This is the second post in my series of CD's selected through arbitrary-number generation. I'd like to add a note about my method of cataloguing CD's before diving into the Furtwängler. I arrange everything chronologically by composer. Ideally, I'd prefer a way to have them in strict chronological order of when the piece was composed, but that would prove overwhelming. While composers with very long careers like Liszt (I have pieces from 1833 through 1881) or Bach (1705 through 1750) cause trouble, I think this is the best compromise. When I list the previous recording of Carmina Burana as 571 and the CD discussed below as 452, I'm simply referring to the line on the speadsheet that the disc currently occupies.
Last time around, I attacked Carmina Burana for its poor form and minimal counterpoint. Naturally, when faced with Tchaikovsky's Pathétique Symphony, I'm going to criticize Tchaikovsky as an overrated, all-melody composer, right?
What I like about Furtwängler's 1938 recording is the way he emphasizes the form. The individual movements may not be groundbreaking in its use of sonata form, but he really brings out the dramatic development with his tempi. I'll admit I'm a sucker for Furtwängler's erratic tempo changes, but they are very effective in this piece. In the first and second movements, for example, he suddenly slows the tempo at a formally important moment, and then gradually accelerates back to the original speed. In addition to providing the piece with a very clear trajectory, it also draws attention to the sections that repeat and the sections that don't.
The third movement will always be a thorn in the sides of people opposed to inter-movement clapping. It's also a really dramatic example of why it matters: the fourth movement is the dramatic heart and soul of the symphony. It should follow the thrilling conlusion of the third movement as quickly as humanly possible. The tension is supposed to be built up and not released; the applause releases it and really hurts the finale.
The fourth movement seems like a piece written just for Furtwängler's talents. What impresses me most about this recording is the way he relaxes the tempo after the climax, bringing out the pathos that gives the piece its nickname. It fades away into imperceptable silence, until a note suddenly grows -- and like that, we're into the Prelude of Tristan und Isolde.
I don't have much to say about this particular recording of the Prelude and so-called Liebestod. (If you count full recordings of the opera, I have more recordings of the pair than any other piece. Furthermore, 4 of my 6 recordings were conducted by Furtwängler.) Instead, I want to raise a question:
Why isn't the concert ending of the prelude ever performed? I realize that the opera's finale makes a nice companion piece, but the concert ending serves to wrap it up nicely in one continuous movement. As far as I know, it hasn't been performed in well over a hundred years and never recorded (although if you know of a recording, please let me know). It's good in its own right and deserves a little exposure.
Next on the docket: #232, Clavier-book for Anna Magdalena Bach on Hännsler
Showing posts with label Arbitrary Numbers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arbitrary Numbers. Show all posts
1.16.2007
1.13.2007
Fortune plango vulnera...
I've decided to start a series of posts discussing music in my collection based on an arbitrary-number generator. (If random-number generation is truly possible, the fact that I don't have exactly 1000 CD's blunts the randomness.) It's either quite ironic or quite fitting that the first disc selected via this method is number 571 -- Carmina Burana, a piece that I have very little desire to write about.
The Hickox/LSO recording (in a previous release on Fidelio) was among my first classical CD's, purchased at the Berkshire Record Outlet in my early teens. I loved it for some common, if immature reasons. It was loud and dissonant. The texts were funny, and treated sex and drunkenness. But mainly, it was loud and dissonant. (Boy did the final three movements pack a wallop -- you go from the insane Soprano range of "Dulcissime" to the loud brass/chorus of "Blanziflor et Helena" to the recapitulation of "O Fortuna.")
As I grew older, though, I started having second thoughts. As I studied music theory and became infatuated with Beethoven and Bach, form and counterpoint became more and more important to me. You can spend a lot of time buried in the score and fail to find much in the way of either. The form is predominantly strophic songs. The most common texture is unison or parallel blocks of intervals or chords. There's plenty of novel orchestration, but relatively little else of interest.
In time, I grew to view it as a piece in which nothing happens, for all its noise. (In the interest of fairness, I should note that I never tired of the "Olim lacus colueram" movement, concerning the swan roasting on the spit. I'd rate this among the funniest moments in musical history. That means that I enjoy under four of the piece's sixty or so minutes.) To me, it was another top-40 hit with little of value or harm. Then I discovered something troubling.
In many ways, the simple textures are meant to suggest a return to the ideals of Medieval music. However, in 1930's Germany, such an idea can actually be quite troubling. If Carmina Burana is to represent a more pure, earlier ideal of Germanic music, then it can be seen as a musical representation of Aryan ideals. It's a music that is without influence from inferior kinds of music, freed from the Italian foundation of German Baroque music. It's one thing to flag Wagner's music as representing proto-Nazi ideals; this was written the year of Germany occupied the Rhineland. This implication, that Carmina Burana is essentially Nazi propaganda, certainly can temper one's enjoyment. (It doesn't disqualify it outright; however, it should be in the canon of "problem works" of art that represent a view that is now seen as unacceptable due to bigotry. Just as productions of The Merchant of Venice invariably involve discussion of anti-Semitism or screenings of Triumph des Willens acknowledge the techniques Reifenstahl used to make the Nuremberg Rally so impressive, I feel that performances of Carmina Burana should highlight this less palatable aspect.)
A couple of weeks ago, in this space, I offered a reassessment of one of those other much-maligned top-4o hits: Pachelbel's canon. Can I offer any sort of positive reassessment Carmina Burana?
First a digression: the medieval poems that Orff selected are brilliant. The rhetorical delights of In taberna quando sumus, for example doesn't really translate to English, but is clear enough in the Latin.
But the subject at hand is really the music. The natural question arises: how can I enjoy Glass's Two Pages or Reich's Piano Phase, yet argue that nothing happens in Carmina Burana? While I could argue that a lot more happens in those austerely minimalist pieces (albeit very slowly) than in Carmina, I won't. The point stands, though, that we can't compare Orff's music to Bach's and Beethoven's, as he was consciously trying to use a neo-medieval style. As much as I'm trying, however, I can't defend this piece of music (which greatly pales in comparison to contemporary pieces like Schoenberg's 4th string quartet or Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta).
Next up: #452, Tchaikovsky's Pathetique Symphony, conducted by Furtwangler on Naxos Historical
The Hickox/LSO recording (in a previous release on Fidelio) was among my first classical CD's, purchased at the Berkshire Record Outlet in my early teens. I loved it for some common, if immature reasons. It was loud and dissonant. The texts were funny, and treated sex and drunkenness. But mainly, it was loud and dissonant. (Boy did the final three movements pack a wallop -- you go from the insane Soprano range of "Dulcissime" to the loud brass/chorus of "Blanziflor et Helena" to the recapitulation of "O Fortuna.")
As I grew older, though, I started having second thoughts. As I studied music theory and became infatuated with Beethoven and Bach, form and counterpoint became more and more important to me. You can spend a lot of time buried in the score and fail to find much in the way of either. The form is predominantly strophic songs. The most common texture is unison or parallel blocks of intervals or chords. There's plenty of novel orchestration, but relatively little else of interest.
In time, I grew to view it as a piece in which nothing happens, for all its noise. (In the interest of fairness, I should note that I never tired of the "Olim lacus colueram" movement, concerning the swan roasting on the spit. I'd rate this among the funniest moments in musical history. That means that I enjoy under four of the piece's sixty or so minutes.) To me, it was another top-40 hit with little of value or harm. Then I discovered something troubling.
In many ways, the simple textures are meant to suggest a return to the ideals of Medieval music. However, in 1930's Germany, such an idea can actually be quite troubling. If Carmina Burana is to represent a more pure, earlier ideal of Germanic music, then it can be seen as a musical representation of Aryan ideals. It's a music that is without influence from inferior kinds of music, freed from the Italian foundation of German Baroque music. It's one thing to flag Wagner's music as representing proto-Nazi ideals; this was written the year of Germany occupied the Rhineland. This implication, that Carmina Burana is essentially Nazi propaganda, certainly can temper one's enjoyment. (It doesn't disqualify it outright; however, it should be in the canon of "problem works" of art that represent a view that is now seen as unacceptable due to bigotry. Just as productions of The Merchant of Venice invariably involve discussion of anti-Semitism or screenings of Triumph des Willens acknowledge the techniques Reifenstahl used to make the Nuremberg Rally so impressive, I feel that performances of Carmina Burana should highlight this less palatable aspect.)
A couple of weeks ago, in this space, I offered a reassessment of one of those other much-maligned top-4o hits: Pachelbel's canon. Can I offer any sort of positive reassessment Carmina Burana?
First a digression: the medieval poems that Orff selected are brilliant. The rhetorical delights of In taberna quando sumus, for example doesn't really translate to English, but is clear enough in the Latin.
But the subject at hand is really the music. The natural question arises: how can I enjoy Glass's Two Pages or Reich's Piano Phase, yet argue that nothing happens in Carmina Burana? While I could argue that a lot more happens in those austerely minimalist pieces (albeit very slowly) than in Carmina, I won't. The point stands, though, that we can't compare Orff's music to Bach's and Beethoven's, as he was consciously trying to use a neo-medieval style. As much as I'm trying, however, I can't defend this piece of music (which greatly pales in comparison to contemporary pieces like Schoenberg's 4th string quartet or Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta).
Next up: #452, Tchaikovsky's Pathetique Symphony, conducted by Furtwangler on Naxos Historical
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