Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 1, No. 4 (1927-01)

182 The Phonograph Monthly Review and most truly characteristic peaks of Tchaikowsky’s genius —sets a most severe problem, but it is solved with consumate ease. I have listened to this last movement again and again and each time I marvel still more over the superb and inspired virtuosity of composer, interpretation, performance, and recording. It would not be too much to say that one does not know the real and the best Tchaikowsky without knowing this symphony. Certainly one does not know the phonograph at its best without knowing this recording. Here is a ringing pessimism, but no childish cavilling against fate. Here is a splendid savagery, a barbaric gusto and power, caught in every bit of its strength by the conductor and transmitted unweakened to the records. And here, above all in the last sonorous apotheosis of the theme in the coda of the last movement, is an emotion that is not emotionalism, an inevitable rapture and transfiguration that approaches the divine. And the marvel of it all is that these few black discs have caught it all and can give it out again unwearyingly. If there ever were an inexhaustible Fountain of Musical Youth, this set surely is it. It is not merely a triumph of recording, it is a triumphal marriage of recording genius to that of inter- pretive genius. Surely it is a feat that can never be exactly duplicated again. And yet from Coates we have come to expect the impossible. Records like those of the Meister- singer Prelude, the recent Wagnerian excerpts, Scriabin’s Poem of Ecstasy, Tchaikowsky’s Francesca da Rimini Fantasia and this symphony make an imposing list which can hardly be equalled. So many fine works are being issued today that it is becoming an increasingly difficult problem to know what to buy. But I can most strongly advise letting a few of the new recordings wait, if necessary, in order to place a set like this in one’s library—and musical consciousness. Both are incomplete without it. Mingled with one’s sense of obligation to the Victor Company for having issued this set in America is a half- resentment against the fact that we are obliged to wait 60 long for it. Why were other far less successful recordings from the English catalogue given the preference of this Tchaikowsky’s Fifth? It is hard to understand. On the behalf of the American phonograph enthusiasts it is only fair to ask that more of the fine things available be issued here. The Music Arts Library is making a most excellent begin- ning; good things like the Pacific 231 of Honneger in the French Victor catalogue, and many others which might be named, should not be withheld. If record buyers show their appreciation of works like the Tchaikowsky Fifth and the others issued already, the company should respond with new and worthy additions to the Music Arts Library. NOTE ON RECORDING OF TCHAIKOWSKY’S FIFTH SYMPHONY I want to add my feeble voice to the praises sung of this recording by R.D.D. I can only speak definitely of the fourth movement. While I was at the studio on one of my Satur- day evening visits we put on the Finale of this Symphony. From just a single listening I jumped to the hasty conclusion that this was probably the finest and clearest recording of orchestral records yet produced. That may be an exaggera- tion, but unquestionably the excellence is very great. Extra- ordinary reproduction of all the orchestral tone-qualities in all their clarity are present here, as well as an interpreter of great understanding. The orchestra, too, is very well balanced. I regret that I have been unable to hear the other move- ments, but from hearing one I feel safe in recommending this issue to any lover of Tchaikowsky, of orchestral music in general, or. indeed, to any music-lover, as an example of what the phonograph can do. Moses Smith. THE MOST AMBITIOUS OF ALL RECORDINGS In a large, inclusive library of recorded music like that in the Studio there are many recordings of most unusual interest and noteworthiness. So many splendid works come in in addition to those already there that some of the very best things of all are liable to slip by unnoticed for a considerable length of time. The attention of the staff has lately been riveted on what is perhaps the most remarkable set of records ever issued, certainly the most ambitious of all attempts to record large size musical works. Mahler’s Second Symphony (“Resurrection”) in C minor, conducted by Oskar Fried, performed by Berlin State Opera House Orchestra assisted by Gertrud Bindernahel, Soprano, Emmi Leisner, Alto, and the Berlin Cathedral Chorus under the direction of Hugo Riidel; recorded by Polydor (Nos. 69681 to 69691) on eleven double-faced twelve-inch records, is without question the biggest and most ambitious composi- tion ever to be recorded. Naturally, such an imposing work is almost forbidding by reason of its very immensity. To play it through on the phonograph requires nearly two hours and a half, including the time spent on changing records, pauses between move- ments for discussion, etc. Small wonder that in the Studio we hesitated to undertake the task of going through such a monumental work. Several times The Editor has remarked, “Perhaps we shall be able to get time to go through that Mahler Symphony this evening.” And I would reply, rather feebly, “It certainly must be a remarkable work.” Then something else would come up and the eleven disturbing records of the “Resurrection” Symphony would remain un- touched. But one evening as I was using the typewriter, I suddenly became aware of a new and strangely arresting music issuing from the phonograph. For an instant it flashed through my mind that if I were not familiar with the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven, I should imagine that this was it. Not that the idiom of the two works is alike, but the same mental and emotional impression is made. One senses im- mediately that this music expresses some soul-shaking struggle, some great inner conflict. The largeness and titanic strength of a true genius or Ubermensch is immediately recognizable in the music he writes. All work was ended for that evening—and the “Resur- rection” Symphony was listened to with undivided attention. At the end, everyone present had but one thought: “How could I ever have left this masterpiece go by unheard?” A second hearing a week later and study of the score and the critical reviews of the American concert hall performances of the work intensified and deepened the impressions made at first. Both Mahler’s music and the personality of the man himself when he was alive seem to have a remarkable power for arousing the almost fanatical enthusiasm of certain people and the most violent opposition and hatred of others. His admirers, led by conductors like Oskar Fried, Bruno Walter, Willem Mengelberg, and writers like Paul Stefan, are prac- tically unrestrained in the fever of their admiration and devotion for both the memory of the man and the com- positions he has left behind. It is hard for anyone to listen unmoved to a work like this Second Symphony. It is too disturbingly forceful, outspoken, direct; it assaults one’s ears and mind with its overwhelming sincerity and conviction. One is elevated, disgusted, trans- ported, antagonized—all in rapid succession. But in the end one is forced to admit that here is a work that is truly great. One may almost hate it as well as admire it, but it cannot be ignored or denied. While there is no definite “program” to this symphony, there is a definite content which may be briefly outlined here. Reference is also made to the recording. First Movement: A Promethean struggle and despair re- lieved by the fleeting consolation of the songful second theme. In Part 3 occurs a long monotonous, uncertain passage working up slowly to a climax which well demon- strates the amazing capabilities of the Polydor recording as well as of the Berlin State Opera House Orchestra. The brass in particular deserves especial mention. Parts 6, 7, and 8 contain the Second Movement, a sort of intermezzo or slow dance tune. An elusive section of the symphony, and one difficult to grasp or to understand. The next three parts are devoted to the Scherzo, built up from one of Mahler’s songs dealing with the Sermon to the Fishes by St. Anthony of Padua. The world, like the fish in the legend, goes by in complacent vulgarity, unmindful of the message that is preached to it. The fortissimo passage at