Opus Kura OPK 7033, 61:20 (Distrib. Albany) *****:
The rare Haydn Symphony No. 92 in G under Arturo Toscanini (19 March 1944) appeared several years ago on a Toscanini Society LP, from which this CD incarnation derives. The opening movement proves true to the Toscanini type of etched Adagio followed by an almost hysterical Allegro spirito, the phrases molded with molten sweetness. The Adagio cantabile wends its haunted oboe solo and string womb of sound in exemplary sound for the period, only a thin shimmer of surface hiss in the patina. Elegant open-work among the woodwinds, then the mock-martial gait that always wants to sing above a thick, drone bass. Bubbling charm from Toscanini in the Menuetto, the tympani quite present, as is the flute–but it is the string attacks which command our undivided admiration. The Trio section displays the French horn section, true, but no less Toscanini’s controlled subito and sforzato, which can restrain the furies or unleash them at will. The Presto finale hurls Homeric laughter in our faces, a titanic reading as deftly light as it is powerful. If Beethoven himself were leading this movement, the results would have been the same.
The famous broadcast of the second concert of the 1938-1939 NBC Symphony season features the esteemed cellist Emanuel Feuermann (1902-1942), whom Bernard Greenhouse once called “peerless,” and of whom Janos Starker stated, “Modern cello playing begins with him.” The Don Quixote (22 October 1938) enjoys heightened brightness–courtesy of producer Satoru Aihara–in the bass parts, the low winds, contrabassoon, and NBC violas and cellos. Carlton Cooley provides Sancho Panza’s pleas and ironic rebukes, as Cooley did for the RCA commercial release. The ease of motion through the various, high octaves and registrations required on the solo cello Feuermann negotiates with unsentimental felicity.
Toscanini delivers his part with true “cavalier” character, the sheep bleating in truly noisome fashion, while the Don mistakes them for infidels. The continuity of the variation remains uppermost in Toscanini’ phraseology, notwithstanding the solo cello’s quasi cadenzas and absolutely immaculate cantabile. A gypsy song (to Dulcinea) with guitar-effects and castanets leads to a militant call to arms–and suddenly, the vista opens into a vision of Heaven. The music of the Penitents blares religious and threatening, again leaving the errant Quixote on his posterior, Feuermann’s sweeping cello lament against the French horn and low bassoon. The Ride through the Air, often suggesting what Toscanini might have done with the Alpine Symphony, ends with decisive strokes, pizzicato, from Feuermann, the orchestra string religioso. The last set of three variants moves with ineluctable, fervent energy to the dirge, the passing of Quixote and noble ideals from this world, a timely sentiment for 1938. For those who do not consider Toscanini a “romantic” conductor, this incendiary conception will prove a decisive tonic.
— Gary Lemco
