Comparison recordings;
Forrai, Hungarian State
Orchestra Hungaroton HRC 184/5/6
Dorati, Hungarian State Orchestra Hungaroton
HCD 12831-33-2
Rilling, Stuttgart RSO Hänssler
Classics 98121
[same] Brilliant Classics
[same] Musical Heritage Society
535948X [North America only]
E. Nyíregyházi, piano:
March of the 3 Holy Kings from Christus
CBS LP M2 34598
I am delighted to have this fine recording back
in the catalogue; in some ways it’s the finest version of
the work ever done. I had always been under the impression that
this was a digital recording because the cassette version has
“Numérique” on the box, but apparently it is
an analogue live recording that has been digitally cleaned up
and edited and digitally mastered to tape cassette. Only the Dorati
and Rilling performances are truly digital.
In 1847 Liszt published a set of orchestral tone
poems which were based on poetry and drama. They were brilliant,
colourful orchestral showpieces, written in a style derived to
a degree not yet generally appreciated from Rossinian operatic
interludes and overtures, which in turn leaned a bit on Beethoven
Overtures and Symphonies. In 1866 Liszt compiled an oratorio Christus
from materials, some begun 13 years earlier, utilising chorale
settings of Latin Catholic devotional poems, interspersing them
with another kind of tone poem. These tone poems were, like the
previous ones, about 15 to 20 minutes long each, and were based
on extra-musical subjects. But where the previous set was generally
loud and full of storm and stress, battle and victory, these new
ones were more reflective, even calm, at times brilliant, at times
meditative, yet scored for full orchestra. At some moments we
hear Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, at others Berlioz’s
L’Enfance du Christ, and even a hint of Liszt’s own
Les Préludes. These reflective tone poems feature a similar
postponed resolution of chords, a similar drawn out anguish to
that featured in Wagner’s Tristan, and although nobody would
play Christus, they would use the music to embarrass Wagner, to
accuse him of plagiarism. A few late 19th Century French composers
wrote religious works clearly influenced by Christus, and indeed
it was a French Catholic acquaintance who had studied the work
in score who was most particularly gratified when the first recording
finally appeared.
I have previously commented on both Handel’s
and Liszt’s intentions in writing about their Christian
saviour, and brought upon myself some sharp rebuke when I suggested
that Handel—like Mendelssohn, Schoenberg, Mahler, and Slonimsky,
a baptised Christian—may have harboured personal Jewish
sympathies from his tradesmen ancestors and expressed them in
his oratorio, whose texts were drawn almost entirely from the
Old Testament and which he entitled in Hebrew. Even our local
Rabbi was a little surprised at my suggestion, offering the thought
that Jews had traditionally held Messiah to be expressive exclusively
of Christiandom. It may be that I am exaggerating, and that British
Israelism as it came to be called was much stronger in the mid
18th century than I had expected, that Handel’s audience
had more of a personal identification with Jewish history and
culture than I had supposed, and that Handel was just responding
to the tastes of his audience. Whatever, this Protestant oratorio
sung in a heathen vernacular with its heavily Old Testament textual
bias, while immediately popular the world over—even in Catholic
Vienna—hardly pleased conservative Catholic religious tastes.
Liszt’s remedy was obvious. Titled in Latin
and with all Latin texts including prime religious verses such
as the Stabat Mater Speciosa, Stabat Mater Dolorosa, and Pater
Noster, his new work was aimed directly at Catholic sentiment.
Despite the obvious parallel with Handel, Liszt also admitted
that he was influenced by Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis. However,
Christus was hardly suitable for any liturgical use, was difficult
to perform, and understandably lacked of popularity in Protestant
countries. After a few performances in Germany — Anton Bruckner
played the organ part in one of them — the work was set
on a course to oblivion. This was unfortunate because if Liszt
had had the chance to conduct it a dozen times for various audiences
he would surely have made revisions; the work as it stands has
moments, even whole sections, which “don’t work”
as well as they could. Hence a conductor has to work now and then
to correct balances and smooth out awkward transitions. A few
sections from the work were arranged for piano solo but their
performance seemed to do nothing to arouse curiosity about the
whole work until the middle of the 20th Century when Liszt’s
music as a whole was being re-evaluated. Liszt’s choral
music was very late of discovery and appreciation, and the first
recording of Christus was made in 1971 (a good one, conducted
by Miklós Forrai, is still in print).
The Forrai and Conlon versions record the Latin
superscriptions in the score, Forrai before and Conlon at times
during the music, while Dorati and Rilling omit them. Dorati and
Forrai are studio recordings, while Rilling and Conlon are recorded
live performances and thus, not surprisingly, convey the best
sense of the music being performed rather than expounded. The
audiences in both cases observe the highest standard of silent
appreciation.
For all its occasional slight awkwardness the
Forrai performance still has some of the excitement of discovery;
the performers know that most people who hear this recording will
never have heard the music before and their enthusiasm is infectious,
as on a number of the best Hungaroton recordings. Both the Hungarian
performances are the most reverent, and both have a slight tendency
to ponderousness at times. Dorati has the warmest, most distant
and reverberant sound with soloists in front of the orchestra
and chorus. He is evidently embarrassed by the percussion accents
in the finale, and he softens them to the point of inaudibility.
Rilling has the closest, most detailed sound and the clean, clear
strings, winds and chorus that come from digital recording. At
times he seems to try to find a Baroque aesthetic in this music,
which may at times be there; his chorus excels in the vigorous
contrapuntal sections, but his rapid tempo causes the church bells
in the finale to come absurdly too close together. Conlon has
a good balance of clarity and breadth to the sound, with a string
and chorus sound that is very clear and clean for analogue recording.
His tempi are always well chosen and his dramatics are well shaped,
with audience applause at the end.
The Conlon performance was at one time my preferred
version of this work, but since that time the Rilling recording
has been issued. Certainly the soloists and choruses are equally
good, the interpretations equally valid and committed; but, if
held at gun-point and forced to choose, I would give just the
slightest of nods to Rilling based on slightly more secure orchestral
playing here and there, and the translation in the booklet, even
though I miss the spoken superscriptions as on the Conlon. Probably
most listeners today will prefer the close sound and upbeat vigour
of Rilling’s performance.
Paul Shoemaker
Benita Valente (sop); Marjana
Lipovšek (mezzo); Peter Lindroos (ten); Tom
Krause (bar);Slovak Philharmonic Choir