle of poise and delicacy. Again the
overall tempo is perfectly chosen so this interlude doesn’t split the
structure of the movement but it isn’t thrown away either.
There are slower, more intense, more overtly romantic readings of the Adagio
to be heard than this, but I think few that understand an aspect of the music
I believe is often overlooked. I have always believed this movement is a
meditation, not a confession, and this is borne out in the long opening
paragraph. Horenstein couches this in one of his longest breaths so that,
after it has risen to its first climax and settled back on to its
harp-accompanied calm, the transition into the second subject group is seamless
and promotes a mood of reflection and serenity rather than soul-purging
indulgence. There is some lovely cello playing from the LSO here also. This
is remarkable for its simple presentation of the material unencumbered by
exaggerated gestures from the conductor to interrupt our mood. Horenstein’s
unwillingness to do anything that stands in the way of a careful and inevitable
unfolding means that all the way through, we do become aware of a dark,
unobtrusive, but very profound undertow taking us along. Horenstein trusts
Bruckner to lead him. The final ascent to the great climax of the movement
(with the two remnants of its Nikisch-inspired cymbals) is inexorable and
massive for seeming to have its roots right at the start. It’s only
having arrived here do you realise Horenstein’s direct approach has
paid the greatest dividend of all. He also justifies, if justification is
needed, those crucial extra bars the Haas edition contains at this point.
Note also his care to make sure we hear the inner voices, the middle strings,
and the woodwind, both of which can be subsumed beneath the brass.
I always feel Horenstein had a special affection for the long coda that follows
the climax. I used to feel this in the old Vox recording from which I learned
the work and the same applies here. Another conductor might slow down but
by resisting this, Horenstein delivers not a requiem, as in the corresponding
place in the Seventh Symphony, rather an impression of “well-being,”
hard won. For me this emerges as the true emotional core of the work. This
kind of treatment changes subtly the way the last movement is judged and,
by the way he conducts it, I think Horenstein thinks that also.
Surely the secret of the last movement is not to try to force a unity on
it. This is a movement that has an episodic character which, when viewed
in context of the coda to the slow movement that precedes it, emerges as
the least troubled part of the whole work. Horenstein’s unobtrusively
tight grip on tempo and dynamics doesn’t desert him. Notice the great
poetry he draws from the wonderful descending theme at bar 51. How often
have I heard this taken too fast to lose its elegiac quality, or too slow
and so hold up the long journey to the triumphant end still in the far distance.
Then there is the great pounding wall of sound that follows it, where Horenstein
is careful to make us hear clearly all the parts in the orchestra at a tempo
that fits with the movement but which is powerful enough for it to stay in
our minds. Once again, his mind is sufficiently on the bigger picture. And
has anyone managed such a wonderful ascent to the figures on the flutes that
seem to close an episode and point the way home, the strings coaxed into
a wonderful whisper of sound as though the players are just showing their
bows to their instruments? I also admire the way Horenstein holds back in
the last climax but one, where the music builds and builds and then rears
up to herald the emergence of the first theme from the first movement prior
to the last ascent of all at the coda. This means that when the all-conquering
coda to the symphony does finally arrive, again built up to a huge and impressive
crescendo that puts in mind Horenstein’s recording of Mahler’s
Eighth, it hasn’t been overshadowed as a lesser conductor might have
inadvertently done. It only remains to say the four themes in combination
that mark the conclusion of the work are clearly audible; and that is not
as common as you may think.
I believe that night, whilst acknowledging the applause of the full house
in the Royal Albert Hall, Horenstein lifted his score into the air in
triumph—the sort of gesture he was not usually given to. He must have
been pleased with this performance. The audience certainly was, and so must
the LSO, which played what sounds to these ears a faultless performance,
willing to do exactly what was wanted of them, never flagging in their
concentration, delivering a real ensemble performance. In the first half
of this concert the wind principles had already given a performance of
Mozart’s Serenade No. 10 K.361, so must have played themselves in rather
than tired themselves out, because the woodwinds are one of the glories of
this performance.
The recorded sound is bright, sharp, and possessed of enough hall atmosphere
for everything from the great climaxes to the most intimate ruminations to
be heard. This performance has appeared unofficially on disc before, notably
an aircheck contained on a Music and Arts release. There is not that great
a difference between the two, though the new official BBC release from the
master tape has the edge in being at a slightly higher level and closer in
with more detail.
In the context of a Bruckner Eighth of this quality the live performance
of the Ninth that accompanies it was always in danger of being overshadowed
and, it has to be admitted, this is the case. It was given by Horenstein
at the Royal Festival Hall in London just three months later with the BBC
Symphony Orchestra and it should have been as good. But there appears to
be something not quite right. Firstly, the orchestra play well but they
don’t play as well as the LSO. It’s as if they are not as confident
in what they are doing, that they have doubts—the way some of the horn
entries seem tentative, for example. Whilst the ensemble is good there is
an impression of the routine about it. Don’t misunderstand: this is
still a fine example of Horenstein’s art with many of the attributes
I have outlined to be heard, it’s just that he doesn’t deliver
them as well. The huge crescendo near the start of the first movement is
underlined with remorseless power and the warmer second subject has a world-weary
quality that sounds fatally sick and world-weary, all as it should be. But
I do wish Horenstein could have lifted his overall tempo a little more over
the whole movement. The great climaxes sprawl, seem to lack some point, and
so the concentration flags sometimes. This movement is not Bruckner at his
greatest. Had he lived I’m sure there are passages he would have changed
and the conductor and orchestra must be on their absolute mettle to justify
what is there; I don’t think they are here, not one hundred per cent.
True under Horenstein, the coda of this movement does gather material together
well as if, belatedly, the performance starts to catch fire at last. This
impression is borne out in the second movement which is given a masterful
performance. As in the scherzo of the Eighth, there is weight, power, and
movement with the wild brass entries really telling through the texture and
the weird trio containing all the creepy detail you could want.
For Robert Simpson the last movement is Bruckner’s way out from the
terrors of the first two movements enacted in a search for tonality: tonality
as safety and safety as a farewell to life. Horenstein seems to agree and
rises to the occasion, but I have heard more cataclysmic deliveries of the
final crisis than this, and from whom ? Well, from Horenstein himself. To
hear what I was missing in this recording I had to look no further than
Horenstein’s own 1953 recording for Vox (CDX2 5508 ) with the Vienna
Symphony. Limited mono sound it may have, and less tonally splendid playing,
but here is a Bruckner Ninth where every Horenstein attribute is splendidly
realised. As in the Eighth, it’s won’t be to everyone’s taste,
but it is all there that time. The tempi are tighter overall too with the
whole reading coming in eight minutes faster than the London one. The edges
are sharper and the moments of repose and serenity are in starker relief.
The orchestra also seems much more in sympathy with what their conductor
is aiming trying to achieve.
I wouldn’t want negative reactions to this Ninth Symphony to dissuade
anyone from buying this BBC Legends set. You will still have in your collection
a fine and distinctive performance of the Ninth, but you will have to set
it against a truly inspired one of the Eighth. Great conductors, even on
“off nights,” are worth hearing and can be preferred over lesser
talents. However, if you want to hear Horenstein’s interpretation of
Bruckner’s Ninth at its very best then the Vox recording (coupled with
an early Mahler First) is the one to have. The sound of the Ninth on this
BBC issue is very clear and close, like the Royal Festival Hall tends to
be, but Bruckner needs a little more sonority and depth, more air around
the instruments.
A crucial addition to the Horenstein discography, therefore, with one of
his greatest interpretations which demands to be heard by anyone who loves
this work and this composer.
Reviewer
Tony Duggan
&
See here for a technical appraisal of
this recording
FastCounter
by LinkExchange
London Symphony
Orchestra / BBC Symphony Orchestra* Jascha Horenstein
