Munch’s Berlioz used
to get a regular beating from the British
press. The EMG Monthly Letter regularly
bandied about phrases such as "large-scale
insensitivity", accusing him of
being interested only in "getting
the strings to play with a big, beefy
tone". I discovered while at University
that there could be another point of
view, when I read David Wooldridge’s
"Conductors’ World" and found
Munch - and several other conductors
with American-based careers who were
looked down on by the British establishment
- rated as a truly great figure, and
not only in French music. I must ask
my American readers to bear with this
introduction which may seem to them
merely quaint, but while the British
critics later discovered the calibre
of Reiner and Szell, Munch still seems
to be regarded with suspicion.
It is true that England
had another, and very healthy, Berlioz
tradition, going back to Hamilton Harty
and obviously encompassing Beecham.
While not lacking in brilliance or zest,
this tradition underlined the classical
base behind Berlioz’s muse. A similar
classical approach could also be heard
in London from the French conductor
(and one of Munch’s predecessors in
Boston) Pierre Monteux. One can perhaps
understand the English critics’ pique
when Munch recordings of the major works
started to arrive from Boston and the
interpretations by Beecham and company
remained mainly unrecorded, and of course
it is a great pity that we can
compare Munch with Beecham in only a
few of these works, but that was no
reason to belittle a masterly conductor
who identified wholeheartedly with the
equally important romantic, Dionysian
side of Berlioz’s imagination.
In the United States
and in much of continental Europe Munch
was looked on as a supreme Berlioz interpreter;
the very existence of these recordings
tells us as much, for this was a time
when Berlioz’s larger works were widely
dismissed as the eccentric failures
of a fascinating but unstable genius.
After the Berlioz centenary in 1969
and the long series of recordings under
Colin Davis this particular battle has
been won, but let us not forget the
role played by Munch’s missionary zeal
and RCA’s faith in him. No conductor
before Colin Davis was permitted to
record so much Berlioz (apart from the
operas the only major work missing is
the Te Deum) so let us welcome the chance
to hear the whole range of Munch’s Boston
recordings of this composer, in infinitely
better sound than those earlier British
critics heard.
Roméo et
Juliette
The virtually identical
timings of the two performances disguise
the fact that in 1961 Munch was actually
slower in almost every movement, though
not always by very much (2 seconds in
the case of the Queen Mab scherzo!).
However, in 1953 he was considerably
slower in the three sustained slower
pieces, Roméo seul (05:05
against 04:28), the love scene (15:42
compared with 13:14, a quite different
interpretation) and the Invocation (04:10;
03:41). These differences may be at
least partly accounted for by the acoustics.
Although we are told that the recordings
were all made in the Boston Symphony
Hall, I find this hard to believe in
the case of the first Romeo, where the
acoustic is extremely dry without a
trace of the longish reverberation we
associate with that venue. This, I believe,
encouraged Munch to generally faster
tempos, but also to his very sustained
versions of the slow movements, where
it can be sensed that he is struggling
for a resonant string sound that a more
sympathetic acoustic would have given
him automatically. Some early Boston
recordings sound pretty marvellous but
this, aside from the dryness, is one-dimensional
and shallow, though it is smooth and
not actually unpleasant. Add to this
that the earlier choir is less good
and the little-known soloists are only
adequate (the weakest is the tenor,
the best is the bass) and you might
begin to wonder if it was such a good
idea to include both versions after
all.
And yet I shall sometimes
bring the older one out for it has a
quite different character. Perhaps because
of the lean sound, perhaps because of
the more monumental slow movements,
the performance takes on a classical
character, presenting Berlioz as a successor
to his beloved Gluck – and this is clearly
an important aspect to the work. Furthermore,
the third part is incandescent (Giorgio
Tozzi’s more flexible voice inspires
Munch to a more elegiac interpretation
of Friar Laurence’s aria in 1961), reminding
me, however, that this particular ingredient
of a Munch performance had been relatively
lacking up to that point.
Incandescence begins
much earlier on in 1961 and the slower
tempi are not aurally evident – indeed,
hearing them in the typical Boston Symphony
Hall reverberation I could have sworn
they were faster. A spacious
stereo recording, still sounding remarkably
fine 44 years on, allows us to hear
a wealth of subtle shading from the
orchestra and the love scene, this time,
is fresh and ardent. Prior to this,
the balance between chorus and orchestra
is magical as "the young Capulets
leaving the hall pass by singing"
– it sounds a different piece of music
compared with 1953. This performance
is a far more headily romantic affair,
giving us the Berlioz who looked ahead
to Tchaikovsky rather than the Gluck-oriented
classicist. Both views are valid, but
how interesting that the same conductor
should provide them. With fine contributions
from the three soloists (a typical Met
line-up of the day) this 1961 Roméo
remains a pretty stunning achievement.
Munch’s Queen Mab scherzo, by the way,
will not appeal to those who want it
fleet and Mendelssohnian; both times
round he uses his slowish tempo to prize
out menace and malice as well as delicacy.
Les Nuits d’Été
With the last two versions
of this cycle that came my way (von
Stade/Ozawa, Ameling/Shaw) I had to
complain that the conductor sleepwalked
through the thing; Munch provides a
dream of an accompaniment, full of colour
and warmth without ever trying to hog
the limelight. At the time of recording
Victoria de los Angeles was ten years
into a career which was to last a good
long time yet. It is always a pleasure
to go back to earlyish recordings of
much-loved singers and hear the voice
in its pristine, scratch-free state.
The charm of the opening Villanelle
could perhaps be taken for granted from
this source, but would she find the
darkness for some of the later numbers?
In fact, she has several
cards up her sleeve, and in order to
illustrate them I give below a list
of the keys adopted for each song by
her and the other two singers I’ve mentioned:
| |
I |
II |
III |
IV |
V |
VI |
| de los Angeles |
A |
B |
c |
G flat |
D |
F |
|
von Stade
|
F |
C |
d |
G flat |
B flat |
F |
| Ameling |
A |
D |
d |
G flat |
C |
F |
So de los Angeles actually
sings the two darkest songs in a lower
key than the "true" mezzo-soprano
Frederica von Stade, while she sings
no.5 higher than the "true"
soprano Elly Ameling. Oddly enough,
all three, whatever their voice-labels,
agree to sing nos. 4 and 6 in the higher
key. It is notorious that this cycle
seems to be unsuited to one type of
voice all through, leading Sir Colin
Davis to essay a recording divided between
four voices. But if the singer can divide
herself into soprano and mezzo? This
is exactly what de los Angeles does,
and in her two mezzo numbers she descends
to her chest register as to the manner
born, lavishing a rich, plangent tone
on these two pieces. Indeed, perish
the thought, I’m not sure that I don’t
prefer her as a mezzo than as a soprano,
having always found the piping charm
a little shallow. But enough of these
irreverent thoughts, for she soars up
effortlessly in the soprano pieces and
altogether we have one of the few satisfactory
recordings of this challenging work.
The recording of the voice is excellent,
that of the orchestra fair enough for
the date.
La Damnation de
Faust
Though a 1954 mono
recording is hardly the ideal vehicle
for the splendours and subtleties of
Berlioz’s orchestration in this richly
fascinating work, it is a considerable
improvement on the 1953 Romeo; the acoustics
are warmer and if the big moments inevitably
lack space and dimensionality it is
all reasonably clear and the actual
dynamic range is wide. The mastery with
which Munch realizes Berlioz’s colouristic
effects is still strikingly evident.
The Harvard and Radcliffe
choirs have once again been prepared
in a somewhat syllabic manner, but this
time Munch is far more successful in
drawing them into his interpretation
of the work and much nocturnal magic
is to be heard in "Dors, heureux
Faust". The soloists all acquit
themselves well; the all-important tenor
maintains an easy emission even in his
highest-lying lines while parts 3 and
4 are graced by the contributions of
the always welcome Suzanne Danco. But
the real hero, apart from Berlioz himself,
is Munch, who encompasses every aspect
of the score from extreme vitality and
sinister revelry to delicacy (in the
"Ballet des Sylphes" and the
"Menuet des follets"), warmth
(the expressive yet unindulgent introduction
to "D’amour l’ardente flame")
and sheer poetry ("Voici les roses"
and the final chorus). But apart from
all these "moments", even
more importantly he realizes the dramatic
shape of the work as a whole with the
assurance of an operatic master, which
is all the more remarkable when his
career was almost exclusively in the
concert hall (I can find no mention
in his curriculum that he ever conducted
opera at all, though he was offered
the directorship of the Paris Opéra
during the war – and refused it because
it would have meant collaborating with
the Nazis). And remember that this was
at a time when Berlioz was still claimed
to be an "interesting" but
sprawling and undisciplined composer.
It would be idle to pretend that there
haven’t been other fine recorded performances
since, in superior sound, but collectors
of vintage performances will treasure
this.
L’enfance du Christ
We are now in the stereo
age and the sound immediately has space
and dimensionality around it. There
is perhaps a trace of distortion in
some of the high-lying choral passages
but all things considered this wears
its half-century astonishingly well
(an occasionally excessive spotlighting
of the wind soloists didn’t disturb
me, least of all because they play so
well); the circulation of this performance
certainly needn’t be limited to historically
attuned ears.
In the opening scenes
Munch draws string tone of quite extraordinary
richness from the Boston players, superbly
caught by the recording; later on, in
the more intimate scenes between Mary
and Joseph and in the angelic choruses,
he obtains pianissimos of the utmost
refinement. Once again he is the complete
master of all aspects of the score,
knowing just when to drive and when
to relax (perhaps a little too much
at the end of the Shepherds’ Chorus,
but this is a minor miscalculation),
and above all he knows how to bind it
all into a single narration.
Some of the soloists
are better remembered than others today,
but all are good. I was particularly
struck by the rich, even timbre of Florence
Kopleff, a name new to me, while Valletti
and Tozzi, not to speak of Gérard
Souzay in his prime, are always welcome.
The Harvard/Radcliffe outfit has been
replaced by the much more flexible New
England Conservatory Chorus, the Boston
Symphony’s regular choral partner for
many years to come. The fact that it
was recorded on the two days preceding
Christmas must have made it particularly
moving for those taking part, and must
account for the particularly heartfelt
quality which makes it a competitive
version even today.
Harold en Italie
Received wisdom has
it that this was the least impressive
of William Primrose’s three recordings
of this work (the others were with Koussevitzky
and Beecham; a live version with Toscanini
has also been issued). I’m not able
to comment on this, but however good
the others are, I don’t see how the
present one can be judged as other than
superb. The first movement moves easily
between meditation and elation and I
love Munch’s tempo for the Pilgrims’
March. Too swift a tempo can sound unfeeling,
while too footsore a trudge, maybe impressive
for the first minute or so, becomes
a bore. Munch seems to me to get it
absolutely right; the pilgrims sound
happy to be alive – they have, after
all, just crossed the Alps and their
goal is in sight – without being in
any way frogmarched. The serenade has
much nocturnal magic and if in the Orgy
of the Brigands, as in the Queen Mab
scherzo, Munch takes a slower-than-usual
tempo, such is the fiery clarity of
the articulation and the complete lack
of heaviness – the performance has true
Munch zest – that it sounds exactly
right. The stereo recording comes up
as fresh as paint so this has now become
one of my favourite versions.
Grand messe des
morts
This is terrific, awe-inspiring,
as much so in its moments of hushed
intensity as in its moments of blinding
drama (the augmented Boston brass make
a spectacular impact). For all the grand
scale of the piece it is Munch’s dedication
which shines through, not least in the
heartfelt Sanctus where he also has
the advantage of Léopold Simoneau’s
presence, incomparably at ease even
in the highest register. The recording
stands the test of time incredibly well;
like the best recordings of the 1950s,
it may not really be encompassing the
full harmonic and dynamic range of the
performance (as will be evident if it
is tested against a more recent version),
but it has a way of convincing you that
it is doing so; indeed, I would say
that in its symbiosis of music, artists,
conductor and recording, this is one
of the truly great recordings. Like
the Furtwängler Tristan or the
Klemperer Brahms Requiem it will never
be wholly superseded no matter what
other versions come along. I have written
relatively little about what is perhaps
the crowning glory of Munch’s Boston
Berlioz, but what else can I say?
Symphonie fantastique
Munch’s recordings
of this symphony (the Boston two are
not the only ones) have drawn a fair
amount of flak over the years and it
is true that, looked at in cold blood,
he does some naughty things, like starting
the first movement Allegro a few bars
before it is marked, accelerating through
the March to the Scaffold (in the earlier
version, particularly) and generally
applying a generous amount of agogic
freedom. But nobody will ever bring
a work like this to life by simply reproducing
the notes. And bring it to life he does,
triumphantly, above all in the "naughtier"
1954 version. In truth, he plays the
symphony as if he wrote it, as if it
were a part of his whole being, and
I am quite prepared to set aside all
academic considerations in exchange
for an imaginative recreation on a level
with Furtwängler’s similarly libertarian
but life-enhancing Schumann 4.
Fundamental to the
success of this performance are Munch’s
sense of orchestral colour (reproduced
in an astonishingly good early stereo
recording), his feeling for the narration
of the music – the first movement sounds
remarkably succinct simply because we
always know where the music is going
– and above all his ability to shape
Berlioz’s long, often unaccompanied
melodic lines. The Scene in the Countryside
can seem insufferably long and meandering;
under Munch every phrase has a beginning,
a middle and an end, and for this I
would rank him, in this work, above
every other conductor I have experienced.
The downside is that,
as can happen with Furtwängler’s
Schumann 4, you may get the sound of
this performance in your ears for ever
after and so not want to hear it any
other way.
And the 1962 recording?
Well, only a critic with a job to do
would listen to them both the same evening
with only half an hour in between. A
few months hence, perhaps I should try
listening the other way round. Certainly,
the recording is richer and more spacious,
but I repeat, the 1954 one was already
so good that I wouldn’t let that sway
me. I did feel at first that I wasn’t
being involved to the same degree, but
can you get caught up to that
degree twice the same evening? The first
movement, fractionally slower, seems
not to catch fire quite so easily, and,
perhaps realizing this, Munch sometimes
forges ahead impetuously. The Waltz
is also a mite heavier this time. On
the other hand, the later stages of
the Scene in the Countryside are realized
with even more poetry and the March
to the Scaffold is held more steadily
– and is no less enthralling for that.
Indeed, by this time Munch’s adrenalin
seems fully flowing and the last movement
uses the marginally slower tempo to
create an even weirder-sounding, phantasmagorical
Witches’ Sabbath. So in the latter stages
Munch perhaps surpassed his earlier
achievement, though I still stand by
the 1954 one as a whole. Both surely
stand among the pinnacles of the symphony’s
discography.
Shorter works
These were originally
gathered on one LP but are now scattered
around the set. Never mind, we have
an ineffably joyful Roman Carnival and
a Corsaire which, while thoroughly swashbuckling
where needed, finds time to shape warmly
yet purposefully the long melody near
the beginning (another of those passages
which can meander hopelessly in the
wrong hands). The drama of the Royal
Hunt and Storm is unsurprising, but
the closing pages give the lie (once
again!) to the idea that Munch was short
on poetry. A powerful Benvenuto Cellini
and an affable Beatrice and Benedict
complete the package. However, we also
have a version of the latter from the
very beginning of Munch’s period in
Boston. The sounds is remarkably good
at the beginning and, though it does
get raucous in the heavier passages,
it nevertheless allows us to appreciate
a more brilliant, unbuttoned performance
than the later one. It can also be heard
that the whiplash clarity and attack
of what was still basically Koussevitzky’s
orchestra had loosened fractionally
ten years on; Munch was not a podium
dictator and was primarily interested
in getting the right colours (the horns
have acquired a degree of French-style
vibrato by 1958) and the right spirit.
Nonetheless, we can also hear that he
took over a great orchestra and handed
a great orchestra on when he left.
This package, with
its inbuilt repertoire duplications,
exudes a generosity of spirit similar
to Munch’s own; a generosity not matched
by the booklet which has brief notes
on the works and conductor but no libretti
of the choral works. For those as fascinated
as I am by past performing styles this
is nevertheless a wonderful way to snap
up at one fell swoop all the Berlioz
performances recorded by one of the
composer’s greatest interpreters during
his vital years in Boston. The more
general listener wanting to collect
virtually all of Berlioz’s concert works
under one cover will make the consideration
that the dryly recorded, vocally inferior
first Roméo is virtually expendable,
that he may need a more modern Faust
as a supplement and that the differences
between the two Fantastiques may not
be so obvious to the layman as they
are to the practising musician. On the
other hand the overall price of the
set could be said the "absorb"
the duplicated items. He may also discover
that the sense of a burning missionary
zeal, deriving from the fact that several
of these were first recordings and several
of the others firsts on a major label,
still communicates today, outweighing
other considerations.
May I finally remind
readers of two other Munch releases,
both 2-CD sets, which I have reviewed
enthusiastically, one dedicated to Debussy,
the other to various French
composers, including the Symphony
by César Franck and Saint-Saëns’
Third?
Christopher Howell
Boston Symphony Orchestra/Charles Munch (all items)
