Search - Anton Bruckner, Ferruccio Busoni, Jascha Horenstein :: Bruckner: Symphony No. 3; Busoni: Tanzwalzer

Majestic Bruckner from Horenstein

Johannes Climacus | Beverly, Massachusetts | 10/01/2008

(4 out of 5 stars)

"BBC is doing collectors a great service by issuing historic broadcast performances of symphonic repertoire conducted by Jascha Horenstein. It was a great misfortune not only for Horenstein himself, but also for subsequent generations of music lovers that a genius of his caliber was denied a permanent post as music director of a world-class ensemble and, with that, any prospect of securing a long-term recording contract with a major label. His early-LP Vox recordings, cherishable though they are, often do not reveal the full extent of Horenstein's prodigious gifts--largely because they were made on the fly with second-rate ensembles in less than state-of-the-art monaural sound. The playing and sound on this BBC issue are also of variable quality, but since Horenstein never made a commercial recording of either the Bruckner Third or Busoni's Tanzwalzer, admirers of the conductor and collectors of historical broadcast material will surely want to obtain this CD.



Bruckner's Third is, paradoxically, both his first fully characteristic symphony and the most problematic among the canonical Nine. Multiple editions exist, reflecting various stages in the compositional process. The most commonly heard, at least until recently is the severely truncted 1889 redaction. That remains the most tractable among the many versions, not least because of its greater formal concision, though many Brucknerians prefer the earlier versions, for their longer, if less coherent, architectural spans. For this 1963 BBC peformance, Horenstein chooses the 1877/Oeser edition, and thereby sets for himself the challenge of holding together a far more sprawling symphonic canvas than the the 1889 version. This veteran Brucknerian is certainly up to the task: his rendition of the Oeser edition is entirely convincing. Indeed, Horenstein had me spellbound throughout the long haul of a fairly leisurely interpretation.



From the first notes of the first movement's initial ostinato, the listener realizes that this is going to be a special performance. This is far more than just stage-setting: an elemental process is unfolding, quietly and mysteriously. As the movement progresses Horenstein manages to convey the severity of Bruckner's conception without sacrificing dramatic tension. Climaxes emerge from their surroundings like mountain peaks from a long chain of foothills.



The slow movement is heaven-sent. Such movments constitute the acid test of great Bruckner conducting, and Horenstein manages to keep the listener hanging on every note. The great lyrical episodes blossom; the "stuttering" chorale that keeps reappearing as a sectional marker is like a humble affirmation of human insufficiency in the presence of the Divine--never do these episodes sound inconsequential, as they can in lesser performances. Horenstein clearly sees this movement as the very heart of the symphony, and we are treated to nothing short of a great spiritual pilgrimage.



The third movement, taken at a slightly slower tempo than usual, ends up sounding more playful than strenuous, reminding us that this is indeed a scherzo not an Apocalyptic Utterance.



Of the four movements, the finale is the hardest to hold together (as it often is in Bruckner), and Horenstein succeeds particularly well in making sense of a ramshackle construction (particularly so in the longer text of the Oeser edition). The remarkable passages combining polka (in the strings) with solemn chorale (in the brass) can be interpreted in three ways. One can emphasize the jaunty string figuration, so that the chorale serves as a barely perceptible foundation; one can give equal prominence to these two strands in the texture, thereby highlighting the tension; one can bring out the brass, thereby making the solmen chorale dominate the texture. Horenstein is the only conductor in my experience who takes the third route--downplaying the frivolity of the polka rhythms and emphasizing the brass's funereal intonation. Bruckner apparently intended these episodes to convey the fragility of the human condition even in the midst of merriment. Horenstein's distinctive rendition of the polka-chorale thus serves to cast a death-haunted shadow over the entire movement, so that even the fanfare-laden coda tends to sound less like an affirmation and more like an open-ended question.



I have run on at great length about this performance because it represents a truly extraordinary interpretation of a problematic work. I have said nothing so far about the actual playing, which, though good, still has one wondering what Horenstein might have accomplished if he had the BPO or the VPO at his disposal rather than a second-rate broadcast orchestra. Nevertheless, the BBC Northern Symphony acquit themselves pretty well over the long haul of what must have been for them an exhausting work. The brass playing, in particular impresses for its rich and rounded sonorities. The strings sound a bit less ample than one might desire, though ensemble and intonation are good. The wind playing is a bit wanting in character, but otherwise competent.



So in the end, praise must be mingled with regret. If only a major label had enlisted Horenstein in a complete Bruckner cycle with a major orchestra. If only. What we have instead is a riveting interpretation realized by a mediocre ensemble in tolerable but constricted monaural sound.



To mitigate the regret, BBC have provided a superb coupling. Busoni's *Tanswalzer* is a delightfully offbeat, even slightly tipsy, evocation of gilded age Vienna. It is a piece that should fizz with ebullient charm, as it certainly does in this crisp, lively performance with the RPO under Horenstein. An enjoyable and unexpected bonus.



All devout Brucknerian and Horenstein aficionados should hear this CD. For principal recommendations and "basic library choices," however, I would look elsewhere: Sinopoli or Vanskä for the 1877 text (with an earlier redaction of the slow movement under Vanskä); Jochum/DG, Karajan, Skrowaczewski or Celibedache for the 1889 version."