This is another review that was first published at Epinions and is no longer available there.
In light of my continued fascination with the tension between traditional and contemporary sensibilities in music performance, it seems irresponsible not to comment on Roger Norrington’s release of the complete Beethoven symphonies. Norrington is an adherent of the “historically informed” school of performance philosophy. His recording of the symphonies, along with the overtures “Coriolan,” “Egmont,” and “Creatures of Prometheus,” give us an “original instruments” version in which Norrington has adhered to Beethoven’s metronome markings (Aha! you say. The famous metronome markings – which, by the way, are noted in the list of works included) and as closely as possible to the conventions of early nineteenth-century performance. The recordings are accompanied by highly informative historical and technical comments in English, French and German.
I thought long and hard about how to approach this review (a misnomer on its face – Beethoven is a little beyond my opinions, I think, and I have no particular agenda vis-à-vis modes of performance) and finally decided that, rather than try to deal with the interpretations of all nine symphonies (and after listening through the course of a day, my head is too full of glory to make a coherent statement on that basis), I would take one symphony – the Seventh – as my touchstone. Mostly that’s because it is the one I know best – my personal favorite, heard in any number of renditions – but it’s also, I think, characteristic of Beethoven, if somewhat more energetic than normal. (Wagner called it the “Dance Symphony,” and to prove it, he did – he danced to the whole thing while Liszt played it on the piano. They were in Italy at the time.)
One thing that’s striking right from the start: the feel of the music is lighter than I’ve been used to. There are subtleties here that I’ve never spotted before, and an amazing clarity to the sound. That all goes together, somehow, and I think it must be due at least in part to the use of instruments built on the standards of Beethoven’s day – the violins seem less hard in tone, the woodwinds somewhat more airy, the brass not quite so overpowering (more on that later). Norrington does establish early on a strong momentum to the work, although – one of those subtleties I mentioned – it begins as more of a subliminal pulse that carries the orchestra along. It’s not obvious at all, but sort of sneaks up on you as you realize you’re being carried right along with the orchestra. For a work by a composer noted for writing that seems to happen in fits and starts, who built the melodies as he went along out of parts he introduced separately, that’s quite remarkable.
The allegretto of the second movement is an even more obvious reflection of this tendency on Beethoven’s part, and Norrington highlights the way the parts fit together, keeping things moving fast enough that relationships become readily apparent. Since there is often some controversy about tempo in Beethoven’s works – many consider the composer’s own metronome markings to be too fast – I have to say that the in first version of this symphony I ever heard, by Otto Klemperer, I thought in my innocence that the second movement was a funeral march, analogous to the second movement of the Third Symphony. I find Norrington’s take much more suitable, although to be honest I think he could have pushed it just a little. I also have to mention the little fugato that Beethoven threw in here, simply because it’s one of my favorite things about Beethoven. This one is crisp, clear, and builds to a rousing crescendo that sets the stage for the meltingly lyrical passage that follows. The presto resumes that momentum, now much more apparent, and pure Beethoven: we’re seeing a fairly light-hearted version of romantic Sturm und Drang that Norrington pulls off beautifully.
The fourth movement, noted as “allegro con brio,” sort of encapsulates everything I find most appealing about Beethoven, and is one reason the Seventh is my favorite. And “brio” it is, high spirits, energy, and that momentum now a driving force that pulls the orchestra, the audience, and sometimes I think the universe as well to the overwhelming finale. Oddly enough, given all the arguments about tempo, I find that Norrington’s finale, and the movement as a whole, is slower than my preferred versions, those by Herbert von Karajan and William Steinberg. It’s about energy and running on the edge: Norrington’s version is almost too well-behaved and, I think, loses some impact because of it. (Steinberg’s version, heard long ago on a radio broadcast, is breathtaking, the horns in the final fanfare just on the verge of breaking, the whole orchestra right on the border of losing it, but never quite. It’s amazing – just the sort of thing a twenty-something with more hormones than brains wants from Beethoven.) This is not to say that Norrington’s version lacks impact – there are passages here that stop you cold. One comes away with a real sense of controlled passion.
Which leads me to the essence of the whole collection: intelligence in the service of passion. Norrington has brought a great deal of intelligence to his interpretations and managed to keep the symphonies alive while doing it, catching that intensity that is one of the main reasons we listen to Beethoven. Can’t ask for much more.
(EMI Records, 1989)
I thought long and hard about how to approach this review (a misnomer on its face – Beethoven is a little beyond my opinions, I think, and I have no particular agenda vis-à-vis modes of performance) and finally decided that, rather than try to deal with the interpretations of all nine symphonies (and after listening through the course of a day, my head is too full of glory to make a coherent statement on that basis), I would take one symphony – the Seventh – as my touchstone. Mostly that’s because it is the one I know best – my personal favorite, heard in any number of renditions – but it’s also, I think, characteristic of Beethoven, if somewhat more energetic than normal. (Wagner called it the “Dance Symphony,” and to prove it, he did – he danced to the whole thing while Liszt played it on the piano. They were in Italy at the time.)
One thing that’s striking right from the start: the feel of the music is lighter than I’ve been used to. There are subtleties here that I’ve never spotted before, and an amazing clarity to the sound. That all goes together, somehow, and I think it must be due at least in part to the use of instruments built on the standards of Beethoven’s day – the violins seem less hard in tone, the woodwinds somewhat more airy, the brass not quite so overpowering (more on that later). Norrington does establish early on a strong momentum to the work, although – one of those subtleties I mentioned – it begins as more of a subliminal pulse that carries the orchestra along. It’s not obvious at all, but sort of sneaks up on you as you realize you’re being carried right along with the orchestra. For a work by a composer noted for writing that seems to happen in fits and starts, who built the melodies as he went along out of parts he introduced separately, that’s quite remarkable.
The allegretto of the second movement is an even more obvious reflection of this tendency on Beethoven’s part, and Norrington highlights the way the parts fit together, keeping things moving fast enough that relationships become readily apparent. Since there is often some controversy about tempo in Beethoven’s works – many consider the composer’s own metronome markings to be too fast – I have to say that the in first version of this symphony I ever heard, by Otto Klemperer, I thought in my innocence that the second movement was a funeral march, analogous to the second movement of the Third Symphony. I find Norrington’s take much more suitable, although to be honest I think he could have pushed it just a little. I also have to mention the little fugato that Beethoven threw in here, simply because it’s one of my favorite things about Beethoven. This one is crisp, clear, and builds to a rousing crescendo that sets the stage for the meltingly lyrical passage that follows. The presto resumes that momentum, now much more apparent, and pure Beethoven: we’re seeing a fairly light-hearted version of romantic Sturm und Drang that Norrington pulls off beautifully.
The fourth movement, noted as “allegro con brio,” sort of encapsulates everything I find most appealing about Beethoven, and is one reason the Seventh is my favorite. And “brio” it is, high spirits, energy, and that momentum now a driving force that pulls the orchestra, the audience, and sometimes I think the universe as well to the overwhelming finale. Oddly enough, given all the arguments about tempo, I find that Norrington’s finale, and the movement as a whole, is slower than my preferred versions, those by Herbert von Karajan and William Steinberg. It’s about energy and running on the edge: Norrington’s version is almost too well-behaved and, I think, loses some impact because of it. (Steinberg’s version, heard long ago on a radio broadcast, is breathtaking, the horns in the final fanfare just on the verge of breaking, the whole orchestra right on the border of losing it, but never quite. It’s amazing – just the sort of thing a twenty-something with more hormones than brains wants from Beethoven.) This is not to say that Norrington’s version lacks impact – there are passages here that stop you cold. One comes away with a real sense of controlled passion.
Which leads me to the essence of the whole collection: intelligence in the service of passion. Norrington has brought a great deal of intelligence to his interpretations and managed to keep the symphonies alive while doing it, catching that intensity that is one of the main reasons we listen to Beethoven. Can’t ask for much more.
(EMI Records, 1989)
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