Regular readers of 
                MusicWeb’s sibling, Film Music 
                on the Web, will recognise the name 
                William Stromberg as the conductor of 
                the majority of the releases in Marco 
                Polo’s ongoing ‘Classic Film Scores’ 
                series. Clearly the cinematic nature 
                of this music is of great appeal to 
                this conductor. And the huge orchestral 
                forces and brilliant colours offer a 
                marvellous opportunity to demonstrate 
                new sound technologies. 
              
 
              
The Grand Canyon 
                Suite has been recorded numerous 
                times so Stromberg faces stiff competition 
                and it has to be said that there are 
                more persuasive performances. Bernstein 
                on Sony SMK 63086 is infectiously witty 
                in his portrait of ‘On the Trail’ and 
                Kunzel’s Telarc recording (CD 80086) 
                has power and splendour aplenty and 
                it offers a second performance of Cloudburst 
                with real thunderclaps as a bonus). 
                I also retain an affection for Antal 
                Dorati’s Decca recording (410 110-2). 
                Having said all that, Stromberg’s reading 
                has plenty of guts and character and 
                it sounds very thrilling – the surround 
                sound really involving the listener. 
              
 
              
Stromberg’s commitment 
                and enthusiasm makes a strong case for 
                Grofé’s Mississippi Suite 
                which is less well-known and candidly 
                less interesting. Its opening movement 
                ‘Father of the Waters’ is a broad sweeping 
                evocation seeking to suggest the river’s 
                natural grandeur but Indian calls and 
                negro folk-tune banalities don’t help. 
                The most interesting movement is the 
                very witty portrait of ‘Huckleberry 
                Finn’ with Stromberg wildly and mischievously 
                boisterous. ‘Old Creole Days’ is more 
                restful, a sweet elegy for the old days 
                in moonlit Louisiana gardens (sub-Delius). 
                Finally, ‘Mardi Gras’ fizzes with exuberant 
                high jinks and folksongs. A favourite 
                old ballad (the name of which has persistently 
                escaped me) towers proudly over a New 
                Orleans carnival backdrop. 
              
 
              
Even less well-known 
                is the ‘Niagara Falls Suite’ another 
                musical ‘picture post card’; another 
                noisy spectacular. ‘Thunder of the Waters’ 
                captures the grandeur of the high falls 
                as they cascade downwards carrying a 
                suggestion of their watery smokiness. 
                Implicit in this movement are Indian 
                motifs which play a major part in the 
                ‘Devil’s Hole Massacre’ – a movement 
                that stands up to any similar western 
                movie music by Steiner or Tiomkin and 
                recalls an Indian ambush of 1763 when 
                a British train of 25 wagons was obliterated. 
                ‘Honeymooners’ adds a taste of romance 
                and steers the music into calmer waters 
                before the final ‘Power of Niagara’ 
                plunges us back into even greater turbulence 
                depicting the industrial might associated 
                with a local Niagara hydro-electric 
                plant complete with sirens and anvil 
                strokes. 
              
 
              
Big, big Technicolor 
                music; great fun even in its banal moments, 
                all conducted with great verve by movie 
                music specialist, William T. Stromberg. 
              
Ian Lace 
              
See also review 
                by Jonathan Woolf