I expect you have,
like me a number of recordings of great
music which have become immovable points
of reference; I’m struggling to avoid
using the current buzz-word ‘iconic’!
In my case the ultimate one of these
is Wilhelm Furtwängler’s recording
of Brahms’ Symphony no.2 with the LPO.
I acquired this - or rather my family
did - in the mid-1950s, transferred
very badly from 78s onto the old Decca
Ace of Clubs label. Despite the hiss
and general crud, the sheer beauty of
Furtwängler’s reading shone through
effortlessly.
The dangerous flip-side
of such touchstones, however, is that
they can get in the way of further exploration.
Thus I cannot help comparing every recording
I hear of this symphony, probably my
favourite work of Brahms, to that Furtwängler
recording. I point that out to add just
a little weight and emphasis to the
apparently straightforward statement
that I have enjoyed Marin Alsop’s new
recording enormously. The great thing
is that she has managed - with the same
orchestra used by Furtwängler -
to penetrate the dark interior of a
work which is often seen, bafflingly,
as serene and uncomplicated. It is in
fact one of the composer’s most
complex works, juxtaposing the pastoral
poetry of the first and third movements
with the brooding intensity of the great
Adagio non troppo. I felt that
Alsop was right in there with the music
from beginning to the end, missing no
detail, responding sensitively to every
inflection or change of landscape. The
entry of the violins near the beginning
of the opening Allegro non troppo
with that glorious sweeping theme after
the restrained opening phrases from
horns and woodwind is a case in point.
She doesn’t wallow, or tempt the strings
to give it the ‘full works’, yet they
produce the sweetest and most radiant
tone, which gave me the appropriate
emotional surge. The hairs on the back
of my neck tell no lies! Just a pity
that the wonderful horn solo in the
coda doesn’t have quite the authority
and nobility of tone it really needs.
The Adagio is
given a most heart-felt rendition, with
the sinister music of trombones and
tuba casting deep shadows over the central
development. The final climax has a
true sense of despair, though the coda
seems just a little perfunctory in Alsop’s
hands; I wanted her to give the music
more breathing space here. The lovely
Allegretto is allowed to display
all of its charm and playfulness, while
the finale exults inspiringly, and builds
to a rip-roaring conclusion. Full marks
to the LPO trombone section for a beautifully
balanced and very, very loud
final D major triad!
However, there are
two points where Alsop lets me down
by deciding to ‘improve’ Brahms where
there is absolutely no need to do so.
In the first movement, she allows the
tempo to slacken for the big unison
theme with its leaping octaves and dotted
rhythms. Brahms merely puts ‘quasi
ritenente’ – ‘as if slowing down’
– and that qualification ‘as if’ has
to be observed. Similarly, she puts
on the brakes heavily for the second
subject in the finale, where the composer’s
direction is simply ‘largamente’
– ‘broadly’ – indicating at most
a barely perceptible easing of the tempo.
The worst of these adjustments is that
they require the conductor to give the
music the ‘hurry-up’ to get back to
the main speed – which is done unsubtly
here. A great pity, for without these
irritating mannerisms, this would be
close to a great recorded performance.
The sound is up to
Naxos’s highest standard, with a splendid
‘bloom’, while
allowing all the teeming detail of the
score to register. The ‘filler’ (a pretty
substantial one) is a group of eight
of the Hungarian Dances, some orchestrated
by the composer himself, others by Dvořák.
Alsop’s great sense of rhythm, and her
ability to make the music really
dance off the page, is a huge asset
in bringing these to sparkling life.
My reservations above shouldn’t put
anyone off acquiring this superb disc.
Gwyn Parry-Jones
see also review
by Kevin Sutton
London Philharmonic Orchestra/Marin Alsop 
