Pssst!
Have I got a bargain for you. The Dutch Disky label has released a
10-disc set of licensed EMI recordings by Constantin Silvestri, one of
the best of the legions of now-forgotten conductors of the 1950s and
'60s who would be superstars today. The Romanian conductor moved to the
West in 1956, signed with EMI, and swiftly established a reputation as
an outstanding interpreter of Romantic and early modern music. He
guest-conducted leading British and European ensembles and in 1960 was
named music director of the provincial Bournemouth Symphony, a post he
held until his death at 55 of liver cancer in 1968. British critics
were cool to a foreigner taking over one of their orchestras (remember,
this was the 1960s, before the British musical establishment
reluctantly came to terms with the influx of foreign talent). They also
found him too free an interpreter and carped at his rhetorical pauses,
dynamic and tempo contrasts, and the unbridled emotionalism he brought
to his repertoire. All of these traits of course make for compulsive
listening as yesterday's "mannerisms" become today's antidote to
boredom.
In his notes for
Silvestri's performance of Tchaikovsky's Manfred Symphony on Testament
1129, Alan Sanders writes that Silvestri was "seldom satisfied" with
his early EMI recordings, which were made hastily, included "the wrong
repertoire", and utilized "the wrong orchestra" for specific works. We
hear some of those self-criticisms vindicated on these 10 discs, but we
also hear some astonishing music-making. Even when we're aware of such
deficiencies as the blatty trumpet at the opening of Tchaikovsky's
Capriccio Italien with the Bournemouth band, or a Parisian orchestra
missing the Slavic tang of Dvorák's Slavonic Dances, we're amazed at
how good those ensembles sound under Silvestri's baton. Why EMI chose
to record Silvestri's Ravel with the orchestras of Bournemouth and
Vienna while taping his Brahms in Paris defies understanding today. And
the only possible explanation for recording an orchestral showpiece
like Scheherazade in Bournemouth is that the tale of Sinbad the
sailor-man would go better at a seaside resort. But unless you're
obsessive about orchestral details, you'll come away from those
mismatches thinking about how good the performances are and how
Silvestri was able to impose his will and his vision upon players
better suited to other kinds of music--always a sign of a great
conductor. And when he's got the crack Philharmonia in its heyday to
work with, we get a virtuoso conductor matched with an orchestra worthy
of him, as demonstrated by the spectacular 1958 Liszt Tasso, with its
deep colors and blend of delicacy and power, still ranking among the
finest Liszt performances ever recorded.
Short
showpiece works abound here, no doubt chosen by EMI to suit Silvestri's
great gifts as a colorist. Disky includes two versions of Dukas'
Sorcerer's Apprentice, from Paris (released 1958) and Bournemouth
(1968), the later one marginally swifter and more menacing,
demonstrating how much improved the orchestra sounds after seven years
of Silvestri's leadership. There's a scintillating Enescu Romanian
Rhapsody No. 1 here too, along with the Ravel Rhapsody espagnole, both
from Vienna. Although they're fine performances, they pale in
comparison to Silvestri's mid-1950s versions with the crack Czech
Philharmonic on Supraphon (3514), the Enescu one of the all-time great
orchestral recordings, coupled with a matchless Lalo Cello Concerto
with André Navarra.
One of the traits I associate with great conductors is
their ability to elevate "minor" works to profound listening
experiences--masters like Toscanini, Beecham, and Stokowski did it all
the time. So, apparently, did Silvestri, thanks to his gift for
conveying atmosphere. In this set, Saint-Saëns' Dance macabre is truly
macabre, Tchaikovsky's Capriccio Italien is drenched with Mediterranean
sun, and Debussy's Afternoon of a Faun manages to be both diaphanous
and sturdier than usual, while Borodin's In the Steppes of Central Asia
emerges with a luminosity that defies explanation.
Silvestri
was also masterful in the big works. His Dvorák Symphonies Nos. 7 and 8
are dramatic and propulsive without yielding poetry and lyricism. The
opening of his Eighth, for example, is among the most evocative
(compare Ivan Fischer's abrupt conducting of that passage in his recent
Philips recording) while the way he lends a fragility to the opening
theme of the fourth movement sets it off in dramatic contrast to the
following dance. Given Silvestri's penchant for color and drama, you
expect his Shostakovich Fifth to be first-rate and it is; I've rarely
heard the last part of the Largo played with such shattering impact,
with its grief-laden double basses and the slow fade to a barely
consoling silence. Silvestri out-Brits the Brits with a great Vaughan
Williams Tallis Fantasia (no, his spectacular Elgar In the South, once
available on a double-disc EMI Silvestri "Profiles" set is not included
here). He's wonderful in French music too, including a dramatically
coherent Franck Symphony, upon whose craggy cyclic rocks many a
conductor (and audience) has crashed. And he brings us one of the great
recorded La Mer's, a sea-borne drama rather than the preciously placid
lake view we often hear. His gift for color also stood him well in
modern works. EMI was too cautious to venture too far into the depths
of contemporary music so Silvestri recorded "safe" works like his
biting Bartók Divertimento, a starkly incisive Symphony in Three
Movements, and an appropriately multihued Song of the Nightingale. Igor
Stravinsky (1882-1971), the composer of the latter two masterpieces, is
identified by Disky as Fyodor Stravinsky (1843-1902), the eminent
operatic basso who was his father.
EMI's
sonics from the late 1950s to the mid-1960s were first-rate and Disky's
transfers convey that. Some of the material is in mono (EMI was one of
the industry laggards in switching to stereo) but most is in stereo,
wide-ranging and impactful. No notes, but each CD is housed in a
slip-in cardboard jacket, the back of which has full track and timing
listings, performers, and, in minuscule print, the original copyright
dates that tally with release, not recording dates. Oh yes, I started
out by promising a bargain. My set was liberated from New York's East
Village Tower Records store. Cost? Under $50, or $5 per disc. A similar
price was listed on Amazon when I checked. For that, you get
outstanding performances (not a really weak one in the bunch) by a
great--and greatly underrated--conductor. Go! Now!