Richard Strauss (1864-1949)
Don Juan (1888)
Eine Alpensinfonie (1915)
Also Sprach Zarathustra (1896)
Till Eulenspiegel (1894-95)
Philharmonia Orchestra/Santtu-Matias Rouvali
rec. 2021/22, Royal Festival Hall, London (live); The Anvil, Basingstoke; Fairfield Halls, Croydon, UK
Philharmonia Records SIGCD720 [2 CDs: 126]
This double-disc set is a celebration of several things at once. Most obviously, it’s a celebration of Richard Strauss: four of his tone poems in one release is a lot! More pertinently, it’s a celebration of a new conductor/orchestra partnership. Zarathustra and Alpensinfonie were recorded live in the very first concerts performed by Santtu-Matias Rouvali once he had taken over as Principal Conductor of the Philharmonia. Till and Don Juan were set down in the studio six months later. “We started big!” Rouvali jokes in the programme booklet, and how! It’s a remarkable statement of confidence to begin their relationship with such massive repertoire, and also for them to release it as their first disc together, which is also the first instalment of the new “Philharmonia Records” label, released on Signum.
There’s a third celebration, however, which feeds into the others. These were also the first full-capacity performances of the Philharmonia since the beginning of the covid pandemic. Mark Berry was there for Seen and Heard and commented, as did many others, on the remarkable experience of hearing a vast Strauss orchestra after so many months of isolation and lockdown. That sense of excitement, of getting back to what had been lost for so long, might help to explain the extra edge of drama and punch that these very successful recordings undeniably carry.
In fact, you sense that from the very opening of Also Sprach Zarathustra. The dramatic tension of the opening is palpable, a crackle of anticipation in the air as those deep bass notes quiver and the trumpet sails over the top deliberately and purposefully. (Roth and the LSO, by comparison, are far too businesslike in this opening, as thought keen to get it out of the way and get down to the real business of the rest of the piece.) The shudders of the Backworldsmen are delineated with remarkable cleanness and precision, and when the violas come in with the major key theme it sounds not only consoling but lovingly lingered-over. You can sense the growing of drama and churn in “Of the great longing”, but it feels completely organic, never something you could pin down precisely. In fact, it suggests a conductor/orchestra relationship much more longstanding than this one was, as does the growing turmoil of the “Joys and sorrows” passage. The trombones and tubas at the end sound terrific while, at the other end of the spectrum, the strings scrape out the “Science” fugue so poignantly that you can almost see the dust shaking off it. There is a wonderful twinkle as the high winds and strings shimmer into life at the beginning of the “Convalescent”, and even more so as they spiral around the beginning of the “Dance song”. Once the Viennese waltz begins it carries tremendous schwung, as well as a slight touch of sleaziness that’s very becoming (take a bow, leader Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay!). The midnight bell, when it comes, is integrated into the orchestral sound rather than standing out, which I always think is a bit of a shame: you want it to really make the scalp prickle alla Karajan in Vienna or even with Nelsons in Birmingham. However, it leads into a delicately observed “Song of the Night Wanderer” which sees the violins gently sliding upwards while the basses tenaciously try to grip them downwards. It’s a great ending, matching Strauss’s binary visions of the universe and allowing them to coexist in the one space, and the gap between the last two pizzicato notes is tantalising!
It’s a sign that Rouvali is already a great Straussian – why else would he choose such a programme for his opening concert? – and speaks very well for the future of his partnership with the Philharmonia. You see that elsewhere in the set, too. The opening of Till Eulenspiegel seems to sneak its way into existence before a terrifically mischievous horn solo leads into a naughty choir of solo winds. Rouvali paces the work so that each episode has its own character, but that the overarching structure always feels secure. Not only is it dramatic, but it’s enormously fun: all the soloists sound like they’re enjoying themselves enormously, right the way down to the tongue-in-cheek ending (which follows a thunderously portentous judgement scene). Similarly, Don Juan positively leaps out of the starting blocks, bounding with energy through all of the Don’s music while lingering beautifully, tenderly over all of the love scenes. It’s one of the greats.
If there’s a weak link then it’s in Eine Alpensinfonie. The individual components are all good, but the piece as a whole never quite finds its stride. The opening sunrise is a little underplayed, and the Ascent is too rapid for my taste. By the time we get to the waterfall things start to spark, though there’s an unaccountable (and distracting) pause at the beginning of the “dangerous moments” section, which leeches some of the tension away from the approach to the summit. There isn’t anything like the awe at nature that you’ll hear from Karajan (Ralph Moore’s top recommendation) or Jansons here; instead this feels like a pleasant walk rather than a thundering spiritual experience. That said, there are some lovely touches. The opening is remarkably clear, without a hint of the pea soup that can afflict some recordings, and the brook section contains a violin glissando so sweet that it’s nearly a screech. The meandering oboe solo on the summit sounds lovely, and the build-up to the storm is well judged. On the whole, however, this is an Alpine Symphony where the focus on the details distracts from the overall picture, which is a shame because this of all Strauss’s tone poems needs cosmic vision to hold it together.
This set is still a noteworthy benchmark for this new conductor/orchestra partnership, however, and Philhamonists will want it as a signifier of that, regardless of Eine Alpensinfonie’s weaknesses. Of course, however, there’s a lot of competition for Strauss tone poems on record, stretching all the way back to the composer himself. You can’t (and shouldn’t) try to escape from Karajan in Vienna and Berlin in this repertoire, or Kempe in Dresden, to name only two of the classics. Most recently, I’ve enjoyed enormously Francois-Xavier Roth’s SWR recordings and, even more so, Andris Nelsons’ Birmingham recordings. Nelsons and the CBSO probably pip these Philharmonia recordings thanks to their cracking Alpensinfonie, but Rouvali’s readings are still very much worth hearing.
The recorded sound on these discs is mostly excellent, by the way. Every so often I could have done with a little more heft, more bass, in Eine Alpensinfonie, but otherwise the engineers have tamed the sound of the Royal Festival Hall and, importantly, managed to avoid a jarring difference with the acoustic of Croydon’s Fairfield Halls. There’s very little audience noise in the live recordings, aside from an unfortunate cough at a quiet moment in the Alpine Symphony, and there is no applause either, for all that the performances merited much.
Furthermore, the presentation and packaging that Philharmonia Records have lavished on their first release is a credit to how seriously they’re taking it. Both discs are enclosed in a cardboard folder, and the 58-page booklet contains some impressive essays, as well as biographies and lists of the individual performers.
Simon Thompson
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