For those of you who weren’t able to make it to the New York Philharmonic this weekend to hear Gustavo Dudamel conduct Charles Ives’ Symphony No. 2, here’s a live performance with the Dude at the helm of the Berlin Philharmonic, no less, in 2023.
This quintessentially American symphony – a kind of scrapbook of Ives’ musical influences, whether they be Brahms or “Bringing in the Sheaves” – should at least be partially within the European wheelhouse, even if the musicians will not “get” all the vernacular references. Dudamel recorded the four Ives symphonies with the Los Angeles Philharmonic for Deutsche Grammophon.
The oboe duet at 9:08 always just delights me. A cheery start to my day!
Thanks to Mather Pfeiffenberger for directing me to the video.
Claudio Abbado would have been 90 today. Funny, I still think of his appointment as chief conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic as being fairly recent. Seeing this video – obviously from video tape – makes me realize just how long ago it was! 1989! He certainly had some big shoes to fill, in the wake of Karajan. I don’t know that I ever entirely bought in to the marriage, though the first time Abbado conducted the orchestra was all the way back in 1966.
For me, and I imagine for most, his best, or rather his most consistent recordings, date from his London years, or at any rate before Berlin. That’s not to say he wasn’t still capable of great work. And I’m just going by the recordings I’ve heard. I never had the privilege to hear him live.
After years of ill health (he was diagnosed with stomach cancer in 2000), Abbado died in 2014 at the age of 80.
I don’t pretend to have heard everything, but here are some of my favorite Abbado recordings:
Debussy: Three Nocturnes; Ravel: Daphnis and Chloe Suite No. 2; Scriabin: Poem of Ecstasy (w/Boston Symphony Orchestra)
Debussy: La Damoiselle élue (w/soprano Maria Ewing and the London Symphony Orchestra)
Schubert: Rosamunde: Complete Incidental Music (w/Chamber Orchestra of Europe)
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No. 3, etc. (w/Martha Argerich and the Berlin Philharmonic)
Mussorgsky works for orchestra and chorus (w/London Symphony Orchestra)
I am less well-versed in his recordings of contemporary works by Luigi Nono, Iannis Xenakis, Pierre Boulez, etc.
I am also not as familiar with many of his opera recordings (beyond Mussorgsky’s “Boris Godunov” and “Khovanshchina” and Schubert’s “Fierrabras”), but some of them are said to be very fine indeed. I would think Debussy’s “Pelleas and Melisande” is a safe bet, and Berg’s “Wozzeck” is regarded as a classic. But some of his Verdi recordings (“Macbeth,” “Simon Boccanegra”) have been ecstatically reviewed.
Some of the recordings I recommend are from after 1989, but of those, none of them are in Berlin. Even the one Berlin recording is from well before he was chief conductor there.
Great video of Argerich and Abbado, in all their glory, live in concert
I’m sure we’ve all wondered what we’d do if we found ourselves living under a totalitarian regime. Would we speak out against injustice and atrocity, even if it meant arrest or execution? Would we flee, even if it meant never seeing our homes or loved ones again? Or would we keep our heads down, hoping not to be denounced, and pray for better days?
I don’t think any of us who haven’t actually lived through it can understand the fear, the courage, and the sacrifices that were experienced every day by those who remained in Hitler’s Germany. So try not to be too hard on Wilhelm Furtwängler, indisputably one of the greatest conducting talents of the 20th century.
Furtwängler, who succeeded Arthur Nikisch and Richard Strauss as director of Germany’s finest orchestras – including, most notably, the Berlin Philharmonic, from 1922 to 1945 and again from 1952 to 1954 – remained in Germany throughout the National Socialist regime.
Widely perceived as politically naïve, Furtwängler engaged in a dangerous game with the Third Reich, arguing vociferously in favor of Jewish musicians within his orchestra, those who could be considered his rivals (Bruno Walter, Otto Klemperer), and even those who were long dead (Joseph Joachim, Felix Mendelssohn). He went so far as to threaten to tender his resignation should the Nazis insist on the removal of Jews from the cultural sphere. Goebbels complained, “Can you name me a Jew on whose behalf Furtwängler has not intervened?”
Either he possessed an accurate grasp of his own worth to German culture, or he didn’t realize how close he trod to the flame. Himmler wanted to send him to a concentration camp. Goebbels and Göring were in favor of concessions. Encouraged, the conductor felt himself to be a force for positive change. But of course, he was just being played. The Nazi racial policies remained in place and the situation only grew worse.
What Furtwängler didn’t seem to realize was that he was being used as a propaganda tool, held up to the world as a paragon of Teutonic superiority. Wishing to appease one of the country’s most visible artists, the authorities allowed Jews to remain in the Berlin Philharmonic, though privately they grumbled about Furtwängler lacking “national sentiment.”
Revealingly, Furtwängler never joined the Nazi Party. He refused to conduct Nazi anthems, and while he retained a semblance of authority he would not appear in halls adorned with swastikas. He did not give the Nazi salute, even in his private dealings with Hitler. He rejected the Führer’s gifts and was able to get around shaking his hand by always having a baton at the ready. It was only after getting into a shouting match with Hitler himself that Furtwängler realized the enormity of the struggle. When Hitler finally was able to engineer a handshake, the Nazi photographers were all over it.
In 1934, he publicly declared Hitler an “enemy of the human race” and referred to the political situation in Germany as a pigsty. He conducted Hindemith’s “Mathis der Maler,” which had been banned by the Nazis on account of the composer’s allegedly “degenerate” (modernist) tendencies. The concert created a sensation and triggered a political firestorm. Furtwängler was forced to resign from his artistic posts, and the authorities seized the opportunity to Aryanize the Berlin Philharmonic. Fortunately, Furtwängler had already found positions for most of the Jewish personnel in foreign orchestras.
He was told that if he himself were to leave the country, he would never be allowed back in. Not wanting to be separated from his family, he decided to remain. What followed was a years-long game of cat-and-mouse between the conductor and the Reich. Furtwängler was publicly granted privileges, while penalized in ways never apparent to the foreign press. It was only through political sleight-of-hand that the Reich could get anything worthy of pro-German propaganda out of him.
With the rise of an opportunistic young conductor by the name of Herbert von Karajan, Furtwängler became marginalized. Karajan did everything for himself; Furtwängler had done everything for the sake of culture and humanity.
It’s so easy for biographical details to get in the way of a proper appreciation of Furtwängler’s art. For him, music was something that existed beyond the notes on the page and involved active, subjective intervention on the part of the conductor in order to be realized. More than most, a Furtwängler interpretation rises and falls on the strength of the performer.
“He once said to me that the most important thing for a performing artist was to build up a community of love for the music with the audience, to create one fellow feeling among so many people who have come from so many different places and feelings. I have lived with that ideal all my life as a performer.”
— Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau
Happy birthday, Wilhelm Furtwängler.
One of the great performances of the Schumann 4th
Brahms, Symphony No. 3
Bruckner, Symphony No. 5
Nazi 9th: fiery Beethoven for the Führer’s birthday in 1942, complete with swastika banners and Goebbels handshake
Though he continues to stir controversy, Wilhelm Furtwängler was, indisputably, one of the greatest conducting talents of the 20th century.
Furtwängler, who succeeded Arthur Nikisch and Richard Strauss as director of Germany’s greatest orchestras – including, most notably, the Berlin Philharmonic, from 1922 to 1945 and again from 1952 to 1954 – remained in Germany throughout the National Socialist regime.
Widely perceived as politically naïve, Furtwängler engaged in a dangerous game with the Third Reich, arguing vociferously in favor of Jewish musicians within his orchestra, those who could be considered his rivals (Bruno Walter, Otto Klemperer), and even those who were long dead (Joseph Joachim, Felix Mendelssohn). He went so far as to threaten to tender his resignation should the Nazis insist on the removal of Jews from the cultural sphere. Goebbels complained, “Can you name me a Jew on whose behalf Furtwängler has not intervened?”
Either he had an accurate grasp of his own worth to German culture, or he didn’t realize how close he trod to the flame. Himmler wanted to send him to a concentration camp. Goebbels and Göring were in favor of concessions. Encouraged, the conductor felt himself to be a force for positive change. But of course, he was just being played. The Nazi racial policies remained in place and the situation only grew worse.
What Furtwängler didn’t seem to realize was that he was being used as a propaganda tool, held up to the world as a paragon of Teutonic superiority. Wishing to appease one of the country’s most visible artists, the authorities allowed Jews to remain in the Berlin Philharmonic, though privately they grumbled about Furtwängler lacking “national sentiment.”
Revealingly, Furtwängler never joined the Nazi Party. He refused to conduct Nazi anthems, and while he retained a semblance of power he would not appear in halls adorned with swastikas. He did not give the Nazi salute, even in his private dealings with Hitler. It was only after getting into a shouting match with the Führer himself that Furtwängler realized the enormity of the fight.
In 1934, he publicly declared Hitler an “enemy of the human race” and referred to the political situation in Germany as a pigsty. He conducted Hindemith’s “Mathis der Maler,” which had been banned by the Nazis on account of the composer’s allegedly “degenerate” (modernist) tendencies. The concert created a sensation and triggered a political firestorm. Furtwängler was forced to resign from his artistic posts, and the authorities seized the opportunity to Aryanize the Berlin Philharmonic. Fortunately, Furtwängler had already found positions for most of the Jewish personnel in foreign orchestras.
He was told that if he himself were to leave the country, he would never be allowed back in. Not wanting to be separated from his family, he decided to remain. What followed was a years-long game of cat-and-mouse between the conductor and the Reich. Furtwängler was publicly granted privileges, while penalized in ways never apparent to the foreign press. It was only through political sleight-of-hand that the Reich could get anything worthy of pro-German propaganda out of him.
With the rise of an opportunistic young conductor by the name of Herbert von Karajan, Furtwängler became marginalized. Karajan did everything for himself; Furtwängler had done everything for the sake of art and humanity.
It’s so easy for biographical details to get in the way of a proper appreciation of Furtwängler’s art. For him, music was something that existed beyond the notes on the page and involved active, subjective intervention on the part of the conductor in order to be realized. More than most, a Furtwängler interpretation rises and falls on the strength of the performer.
I hope you’ll join me, as we observe Furtwängler’s birthday with an electrifying recording of Schumann’s Symphony No. 4, this afternoon between 4 and 7 p.m. EST, on WWFM – The Classical Network and at wwfm.org.
“He once said to me that the most important thing for a performing artist was to build up a community of love for the music with the audience, to create one fellow feeling among so many people who have come from so many different places and feelings. I have lived with that ideal all my life as a performer.”
Lorin Maazel, one of the outstanding conductors of his generation, died last week at the age of 84. A musical prodigy, Maazel made his conducting debut at the age of 8. Between 9 and 15, he conducted most of the major American orchestras, including the NBC Symphony, at the invitation of Arturo Toscanini.
Over the course of his career, he held posts with many prominent musical organizations, including the Deutsche Oper Berlin, the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra, the Cleveland Orchestra, L’Orchestre National de France, the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra and the New York Philharmonic. In addition, he was briefly general manager and artistic director of the Vienna State Opera.
We honor Maazel tonight on “The Lost Chord” with two of his over 300 recordings. The main feature will be Alexander Zemlinsky’s “Lyric Symphony,” representative of his fruitful collaboration with the Berlin Philharmonic, an orchestra with which he had marvelous chemistry. However, after the death of Herbert von Karajan, the heir apparent was passed over as music director in favor of Claudio Abbado, Maazel abruptly terminated the relationship, stating essentially that he wanted Abbado to be able to do his thing.
Thankfully the Maazel-Berlin partnership yielded some fine recordings. The Zemlinsky, rarely heard, was written between 1922 and 1923, a song-symphony based on poems by Rabindranath Tagore, who, in 1913, was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. This 1982 performance features soprano Julia Varady and her husband, baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.
Maazel was also a composer and a talented violinist. He studied the violin from the age of 5. It was the sale of his 1783 Guadagnini that helped fund the Castleton Festival, held every summer at Maazel’s Virginia farm. He died there as a result pneumonia, no doubt the result of his self-imposed, unrelenting work schedule.
As an encore, we’ll have an example of Maazel’s artistry as a violinist, taken from one of his “New Year’s Concert in Vienna” recordings. Maazel was a regular conductor of the New Year’s concerts following the death of Willi Boskovski. After seven appearances in a row, the practice was implemented of using a different conductor each year, likely to make telecasts and recordings more marketable. Maazel returned four additional times. The last was in 2005. From 1996, Maazel will lead the Vienna Philharmonic as well as play the melting violin solo in Josef Strauss’ “The Girl from Nasswald.”
That’s “Maazel, Farewell.” You can hear it tonight at 10 ET, or, if you can’t sleep, tune in for the repeat Friday morning at 3. Of course, you can always listen to it later as a webcast, at http://www.wwfm.org.
Here’s a clip of Maazel playing Mozart with the Vienna Philharmonic, the slow movement of the Violin Concerto No. 3 in G Major, K. 216 (the first and third movements are also posted, if you have a desire to hear more):
