Strange that only three years ago Audite issued another Schumann piano disc that also contained the marvelous Fantasy. Nicolas Bringuier was the pianist at the time, and his wonderful renditions propelled him onto my Want List for 2007. That recording is also Super Audio, and I was a little startled to see the same work turn up here in the same format by the same company. Whatever the reason, it does offer ample opportunity to make a direct one-to-one comparison. Japanese pianist Hideyo Harada has a warm, richly upholstered tone with a fine, easy touch that brings out the best of her instrument. Peter Burwasser was quite impressed by her Grieg Lyric Pieces (Fanfare 31:6, and I like them also), while Peter J. Rabinowitz in 32:5 seemed to appreciate her tonal qualities and the spectacular recording of Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky a little more than her playing, though he considers her far from negligible.

I find myself leaning toward Rabinowitz in this one; the sound is truly spectacular, even more vivid and present than on the Bringuier recording that I was so taken with in 2007. But interpretatively I have some problems with this issue. For one, it has to be the slowest Fantasy I have ever heard. Just putting it side-by-side with the Bringuier one sees that Harada is a full six and one-half minutes slower than her company cohort, spread fairly evenly over all three movements. I have always thought that Schumann played slowly could easily be made to sound like Liszt, and this is a prime example, especially in the rather harmonically divergent and offbeat first movement. The middle movement is rather impervious to slow-downs in general, but the last must have some connecting tissue to support it, and while I am able to simply sit back and indulge my senses in her lovely tone I cannot get over the frustration of the tempo wrecking the emotional moment.

There has been such a slew of excellent Kreislerianas recently that it is beginning to get tricky making judgments about the piece. Anyone with a technique can bring the thing off to a certain extent, and Harada has that; but again I detect a certain tendency to not only smell the roses but prune and fertilize them as well, and that dissolves some of the momentum even though the work is character-oriented per movement. As I have mentioned before, there is a subtle thread that connects even the most disparate of Schumann’s separate pieces within one work, and if that thread is severed things become more difficult to comprehend.

This is not to say that these are uninteresting performances or badly played—far from it. But competitively more is needed. Harada does this in the Arabeske, one of the best versions I have heard. This time the propensity for microscopic examination does not get in the way, and her tone is simply stunning. But for the Fantasy I would stick with Richter, Hamelin, or the abovementioned Bringuier, while Kreisleriana fends better under Horowitz, Würtz, or Argerich.

There are quite a few excellent recordings to choose from that pair these two works: the Cleveland Quartet (Sony), the Schubert Ensemble (ASV), the Michelangelo Quartet (Chandos), the Leipzig Gewandhaus Quartet (Berlin Classics), and of course the Beaux Arts Trio (Philips). This new release from the Mandelring Quartet, however, is very appealing, and not just because it’s the first SACD version I’m aware of that couples the quartet and quintet on the same disc.

Whether it has to do with the recording itself, the placement of the musicians on the stage, the acoustics of the Bayer Kulturhaus in Leverkusen, Germany, where the performances were recorded, the extraordinarily transparent playing of the Mandelring Quartet, or some combination of the above, I have never heard such detail emerge from these scores. It’s almost like hearing these pieces for the first time.

Let me just cite some examples. At the very beginning of the quartet, in the slow introduction, each entrance of the strings seems to materialize out of the piano’s decaying notes as they hang in the air, creating a magical atmosphere of expectancy. Or, take the rapid downward run that announces the development section at 4:12. In other recordings I’ve heard, it’s just a rapid blur, kind of like the effect of a glissando on the piano. But here the individual notes are heard distinctly. Next, take the passage beginning at 5:19. So often what is heard in the piano at this point is an indistinct rumbling in the bass, but here you realize that in counterpoint to the strings the piano is actually playing a modulating sequence based on the first four notes of the Allegro. These may seem like little things, and individually they are; but when you put them all together, they add up to a performance of exceptional sharpness and character, not to mention raising one’s appreciation of Schumann’s ingenuity.

At :09–:12 in the Scherzo, as the strings buzz away at their busywork, I don’t think I ever noticed before that the piano has this really neat little rhythmic counter figure—da-rum-bum-bum-bum. This is playing that points out every accent along the way and manages to highlight every hand-off of material from one voice to another even amid one of the fleetest movements in the chamber music repertoire. The Andante cantabile pulsates with lump-in-the-throat throbbing, and the Finale displays such exactitude and cleanness of execution that it actually sounds much faster than it is. At 7:33, it’s only four seconds faster than the Beaux Arts.

Everything I’ve said about the Mandelring’s performance of the quartet applies equally to the quintet. It’s an exceptionally revealing reading in which every detail is laid bare. What I marvel at is how carefully prepared, rehearsed, and controlled these performances are—as if nothing has been left to chance—yet how spontaneous and animated they still manage to sound.

Timing, as they say, is everything. Unfortunately, another recording of Schumann’s piano quartet with the Eaken Trio came to me in the same batch of review assignments as this one, a performance that could not help but suffer in comparison. I’ve heard a number of the Mandelring’s CDs, and even reviewed two or three of them in prior issues, and while the ensemble has always impressed me favorably, quite honestly I was not prepared for anything of this caliber. Other contributors—namely Brenesal, Anderson, McColley, and Laurson—have all spoken of the Manderling’s alertness, exceptional coordination, and scrupulousness in attention to detail. But this Schumann disc passes beyond all that into the rarefied realm of the sublime.

I haven’t yet made my final selections for this year’s Want List, but if this release isn’t on it, I’ll be as surprised as anyone. Need I say, recommended with the greatest urgency?

I am considered somewhat strange among my musical friends for my predilection for Schumann’s music over that of Brahms. While I love Brahms’s symphonies, each and every one of them, I could not live without Schumann’s. And while I marvel at the consummate mastery of each of Brahms’s piano pieces, especially the late ones, it is Schumann who time and time again proves himself the master composer in this realm, the true romantic, the passionate composer who shows himself as a true child of the Romantic age, not like the pseudo-Romantic, Classically oriented Brahms.

We seem to be living in something of a golden age for Schumann. Almost every new pianist on the horizon is releasing albums of his music, and there are almost more riches to be mined than you can keep up with. Andsnes, Lupu, and Hamelin are just a few who have created significant recordings in the last few years that set very high standards that easily compete with the likes of past masters, such as Horowitz, Wild, Kempff, and Richter. Now Audite, already becoming widely known for stunning SACD recordings, has released this all-Schumann disc by a pianist I have never encountered, 27-year-old Nice native Nicolas Bringuier, in that same format that features some stunningly great surround sound. There are some who believe that a piano recording doesn’t benefit by surround sound. I would point them to this recording to prove them absolutely wrong.

Schumann composed the vast bulk of his piano music between the years 1830 and 1839, not surprising for a young man who still was intent on a career as a concert pianist. Only one work on this disc hails from that time period, the great (some would say his greatest) Fantasy. The work is reflective of the turbulent and upside down life he was living in 1838–1839, desperately trying to win Clara’s hand despite the machinations and fervent opposition of her father. Schumann considered this work the most passionate thing he had ever written, and its beauties are many and sublime, hinting at the last remains of sonata form, yet a full-flown fantasy in every sense of the word. The third movement is now legendary for its magnificent and moving passion, and Mr. Bringuier displays an aptness for this music far beyond his young years. But then again, it was written by a young man experiencing the same thing, so why should this astound us?

The Waldszenen is not played or recorded as much as the other music, and I for one have never understood this, as it is one of my personal favorites. Perhaps it has something to do with Schumann’s return to a simpler, more direct and literary style present in the Kinderszenen. These miniatures are simpler in design and concentrated in emotional content, and some might view this as a backward step after the chaotic world of the Fantasy. But that would be a great mistake, as some of Schumann’s most poetic and intimate thoughts are poured into this work, one that replays according to the attention given. Bringuier is able to shift gears easily, and enter fully into this dream world with a delicate and easy touch.

The three quirky op. 111 Fantasy Pieces are the latest works here, originally conceived as romances. They are supercharged cells of ardent strength, Chopinesque in flavor, and rhapsodic in nature. Bringuier again shifts gears to accommodate this most virtuosic of playing, never once sacrificing integrity of concept and beauty of tone. As mentioned, the sound is fantastic, and I find myself challenged once again by a late comer to Want List consideration. This is a great disc.

This CD documents broadcast performances in 1996 (Mozart Violin Concerto) and 1998 (Symphonia domestica). The program notes make a big deal of the music of Mozart and Strauss being Ashkenazy’s private passions. From the standpoint of previous recordings, private would seem to be the operative word with Strauss. He did do a fine Aus Italien presently available in the six-CD Decca album that features the critically important and excellent sounding Zubin Mehta Los Angeles Strauss recordings, including the Symphonia domestica. Many people view the Symphonia domestica as a prime example of Straussian egotism and bombast. Ashkenazy takes a more relaxed and subdued, even chamber-like approach that excels in the transparently orchestrated earlier parts of the score. The double fugue opening the final “movement” almost disintegrates into chaos in the negative sense (not as Strauss planned), and the “Joyous Conclusion” is totally anticlimactic. Ashkenazy’s overall timing is almost identical to Mehta’s, and slower than Fritz Reiner’s, but his tempo distortions seriously fragment a work that in the wrong hands can tend to seriously ramble. More important, the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin can’t really cope with Strauss’s demands. There is no realistic comparison to Mehta, or especially, the classic Reiner version with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (now available on SACD). Given the extent to which Strauss idolized and was influenced by Mozart, it was reasonable to couple the Symphonia domestica with a Mozart Violin Concerto. Unfortunately, this somewhat leaden performance is adequate at best. I don’t think anyone would seriously consider the Mozart Concerto as a reason to buy this CD when there are performances by Julia Fischer, Anne-Sophie Mutter, and many others out there not encumbered by a non-competitive Symphonia domestica. Endless and totally unnecessary applause is included after both works in what seems like an effort to convince us that the audience actually liked these performances. The sound possesses analytical clarity and an up-front aural perspective that puts the many wind soloists and a particularly irritating and blatty trumpet under glaring scrutiny that they cannot survive. Given the competition, avoid this at all costs.

Karl Böhm’s interpretations of Richard Strauss’s music tend to be fast (compared to modern practice) and more in line with the composer’s tempos. His DVD performance of Don Juan with the Vienna Philharmonic (Fanfare 32:2) clocks in at just under 16 and a half minutes. This one is 46 seconds longer, and the difference is telling. Böhm generates explosive energy, but is just a little more relaxed. For example, he broadens his tempo when the strings play the famous horn theme at the climax to great dramatic effect.

Böhm also realizes that An Alpine Symphony will not tolerate forcing or rushing the tempos without destroying the mood of the piece or degenerating into empty bombast. He has a clear grasp of the work’s arch-like structure. Böhm unfailingly emphasizes clarity of instrumental textures without sacrificing dramatic impact. As the orchestra musically ambles “Along the Stream,” “On the Mountain Pasture,” and “Through the Thickets and Brushwood,” Böhm has a remarkable sense of how to move things along with subtle and constantly changing tempos that sustain musical interest where others merely plod their way to the summit. When the climax finally arrives “At the Summit,” Böhm delivers the goods with a broad and relaxed tempo. The “Thunderstorm” is graphically cinematic, dramatically effective, and entirely musical. “Sunset” and the “Epilog” are ideally judged as Böhm revels in Strauss’s lush string and brass sonorities.

Böhm’s interpretation would undoubtedly be even more stunning in modern stereo sound. This early 1950s recording (made just before the stereo era) is actually pretty good in terms of high-frequency presence and instrumental detail. This is not unlistenable historic sound, but there are major problems, especially for an orchestral showpiece like An Alpine Symphony. The upper registers of the organ are OK, but deep bass (organ pedal) is missing in action. The trumpets sound so strident and shrill that they seriously detract from the effect of the performance, especially at high listening levels. The recording also lacks the rich and warm low midrange (low strings) that is critical to Strauss’s lush orchestral sound.

Böhm’s An Alpine Symphony and Don Juan are required listening for serious Straussians, but they will also need to have alternative versions in modern sound. Zubin Mehta (Decca/London) and Mariss Jansons (RCO Live SACD) lead the field sonically in An Alpine Symphony, and there are numerous Don Juans with good sound out there conducted by the usual suspects.

Even if you feel, as I do, that Karl Böhm’s authority in the music of Richard Strauss extends first and foremost to the operas, this recording is an important document of his approach to the composer’s orchestral music. Strauss died six months earlier (in 1949), so it was appropriate to record Ein Heldenleben and Death and Transfiguration at this time. Böhm’s memoirs actually allude to a comment Strauss made to his son that the death struggle is exactly as he set down in Death and Transfiguration. As expected, Böhm’s approach in both works is highly dramatic and assertive. He doesn’t linger, but his tempos are not relentlessly fast and he is not slavish to the scores. There are moments of extreme calm, as at the end of “The Hero’s Companion” before the offstage trumpets herald the battlefield section, and in the finale. Böhm pays meticulous attention to detail. His Ein Heldenleben is lean, firm, and propulsive. In Death and Transfiguration, he plays the three central statements of the main theme surprisingly slowly, but then the death cataclysm is taken very swiftly and he dissipates the energy (of the staccato chords) too quickly, thus mitigating their dramatic impact. As telegraphed earlier, the Transfiguration section is played very slowly, and Böhm doesn’t hesitate to squeeze every ounce of emotion out of it by judiciously broadening his basic tempo at the climax.

The mono sound is dry and cutting to the point of being thin and abrasive, but there is a good bit of presence and fine inner detail, almost in a Mercury-like sense. Unfortunately, the sonic spectrum is dramatically tilted toward the high frequencies. The lack of bass and low midrange (especially the low strings) seriously detracts from Strauss’s lush orchestral sonority. Surfaces are quiet. This is a valuable document of Böhm’s conducting style in the music of Strauss, but it obviously won’t do as your only recording of these two tone poems. For Ein Heldenleben, Fritz Reiner (RCA) and/or Zubin Mehta (Decca/London), depending on your interpretive tastes, are the recordings to have. For Death and Transfiguration, go with André Previn (Telarc) or Giuseppe Sinopoli (Deutsche Grammophon).

This radio take from 1949 brings us a Fledermaus for the ages. It is easy to forget the large number of significant recordings left by the great Hungarian conductor Ferenc Fricsay, who has become one of the forgotten, underestimated figures of his generation. But this recording is something new and significant. Never released on vinyl, it is also a document of a troubled time, the third operatic project of the young, 35-year-old conductor’s contract with the fledgling RIAS Symphony Orchestra, broadcast in Berlin during the blockade. Many of the numbers are cut or abridged for the purposes of the broadcast, but the essence of the work carries through with full resplendence.

The recording launches with a rhythmically crisp and briskly articulated overture, in which the slow sections are dramatically and dreamily set apart from the faster passages. Waltz melodies are consistently pointed with an anticipated second beat, marking fluent familiarity with Viennese performance practice. The first act bounces from strength to strength, beginning with Helmut Krebs, bell-toned, flexible, and vain tenor, a vocal match for Rita Streich’s pert and often stratospheric Adele. Particularly striking are the mock tragedy and the giddy acceleration of the trio “So muss allein ich bleiben” and the grotesque distortions by the instrumental soloists to undercut the pomp of Eisenstein’s march off to jail.

Act II opens at breakneck pace, chorus spitting out the text with staccato clarity. Anneliese Müller brings to Orlofsky a clear focus and purity of tone, with ringing chest voice, especially in “Chacun à son gout.” This model of elocution is followed by one of the most finely modulated renditions of Adele’s laughing song I have ever heard, Streich’s tight, warbly, and flutelike vibrato and matinee-idol presence recalling a long-vanished golden age of operetta singing. She finds her foil, naturally, in the rich-voiced but equally pert Rosalinde of Anny Schlemm, whose flexible and richly colored “Csárdas” compares with the best on disc. The velvet toned Herbert Brauer as Falke and ringing baritone of Peter Anders’s Eisenstein are also models of their kind. Incredibly, the “Brüderlein/Schwesterlein” ensemble that follows the string of famous act-II solo numbers seems to cap them all in a magically suspended animation, to which the lovingly shaped “gala” Blue Danube waltz that follows acts as a reviving antidote.

Throughout, the shaping power of Fricsay’s baton can be sensed, building ensembles with surprising yet inevitable-seeming crescendos and subtle tempo gradations. Though it errs, when it errs, on the fast side, this is work that compares favorably and impressively with the classic recordings by Karajan and Carlos Kleiber.

Sound quality is remarkably crisp and clear for a 1949 monaural recording; equally crisp is the diction of all the singers, preternaturally so. This is Strauss singing and playing at the highest, most idiomatic level. No libretto is included, but this should offer no obstacles for devotees of this warhorse. Urgently recommended for its obvious historical and performance values. Despite the plethora of classic recordings of the Waltz King’s greatest warhorse, I will still turn to this document frequently for its ideal representations of the work’s many memorable moments. In a way, I envy that 1949 radio audience who first heard the broadcast.

Pairing Romantic pianist Cherkassky and post-modern conductor Fricsay doesn’t even seem, on paper, like a good idea, let alone a recipe for success. As a pupil of Josef Hoffman and a representative of an older school that believed in impromptu changes to one’s performance approach, Cherkassky rode for 70 years on a wing and a prayer, while Fricsay came from the school of rehearse-exactly-as-you-play. Moreover, Cherkassky’s rhythmic and emotional freedom also seemed at odds with Fricsay’s insistence on written tempos and rhythms.

The reason Deutsche Grammophon didn’t release the 1951 recording of the Tchaikovsky appears to be that someone at the label was disappointed by the sound of the orchestra. Although Fricsay was given carte blanche by DG to build his own orchestra, most of the best musicians were already employed by established orchestras of his time. Thus the RIAS forces had tonal weaknesses, though not technical ones, most evident in the harsh, strident, and somewhat thin string and wind tone (though the concertmaster, probably Fritz Görlach, sounds very sweet in an old Viennese way in the second movement), whereas the brass and percussion sections were powerful and superb. But the label had Cherkassky re-record the concerto a few months later with the Berlin Philharmonic under the solid but pedestrian Leopold Ludwig, and this was the version released. Cherkassky’s most famous and widely distributed recording, however, is the 1979 stereo one with Walter Susskind and the Cincinnati Symphony (Vox 7210). I attended one of the actual concerts that Cherkassky gave with Susskind of this concerto, almost unbearably exciting and kinetic, but the studio recording made a week later is a limp dishrag. None of it was played or conducted badly, but it had no coherence or frisson. Yet, despite the stylistic clashes noted above, this previously unreleased performance with Fricsay has everything right.

The Tchaikovsky Second is not as tightly structured as the more famous First Concerto, but more in the form of a rhapsody. Despite a certain amount of thematic development, the score consists of taut dramatic passages for orchestra, or soloist and orchestra, interspersed with a plethora of cadenzas. Fricsay and Cherkassky obviously respected each other well enough to compromise, the pianist reining in his rhythmic impulses in tutti passages and the conductor allowing Cherkassky complete rhythmic and coloristic freedom in the cadenzas. And it works. The only other performance of this somewhat odd concerto I’ve heard that comes close to making as much sense is the almost equally rare recording by Noel Mewton-Wood with Walter Goehr and the “Winterthur” Symphony (actually a pick-up band of Concertgebouw musicians) made a year after this one (Pristine Classical). This performance is even finer, largely because of Fricsay. Though, like most Hungarian conductors, he usually insisted on strict tempos, even stricter and less imbued with rubato than conductors such as Erich Kleiber or Toscanini, Fricsay was nothing if not a passionate musician, thus the majority of his recordings and performances hold more interest than the average (but not the only) recordings of Reiner, Szell, or Solti.

The sound quality of the Tchaikovsky is stunning for its time. Despite the technical limitations of the RIAS orchestra noted above, the performance is so good that I nearly expected to hear an audience erupt in frenzied applause at the end. Like Furtwängler, Toscanini, Munch, and a few others, Fricsay was one of those conductors who could create the excitement of a live performance in the studio. Listen to the climaxes even in the first movement of the Tchaikovsky: the performance fairly jumps out at you with the energy of a tiger.

Both the orchestra and the tempos sound more relaxed and less strident in the Liszt concerto. We have become so used to thinking of Franz Liszt as a keyboard demon that we tend to forget that he himself favored genial, relaxed tempos for much of his music, being one of those Hungarians who was probably more Romantic than Classical in approach. (We should also recall that he promoted the music of Berlioz and Wagner.) I was even more impressed with the sound quality of this live broadcast than with the studio recording that preceded it. Even the triangle in the soft passages is clearly reproduced, and the warmer acoustic of the Titania-Palast, Berlin, does wonders in minimizing the harshness of the RIAS strings and winds. I agree wholeheartedly with engineer Ludger Böckenhoff’s remark in the booklet that “The remastering—professionally competent and sensitively applied—also uncovers previously hidden details of the interpretations.” For aficionados of Fricsay, Cherkassky, and/or these works, then, this new release is very highly recommended.

This is a significant document, not only of Karajan’s early, post-World War II work but of his four distinguished soloists as well. Moreover, it is superior to some of his subsequent performances (both studio and live) of this towering score that have appeared on CD. But, according to listings provided by arkivmusic.com, this is the second release of this performance by Audite, the first one, bearing the same numbering, having been issued in 1970. The sound is considerably better than that in many live products to have emerged from Salzburg at the time: the background is silent, with the soloists well forward. But the chorus and orchestra seem cramped, almost 8H-like. Moreover, the loudest passages are often shrill and may, on wide-range equipment, lacerate the ears, especially in some instances that tend to shatter. Considerable improvement, however, can be obtained with a flexible 10-band equalizer. The soloists are clear and impressive, and Karajan does not tend to drag some sections as he did in later efforts. This is certainly not a performance that should be one’s primary choice, but it is well worth investigating as a supplementary acquisition for those interested in the singers or the conductor. The set is tagged Volume1, but it is not clear whether this numbering refers to a series devoted to the conductor or to the Salzburg Festival. A welcome virtue of the production is Audite’s 23 bands, enabling easy access to each of the work’s sections.

When Ferenc Fricsay died of cancer in early 1963, the world had not yet realized what a magnificent musician it had lost. As one of the most successful conductors of his age, he had made a meteoric rise to the top in a very short time. Although his recording career was relatively short, most of his recordings are still highly appreciated by today’s public. Was it his unstoppable perfectionism in the way he worked with his orchestra and soloists? Or was it rather his modernism and freshness that made his work so valuable?

Audite is now releasing a series of radio recordings made during his period as principle conductor of the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra (formerly known as the Radio in the American Sector Orchestra). This particular recording of Verdi’s Rigoletto was made during the 1950 season—it’s one of the rare occasions where we can hear Fricsay conduct Italian repertoire, or rather Italian music, for the entire opera is sung in German. In those days, opera houses were accustomed to stage their productions entirely in their own mother tongue. Since today we’re not used to this kind of practice, it takes effort to set all modern conventions aside and to go back in time.

The first thing that struck me was the high level of singing. We know that Fricsay always took great care that his cast always gave him trust and professionalism. The singers he assembled for the occasion do an excellent job. In addition, the RIAS Chamber Choir sings with transparency and accuracy. The orchestral playing is strikingly precise, although the woodwinds suffer from intonation problems. The relatively poor sound quality is a bit of a setback here; it sounds dry and far away. Fricsay leads the orchestra and singers with fire; phrases are constructed in a logical way, without losing the attention for a second.

Maria Callas’s recording on EMI remains my personal favorite for Rigoletto. She performed a great Gilda, and together with a superb Giuseppe di Stefano as the Duke and Tito Gobbi as Rigoletto a trio for the ages was formed. Tulio Serafin’s fiery conducting was another reason why this remains a legendary recording.

Audite probably won’t break selling records with this release, but if you don’t mind hearing German when it’s supposed to be Italian, give this one a listen.