Kubelik's Mahler credentials have long been established ever since his trailblazing Decca recording of the First with the VPO in 1957 indeed many collectors still prefer that version to others for its verve and drive. This 1981 live relay from Munich shows the Czech conductor at his most inspired with the orchestra that was part of his life for most of his recording career. The bold strokes of the Trauermarsch are magnificent in their eerie solemnity with a rich resonant recording aiding the imposing nature of the music no end. 'Sturmisch bewegt' is constructive and fullsome although other conductors like Karajan and Bernstien have brought greater character to his music, indeed Kubelik's own previous 1967 recording was much more involved. The Scherzo moves about with terrific swagger, the BRSO horns have a field day and the contributions of the strings are also quite dizzying. In the famous Adagietto, Kubelik almost finds a heavenly pace; this is music from another planet in such a conductor's hands. One cannot fault the Finale for its irresistible rhythmic verve and drive that bring the work to an end in typically vigorous fashion. Audite's recording is admirably clear and extremely vivid, indeed the famous spacious acoustic of the Herkulessaal is quite dazzlingly captured. There is a whole host of Fifths in the bargain and mid-price range but this recording demands to be heard, both as a souvenir of Kubelik's immense charisma and for its place as a unique testament of Mahler conducting to range alongside the Bernsteins, Soltis and Karajans of the past century.

Kubelik's Mahler credentials have long been established ever since his trailblazing Decca recording of the First with the VPO in 1957 indeed many collectors still prefer that version to others for its verve and drive. This 1981 live relay from Munich shows the Czech conductor at his most inspired with the orchestra that was part of his life for most of his recording career. The bold strokes of the Trauermarsch are magnificent in their eerie solemnity with a rich resonant recording aiding the imposing nature of the music no end. 'Sturmisch bewegt' is constructive and fullsome although other conductors like Karajan and Bernstien have brought greater character to his music, indeed Kubelik's own previous 1967 recording was much more involved. The Scherzo moves about with terrific swagger, the BRSO horns have a field day and the contributions of the strings are also quite dizzying. In the famous Adagietto, Kubelik almost finds a heavenly pace; this is music from another planet in such a conductor's hands. One cannot fault the Finale for its irresistible rhythmic verve and drive that bring the work to an end in typically vigorous fashion. Audite's recording is admirably clear and extremely vivid, indeed the famous spacious acoustic of the Herkulessaal is quite dazzlingly captured. There is a whole host of Fifths in the bargain and mid-price range but this recording demands to be heard, both as a souvenir of Kubelik's immense charisma and for its place as a unique testament of Mahler conducting to range alongside the Bernsteins, Soltis and Karajans of the past century.

Clifford Curzon was a finicky perfectionist who never liked the recording process and never seemed satisfied with his recorded performances, however favorably they were viewed by everyone else. His repertoire was not very extensive, but what he played, he played exceedingly well. In this respect he resembles Michelangeli and Lipatti. We are left with a somewhat sparse catalog of mostly splendid performances--far less complete than it could have been.

Curzon recorded expressive and powerful accounts of these two concertos with Knappertsbusch and the VPO in the mid-1950s. They are scheduled to be released soon on a low-cost Decca CD. Why, then, do we need these items from Audite?

Well, simply because these 1977 performances are even more poetic, grandly shaped, spontaneous, luminous, splendidly proportioned, and totally effective than the earlier ones. What is more, Kubelik and his great orchestra supply as sensitive and romantically supportive an orchestral backing as one could imagine--a framework for Curzon\'s pianism even more elegant than the formidable Knappertsbusch manages. Also, the sound here, though exhibiting less warmth and resonance than one expects from the Herculessaal, is more spacious, better focussed, and precisely imaged than in the earlier issue. Curzon is more expansive, and his sensitive and poetic shaping of phrases and paragraphs puts this release right into the top drawer. This is most impressive in No. 4, a work that is clearly structured on a Mozartean model. The Emperor is a little more straightforward, though still grandly proportioned and nobly expressed. Curzon\'s runs and trills are often slightly uneven, intentionally so I think, to give each of them i ts unique and individual profile. The uniquely poetic quality of these readings really puts them in a class by themselves. This is a full-price release, and it is worth far more than the asking price. It demonstrates this artist\'s work at its best.

Fischer-Dieskau seemed to like the role of Bluebeard. He made two studio recordings of it for DG, one in German (with Hertha Töpper) conducted by Fricsay in 1958 and a second in Hungarian (with Julia Varady) conducted by Sawallisch in 1979. The performance we have here dates from 1962 and is also in German. The best thing about it is the Judith of the vivacious, personable Irmgard Seefried. She was just past her prime in 1962, and she has to reach for some top notes (she releases the high C almost as soon as it is emitted); but her voice is still round and steady, and she utters each word with personal commitment. Her intensity as she asks Bluebeard to open door after door is almost frightening, and she’s particularly eloquent describing the flowers she sees through the fourth of them. Her final phrases, after the opening of the last door, are heartbreaking.
She can, perhaps, seem too outgoing a singer, but next to Fischer-Dieskau she’s a model of restraint. His role does not lie in a comfortable part of his voice. In particular, it needs a depth and resonance he doesn’t have—his first few lines already take him below the point where he can produce singing tone. After the fifth door opens, you want his voice to expand confidently, but instead he tends to bark and shout rather than muster the needed fullness. He’s interesting to listen to, and when he doesn’t have to strain for volume, he can be direct and communicative, but he’s still wrong.
Kubelik draws spirited playing out of the Swiss Festival Orchestra, and the monaural sound is good—deep and undistorted; all the drama and color in the score come across.
No texts are supplied. As usual nowadays, Audite directs you to their website; but the German libretto given does not match the words we actually hear, though it’s close enough to follow. Worth having for Seefried’s sake. If you insist on a Fischer-Dieskau Bluebeard, go with the Hungarian one.

There’s no special price for the Audite recording but, at $12.02 – just over £7 at current rates – it won’t break the bank and it’s well worth considering if you’re in the market for just these two symphonies. Tempi are a shade faster throughout than on Linn, especially in the third movement of No. 2 (8:26 against 10:13) and the opening movement of the Rhenish (8:58 against 9:37). The former is marked adagio espressivo and most take that to indicate a timing of a little over 10 minutes – Sawallisch takes 10:18 – but Heinz Holliger makes his faster tempo seem perfectly natural and unhurried. The opening movement of the Rhenish, marked lebhaft, certainly benefits from the faster treatment: Sawallisch is even a shade faster at 8:55, though, surprisingly, the speed-merchant Szell takes longer at 9:13. It seems that Szell was not such a speedy Gonzalez in this work as I recall – in fact, TH’s review in 1963 comments on the comparatively spacious speed in the second movement: at 6:15 he’s slower than Holliger (5:40) or Ticciati (6:02). I like the way that Holliger keeps the music moving here without seeming hurried; listening to Szell again, in lossless sound via Qobuz, I now think he’s inclined to make the movement sound a little arthritic and Sawallisch at 6:42 seems impossibly slow after hearing Holliger. So much for cherished benchmarks: of those that I mentioned at the outset, only Kubelík, at an ideal compromise of 6:08, holds up here.

The Audite recording is good throughout, though I miss those powerful drum thwacks, so apparent on the Linn recording. If you bought the first volume (Audite 97.677, Symphony No. 1 and No. 4, original version, and Overture, Scherzo and Finale) I’m sure you’ll want the second. The third volume, containing the Cello Concerto and final version of the Fourth Symphony, is due for release in October 2014.

I should add that I haven’t yet heard the new, highly-regarded BPO/Simon Rattle set – review – except for the 1-minute segments from Qobuz, but I see that he attributes his appreciation of Schumann to a meeting long ago with Heinz Holliger, whom he describes as a Schumann ‘nut’ – endorsement of a kind for his mentor’s new recording.

There’s no special price for the Audite recording but, at $12.02 – just over £7 at current rates – it won’t break the bank and it’s well worth considering if you’re in the market for just these two symphonies. Tempi are a shade faster throughout than on Linn, especially in the third movement of No. 2 (8:26 against 10:13) and the opening movement of the Rhenish (8:58 against 9:37). The former is marked adagio espressivo and most take that to indicate a timing of a little over 10 minutes – Sawallisch takes 10:18 – but Heinz Holliger makes his faster tempo seem perfectly natural and unhurried. The opening movement of the Rhenish, marked lebhaft, certainly benefits from the faster treatment: Sawallisch is even a shade faster at 8:55, though, surprisingly, the speed-merchant Szell takes longer at 9:13. It seems that Szell was not such a speedy Gonzalez in this work as I recall – in fact, TH’s review in 1963 comments on the comparatively spacious speed in the second movement: at 6:15 he’s slower than Holliger (5:40) or Ticciati (6:02). I like the way that Holliger keeps the music moving here without seeming hurried; listening to Szell again, in lossless sound via Qobuz, I now think he’s inclined to make the movement sound a little arthritic and Sawallisch at 6:42 seems impossibly slow after hearing Holliger. So much for cherished benchmarks: of those that I mentioned at the outset, only Kubelík, at an ideal compromise of 6:08, holds up here.

The Audite recording is good throughout, though I miss those powerful drum thwacks, so apparent on the Linn recording. If you bought the first volume (Audite 97.677, Symphony No. 1 and No. 4, original version, and Overture, Scherzo and Finale) I’m sure you’ll want the second. The third volume, containing the Cello Concerto and final version of the Fourth Symphony, is due for release in October 2014.

I should add that I haven’t yet heard the new, highly-regarded BPO/Simon Rattle set – review – except for the 1-minute segments from Qobuz, but I see that he attributes his appreciation of Schumann to a meeting long ago with Heinz Holliger, whom he describes as a Schumann ‘nut’ – endorsement of a kind for his mentor’s new recording.

There’s no special price for the Audite recording but, at $12.02 – just over £7 at current rates – it won’t break the bank and it’s well worth considering if you’re in the market for just these two symphonies. Tempi are a shade faster throughout than on Linn, especially in the third movement of No. 2 (8:26 against 10:13) and the opening movement of the Rhenish (8:58 against 9:37). The former is marked adagio espressivo and most take that to indicate a timing of a little over 10 minutes – Sawallisch takes 10:18 – but Heinz Holliger makes his faster tempo seem perfectly natural and unhurried. The opening movement of the Rhenish, marked lebhaft, certainly benefits from the faster treatment: Sawallisch is even a shade faster at 8:55, though, surprisingly, the speed-merchant Szell takes longer at 9:13. It seems that Szell was not such a speedy Gonzalez in this work as I recall – in fact, TH’s review in 1963 comments on the comparatively spacious speed in the second movement: at 6:15 he’s slower than Holliger (5:40) or Ticciati (6:02). I like the way that Holliger keeps the music moving here without seeming hurried; listening to Szell again, in lossless sound via Qobuz, I now think he’s inclined to make the movement sound a little arthritic and Sawallisch at 6:42 seems impossibly slow after hearing Holliger. So much for cherished benchmarks: of those that I mentioned at the outset, only Kubelík, at an ideal compromise of 6:08, holds up here.

The Audite recording is good throughout, though I miss those powerful drum thwacks, so apparent on the Linn recording. If you bought the first volume (Audite 97.677, Symphony No. 1 and No. 4, original version, and Overture, Scherzo and Finale) I’m sure you’ll want the second. The third volume, containing the Cello Concerto and final version of the Fourth Symphony, is due for release in October 2014.

I should add that I haven’t yet heard the new, highly-regarded BPO/Simon Rattle set – review – except for the 1-minute segments from Qobuz, but I see that he attributes his appreciation of Schumann to a meeting long ago with Heinz Holliger, whom he describes as a Schumann ‘nut’ – endorsement of a kind for his mentor’s new recording.

Enregistré dans la Kunsthaus de Lucerne par Ludger Böckenhoff en août 1984 et mars 1988. Une image ample, équilibrée et homogène. Même si l’ensemble manque parfois de précision dans le détail des timbres et des contours instrumentaux, la restitution demeure cohérente et chaleureuse. La projection des cuivres apporte vivacité et brillance.

Si Vaclav Neumann n'a pas laissé que des témoignages impérissables des vingt et une années qu'il a passées à la tête du vénérable Philharmonique tchèque, la seconde de ses intégrales (Supraphon) consacrées aux symphonies de Dvorak n'en reste pas moin un must de la discographie. Mais parce que les interprètes y abandonnent toute prudence, ce live capté à Lucerne en 1988 lors de la première première édition du festival de Pâques surclasse de loin les deux versions praguoises : un moment d'une rare évidence qui invite à boire Dvorak à même la source.

Dans une Svmphonie nº 8(1889) où les sirènes du vulgaire ont fait tourner la tête à plus d'un chef, l'objectif Neumann ne succombe jamais à l'anecdote, non plus qu'aux sophistications ou aux effets de manche. Mieux: avec la fièvre du concert, la fidélité au texte s'accompagne d'un surcroît d'audace d'où jaillit, ici dans un délicieux rubato, là dans un subtil balancement, toute la poésie primesautière et désarmante du compositeur. Sublime ! Que dire du flux intarissable de cet Allegretto grazioso ? De cet hédonisme pastoral et spirituel enchâssé dans les méditations de l'Adagio ? Et de cet Allegro liminaire qui balance entre la fraîcheur de Schumann et la noblesse de Brahms ?

Certes, le finale n'est pas un pinacle d'incandescence, mais la rigueur rythmique imprimée par le maestro sait exactement échauffer les esprits sans rien céder au pompier – une gageure. Grisés de lyrisme et de rebond dans une ivresse dont ils restent maîtres, les musiciens du Rudolfinum, conjuguant les atours de la danse et du chant, portent haut, très haut, les couleurs de la Mitteleuropa. Un miracle de spontanéité peint alla fresca, magnifié en outre par une prise de son qui en conserve toute la vigueur. Bref, une Symphonie nº 8 qui ne jurera pas aux côtés de Talich (Supraphon) ou Kubelik (DG) !

Peut-être moins mémorables, Le Pigeon des bois (1896) de Dvorak et le Prélude de Libuse (1872) de Smetana – captés au même endroit quatre ans auparavant – sont, eux aussi, d'une tenue exemplaire.

Ce CD inaugure une édition Karl Böhm élaborée à partir d'archives toutes inédites (excellent son radio), comme précédemment la splendide édition Kubelik. Mozart et Strauss nous emmènent en terrain connu. Le flux de Don Juan est somptueux, son élan interne irrésistible, sa respiration toujours large et organique. Comme dans la récente version « Kurier Edition » du Philharmonique de Vienne, Böhm trace un portrait complexe, à l'épaisseur humaine fascinante. La mélancolie des épisodes féminins, les mouvements de l'âme qui sous-tendent la moindre coloration des bois, le moindre soupir des cuivres, évoquent une espèce de retour sur soi désabusé, peut-être pessimiste, mais d'une rare densité psychologique. Mozart, lui, ne jouit pas de la déflagration, de l'hystérie des contrastes, mais du frémissement incessant de la ligne, toujours parfaitement tracée, même dans des tempos modérés. L'Andante évoque une mélodie continue où tout chante et respire, et toutes les lignes du Presto vibrent en même temps, à la façon d'un perpetuum mobile intérieur au charme certain.

Pour beaucoup, la découverte sera un Oiseau de feu absolument original (Böhm a plus joué Stravinsky qu'on le pense en général : première bavaroise du Chant du Rossignol, Munich 1923, première allemande de Jeu de cartes, Dresde 1937, Oedipus Rex avec Jean Cocteau en récitant, Vienne 1952...). En s'ingéniant à vouloir faire tout entendre, à détailler les timbres, les couleurs, à demander à l'orchestre un jeu espressivo (hautbois, flûte, le cor au début du finale), le chef autrichien ouvre la porte d'une étrange et mystérieuse version stravinskienne de la Klangfarbenmélodie. Le temps paraît suspendu, et le monde sonore très présent qui naît peu à peu, perpétuellement mouvant, évoque au passage d'autres ambiances fin (et début) de siècle : la Danse des princesses suggère que Böhm aurait fait un très beau Prélude à l'après midi d'un faune ! Est-ce là une vision décadente ? Sans annoncer la violence rythmique du Sacre du Printemps pourtant proche, elle ne se limite pas non plus à un simple souvenir rimskien, fut-il assombri. D'évidence, cette lecture intrigante est à recommander à ceux qui connaissent bien leur Oiseau de feu.

Précisons, contrairement aux dires de l'éditeur, qu'il existait déjà dans la discographie du chef : avec Berlin à Salzbourg (1968, plus noire encore, mais son médiocre, Memories), et à Tokyo avec Vienne (1975, deux captations différentes à quelques jours d'intervalles, son glorieux, DG Japon). La parenté du propos esthétique est frappante, mais les témoignages viennois sont à part : l'or liquide de la sonorité, sa lumière, sont indescriptibles... et déclenchent une ovation colossale du public japonais.