Music & Arts CD-1207. 62:35 (Distrib. Albany) ****:
Recorded in concert 7 February 1957, these “previously unissued,” muscular renditions of Brahms, Schubert, and Strauss testify to the kind of sinewy discipline Otto Klemperer (1885-1973) could elicit from an ensemble, especially when his later, megalithic style had not taken itself quite so seriously. The Brahms Variations proceed rather methodically, with good woodwind and lower strings articulation, the flute, oboe and string basses particularly forward. More often than not, we can hear the kind of textural interplay which puts Brahms at Elgar’s disposal. After a storm-and-stress variation marcato and pesant, the siciliano lilts in the manner of the Brahms Op. 11 Serenade, which Klemperer seems not to have performed. Despite a moment or two of scrappy cadence endings, the Concertgebouw responds with dark hued sweetness, the bass fiddles and cellos strongly accented with the French horns. The triangle makes its sprightly appearance amidst the explosive strings, horns, and thunderous tympani for the final variation, then rushing to a decisive judgment at the last, rolling bar. The audience certainly approves.
Klemperer takes his C Minor seriously: witness the opening bars of Schubert Fourth Symphony, provided a solemn girth befitting Beethoven, with the lower strings, flute, and oboe flexibly taut. The dark sonority captures Schubert’s place at a convergence with late Mozart, Rossini, and Weber. Schubert’s transition to the recap suffers some awkwardness, but that is not Klemperer’s fault. A terrific sense of inevitability takes over, the Concertgebouw woodwinds in full throttle, tumbling in vibrant fanfare to the punctuated coda, which has several motifs from Rosamunde about it. A devotional Andante ensues, the patina of the orchestra softened to an earnest lyricism, vocal and sweetly phrased. When the anxious second subject emerges, the celli and basses carry the weight, while woodwind flourishes try to keep hope in the air. Its reappearance has even more the struggle about it, the horns and woodwinds having intensified their consolations. If the Menuetto were ascribed to Bruckner, we likely would not express much surprise, so heavy are Klemperer’s accents, the explosive tissue between horn and tympani. The counter-theme lightens up, though the underlying tension does not. The last movement Allegro might be an extension of the Wolfs-Glen Scene from Der Freischuetz, given the ominous quality of the proceedings. The secondary theme, running the strings against antiphonal woodwinds, allows some light to filter in, but not for long. Urgent and sincere, the movement forces us to acknowledge Schubert’s conscious debts to Beethoven.
Till Eulenspiegel proves quite the virtuoso romp, the winds and brass thoroughly enjoying their sustained mock-heroics right up to Till’s unfortunate, screechy demise. Driven by Klemperer’s unyielding ferocity, the scherzo manages to retain a frothy, pompous cheerfulness, though Klemperer himself lacked personal mirth. A long, breathed sigh marks the epilogue, a melancholy wink at a rascal whose ambitions bespeak a bit of the Devil in all of us. Fascinating listening throughout, and very well recorded.
— Gary Lemco
