Hermann Scherchen (1891-1966)
has always been one of those conductors
with an underground reputation; his
admirers swear by him and avidly collect
the various live offerings that have
come out in recent years, which might
give you the idea that he didn’t make
many records. Well, his fans like to
insist that his recorded repertoire
represents only a small part of his
absolutely vast total repertoire – a
high proportion of 20th century
première performances were given
by him, most famously the Berg Violin
Concerto – but even so he recorded untiringly
for Westminster from 1950 to the end
of his life, accumulating a recorded
legacy of considerable scale and importance.
Let me just give you an idea: of Bach
he recorded the Brandenburgs, the Orchestral
Suites, the Musical Offering, the 2
Violin Concertos (with Walter Barylli),
the St. Matthew Passion, the St. John
Passion, 12 Cantatas and the Mass in
B minor twice (1950 and 1959); of Bartók,
the Piano Concertos 2-3 (with Edith
Farnadi, a Hungarian pianist urgently
in need of rediscovery); of Beethoven,
the Piano Concertos (with Paul Badura-Skoda),
10 overtures including the rare Namensfeier,
the symphonies, some more than once
(1951-1958) (and a complete 1965 cycle
with the RTSI orchestra of Lugano has
also been issued), the complete Egmont
music and Christ on the Mount of Olives;
of Berlioz, the Fantastic Symphony,
Harold in Italy (with Riddle and the
RPO), the Grand Messe des Morts (Paris
1958) and Les Troyens à Carthage
(Paris 1952); of Brahms, Symphony no.
1 and the Double Concerto; of Handel,
the 12 Concerti Grossi (with the English
Baroque Orchestra, 1954), the Water
Music (I’ve reviewed a recent reissue
of this) and the Messiah twice (London
1953 and Vienna 1959); of Haydn, symphonies
44, 45, 48, 49, 55, 80, 88 and 93-104
complete (mostly 1950/1) and the oratorio
version of the Seven Last Words; of
Liszt, the Piano Concertos (Farnadi
again), some rhapsodies and Les Préludes
but also, more enterprisingly, Hunnenschlacht
and Mazeppa; of Mahler, symphonies 1,
2, 5, 7 and the adagio of no. 10 (but
various live and broadcast issues have
filled all the gaps except no. 4), of
Mozart, the Requiem, twice (1953 and
1958); of Rachmaninov, the second concerto
with Farnadi (I can testify that it
is among the finest versions); of Rimsky-Korsakov,
Scheherazade, the Capriccio Espagnol
and the Russian Easter Festival but
also, enterprisingly, Antar (LSO 1953);
of Stravinsky, the present Firebird
and Petrushka; of Tchaikovsky, the piano
concertos 1-2 with Farnadi (the second
is timed at 33:23 so must be the cut
Siloti version) and symphony no. 4;
of Vivaldi, the complete op. 8 (not
just the 4 Seasons!) and the Gloria;
plus many, many lighter pieces by Auber,
Offenbach, Smetana, de Falla etc (a
terrific Enescu First Rhapsody, for
example).
So where’s it all gone?
Well, the Westminster catalogue had
disappeared from view by the time I
started collecting in the mid-sixties;
it was sometimes drawn on by World Record
Club, then by EMI for its cheaper labels.
Recently Universal seem to have acquired
the rights and have put out a handful
of selected items. MCA has a Hermann
Scherchen edition, of which I have the
present Beethoven 8 coupled with no.
6. But it is high time some sort of
a systematic and accessible edition
of the bulk of this material was made
available, starting with a boxed set
of the Beethoven symphonies and others
of the Haydn last 12, the Bach cantatas
(which have some of the leading Viennese
soloists of the day) and the Mahlerian
half-cycle.
Would it be worth the
bother? I am quite sure it would. Scherchen
was essentially a modernist but he also
had a profoundly enquiring mind and
never ceased to call into question the
correct style in which the basic classics
were to be interpreted. I have already
pointed out in reviewing his Handel
Water Music that by 1960 this had got
him approximately where the authenticists
had got about forty years later, and
so it is with his Beethoven. Perhaps
to his contemporaries his insistence
that the composer’s metronome markings
meant what they said appeared just a
zany fad, but ever since Roger Norrington’s
first cycle came out in the 1980s with
the metronome marks printed on the sleeves
things have looked rather different.
There is probably little point in comparing
this performance timed at 8:27, 3:54,
4:36, 6:23 with a "normal"
one of its time – a swiftish-normal
1970s "traditional" performance
such as the Cleveland Kubelik takes
9:17, 4:00, 4:58, 7:29, but what of
Knappertsbusch at 10:59, 4:38, 5:20
and 9:22? – but rather with recent original
instruments recordings such as the first
Norrington – 8:43, 3:50, 5:36, 7:01,
the longer minuet reflecting his dubious
practice of including repeats even in
the reprise after the trio – and, even
more, such modern instruments versions
reflecting the "authentic"
experience as Zinman’s – 8:14, 3:50,
4:16, 6:40. The conductor’s daughter
Myriam Scherchen describes its "strict
adherence to Beethoven’s metronome markings
following the Weingartner school",
but Weingartner’s recorded tempi in
this symphony are considerably slower
in three of the movements – his finale
takes 8:13, the timings of his first
and third movements tell us nothing
in view of the omitted repeats but they
are certainly slower – while in the
third he established a precedent for
a faster-than-Beethoven tempo (3:39)
which has occasionally been followed
down the years, for instance by Monteux
(no timing available but the fastest
of the lot to my ears) and Tennstedt
(3:39, nestling rather incongruously
in an otherwise fairly broad reading).
Where Scherchen does approximate to
the Weingartner example is in his cultivation
of a lean and clear orchestral sound
far removed from the denser textures
of the alternative German romantic tradition.
It will be seen that
a declared allegiance to the metronome
does not necessarily produce equal timings.
For one thing, the metronome is a cussedly
unreliable contraption and if you bring
several together and set them all to
beat, say, 60 to the minute, they won’t
all go exactly together. But even more
it reflects the fact that each interpreter,
even if he respects the basic tempo,
still has to make the music breathe
and to make decisions over any rallentandos
and pauses the composer has marked.
To my ears Scherchen and Norrington
have the same tempo in the first movement,
but Norrington worries the music more,
imposing little crescendo-diminuendos
in the inside parts and chopping the
phrasing up into tiny units. This is
an aspect of modern "authentic"
performances which Scherchen did not
anticipate; he goes for the long line,
with results that are fiery and satisfying
while Norrington, however ear-catching,
is ultimately distracting. Zinman is
noticeably faster than either and, in
an attempt to prove that phrasing is
still possible at such a speed, inserts
some exaggerated dynamic shading that
sounds quite effete to me and, frankly,
this spot of extra tempo seems to go
beyond the realm of the possible; I
felt pressurised and breathless listening
to this while with Scherchen and Norrington
I didn’t.
Another aspect of modern
"authentic" performances which
Scherchen did not anticipate was the
use of original instruments or even
a reduced band – he would have no truck
with this and it should be said that
his obedience to the metronome markings
was not born of a desire to go "back
to Beethoven" but simply to seek
the truth about the music for our own
times.
A point where Scherchen
scores is in his ability to give more
lyrical subjects their just phrasing
while maintaining his tempo; it is by
this means (and helped by the virtuosity
of the RPO of the time) that he achieves
the shortest timing of all in the finale.
His tempo does not seem faster than
Norrington’s but he holds it with impressive
conviction while Norrington has little
slackenings followed by spurts forward
of an "oh-my-God-I’m-getting-behind-the-metronome"
nature. Also in the middle movements
Scherchen seems to have time to express
the music steadily while the timings
tell another tale.
Though it is likely
to be the issue of tempo for which this
recording is held up for discussion
even today, I hope this will not obscure
the overall sense of fiery conviction
which was a characteristic of all Scherchen
did and which surely proclaims a conducting
talent of a far greater order than Norrington
or Zinman, admirable though they be.
Untrammelled by the
metronome mark (there is none), he adopted
a tempo in Coriolan (8:05) closer to
Klemperer (7:58) than, say, the Weingartner-inspired
1950s reading under Boult (6:50). Though
the recording is close and overbearing
(the symphony sounds remarkably well)
the performance is essential hearing,
comfortably (nay, uncomfortably)
surpassing either of the two just mentioned
in its combination of structural grip
with tense and fiery drama.
Having spread myself
over Beethoven I will be brief with
the rest: the Stravinsky gets a performance
which is colourful, brilliant and tender
as required, and sounds well for the
date; one of Schoenberg’s less-appreciated
works is vindicated with burnished string
tone and a good radio recording; Orff’s
proto-minimalist reworking of music
by William Byrd is realised with a magical
ear for its sonorities and the "Donna
Diana" overture shows he could
make the lighter repertoire fizz (it’s
interesting how many "modernist"
conductors had this ability: think of
Leibowitz’s Offenbach).
Haydn and Brahms call
for more comment. To judge from his
discography Scherchen was a rare case
in his generation of preferring Haydn
to Mozart. The brilliance of the outer
movements could perhaps be taken for
granted (the finale goes at a terrific
lick, guaranteed to make your hair stand
on end) but there is also a Viennese
lilt to the minuet, much affection to
the phrasing and all the surprises are
superbly pointed. The wonderful poise
with which the slow movement enters
testifies to Scherchen’s deep love of
the composer and when the military effects
arrive something far more phantasmagoric
than a mere joke is at foot; it sounds
like an uncanny preview of Shostakovich
15. This is big, big, big Haydn and
if the other eleven "London"
symphonies are remotely on this level
their reissue as a set is a matter of
urgency. Don’t let anyone kid you that
only Beecham did good Haydn in those
days (and there were the Mogens Wöldike
recordings with the same orchestra if
anyone’s listening …).
Brahms was not a Scherchen
speciality but this performance hardly
suggests a lack of empathy with the
music. It has a number of notable features.
One is a matter which worried Toscanini
every time he returned to this piece.
The introduction and coda to the first
movement, marked "Un poco sostenuto"
and "Meno allegro" respectively,
are based on similar material over a
repeated-note bass and look, on paper,
as if they are supposed to go at the
same tempo. Well, Toscanini never succeeded
in making them do so to his satisfaction
and the normal solution (Klemperer’s,
for example) is to make the coda go
a little slower than the main body of
the movement without trying to relate
it to the much slower introduction.
Scherchen succeeds where others have
failed, so you will hear an introduction
that is unusually swift and dramatic
and a coda that is much slower than
usual. As so often, Scherchen makes
his unusual decisions sound convincing.
Another interesting
point is that he evidently feels that
the descending-note motto theme which
dominates the finale is also present
in the first movement and discovers
it in the inner textures at a number
of points. More importantly, the first
movement is propelled along with great
vitality but also much warmth. If in
Beethoven Scherchen seeks a lean and
muscular sound, in Brahms he continually
probes into the inner and lower parts,
creating textures of great richness.
Scherchen’s middle
movements are extremely expansive –
at 10:33 and 5:12 we are in Furtwängler
territory; a 1952 live Furtwängler
performance in Berlin took 10:35 and
5:16, though interestingly a month later,
in Turin with a much less rich-toned
orchestra, Furtwängler took a minute
less over the slow movement. Klemperer’s
timings for these movements were 9:25
and 4:42 while Boult, who always believed
that when Brahms wrote Andante he didn’t
mean Adagio, took 8:24 and 4:48. Scherchen
encourages his players to give full
rein to their Viennese instincts with
results that would be schmaltzy were
it not for the evidence of a fine intellect
governing the proceedings, continually
probing into the inner parts and the
harmonies. In spite of the slow tempo
the trio of the third movement is not
allowed even the slight accelerando
conceded by Klemperer (but not marked
by Brahms).
Also the finale contains
a few indictments of tradition: the
introduction is less of a free rhapsody
than it often is and during the famous
horn theme we hear, not an impressionistic
wash from the strings but their sextuplets
clearly enounced, preventing the music
from becoming static. When this theme
returns at the height of the finale,
in a syncopated passage where even Klemperer
allows a rallentando and a considerable
(unmarked) pulling back at the fortissimo,
Scherchen holds his tempo, as he does
in the final coda, with the chorale
theme blazed out absolutely in time.
I hope I haven’t given the idea that
this is a didactic demonstration, for
it is also one of the most dramatic,
spontaneous and warm-hearted performances
I have heard. The only reservation is
that Scherchen allowed some passages
of poor ensemble to pass, perhaps preferring
this to the possibly clinical results
of rerecording and editing. The recording
is close but strikingly rich and alive
for the date.
So, if Scherchen is
only a name to you, get this. Some of
the "Great Conductors" in
this series have been questionable presences,
or else the selection has not proved
their case. I don’t think you could
doubt that a great conductor and an
original, enquiring mind was in charge
of every track here.
Christopher Howell
EMI/IMG
Great Conductors
of the 20th Century
Vienna State Opera Orchestra (mono October
1952) 