First impressions can be terrible things. The emotional footprint they have is so formative that it colors our perception of everything that comes after. That’s why a first date to which you showed up with a booger blissfully stuck to the tip of your nose so rarely leads to a second. Or why every Beethoven Symphony since Toscanini has been a disappointment. (Part of the ‘Golden Age’ attitude found with frightful frequency among critics of a certain age.)

When your first meaningful encounter with the Shostakovich string quartets was the Borodin Quartet, you are screwed, too. The intensity, the roughness, and the overwhelming sense of authenticity (ultimately a purely psychological phenomenon), there simply isn’t anything that can match that. My impression by the Borodin has been so considerable that I even, perversely, consider scratchy sound and slight distortion part of the desirable ‘authenticity’. Perhaps it helps getting into the dark, dystopian Soviet mood that facilitates our appreciation of these quartets? It’s nonsense, of course—but try arguing with perception and feelings, even—or especially—if they are your own.

In any case, there are other quartets that have shown me that the Borodin-only diet is limiting. Most remarkably the Jerusalem Quartet, which live and on record delivers some of the most awe-some, most gripping Shostakovich around. Another revelation, more subtle though it has been, are the audiophile recordings of the Mandelring Quartet on Audite SACDs. The sheer beauty of all of Shostakovich’s brilliantly harrowing ugliness that these discs—I’m now listening to their cycle’s concluding, fifth volume, delivered in unrivaled dynamics—is something to behold.

It might be special even in lesser performances than those the German sibling-based Mandelring Quartet (named after the street they grew up on) claw and pull form the scores of the 11th, 13th and 15th quartets. Key to that enjoyment—and really to the enjoyment of any DSCH or Bartók quartet listened to on inevitably limiting recording media—is that you listen loud. Very loud. If your neighbors aren’t ‘enjoying’ your Shostakovich session, neither will you.

The quartets of Shostakovich won’t need praise or introduction in these pages—either you admire or love them or you have not heard them live yet. But it helps to appreciate different interpretations to know specifically what distinguishes the three quartets on this volume. For one, they represent an internalization of emotion that takes place in all, but especially the late, of Shostakovich’s quartets. Anger and anguish are there, but suppressed; suffering and sighs are accentuated. Unlike in some of the symphonies (nos. 10, 11), resignation and resentment are approached with apprehension rather than gusto. Nor is scathing irony (Symphony no.15) present. That’s what we get in these three quartets: quiet suffering and moments of queer humor to the point where I imagine that performers in the USSR must have been scared upon first playing and discovering them.

One exception to the seething-calm of these three quartets is the harrowingly sudden, jagged opening of the Recitative of the 11th quartet is ripped into with such joyous ferocity by the Borodin Quartet that it seems difficult to top. The Sorrel Quartet, whose fine Chandos recordings were on hand for convenient comparison, certainly, literally seems only to scratch the surface instead. The Mandelring, parts of whose interpretation on volume three I found a bit “nice sounding”, won’t be outdone this time. Their slash is yet even more explosive; even as their tone remains, as always, more refined. (The Jerusalem, incidentally, sound much like the Borodin here; except in Harmonia Mundi’s fine, less direct than Audite’s, sound.) The Scherzo from the same quartet, experiences the swiftest clip at the hand of the Jerusalems (2:42), who needle through it like a sewing machine. Compared to them, the Sorrel (taking 3:17) drag their feet. The Borodins, perhaps uniquely in the Shostakovich cycle, offer a movement I don’t consider superior but rather a little wimpy.

In Fanfare Magazine, Art Lange writes about the fourth volume that the “Mandelring Quartet faithfully reveals the letter, but not always the spirit of the score. Their playing is… blemish free; they are scrupulously in their attention to details like [tempo changes]… and they present a coherent, unified point of view throughout…” The problem with this polite damnation is that, really, all quartets make that impression, when compared to the Borodin. The Mandelring’s carefully considered, always unpredictable ways are a treasure—here and in the other installments. Their performances are polished and meticulous, even immaculate, but that unpredictability keeps them from being relegating to the ‘mild-mannered’ cycles. The dynamic range and fidelity of the Audite recordings, hence the suggestion to turn up the volume, does its part to lift it above much of the competition.

Specifically, I prefer this cycle over the Sorrel, St.Petersburg, Danel, and Brodsky Quartets. The Fitzwilliam cycle, to which I am not emotionally wedded, hasn’t anything the Borodin doesn’t offer me—minus presumed Russianness. The Emerson’s rigid live recordings I’ve never much liked, and I’ve heard nothing or too little of the various Manhattan, Rubio, and Éder cycles to judge. Direct comparison, in any case, is rather tedious when dealing with great music in interpretations that are all above average (because one just wants to keep listening), puts the Mandelring Quartet’s cycle, and certainly volume five, up with the best of the ‘non-Russian’ Shostakovich interpretations. If I were to shed all but two cycles (and of course I can’t), I would keep the complete Borodin cycle on Melodiya and the Mandelring Quartet to cover my bases.

One of the delightfully outlandish bits of programming at the 2011 Salzburg Festival was a cycle of Shostakovich’s 15 string quartets in chronological order in four concerts over two days: Two shorter afternoon-sessions of three quartets at 4PM (1-3 on the 18th, 9-11 on the 19th), another five and four quartets respectively at 7.30 in the evening. I had operas to attend to in the evening, but was glad to take in even just six Shostakovich Quartets on the side—especially with the wonderful Mandelring Quartett.

Over the last few years the Mandelring Quartett has issued the complete cycle on SACD for Audite (reviews here and here) and recordings gave a pretty good idea of what awaited one at these concerts: “The sheer beauty of all of Shostakovich’s brilliantly harrowing ugliness that these discs offer […] is something to behold.” That’s pretty much it: The Mandelring Quartett offers more beauty and less gore in Shostakovich than one would expect if the only reference were the performances of the (all-Russian) “Borodin”, “Beethoven”, or “Shostakovich” Quartets. They accentuate surfaces more than spikes and corners; their rhythmic beat is propulsive but rarely maniacal. They are DSCH-seducers, not DSCH-enforcers… which is not to say that they can’t work up an awesome storm. The intensity of the afternoon sessions, was considerable to inclined ear. But one must first get out of ‘Borodin-mode’ to listen to the Mandelring Quartett and gain the maximum reward from their sessions with Dmitry.

In the 1938 Quartet No.1, the melodic opening lines sounded like parallel Christmas songs. As if any dissonance or chromatic stress was sheer coincidence; an innocent by-product of the performance. The first violin’s deep, varnished, occasionally dominating sound (Sebastian Schmidt) variously sang and twitched above the viola’s (Roland Glassl) beat. The finale bristled with energy even distributed among the four players. The flow and pull of the Second Quartet (1944) and its modulated sweetness swept the rug from underneath your feet and immediately pulled you into that strange, wild, but unthreatening dance that the first movement constitutes. At anywhere between 30 to 40 minutes, it’s a comparatively long work and the second movement stretches particularly.

In the course of it a little girl a row behind me, perhaps four, whispered a few curious questions into the ear of her dad, who in turn tried to tamper that curiosity to buy himself a twenty-minute delay and see those questions asked during intermission. But they obviously burned upon the girl’s little soul and immediate inquiry needed to be made. It was endearing, actually… as was the very fact that a wide-eyed and wide-eared four year old attended an afternoon of Shostakovich String Quartets in the first place. But the intermittent whisper did not fail to bring out the evil eye of indignity of a senior couple two rows in front, which sent buckets full of withering, scornful stares into the innocent’s direction. It’s not been that long since I’ve felt similar such ocular pronouncements of disapproval and it touched me distinctively the wrong way. With something less than my usual charm I leaned forward and pointed at the stage, suggesting firmly to the gentleman that the music played up front, and that his contortions would only get him crick in his neck. The advice wasn’t taken kindly, but it was taken summarily. My later apology fell flat, though, when I suggested that among extra-musical noises, the whispered question of a curious child was by far the loveliest anyone could wish for… in any case better than hearing-aids going off, dentures incessantly being sucked into prim position, or old ladies in search of tightly wrapped cough drops really getting to the bottom of their bags.

The Third Quartet has my favorite opening of the lot, a light violin line above the chugging cello and viola, buoyantly dancing along, untroubled by darker intrusions occasionally thrown in. It’s very hard not to bop my head along to it and shake all the limbs in rhythmic convulsion. But the action would undoubtedly, justifiably call forth even more recrimination than whispers, so I suppressed the urge… especially on the rickety seating in the Mozarteum where every tapped foot is transmitted half a dozen seats to both sides. Peckish, lyrical, intense, but also ruthless in the third movement Allegro non troppo, it was an astonishing way to finish the first afternoon set.

Everything about this opening shot of DSCH suggested that attendance for at least the next afternoon session was downright mandatory, and so I came back for another half measure of Shostakovich, Quartets 9 through 11, opp.117, 118, and 122. Despite being nominally sold out, the Grand Concert Hall wasn’t completely full. Perhaps the good weather had kept a number of ticket holders from attending the 4PM part, rolling in only for the more extensive evening bit, while as many of the afternooners were indisposed in the evening (or had their fill of Shostakovich), because similar lacunae were reported among the seats in those concerts, too, with only about half the audience remaining for the 8th and 15th quartets, respectively.

The Mandelring more or less picked up on Friday where I had left them, with great accuracy, excellent intonation (especially evident after hearing less-than-ideal examples), and their lyrical streak. The spiccato riding motif (not unlike the famous Rossini-William Tell Overture motif that Shostakovich uses in his 15th Symphony) in the Allegretto of the 9th Quartet, for example, was played with more delicacy than fierceness, but ever propelling. The concluding Allegro, twice as long as any one of the preceding four movements, was dashing-dynamic—and the leftover energy went right into the Andante of Quartet no.10. After few memorable moments in between, the Mandelring Quartet emerged again for a final movement, Allegretto, that veered nicely between thrilling and serene.

Symphonic dolefulness marks the opening of the 11th Quartet, and the four musicians finally—dug into the seven-movement (but only about 16-minute long) quartet like berserkers which worked well with calm underlying pulse. With so much fun to be had for the ears, it was over before one noticed. Since the four players apparently appreciate the challenge of these Shostakovich marathons (this was the second time they had done the complete set in two days), there might be the opportunity to hear the missing nine quartets soon enough.

Tant de fois jouées en concert et tant de fois enregistrées, ces deux...

Contrairement à ce qu’on pourrait s’imaginer, l’œuvre d’Edvard Grieg...

Il est des cas où l’ «arrangement» (et tout ce qui y est assimilé de près...

De las varias habilidades compositivas de Grieg, la orquesta no es la menor. Por eso, y no porque estemos ante págínas olvidadas, vale especialmente esta integral que ofrece sus primeros dos capítulos. Repasar al Grieg sinfónico de manera ordenada nos permite advertir algunas de sus mejores virtudes. Sus cuatro Danzas sinfónicas del opus 84, por ejemplo, pueden leerse como una sinfonía sin dejar de ser una serie bailable. Sus climas y humores alternados e itinerantes contienen, precisamente, los cuatro temperamentos de una sinfonía clásica. Junto a ella, las suites de Peer Gynt, aun cuando prescindamos del asidero anecdótico que les brinda el drama de Ibsen, valen como una narración en dos partes.

Algo similar ocurre con las canciones orquestales sín palabras (¿quién no ha acudido al pañuelo escumando Última primavera?), cuyos generosos arcos melódicos sugieren versos y convierten en poeta – inédito, menos mal – a cualquiera de nosotros. Mundo muy distinto es la otra suite, De los tiempos de Holberg, un delicioso recorrido rococó por los salones de la Escandinavia galante. También podríamos recordar al fino nacionalismo de Grieg y sus ritmos danzantes pero sería tópico.

Volver sobre este repertorio tiene sus riesgos. Sobran las mejores referencias y enseguida se agolpan en nuestra memoria nombres y más nombres de directores magistrales. Con Eivind Aadland la excelencia está asegurada y cabe una observación especial: la diferencia de sonoridades que consigue especulando con las cuerdas solas o explayando toda la paleta en los viajes de Pedrito el Afortunado. Aquel es un mundo intimo, subjetivo, reticente a la variedad exterior. Este, simplemente – major dicho: complejamente – es el mundo a secas, el variopinto mundo, el de la gran orquesta de Edvard Grieg.

Auf dieser Novität werden Bach und die süddeutsche Tradition beleuchtet (der englische CD-Titel aber wirkt da doch ein bisschen überkandidelt). Der in Murg aufgewachsene und unter anderem bei Gerhard Gnann in Mainz ausgebildete Martin Neu präsentiert die eingespielten Werke gut artikuliert und staubfrei – mit einem Wort: souverän. Klarheit steht obenan. Das F-Dur-Paar BWV 540 des Thomaskantors dient dem Programm als Rahmen: Frisch klingt die Toccata, die Fuge hat nicht zuletzt auf ihren Strecken im stile antico Gewicht. Sehr schön und ausdrucksstark gelingt Bachs Magnificat-Fuge. Mit Musik von Pachelbel und Bach lässt Neu den Hörer ein Magnificat abwechselnd, also in Alternatim-Praxis, mit Gesang (Tenor Wilfried Rombach) und Orgel erleben. Zum Einsatz kommen die Metzler-Orgel von 2005 in der Franziskus-Kirche in Stuttgart-Obertürkheim und die Blasius-Bernauer-Orgel von 1776 in St. Johann in Laufenburg/Schweiz (Froberger, Kerll). Bachs Orgelschaffen hat eben süddeutsche Einflüsse. Sie stehen dem Leipziger keineswegs schlecht zu Gesicht.

Es ist höchst erfreulich, dass die historischen RIAS-Aufnahmen (Studio und live) Klemperers von 1950-1958 innerhalb der bestens aufgemachten, kommentierten und technisch bearbeiteten Reihe von AUDITE erscheinen. Einige der Stücke (so etwa die Mozart-Sinfonien und Ouvertüre, Beethovens Nr. 2 und Nr. 6) sind bereits früher auf anderen Labeln zu hören gewesen, meistens aber in weitaus schlechterer Qualität und ohne Hintergrundinformationen. Eine Ausnahme bilden die Stücke Mozart Nr. 25 und Nr. 38 und Beethoven Nr. 2 in der Doppel-CD 'Great Conductors of the 20th Century' (Nr. 19) von 2002. Bis auf wenige Ausnahmen bereitet das Hören große Freude: Die Mozart-Aufnahmen von 1950 sind gut durchhörbar und sehr spritzig mit gutem Zug gespielt, die Nr. 25 fast unglaublich schnell, die Nr. 29 und 38 weitaus feuriger als die späteren Klemperer-Aufnahmen (am häufigsten hat er später die Nr. 29 dirigiert). Bei Beethoven überzeugen die Nr. 2 sehr und die Nr. 3 von 1958, Nr. 6 fällt etwas ab, sie stammt vom gleichen Tag aus dem Jahr 1954 wie das leider vom Pianisten ziemlich verhunzte Konzert Nr. 3. Der damals ebenfalls gegebene Hindemith ist glücklicherweise besser gelungen, ebenso Mahlers Nr. 4 von 1956. Hinzuweisen ist auf die AUDITE-Hompage, von der Interessierte sich sehr aufschlussreiche Kommentare zu den Aufnahmen vom Herausgeber und Tonmeister Ludger Böckenhoff downloaden können. Diesem ist für seine Klemperer-Ausgabe wärmstens zu danken!

The sublime violin artistry of Christian Ferras (1933-1982) still compels...

Der Name Otto Klemperer steht in unauslöschlicher Verbindung mit einer legendären Periode des Berliner Musiklebens. In den Endzwanzigern des vorigen Jahrhunderts leitete er die Kroll-Oper, eine Dependance der Staatsoper, die vom Repertoire wie von den Inszenierungen her für ein modernes, experimentierfreudiges Musiktheater stand. Nicht zuletzt die hier zur Uraufführung gebrachten Werke Schönbergs, Janáčeks, Kreneks, Hindemiths u. a. belegen die historische Dimension von Klemperers Wirken.

Mit der Machtübernahme durch das NS-Regime 1933 fand die für das hauptstädtische Kulturleben so prägende Liberalität und Modernität ein jähes Ende. Klemperer musste ins Ausland flüchten – seiner jüdischen Herkunft wegen, aber auch weil er politisch "links" stand und damit als "Kulturbolschewist" verfemt wurde.

Auch wenn Klemperer nach 1945 der Stadt seiner frühen Erfolge nicht gänzlich fernblieb – oft dirigierte er hier nicht mehr. Bei den Philharmonikern etwa stand er nur noch 1948 und 1958 für einige Konzerte am Pult. In der Zwischenzeit leitete er mehrfach das neugegründete RIAS- bzw. Radio-Symphonie-Orchester. Die Konzertmitschnitte und Studioproduktionen mit diesem Klangkörper sind erst kürzlich aus dem Bestand der Originalbänder des RIAS-Schallarchivs von Deutschlandradio Kultur und Audite auf CD zugänglich gemacht worden.

Unsere Auswahl aus dieser Dokumentation mit Mozarts "kleiner" g-Moll-Sinfonie, der Ballettsuite "Noblissima Visione" von Hindemith und Beethovens "Pastorale" orientiert sich an den künstlerischen Präferenzen des Dirigenten, am Repertoire und Interpretationsideal, das in der Spätphase seiner Entwicklung immer deutlicher zutage trat.