Karajan Conducts – Bruckner Symphony No. 7 – Pristine Audio

by Audiophile Audition | May 14, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews, Classical Reissue Reviews

BRUCKNER: Symphony No. 7 in E Major, WAB 107 – Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/ Herbert von Karajan – Pristine Audio PASC 769 (64:14) [www.pristineclassical.com] *****:

Pristine’s issue of the 6 April 1962 performance in Vienna of the Bruckner Seventh Symphony, with the Vienna Philharmonic led by Herbert von Karajan (1908-1989) resonates rather personally for me, since I experienced my first Bruckner in concert with this very same work under Karajan’s direction in New York, with that city’s Philharmonic Orchestra. Karajan’s tenure in Vienna and Berlin posed some problems for music connoisseurs, entirely discounting Karajan’s political affiliations. Karajan boasted a refined, homogeneous sonic image, literally devoid of “rough edges.” The smooth gloss he achieved, the blending of a luminous whole, became his especial pride, which combined with his closed eyes during performance, added a decidedly aesthetic mystique to the occasion. Karajan managed to create a temenos, a sacred space, a rarified bower of musical execution, virtually unmatched – excepting Furtwaengler, Horenstein, and Celibidache – by any other interpreter.

By now, the etiology of the 1884 Seventh Symphony has become common parlance, with its homages to Richard Wagner, especially in the scoring of tubas and the liturgical character of the C# minor Adagio, by which time Wagner’s death in 1883 had been announced. The Allegro moderato’s opening sequence – the tremolando strings that reveal a cello melody that floats over two octaves in just over 24 measures – leading to a pair of melodies that woodwinds and brass, respectively, deliver Bruckner’s epic scope with a contradictory, “leisurely urgency” under Karajan, whose forces weave a seamless progress in dignified periods. I recall, at age fourteen, my uneasy resolve to hear this huge work through, having not yet uncovered the nasty epithet from Brahms that Bruckner’s symphonies were “tortured boa constrictors.” Then, as now in this Royal Festival Hall performance, Karajan urges the music with a logical, emotional rigor that never sacrifices lyricism for bombast. The richness of Bruckner’s interior lines compels us at each moment to consider Bruckner’s mode of musical development as unique to himself. Potent, hymnal orisons alternate with whimsical, Austrian dances in rustic figures. Somehow, by circuitous intricacy, the coda has become colossal, a revelation of “God’s Grandeur” akin to the best lines from Gerard Manley Hopkins. 

Karajan molds the great Adagio movement, conscious that its chromatic contours maintain a chorale of immense power and beauty, a rare distillation of Bach, Schubert, Wagner, and Beethoven, that relishes blazing fanfares and luxurious pedal points. The deep majesty – especially poignant in the F# major period and its deep strettos – of the low strings and high horns bestows an uncanny measure of solemnity to the occasion; no wonder that this one movement “redeemed” Bruckner for many skeptical listeners. Rarely has Bruckner’s written designation Sehr feierlich sustained such regal intensity. The overwhelming climax, marked by cymbal crashes and thunderous timpani, resolves into a simple flute call over pizzicato strings and a another orison from the French horns, eventually finding a long-sought peace in haunted, heart-throbbing acceptance close to Valhalla.

The A minor Scherzo ever suggests a cross between a trumpet, barnyard call and Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” and the Vienna audience, after the long vigil of the Adagio, feels alert to the robust energies Karajan releases in pungent regalia. In advance of the Trio, Karajan milks the swaggering hunting rhythm so it resembles a peasant waltz. The Trio proper enjoys a grateful repose, constant shifts in the orchestral texture remind us of Bruckner’s fondness for the diapason of his chosen instrument, the church organ. The voluptuous, earthy rhythm takes up the da capo, enriched by competing, syncopated impulses, the various choirs sharing alternating, four-bar phrases. The “Valkyries” win, defiantly. 

And so on to the last movement, Finale, opening with he first of three intertwined themes. Strings and woodwinds vibrate in Austrian nature sounds, but the second theme, a poised chorale worthy of Schubert, will soon prove its ascendancy over all rival motifs. The third motif, ff, an athletic fanfare, presents a martial bias, emblematic of the “Wagner tubas” idea with their invocation from Das Rheingold. Bruckner’s various inversions of his motifs testify to long study of Beethoven, but the declamatory mode remains kindred to Wagner. The sweet, secondary theme leads the recapitulation, enhanced by glowing brass colors. The initial opening arises, now in full brass pageantry, the string almost manic in their insistence. A concession to cyclic form ensues, with allusions from movement one, but the massive momentum to a solid E major triumph cannot, will not, be denied.  Pristine has cut short what must have been a Saturnalia of enthusiastic applause. 

—Gary Lemco

RACHMANINOV: The 24 Preludes – Moura Lympany, piano – Pristine Audio

by Audiophile Audition | May 11, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews, Classical Reissue Reviews

RACHMANINOV: The 24 Preludes – Moura Lympany, piano – Pristine Classical PAKM 096 (73:20) [www.pristineclassical.com] *****: 

Dame Moura Lympany (1916-2005) remains among the most gracious and conscientious of British musicians, a lyrical artist of thought and intuition who possessed a towering technique that did not ostentatiously assert itself despite her broad, virtuoso repertory. Pristine revives her 1951 complete Rachmaninov Preludes, a musical enterprise she had addressed for Decca shellacs 1941-1942 and would once more, in stereo sound for Erato, in 1993.  Born in Cornwall as Mary Gertrude Johnstone, she adopted her stage name at the suggestion of conductor Basil Cameron that arranged her mother’s maiden name, Limpenny along with a Russian diminutive of Mary. Lessons with Mathilde Verne (1868-1936) and Tobias Matthay (1858-1945) proved decisive in the formation of her musical approach, though later study with Edward Steuermann and Ilona Kabós refined her technique in 20^th Century compositions. Her recordings of concertos by Rachmaninov, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Saint-Saens, and Khachaturian have consistently rewarded repeated listening, projecting a freshness and spontaneity of effect that avoids mannerism associated with more “potent” interpreters. This 1951 version of the Preludes had life on the Testament label. 

Pristine has done an exemplary job in eliminating defects from which the Decca/Testament issue of these readings suffered. The stunning bass chords in the ubiquitous Prelude in C# Minor ring without upper level shatter, especially precious since Lympany sports a fluid legato and stunning sense of structural transition. The searching, poetic character of No. 1 in F# Minor has a lyrically volcanic No. 2 in B-flat Major as successor, the tumult of arpeggios and thick chords controlled but ardently driven. The mincing, martial figures of No. 3 in D Minor achieve a limpid, flexibly luminous texture. Poetic reflection suffuses No. 4 in D Major, diaphanous in color content but tautly focused on what the composer called “the point” in drooping phrases. Lympany’s sonic palette offers a dazzling array of colors, immediately persuasive, tinted cautiously by an idiosyncratic rubato. The infectious, militant buoyancy of No. 5 in G Minor finds a spectacular haze in its middle section, a sensuous romance. The dream-nocturne No. 6 in E-flat Major enjoys a hazy insistence, palpably intimate. Swirling arpeggios mark No. 7 in C Minor, an eddy of toccata motion, soft in allure and vibrant periods. The A-flat Major, No. 8, extends energies from a colorful, mesmeric eddy of impulses, Lympany’s selective pedal adding a seductive bass line. The brief Prelude No. 9 in E-flat Minor conveys a nervous syncopation, a study in distinct legato and staccato touches, much in the Chopin style. Rachmaninov’s Op. 23 ends with Prelude No. 10 in G-flat Major, here played by Lympany in the style of a ballade, taking on girth, color, and dynamic nuance in a richly parlando style. Lympany’s palette feels a mere step away from Debussy in its graded hues.

Massive chords and deft articulation define Lympany’s hefty realization of Prelude No. 1 in C Major from the Op. 32 set of 1910. The Schumann-like innigkeit of the Prelude No. 2 in B-flat Minor projects an insistent nostalgia that spins a long-lined melodic curve. Prelude in E Major throbs with Russian bells, virtually an orchestral tone-poem set upon a troika. The tonic minor, that in E, Op. 32, No. 4, casts a severe, dramatic tenor in the form of a colloquy that becomes quite intense, offering a temporary, far-and-away emotional asylum in its middle section. The relentless momentum regains ascendancy, though Lympany avoids a mere cacophony of percussion in order to release its melodic kernel. While Lympany’s shaping of the diaphanous Prelude No. 5 in G Major projects exquisite sensitivity, she still must yield to Benno Moiseiwitsch for interpretive alchemy of rarest invention. The No. 6 in F Minor intrudes upon us, an angry toccata a la Russe by way of Franz Liszt. The wide leaps and jabbing accents flutster Lympany not at all. The ensuing F Major Prelude approaches the same technical issues with a lighter, happier countenance, the patented cross rhythms in voluptuous, fluid motion. 

For volatility of articulation, Rachmaninov’s terse Prelude No. 8 in A Minor has few rivals, here performed with an aggressive boldness that ripples with steely control. The companion Prelude in A Major, builds on a series of rising chordal patterns, almost a hymn-in- progress. Chopin would qualify as the likely model but influenced by a sense of Bach’s legacy fertilized by Russian chimes. “The Return” served as Rachmaninov’s definition of No. 10 in B Minor, and Moiseiwitsch had to concur. Lympany kneads a striking concoction of melodic clusters based on the falling motif, and the whole rises in a yeast of explosive, yet tempered fury. Another fine female interpreter, Gina Bachauer, had, like Lympany, a singular sympathy for this massive, poignant work. Does the piece end with an evocation of the South Seas, or is that Hollywood talking? The Prelude in B Major plays in the form of an antique dance, cautiously lyrical.  Lympany generates throbbing, tremolando tension for No. 12 in G# Minor, a cascade of mystery and reverie that dissolves into a spatial ether. The final Prelude in D-flat Major rather serves as an epilogue to the entire set, in the lyrical-dramatic fashion of Robert Schumann. Eschewing rubato for its own sake, Lympany exhibits a fine sensibility for narrative proportion, especially since this prelude verges on the composer’s notion of an étude-tableau. The epic finality of the last chords may well stand for Moura Lympany’s especial sound, a mastery of every aural nuance.

—Gary Lemco

Sir Thomas Beecham conducts Rimsky Korsakov, Saint-Saëns – SOMM

by Audiophile Audition | May 3, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews, Classical Reissue Reviews

RIMSKY-KORSAKOV: 

RIMSKY-KORSAKOV: Scheherazade; SAINT-SAENS: Bacchanale from Samson et Dalila,  Cello Concerto  – Sir Thomas Beecham – SOMM-BEECHAM 34 (70:03) (4/17/26; complete credits below) [Distr. by Naxos] *****:

Culled from three distinct concerts by Sir Thomas Beecham (1879-1961), SOMM Producer and Audio Restoration Engineer Lani Spahr assemble music by Rimsky-Korsakov and Saint-Saens, masters of the color-music idiom whose works Beecham realizes in festive, jubilant style. Even as Beecham appeared at Kingsway Hall 17-10 March and 28 March 1957 for recording sessions, he scheduled Rimsky-Korsakov’s epic symphonic suite Scheherazade in concert 21 March, as though the studio performance served as a rehearsal for a much more energized version of his interpretation. While some connoisseurs of Rimsky-Korsakov’s 1888 extravaganza have criticized Beecham’s performance for agogic errors, preferring renditions by Reiner, Karajan, or my own alternative leader, Markevitch (with the LSO), the Beecham forever conveys a sense of story-telling, while Canadian-born concertmaster Steven Staryk (b. 1932) invokes a truly “feminine” point of view that befits the context of these Arabian Nights.  

The SOMM collection opens with the thrilling excerpt from Saint-Saens’ opera Samson et Dalila, the Bacchanale, from the concert of 24 April 1960. In his accompanying note, Jon Tolansky testifies as an attendee of the concert, to Beecham’s having become “a generator of electric lightning” in the course of his performance. From the initial oboe entry (Terence MacDonagh), the level of intensity suggests controlled rage, intermittently interrupted by sensuality in exotic colors. The frenzied drive Beecham achieves seems not to disturb the accuracy of intonation one whit.  While the middle section projects the languor of Samson’s ill-fated infatuation, the da capo metamorphoses into a force of nature, what Tolansky describes in apocalyptic terms: “the Royal Festival Hall seemed to be shaking in a catastrophic earthquake.” 

Beecham, who much championed the music of French composer Camille Saint-Saens (1835-1921), never committed any of the string concertos to recording, so having the Cello Concerto in A Minor from the concert of 19 October 1958 adds a major account to his discography. The soloist Mischel Cerniavsky (1893-1982) had performed in a trio with his brothers while youths in their native Odessa. An essentially lyrical work, it offers few moments of profundity, but it does savor instrumental beauty of tone, which Cerniavsky possesses in abundance. The Andantino second movement enjoys a particularly courtly flavor, a delicate minuet with pizzicato accompaniment and nice work from the RPO bassoon (Gwydion Brooke). Propulsion and deft ensemble mark the last movement, Tempo primo, which does boast one lovely melody that Cerniavsky – as does his contemporary Gregor Piatagorsky on records – relishes in expressive power. The cooperative hustle Cerniavsky and Beecham realize in the last several pages, including the repetition of the arioso melody, captures both intimacy and dynamism whose energies receive opulent affection from the concert audience. 

We have in this live Beecham Scheherazade an Eastern vision that sheds any false chastity of demeanor.  The languorous nostalgia of Steven Staryk’s thoughtful solo finds resplendent response from the orchestra, ostensibly the incremental softening of Sultan Schakhriar’s bitter heart. The first movement vibrantly captures the sensation of weaving a tale literally by virtue of intertwined instrumental choirs in E and C, as Sinbad’s ship embarks on its epic journey. The juxtaposition of colossal masses of sound against the individual clarinet (Jack Brymer) or cello lament seems to have transferred the antique concerto grosso to a new level.  

A new solo from Staryk invokes “The Story of the Kalendar Prince,” rife with individual colors that blend in with a soft, cantering, dance theme whose innately sensual melodic power never wanes. Jack Brymer’s clarinet solo has all the freedom of movement required to stir the brass and battery to respond with a “legendary” motif not far from Wagner’s “Magic Fire.” The militancy has something of Mozart’s janissary effects, here set near a mosque or muezzin’s retreat.  The flute’s elongated solo suggests an aerial locale above the skies, despite the Sultan’s perceptible grumblings. 

The RPO strings assume pride of place in their sympathetic reading of the “The Young Prince and the Young Princess,” a lovely Andantino quasi allegretto in 6/8, that serves as a ternary-form, pastoral intermezzo in an otherwise dramatic narrative. We hear echoes from Balakirev’s Tamara tone-poem, notable for oriental colors. Beecham has been intent on letting his forces have their head for the final movement, Allegro molto, 6/8, “Festival at Baghdad. The Sea. The Ship Breaks against a Cliff Surmounted by a Bronze Horseman.”  Once the snare drum and trumpet enter the propulsion, the magical splendor of the (brazen) occasion bursts into inspired flame, and the tiny retreats in tempo do not relax the tension. The presence of a pageant, a visual spectacle, imposes itself, wild and militant, an ecstatic music dervish.  A literally “frenetic” climax subsides to a lyrical, much-awaited reconciliation between the Sultan and the now vindicated Scheherazade, both resolved in the tonic major, to the eternal gratification of a grateful concert audience.

Much recommended for a permanent place on “the record shelf.”

—Gary Lemco

Sir Thomas Beecham conducts Rimsky Korsakov, Saint-Saëns

RIMSKY-KORSAKOV: ¹Scheherazade, Op. 35;
SAINT-SAENS: Bacchanale from Samson et Dalila, Op. 47;
²Cello Concerto No. 1 in A Minor, Op. 33 –

¹Steven Staryk, violin/
²Mischel Cherniasky, cello/
Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

Rodziński Conducts the NBC Symphony Orchestra, 1938 Vol. 4 – Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Strauss… – Pristine Audio

by Audiophile Audition | Apr 29, 2026 | Classical CD Reviews, Classical Reissue Reviews

RODZIŃSKI NBC 1938, VOL. 4 = Humperdink, Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Vivaldi, Scriabin, Ravel, Debussy, R. Strauss – NBC Symphony Orchestra/ Artur Rodzinski – Pristine Audio PASC 767 (2 CDs = 79:45; 78:01, complete contents detailed below) [www.pristineclassical.com] *****:

Andrew Rose and Pristine Audio conclude, with this Volume 4, their fascinating revival of the NBC Symphony concerts led by Artur Rodzinski (1892-1958) that preceded the assumption of the post of Music Director by Arturo Toscanini. The two programs here included, from December 24 and 31, 1938, respectively, offer a wide range of musical styles, some of which Toscanini did not embrace; and so, we have extremely rare documentation of the catholic taste Rodzinski brought to the podium in New York City. The Pristine XR sound process delivers a visceral, vibrant array of orchestral colors throughout.

The 24 December concert opens with Humperdinck’s 1893 Prelude to Hansel und Gretel, a Christmas-Eve delight, given the composer’s utterly lyrical application of Wagnerian procedures. Rodzinski elicits an extravagant, persuasive sheen from his NBC strings, and of the passages of brass in a militant aspect retain their hearty luster. Rodzinski had served with Stokowski in Philadelphia, doubtless imbibing that maestro’s affection for Bach chorale transcriptions. The Respighi arrangement of Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland proceeds with somber contrapuntal – and slightly, romantically mannered – dignity, ardent in its anticipation of Grace. My own affection for Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme derives from WNYC’s “Masterwork Hour” of yesteryear, a call to this faithful servant of classical music. Devotional and stately in tempo, this rendition lets us savor the festive richness of the NBC low strings and supporting brass. 

The first major work for this evening, the Beethoven 1799 First Symphony, represents Rodzinski’s only document of this pioneer work of the composer who would redefine the symphony genre. The very opening, with its deliberate withholding of the tonic key, alerts us that a fecund mind drives the musical imagination. Once the Allegro con brio arrives, Rodzinski relishes – including the repeat – his athletically energetic element, the NBC woodwinds brilliantly pointed. The second movement, Andante cantabile con moto, after its canonic beginning, saunters with gently abandon within its repetitive structure, alternately martial and buoyant. Particularly vivacious, the Menuetto frolics in a most rambunctious manner, no longer willing to abide by courtly standards. A note of menace marks the Finale: Adagio – Allegro molto e vivace whose momentum discards anything like polite convention. Rodzinski has the music serve as an explosive, virtuoso vehicle for his NBC ensemble, which after any pause and hiatus, renews the energy with unfettered panache. Once the audience frees themselves from the grip of Rodzinski’s musical spell, the applause flows generously.

In 1937, the “progressive” composer Arnold Schoenberg decided to orchestrate the 1855 Brahms Piano Quartet No. 1 in G Minor. Schoenberg claimed that when performed in its original, chamber music medium, the pianist too often drowns out the strings, “and I want to hear everything!” In order to achieve a broad, symphonic effect, Schoenberg re-scored the piano quartet, now featuring percussion, glockenspiel, xylophone, cymbals, bass and snare drum, triangle, and tambourine. The E-flat clarinet will execute some folk-like motifs, and the trombones play glissandos, as they must do in Schoenberg’s own Pelleas und Melisande, Op. 5. If the Beethoven symphony had not confirmed the NBC virtuoso prowess, certainly this score under Rodzinski’s febrile direction dismisses any and all doubts! 

The music itself, as in the first and third movements, projects large arcs of contrasting moods, consolingly lyrical or sternly martial in affect. The second movement Intermezzo emerges as kin to the early Brahms serenades, Opp. 11 and 16, though it, too, has some dark moments. Arguably, the center of gravity occurs in the Andante con moto third movement. Beginning in the manner of a hymn, the new orchestration assigns the music a girth that compares to an excerpt from Mendelssohn. Suddenly, a series of dotted chords invoke a quick, martial impulse that soon gains ascendancy of no mean order. In ternary form, however, the opening motifs reappear in a more resignedly placid, serenade guise. The last movement, a throwback to the Brahms gypsy days with violinist Eduard Reményi, whirls playfully in a series of color variants, especially using Schoenberg’s spliced-on battery instruments. This lusty Rondo alla zingarese only lacks a Universal Pictures set from Curt Siodmak to complete its “kitchen-sink” sensibility of motley effects. For the last pages, Rodzinski has the NBC move from a chamber music combination of robust urgency and tender sentimentality. For the last pages, Rodzinski moves from an intimate chamber music sequence to an after-burners manic coda, obviously to bring down the house.

Disc 2, the New Year’s Eve concert, opens its diverse color-program with Siloti’s arrangement of Vivaldi’s Concerto grosso in D Minor from L’estro armonico, a piece equally popular with Serge Kousssevitzky in Boston. The thick harmonization of the NBC strings notwithstanding, the rendition displays warmth and discipline, at once. The second movement, Adagio e spiccato, conveys a deep, ecclesiastical feeling, especially befitting the tides of the season.  

Rodzinski next addresses the monumentally solipsistic ego of Alexander Scriabin, whose Third Symphony of 1905 claims an unbroken succession of vision in three interlocked movements that embraces the competing and playful forces of creation. A dire sense of menace opens Luttes, the conflict between God and Humanity. By harmonic twists and turns tossed among diverse choir members, the music appropriates post-Wagnerian, hymns and orisons, yearning motivic kernels, the periods “oceanic,” for want of a better term. Almost imperceptible at first, the second movement Voluptés enters, a call from the seductive and erotic impulse in Nature.  Do we hear evocations of Wagner’s Forest Murmurs and later, Gliere’s Ilya Mourometz? The ardor of the music seems interrupted by competing forces, especially by the trumpet. Suddenly, we find ourselves in the throes of the Jeu Divin, the cosmic play of eternal forces. The trumpet call asserts itself forward and inverted, perhaps Scriabin’s attempt at the ouroboros, the cyclical mystery of creation. A rhapsodic militancy takes possession of the momentum, the syntax of Scriabin’s harmonic progress tonal but no less boundless. A solo violin has consistently uttered some response to the dynamics proffered by the Universe, whose totality Scriabin would eventually try with his concept, Mysterium. With the final drumbeats here, The Divine Poem receives an enthusiastic, earthly response.

An immediate contrast ushers forth in Ravel’s dreamy 1910 Pavane for a Dead Princess, orchestrated from the original 1899 piano piece. In suggestive modal harmonies, Ravel invokes a sense of placid acceptance and spiritual repose. Rodzinski insists on a diaphanous, transparent orchestral patina. The late, sighing figures in winds and strings bear repetition. Music of Debussy, two of his Nocturnes, follows, conceived as grisailles, studies in degrees of shade, a la Rembrandt and J.W.N. Turner. Nuages pulsates in deftly erotic colors, while Fêtes bristles with kinetic energies. The intensity of Debussy’s colors in winds, strings, and brass do not suffer in comparison with anything from Respighi. The distant procession then approaches, a veritable, quick march along the Via Appia. Having overwhelmed us with its swirling colors, the fierce tumult cautiously relents into a bucolic ether. 

As fitting for New Year’s Eve, Rodzinski says farewell by means of the Richard Strauss first dance sequence of waltzes from Der Rosenkavalier, his sympathies in concert with Clemens Krauss and Hans Knappertsbusch in Vienna. Lush and exuberant, the gaiety of the occasion bodes nothing of the political climate of the times. The brisk articulation from the NBC strings maintains a joyful energy that literally throbs with earthly delights. 

Pristine has retained the closing remarks by Gene Hamilton, and we will retain this sound document indefinitely.

–Gary Lemco

RODZIŃSKI NBC 1938, VOL. 4

HUMPERDINCK: Hansel und Gretel Prelude;
BACH (orch. Respighi): Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland, BWV 659; Wachet auf,ruft uns die Stimme, BWV 645;
BEETHOVEN: Symphony No.1 in C Major, Op. 21;
BRAHMS (arr. Schoenberg): Piano Quartet No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 25;
VIVALDI (arr. Siloti): Concerto in D Minor, Op. 3/11;
SCRIABIN: Symphony No. 3 in C Minor, Op. 43 “The Divine Poem”;
RAVEL: Pavane pour une infante defunte;
DEBUSSY: Nuages; Fêtes;
R. STRAUSS: Der Rosenkavalier: Waltzes – First Sequence