There’s nothing remotely
routine about David Zinman, Arte Nova’s
in-house Beethoven master. Remember
the impact of his ‘new generation’ Eroica
back in 1998, complete with ornamentation
and string quartet in the finale? A
seismic explosion. His performances
enquire, cleanse, elaborate, and take
risks. Rasping horns and natural trumpets
attack. Hard-sticked kettle-drums sharpen
the drama. Inner strings boil and pulsate,
not a loose note within hearing. Tight
rhythms and high speeds, pointed legato
slurs and crisp staccato dots,
drive the music onwards. Big dynamic
range, phrases shaped to their apexes,
climaxes thrillingly taken - the theatre
aflame with passion, urgency and heroics.
In the symphony and overture cycles
[74321
65410 2; 82876
57831 2], Haydn’s ‘Grand Mogul’
goes rampantly on the charge, drunk
on the wine of sound and beat. Zinman’s
Beethoven is lean, post-Szell style,
combining ‘period performance’ practice
with romantic intensity and modern streamlining.
Like Savall, he brings an urgent temperament
to bear on this music – indulging a
phrase, a dramatic delivery, with a
freedom and conviction denied to the
more regimented likes of a Hogwood,
Marriner or Norrington. Founded in 1868,
the Tonhalle Orchestra, which must count
itself fortunate having him at the helm
(his contract has been renewed until
2010), backs his ideas throughout, relishing
every moment in the acoustic glow of
their splendid late 19th
century auditorium. Add a seasoned Decca
partnership to the chemistry – producer
Chris Hazell and engineer/editor Simon
Eadon – clarity of image, physical presence,
ringing ambience: magical formula –
and a special event is promised. Each
time. Guaranteed.
Less and less the Cinderella
of Beethoven’s concertos, the Triple
comes these days in a number of high-profile
versions, as well as a variety of vintage
readings going back to Böhm, Fricsay,
Golovanov and Toscanini. None though
can claim the shock value of this latest
foray. Here we are, settling in to the
great unharmonised cello/bass tune of
the opening – resonances that first
came my direction through the (similarly
paced) 1958 Abbey Road Philharmonia
recording with Oborin, Oistrakh and
Knushevitsky under Sargent [HMV Classics
77 67796 2; Asi 69331]. Bar 8, less
than 15 seconds in - and Zinman’s touch
comes into play, cellos and basses starting
their trill not on the customary principal
note (A) but the upper (B), heightening
the tension with the second violin and
viola C a tenth above. A rude awakening.
Subsequent sforzandi and crescendi maintain
the full-throated approach, at 12.10.8.6.4
the strings of the orchestra reduced
only marginally from their normal strength.Ideally
focused, the solo trio excels throughout,
Mørk evidently enjoying the most
taxing of the three parts, and Bronfman
living a calmer, more self-effacing
role than in his Sony period. A more
intoxicating, lyrically poetic, elegantly
mannered middle-period Beethoven you
could not wish for. With a lingering
Largo and aristocratically stepping
Polacca, the orchestra contributing
as much to the ‘solo’ picture as the
concertino, this is a release
at one with the composer’s vision.
The Septet, in which
Shaham and Mørk join members
of the Tonhalle, is more delightful
than I can recall in a long while. A
wonderful symmetry of late 18th century
symphony, serenade and solo flight,
harmoniously structured and affectionately
phrased - 'the famous Herr Ludwig van
Beethoven', 'son of the morning, glorying
in his power', purveying music for public
consumption with a charm and poise equalling
the Mozarts and Wents of the Habsburg
realm he was to dominate. Gracious melody,
gracious playing, gracious recording,
evocatively bloomed.
Ateş
Orga
*Yefim Bronfman (piano); Gil Shaham (violin);
Truls Mørk (cello); 
