Some heart-pounding interpretations from the volatile Klaus Tennstedt (1926-1998), the passionate East German whose intensely physical style won as many detractors as lifelong adherents. The palpable nervousness of Tennstedt’s approach had something of Furtwaengler’s influence, certainly, but at the same time the tonecolor fixation of Stokowski and Toscanini, whom Tennstedt had learned to admire as a child. Wait until you experience the undercurrent of celli and basses in glissando in the course of the Schubert first movement Allegro ma non troppo, along with the sforzati strings and tympani rolls. Schubert by way of Beethoven, but no less by way of Wagner and Mahler. The London Philharmonic (7 October 1984) had already been primed for the Schubert in the opening Weber Oberon, from the very first French horn call, agitating the forest spirits in bravura fashion. By the time we reach the first movement coda in Schubert, we would be hard pressed not to attribute the explosive agogics to Mengelberg’s incarnate presence.
Tennstedt takes the Andante con moto at a tempo just short of Allegretto, a dainty quick-march with ominous undercurrents. Flute, oboe, clarinet, strings and tympani seem to delight in their respective, swirling entries. A decided air of mysticism permeates any Tennstedt reading, intimations of mortality and immortality. Weighty and warm, the orchestral resonance communicates a sobering power and clarity, even if architecture occasionally yields to a Faustian seeking beyond the ever-retreating horizon. Trumpet work from the LPO proves exemplary, the syncopations deft, the punctuations only increasing the yearning in the string line. The da capo savors all sorts of pizzicati against the long notes in the horns. A deep-voiced Scherzo that cavorts, gallops, and prances through the Austrian countryside follows. The woodwinds explore their own pantheistic relation to experience, the strings and tympani renewed at each repetition with penetrating vigor. The trio achieves a grand, joyous leisure of line. The whirlwind mounts immediately at the thrust for the Allegro vivace, the orchestra in full tilt, the trumpets ablaze. The hypnotic pulse of progression increases to a point of critical mass, and the stretti threaten to collapse under their own, voluptuous weight. The dancing spirit rekindles again, the oboe and strings throbbing with triumphant life. Some would claim Tennstedt’s Mahler Sixth from 1986 as his most illustrious swan-song, but this elastic, frenzied Schubert Ninth does the tempestuous conductor proud.
We conclude with the turbulent upheavals in the Brahms Tragic Overture (7 April 1983), whose own D Minor compressions of solemn grandeur and Beethoven counterpoint respond seductively to Tennstedt’s expressive treatment. The organ sonority in the lower strings and brass proves noteworthy. The entire program, in fact, bespeaks a committed spirit of Romanticism infused into every bar, the music a wonderful battleground of vivid colors.
— Gary Lemco
