"Nothing from Moh-zart?" Beecham’s
quip enquiring as to missing telegrams at his 80th
birthday celebration is one side of his waggish drollery. The
recorded evidence of his Mozart recordings in the 1950s – how
he relished the Edwardian splitting of the composer’s name into
two evenly drawled parts – was a matter of increasing debate.
I find that the binary reputation that has persisted - pre-war
pretty good, post-war badly affected – tells only a partial story,
though its broad outline seems to me clearly true. Of the three
symphonies the E flat major receives a spacious but consistently
elevated, though not unproblematic, performance, the Linz a
vigorous one full of affectionate detail and the Prague
one that sometimes exposes Beecham’s increasingly manicured phrasing
to some detrimental effect.
Firstly, the sound of the recordings; at this
period a rather resonant acoustic perspective was favoured for
Beecham’s symphonic discs and that is of course mirrored in these
transfers. This does lead to a blunting of attacks from time to
time and a general weighty spirit prevails, not inappropriately
so given Beecham’s considered affection for the works. The phrasing
in the adagio introduction to the Linz is affection itself
though the tempo is considerably slower than one would expect
now, a fact that is an irrelevance so far as I’m concerned, but
which might trouble those who constantly relate historical performance
practice to current notions or conventions. The full complement
of the RPO strings sound to be on show but, even so, telling wind
detail emerges, though not with quite the immediacy of other more
lissom readings. The Andante is songful and lyrical and is tinged
with a perceptible feeling of loss whilst the Presto finale is
bluffly vigorous and full of dynamic terracing and subtlety of
texture.
The Prague opens once more with affectionate
delicacy but here, in the earliest recorded of the trio, in 1950,
the details sounds unduly mannered. The self-consciously polished
phrasing of the initial Adagio precludes real depth and the lead
into the Allegro sounds especially artful. Once there, brio does
have its welcome place, but Beecham’s preoccupation with texture
building and over emphases of various kinds negate much of the
virtuosity and intelligence of the music making. The Andante is
nicely flowing but again somewhat too often visited by inflection;
the finale is fine.
The E flat major has about it a greater weight
of concentration in this performance, albeit one accompanied by
emotive string crises, laden with depth of tone. Phrasing is strongly
romanticised, emphasis sometimes on detail – the sound not as
buoyant and aerated - surprisingly this applies to the strings
- as one might want. But there is to compensate, plenty of inner
part detail and a sense of cohesive direction. The slow movement
is lyrically phrased without undue exaggeration, though there
is a degree of it still, and the Minuet is one of Beecham’s pomposo
treats. In the finale his fine little crescendi make their mark,
as does some somewhat unnatural sounding woodwind spotlighting
– otherwise this is avuncular, buoyant, subtle music making.
My own preference is for Beecham’s pre-war recordings
with the LPO, which are more lithe and bristle with vigour and
sensitivity. Nevertheless these later traversals carry the inimitable
stamp of authority and there is much still to admire.
Jonathan Woolf
Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Sir
Thomas Beecham 
