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.

It should be obvious from the list of selected comparisons that Bluebeard's Castle is a work that has done extremely well on record: the classic Kertész recording sounds amazingly good for its age, and Ludwig and Berry are an engrossing pair of soloists. I can't make any useful comment on their sung Hungarian except to say that it sounds credible, but in terms of singing they are both magnificent, and Ludwig has one of the best top Cs of anyone at the opening of the Fifth Door. The Fischer recording, originally on Philips but reissued (and superbly remastered) by Channel Classics, is probably the outstanding modern version in Hungarian, with two involving and idiomatic soloists. The recording in English by Sally Burgess and John Tomlinson, with the Opera North Orchestra conducted by Richard Fames, is another striking success – and hearing such a conversational opera sung in English is pretty much all gain as far as I'm concerned. I want to have it in Hungarian too, of course, but listening to it in English adds a degree of dramatic involvement that makes the whole experience even more intense – not least because this is also such a well-sung and well-played performance too, conducted with blazing commitment and attention to detail by Farnes.

So where does this newcomer – in fact more than half a century old – fit into the scheme of things? Recorded live at the Lucerne Festival in 1962, it's sung in German, which may put some people off, but honestly doesn't worry me when the singing has such conviction. Second, it has the benefit of Rafael Kubelik's conducting. Devotees of this piece may know his live recording made in 1981 with the New York Philharmonic with Tatiana Troyanos and Sigmund Nimsgern (it was included in a box of broadcast performances issued by the orchestra). He's a wonderful conductor of this work: never overdoing the drama, but underlining the turning points with the utmost sensitivity and an acute ear for telling details – and his sense of dramatic timing and pacing is unerring.

Then there's the singing: Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau is on magnificent form, bringing a kind of world-weary resignation to Bluebeard's ever more chilling revelations, and doing so in resonant voice. There's no barking or hectoring, but some very clear diction and complete involvement in the role. lrmgard Seefried is rather an unexpected choice of Judith. A stunning Mozart and Strauss singer, she’s not always comfortable in this role – and, be warned, her top C is a sort of strangled shriek. And yet, the sense that she is in a situation from which there can be no escape is tangible, and terrifying. Her singing near the end has devastating poignancy. Incidentally, the spoken prologue is omitted.

The Swiss Festival Orchestra plays admirably and the broadcast sound is acceptable – it has been very carefully restored by audite for this release. The notes include an interesting essay on the performance, but the absence of a libretto is to be regretted. What matters more than the language or the slightly boxy sound is the tangible intensity of this Bluebeard's Castle, and that makes it a version that really has to be heard.

En la actualidad, el panorama del violín registra una abundancia de nombres femeninos: Mullova, Mutter, Julia Fischer, Arabella Steinbacher, Lisa Batiashvilli, Isabelle Faust, todas situadas en el mismo nivel que sus colegas masculinos más destacados. Pero durante la primera mitad del siglo XX la situación era muy distinta, y en el olimpo violinístico figuraban casi solamente los varones. La excepción más notable al dominio de estos era, junto a Ginette Neveu, Ida Haendel y Gioconda de Vito, Erica Morini. Nacida en Viena en 1904 ó 1905 (las fuentes de información no son unánimes), recibió sus primeras lecciones de su padre Oskar, discípulo de Joachim. Niña prodigio, ingresó con 8 años en el Conservatorio de Viena, donde estudió con Otakar Sevcik, ilustre maestro de Jan Kubelik, Schneiderhahn y Szymon Goldberg. En 1916, Morini debutó en Viena y en 1921 en Nueva York. Obligada a abandonar su país, tras ser anexionado por la Alemania nazi, los EE UU serían su segunda patria desde 1938 y en 1943 adquirió la ciudadanía americana. Su carrera continuó hasta 1976 y falleció en 1995.

Morini grabó música de cámara con los pianistas Firkusny y Raucheisen, y varios de los grandes conciertos del repertorio con Rodzinski para Westminster y para DG con Fricsay. Este mismo maestro es quien colabora con ella en el de Tchaikovski, que Morini aborda con seguridad y solvencia y en el que luce su musicalidad y su bello sonido, especialmente durante la Canzonetta, una vez pasadas las tremendas dificultades del allegro inicial – que parece patrimonio de los rusos más grandes, como Oistraj y Kogan joven – que someten a palpable tensión a Morini. El final, en el que Fricsay practica un breve corte sin gran importancia, tiene también alto nivel musical, no en vano la colaboración del maestro húngaro al frente de la orquesta RlAS es de primer orden. El célebre Michael Raucheisen acompaña al piano el resto del programa que incluye una sonata de Tartini (Didone abbandonata) y la RV 1O de Vivaldi que, cuestiones historicistas aparte, se escuchan con agrado, porque Morini las toca con perfecta afinación, excelente línea musical y buen gusto. Siguen las Variaciones de Tartini sobre un tema de Corelli en el arreglo de Fritz Kreisler, y dos piezas originals de éste, Schön Rosmarin y el Capricho Vienés, en las que la artista muestra total familiaridad con el estilo de una música que escuchó desde niña y de las que brinda unas versiones deliciosas, de fraseo flexible y elegante y luminosa sonoridad. Otras dos miniaturas, el conocido Vals de Brahms, opus 39 número 15 y el virtuosista Capricho-Vals de Wieniawsky opus 7 ratifican el dominio de Morini en la pequeña forma, especialidad no fácilmente accesible a todos los violinistas y que ella pudo aprender de sus maestros, Kreisler incluido, cuyos maravillosos conciertos debió de disfrutar en más de una ocasión. Un merecido homenaje a una destacada artista. Buen sonido y excelentes comentarios de carpeta a cargo de Norbert Hornig.

The Czech composer Jan Novak (1921-84) was deeply interested in Latin literature and poetry. For him Latin was still a living language, and he even wrote poetry and prose in Latin. In 1983 he founded the Latin music festival Ludi Latini. Born in Moravia, Novak studied in America with Martinu and Copland. In 1948 he returned to Moravia, but the political turmoil and violence of the "Prague Spring" in 1968 forced the composer and his family to flee Czechoslovakia, moving to Denmark, then Italy, and finally Germany. As an ex-patriot Czech and a Latin humanist Novak found little acceptance. His catalog of compositions lists settings of many of the great traditional Latin masters: Catullus, Virgil, Horace, Tibullus, Seneca, Cicero, and Caesar. Perhaps the oddest of his compositions is a setting of recipes from the "Cook Book" of Apicius! From the play Dulcitius by Germany's first poetess Hrotsvitha von Gandersheim, Novak constructed a comic opera. Modern Latin texts included ones by Josef Eberle and Harry C Schnur . To teach children to enjoy Latin Novak even composed music for children with Latin texts.

Novak's cantata Dido gets its text from the fourth book of The Aeneid of Virgil. The cantata covers much the same territory as Henry Purcell's opera Dido and Aeneas. It was first performed in 1967 in Brno. A mezzo-soprano (voce media) portrays Dido as a narrator (recitans) tells the tale with commentary by a men's chorus (here the Choro virorum symphoniacisque stationis radiophonicae Bavaricae adstrepentibus). The work bears some resemblance to Stravinsky's Oedipus Rex, with a similar use of a men's chorus and a major role for mezzo-soprano. Novak's narrator plays a much more important role than Stravinsky's. The two works also have a similarity of propulsive rhythms, but in general Novak's music is much more romantic sounding, less detached, less acerbic.

This 1982 performance is a fine one, with Kubelik in firm command, driving the work to its dramatic conclusion. Schmiege may not have the most attractive voice, but she sings most musically, with a warmth and breadth of vocal power combined with dramatic insight. Fiedler was the first to perform the sprechstimme role of Moses in Schoenberg's Moses and Aaron (1954) and he performs here with immense dignity and expression.

The 13-minute Mimus Magicus (1969) is a setting of portions of Virgil's eighth eclogue, Bucolica. Like Dido it deals with love, but instead of seeking death as a remedy for love, the heroine here tries to win back her unfaithful lover through the use of magic spells. Here the musical forces are much reduced, requiring only a soprano soloist (voce acuta), a flute (calamo traverso), and a piano (clavibus pulsatis). Novak does less with these lesser forces, but it isn't quite fair to judge the work on the basis of this inadequate 1986 performance. Soprano (voce acuta) Kurokouchi should be voce acerba! Pitches are woefully misplaced, particular in the higher range, and an acidic quality colors the entire voice. Enjoy the Dido, but this is "Minimus Magicus".

A libretto in Latin, English, and German is included. Even the program notes and performance-recording credits are in Latin!

The Czech composer Jan Novak (1921-84) was deeply interested in Latin literature and poetry. For him Latin was still a living language, and he even wrote poetry and prose in Latin. In 1983 he founded the Latin music festival Ludi Latini. Born in Moravia, Novak studied in America with Martinu and Copland. In 1948 he returned to Moravia, but the political turmoil and violence of the "Prague Spring" in 1968 forced the composer and his family to flee Czechoslovakia, moving to Denmark, then Italy, and finally Germany. As an ex-patriot Czech and a Latin humanist Novak found little acceptance. His catalog of compositions lists settings of many of the great traditional Latin masters: Catullus, Virgil, Horace, Tibullus, Seneca, Cicero, and Caesar. Perhaps the oddest of his compositions is a setting of recipes from the "Cook Book" of Apicius! From the play Dulcitius by Germany's first poetess Hrotsvitha von Gandersheim, Novak constructed a comic opera. Modern Latin texts included ones by Josef Eberle and Harry C Schnur . To teach children to enjoy Latin Novak even composed music for children with Latin texts.

Novak's cantata Dido gets its text from the fourth book of The Aeneid of Virgil. The cantata covers much the same territory as Henry Purcell's opera Dido and Aeneas. It was first performed in 1967 in Brno. A mezzo-soprano (voce media) portrays Dido as a narrator (recitans) tells the tale with commentary by a men's chorus (here the Choro virorum symphoniacisque stationis radiophonicae Bavaricae adstrepentibus). The work bears some resemblance to Stravinsky's Oedipus Rex, with a similar use of a men's chorus and a major role for mezzo-soprano. Novak's narrator plays a much more important role than Stravinsky's. The two works also have a similarity of propulsive rhythms, but in general Novak's music is much more romantic sounding, less detached, less acerbic.

This 1982 performance is a fine one, with Kubelik in firm command, driving the work to its dramatic conclusion. Schmiege may not have the most attractive voice, but she sings most musically, with a warmth and breadth of vocal power combined with dramatic insight. Fiedler was the first to perform the sprechstimme role of Moses in Schoenberg's Moses and Aaron (1954) and he performs here with immense dignity and expression.

The 13-minute Mimus Magicus (1969) is a setting of portions of Virgil's eighth eclogue, Bucolica. Like Dido it deals with love, but instead of seeking death as a remedy for love, the heroine here tries to win back her unfaithful lover through the use of magic spells. Here the musical forces are much reduced, requiring only a soprano soloist (voce acuta), a flute (calamo traverso), and a piano (clavibus pulsatis). Novak does less with these lesser forces, but it isn't quite fair to judge the work on the basis of this inadequate 1986 performance. Soprano (voce acuta) Kurokouchi should be voce acerba! Pitches are woefully misplaced, particular in the higher range, and an acidic quality colors the entire voice. Enjoy the Dido, but this is "Minimus Magicus".

A libretto in Latin, English, and German is included. Even the program notes and performance-recording credits are in Latin!

[...] In Deutschland sind es vor allem die Label Orfeo und Audite, seit einigen Jahren auch Profil Edition Günter Hänssler und Hänssler Classic, die in Koproduktion mit den Rundfunkanstalten deren Archive auswerten und künstlerisch besonders wertvolle Interpretationen auf CD veröffentlichen. Zusammen mit dem Österreichischen Rundfunk hat Orfeo in der Reihe "Festspieldokumente" seit den 80er-Jahren annähernd 200 CDs mit Live-Mitschnitten von den Salzburger Festspielen veröffentlicht. Fast alle Künstler mit Rang und Namen in der Welt der klassischen Musik sind hier vertreten. Mit einem ganzen Stapel von Neuveröffentlichungen weckt Orfeo in diesem Herbst die Neugier von Sammlern, die das Besondere suchen, die vielleicht sogar das ein oder andere hier dokumentierte Konzert in Salzburg selbst miterlebt haben - etwa eines der Orchesterkonzerte mit Bruno Walter, Leonard Bernstein, Raffael Kubelik oder Lorin Maazel, einen der Liederabende mit Nicolai Gedda oder Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, vielleicht auch einen der bejubelten Auftritte der Pianisten Edwin Fischer oder Géza Anda.

Anda eröffnete das Konzertprogramm der Salzburger Festspiele 1965 mit einem außergewöhnlichen Chopinabend. Er spielte alle Préludes op. 28 sowie die Etüden op. 10 und op. 25. In den Salzburger Nachrichten war danach unter anderem zu lesen:

"Dieser Chopin-Abend brachte es insgesamt - mit den stümrisch erklatschten Encores - auf über fünfzig Kompositionen des Meisters. So bleibt zu guter Letzt nur noch einmal den Hut zu ziehen vor seinem Interpreten. Géza Anda ist einer der großen Chopin-Spieler und die Geschichte wird ihn nach Cortot als solchen annehmen."

Die Etüden op. 10 hat Géza Anda übrigens nie in einer Studioaufnahme vorgelegt. Dieser Mitschnitt aus Salzburg von 1965 ist seine einzige Aufnahme des Zyklus', die hier erstmals auf CD erscheint:

"Frédéric Chopin
Etüde op. 10 Nr. 5 Ges-Dur
Géza Anda (Klavier)
LC 08175 Orfeo CD C 824 102 B"

In seiner historischen Reihe "Legendary Recordings" hat das Label Audite in den vergangenen Monaten erneut eine ganze Reihe von künstlerisch wertvollen Aufnahmen aus Archiven des ehemaligen RIAS auf CD herausgebracht, unter anderem Orchesterlieder von Richard Wagner und Richard Strauss mit Kirsten Flagstadt sowie rare Klavieraufnahmen mit den Pianisten Solomon Cutner und Wilhelm Backhaus. Von besonderem Interesse ist ein diskografisches Großprojekt, das dem Dirigenten Hans Knappertsbusch gewidmet ist. Auf fünf CDs liegen bei Audite jetzt sämtliche Aufnahmen vor, die der Dirigent Anfang der 50er-Jahre mit den Berliner Philharmonikern für den RIAS einspielte. Einige dieser Aufnahmen kursieren bereits als nicht autorisierte Raubpressungen. Für die Veröffentlichungen von Audite wurden ausschließlich die Originalbänder verwendet und mit größter Sorgfalt digitalisiert. So sind diese Aufnahmen in einer nie dagewesenen Klangqualität zu hören. Anfang der 50er-Jahre, vor der Ära Karajan, arbeitete Knappertsbusch noch einmal intensiver mit den Berliner Philharmonikern zusammen. Die RIAS-Aufnahmen zeigen ihn als souveränen Sachwalter der großen Sinfonik von Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert und Bruckner, aber auch als einen genussvollen Dirigenten von leichterer Musik, etwa von Johann Strauss. Die Edition erlaubt außerdem einen interessanten Interpretationsvergleich der 9. Sinfonie von Anton Bruckner, die in einer Studio- und in einer Live-Einspielung dokumentiert ist:

"Anton Bruckner
Aus: Sinfonie Nr. 9
2. Satz: Scherzo (Bewegt, lebhaft)
Berliner Philharmoniker
Leitung Hans Knappertsbusch
CD 1 Track 002
LC 04480 Audite CD 21405"

Die Neue Platte im Deutschlandfunk - Es wurden Veröffentlichungen aus dem Bereich "Historische Aufnahmen" vorgestellt, die bei EMI Classics, Sony Music, West Hill Radio Archives, Orfeo und Audite erschienen sind. Die Sendung ging zu Ende mit einem Ausschnitt aus dem Scherzo der Sinfonie Nr. 9 von Anton Bruckner in einer Einspielung mit den Berliner Philharmonikern unter Hans Knappertsbusch. Die Sinfonie ist bei Audite in einer Editon sämtlicher Aufnahmen erschienen, die Orchester und Dirigent Anfang der 50er-Jahre für den RIAS einspielten.

Václav Neumann recorded two complete cycles of the Dvořák symphonies. The first, from 1971-73, can be found on Supraphon SU4090-2, an 8-CD box of his analogue recordings which also includes orchestral works, including The Wild Dove. His digital remake of the symphonies from the 1980s was made at around the same time that he and the Czech Philharmonic made visits to the Lucerne Festival, two examples of which are presented in audite’s release. The orchestra appeared on consecutive evenings in August 1984, from which we hear The Wild Dove and the Prelude to Libuše. Then, from 26 March 1988, comes the Symphony No 8.

Neumann’s earlier cycle is by common critical consent the superior, and with sonics to match. However, he remained a superior interpreter of Dvořák’s symphonies and this live Lucerne recording suffers little in comparison with his commercial recordings. The Czech strings are warmly textured and the winds are, as ever, characterful, Neumann unfolding the symphonic argument with natural pacing and judicious orchestral weight, whilst allowing wind counter-melodies room to breathe and phrase. Those nuanced wind choirs make their mark again in the slow movement where he cultivates a natural gravity without any over-emphasis and in the Scherzo there’s elegance as well as charm. Nothing is underplayed, though – full measure is given to the folkloric elements in the music, but they’re not exaggerated. If Neumann is sometimes seen as a middle-of-the-road conductor, maybe that’s because he was seldom prone to exaggerations of tempi, rubati or dynamics. The brass has its moment in the finale where the ‘village band’ sonorities are splendidly put across and the slow section is well integrated. This is recognisably the Neumann of the recorded legacy, less febrile than the Eighth of his great predecessor Václav Talich, though broadly similar to Kubelík, but even more to Otmar Suitner in his excellent Staatskapelle Berlin cycle.

Michael Struck-Schloen’s booklet notes, finely translated by Viola Scheffel, strike a rather militant position regarding Talich’s recording of The Wild Dove, which he claims ‘exaggerates the effect of mourning and exuberance’ in this vivid tone poem, based on a story by Karel Jaromír Erben. I can’t agree, not least in Talich’s 1954 live performance, which is only a minute fleeter than Neumann’s, but that’s a side issue. I will agree that Neumann’s reading is cogent and resourceful, that it marshals the music’s various incidents well, from the glowering opening Andante section through the village wind band thence to the darker sonorities of the ensuing sections where the music’s tragic implications are finally played out. The disc ends with Smetana’s Prelude to Libuše, his great national opera where the brass is on excellent form in its opening peroration and things continue in similar vein, the Czech Philharmonic proving redoubtable ambassadors for its country’s music.

The main question, though, is the Eighth Symphony. If you have the earlier symphonic cycle it will be of documentary interest only and if you have that box you’ll also have the tone poems. Neumann was generally a consistent artist and there are minimal discrepancies between his performances – the differences tend to focus on the sound quality of his recordings. Nevertheless, this is an attractive example of his art and is heard in fine sound.

Swiss lyric soprano Edith Mathis was for several decades one of the foremost in her Fach and was granted so long a career thanks to her intelligent husbanding of her voice. She didn’t retire from the stage until 2001 when she was 63 and even returned to the stage in Lucerne, her birthplace, in 2018, shortly after her eightieth birthday for a recital with her student Rafael Fingerlos, where she recited Heine’s verses between the songs. The secret with her longevity was that she, as Jürgen Kesting points out in his liner notes, followed Léopold Simoneau’s advice: “Always sing with the voice you have, and not with the voice that you would like to have”. In other words, she never strayed beyond the roles that were natural for her. Bach and Mozart became her bread and butter in the opera houses and the concert platforms and in the recital rooms the central German Lied repertoire – Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Richard Strauss and Hugo Wolf – was honed to perfection. The present disc, recorded live in 1975 at the first in her long series of recitals at the Lucerne Festival, can stand as a splendid example of a typical Edith Mathis performance. Readers who want to delve deeper in her recording career will find their fill in a 7 CD DG box issued in connection with her eightieth birthday.

Recorded live implies that there are occasional distractions in the shape of audience noises, but those are limited to some murmuring between the songs and enthusiastic applause between the sections. Yes, one exception from the general rule of audience behaviour occurs after the first of the five Richard Strauss songs, Schlechtes Wetter, where there is an extra brief round of applause, at a guess to apostrophize Karl Engel’s elegant final flourish of the postlude. Otherwise the recording is well-balanced and clean and no-one should avoid this issue for the sake of the sound – it is fully comparable to studio efforts of the same period.

Well versed in the Mozart repertoire she has the ideal voice also for his songs, and even before she has started singing we are lured into the Mozartean world through Karl Engel’s delicate piano introduction to Das Veilchen. All Ms Mathis’s hallmarks are here: the beautiful youthful tone, fresh as dew, the lightness of touch, the self-evident building of the phrases and the unfussy interpretations – there is no exaggerated word-painting or over-emphasis. Her legato is seamless and there is no lack of temperament – just listen to Dans un bois solitaire and Der Zauberer. A handful of Mozart songs is a perfect concert opener which immediately sets an agreeable atmosphere.

Bartok’s Dorfszenen, built on Slovak folksongs, is certainly not the avant-garde composer, but rather the musicologist, who spent so much time in his youth to collect and record the music of the people in his native Hungary as well as the surrounding regions. There are some harmonic twists and rhythmically there are challenges, not least in the concluding Burschentanz, wild and burlesque. On the other hand Wiegenlied is so sensitive and delicious, and the whole suite is a gem that should be heard more frequently. Bartok may not be home-ground for Edith Mathis but she certainly has the measure for his music.

Brahms’s charming 42 Deutsche Volkslieder are natural companions to Bartok and the songs are just as light and fresh as the singing. She had recorded all 42 with Peter Schreier and, as here, Karl Engel at the piano, so was well inside these pearls.

After the interval she returned with no less than nine Schumann songs. Schumann seems to have been a great favourite for her, and the DG-box mentioned above contains a lot of his songs. The well-known Widmung and Der Nussbaum are deliciously nuanced, but the whole section is wonderfully interpreted, up to the concluding Hauptmanns Weib, not one of the most performed of Schumann’s songs but the racy text, built on a poem by Robert Burns, is sung here with great intensity. The quintet of Strauss songs is also memorably interpreted and is rounded off with a delicious Hat gesagt – bleibt’s nicht dabei.

The well-deserved applause is rewarded with Hugo Wolf’s endearing Auch kleine Dinge können uns entzücken from Italienisches Liederbuch, a perfect encore which presents Edith Mathis at her very best.

From the above, readers must in all likelihood draw the conclusion that I liked the disc. That’s correct. And I don’t begrudge anyone to get the same experience.

This is, quite simply, an absolutely stunning disc, with a “wow” factor off the charts. While Pierre Fournier made landmark studio recordings of both of the concertos featured here (two apiece, with Kubelík and Szell in the Dvořák, and Susskind and Martinon in the Saint-Saëns), and also has other live performances of the Dvořák available (conducted by Colin Davis and Szell), these renditions immediately assume very special places in the cellist’s distinguished discography, even with the occasional rough moments that studio recordings would correct.

The performance of the Dvořák B-Minor Concerto preserved here is utterly unique in that work’s discography. I make no secret of my absolute adoration of this work; the Fournier/Szell recording on DG is the one from which I learned and fell in love with it, and along with one of the great Rostropovich recordings (the ones with Talich, Khaikin, and Karajan) it has remained my benchmark for evaluating all other versions. What makes this one so remarkable is the conducting of István Kertész. As the booklet rightly notes, the conductor’s untimely death (he drowned while swimming off the coast of Israel) deprived the world of the studio recording of this concerto that rightly should have supplemented his still nonpareil cycle of the Czech master’s symphonies, and so this live performance fills a major discographic gap—and how! The score is susceptible to a number of interpretive approaches from the conductor as well as the soloist: youthfully ardent lyricism, soulful contemplation of nature, melancholic homesickness, and even (Rose/Ormandy) dark introspective brooding. But what I have never heard before now is the one Kertész provides here of full throttle, heaven-storming drama, full of fierce impetuosity and headlong impetus. From the very first fortissimo outburst, one knows that no prisoners will be taken and no quarter shown. The orchestral part is played on a positively Wagnerian scale, with thunderously roaring brass making epic declamations. (Did you ever before take note of the bass tuba part in this work? You will after hearing this performance!) That is not to say that rapturous songfulness is absent or slighted; instead, it too is heroic and larger than life in its ardor. At first, one would think that all the sound and fury (signifying a great deal more than nothing) would overwhelm Fournier, a performer known for the dapper elegance of his playing; but instead the soloist vs. the conductor and orchestra provide extraordinarily effective contrasts that heighten the dramatic climaxes all the more. A comparison that keeps coming to mind is to Wilhelm Furtwängler’s 1942 Berlin Philharmonic performance of the Beethoven Ninth Symphony; both performances are totally outsized, taking huge risks to interpretive extremes and pulling them off with stunning success. While neither one could be designated a desert-island choice—they are too unrepresentative of the norms for that—both rightly occupy unique niches in their respective discographies as renditions which absolutely must be heard.

Of Fournier’s two studio recordings of the Saint-Saëns, I much prefer his earlier monaural version with Walter Susskind over his stereo remake with Jean Martinon; the latter strikes me as overly cautious and restrained, almost tepid. But with Fournier and Martinon together in concert, matters are altogether different: from the opening orchestral chord and solo declamation, they are off to the races in an account of the score that is fleet of foot and dramatically taut, but also stylishly elegant. Soloist, conductor, and orchestra negotiate all the hairpin turns in the score with nimble alacrity, and in the process also put paid to the ill-judged dismissals of it in some quarters as superficial. This is a terrific interpretation.
Back in 38:1 I reviewed a debut disc by the young Spanish cellist Pablo Ferrández, which likewise featured the Dvořák Concerto and the Casals El Cant dels Ocells. While judging Ferrández to be not yet ready for prime time (fine technically but too green interpretively), I praised his rendition of the Casals as being “played with deep feeling.” But the heart-rending tenderness Fournier brings to this slight souvenir puts Ferrández completely in the shade. I could not possibly ask for a better illustration of the difference between a promising but inexperienced novice and a seasoned master than to play their respective recordings side by side. In a brief spoken introduction (in French; the booklet unfortunately provides no translation), Fournier dedicates his performance to the memory of his distinguished colleague and frequent predecessor at the Lucerne Festival, cellist Enrico Mainardi, who had died a few months before.
As usual, Audite provides a first-class remastering from first-generation archival radio broadcast tapes, and a fine trilingual (German-English-French) booklet with a lengthy essay and numerous historic photographs. My list of candidates for the 2015 Want List is already bursting at the seams, so I haven’t made my final cuts for that; but if this release doesn’t make it into that top five, it won’t be because it doesn’t deserve the recognition. This is truly extraordinary on every count; don’t let it get away from you! Highest possible recommendation.