WEBER: Overture to Oberon; BRAHMS: Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 77 – Isaac Stern, violin/ Detroit Symphony Orchestra/ Paul Paray – Forgotten Records FR 2296 (48:07) [www.forgottenrecords.com] ****:
Forgotten Records extends its impressive catalogue of live performances by French master Paul Paray (1886-1979), here with the major portion of his Detroit Symphony concert of 9 February 1961, which features American violinist Isaac Stern (1920-2001), the two collaborating on the popular, epic Brahms Violin Concerto.
Aggressive in his musical demeanor and in his career ambitions, Stern cultivated a dominance in New York City concert booking policies – mainly through Columbia Artists Management – that selectively excluded those violinists whom Stern felt rivalled his prestige. Stern’s younger contemporary Aaron Rosand (1927-2019) provides a telling picture of the Isaac Stern phenomenon:
Isaac was a powerful player, and a superb musician with a
beautiful tone. He did not have a virtuoso technique but
whatever he did was convincing in bull-like fashion. He
was extremely smart, ruthless, very articulate, political,
a genius at fundraising (Carnegie Hall is an example) and
generous when he benefitted from it. I am not convinced
he used his own money on behalf of talents he believed in.
He was power hungry and always wanted to remain in
control. I offended him early on when I refused his offers
to coach me.
The concert opens with Paray’s sensitively persuasive rendition of Carl Maria
von Weber’s Overture to Oberon, played for its brisk shifts of coloration and dynamics. Paray molds the soft, initial phrases of Shakespeare’s mystical forest then explodes with unabashed fervor into the frenzy of mortal and supernatural confrontation. Of particular clarity, besides the fervent main melody, sound the counterpoints in Weber’s
energetic score. Paray refuses to relent in colossal momentum to the coda, setting the stage for a full evening of romantic intensity, to which the Brahms Violin Concerto will contribute its own, often startling passions.
The acoustics of Ford Auditorium well respond to the opening Allegro non troppo of the Brahms first movement, as Paray sets out a broadly lyrical exposition. The explosive marcato cadences that herald the arrival of Stern’s entry find him in a driven temper, direct and searchingly resonant, especially in high registers. Stern’s raw tone and muscular double stops ring with authority. He can be voluptuous in the sweet melody that evolves over the timpanic roll and pizzicato string accompaniment. He maintains a taut line, without sag, even in those Brahms passages made of drooping sequences.. Urging the impetus forward, Stern receives luxurious and explosive tuttis from Paray and his honed Detroit forces. The development section, exploiting the luxuries of horn, flute, and violin, provide a rich and poignant tapestry. Stern employs the Fritz Kreisler cadenza for his performances, which allows him quick alternations of colors and bow strokes, both in rasping and sweetly articulate ones, ending in the first movement with a swirling filigree that leads Paray into a variation of the main theme. Together, Paray and Stern carefully mold a graduated, ever-ferocious ascent to a towering coda.
Johannes Brahms
The Detroit oboe solo owns much of the melodic interest of the Adagio, much to the chagrin of the original critics of the Brahms Concerto. Despite the extended opening’s resemblance to a woodwind serenade, Stern does well by the archly intimate gestures of the music, elaborating the Brahms autumnal melancholy. Stern can make his violin tone evaporate most seductively into the orchestral tissue. The last pages play like an arched lullaby with horn and string pizzicato accompaniment, retreating into the serenade mode, a fitting testament to Stern’s playing at its most generous.
The blazing gypsy rondo, for which everyone has been waiting, explodes as indicated, Allegro giocoso ma non troppo vivace but ben marcato, ad libitum. Paray goes for the Herculean sound, tossing anything like delicate intimacy to the winds. The martial elements in the music receive as much energy as the slithery, Hungarian impulses. A sense of grand inevitability suffuses all the vital energies of this realization, an elastic and dramatic tension quite wild, and at times menacing. The final three chords ring through the auditorium, immediately greeted by a novation that still lingers in cosmic space.
—Gary Lemco
