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Recorded live in Paris
this Ninth was one of Koussevitzky’s
last. He was seventy-five and was to
die the following year - ten months
later in fact. But it doesn’t sound
a valedictory performance, even though
the veil of constricted sound gives
it a determinedly resolute patina, more
Furtwängler than Weingartner, more
Mengelberg than Kleiber. The powerful
rhetorical nature of the first movement,
the pauses and caesuri and the (admittedly)
shaggy orchestral playing attest to
powerfully intense, though equally idiosyncratic
direction. The granitic approach is
underlined by the heavy booted scherzo
– strong, somewhat stolid, the antithesis
of the lissom approach of Szell (whose
string texture contrasts markedly with
Koussevitzky’s bass up sonorities).
And yet in the slow movement the Russian
conductor outstrips Szell in timings;
brisker, certainly, though not actually
sounding it, such is the perception
of articulation and rhythm. In string
quartet terms it’s the difference between
the Léner and the Hungarian.
It becomes hard fully to distinguish
orchestral strands and string choirs,
entrance points and wind pointing –
facts not aided by the oblique recording
quality.
His finale is deeply
etched, bass up and sinewy. The muddy
frequencies afflict pleasure as it must
be said they do throughout. The vocal
quartet sings in French; they’re perfectly
adequate but not outstanding. Cambon
makes no attempt to embody the sepulchral
and his colleague Georges Jouatte is
inclined to sound constricted. Micheau
and Michel are spirited but not especially
subtle and the choir sounds muddy. There’s
a momentary drop out at around 7.45
and later at around 13.40 there are
some pitch drops on the tape, by which
point the principal trumpet is struggling
valiantly with false entries and the
choir’s pitch is beginning to sag. The
orchestral playing becomes more and
more ragged and the conclusion, though
immensely exciting, is also immensely
approximate.
There’s a bonus of
a Boston rehearsal of part of the first
movement of the Ninth. The notes are
none too exhaustive and are mainly biographical,
with a couple of paragraphs relating
to the conductor’s French concerts.
In the end this document, though nobly
frail, captures a passionately individual
approach to the Ninth. In relatively
poor sound it can only really be recommended
to admirers of the conductor.
Jonathan Woolf
RTF Choir 
