I grew up listening to the NBC Symphony Orchestra. Led by the charasmatic Toscanini (1867-1957), they sold recordings of classical music in large, previously unimagined numbers. Toscanini was known for his explosive temper and quest for perfection. The covers of his RCA Victor Beethoven Symphony LPs were decorated with 20 snapshots of Toscanini conducting, all depicting him as the quintessential Maestro, no smiles, this was serious business no matter how you looked at it. Toscanini rode a Hi Fidelity sales wave as CBS, Columbia Broadcasting System, tried to catch up with the more subdued and introspective Bruno Walter. [1.] Using Toscanini as a marketing model, record companies planted the maestro mantle on other conductors, Bernstein the great home-grown communicator, Szell the meticulous teacher, Reiner the beady eyed dictator and Ormandy the curator of Philadelphia’s lush sound.
During my college days, I’d gather with a few friends for listening sessions. One of us would put on an LP and with no hints allowed, the others, in a kind of blind aural tasting if you will, had to name the orchestra. Back-in-the-day, major orchestras had their own distinctive sound. They could also be recognized by their conductor’s style, the suave sound Karajan achieved with the Berlin Philharmonic, its choice of recording venue, the super dry studio H of the NBC Symphony, and in some cases, its principal players – Voison’s trumpet in Boston, Kincaid’s flute in Philadelphia, Goodman’s timpani playing with the New York Philharmonic and the Brass section in Chicago. French wood wind sound was thin and reedy, German brass was warm and round particularly the horns and the Russians were still playing post revolution Boosey and Hawkes instruments in desperate need of up-dating. Hearing one or more of these ‘tells’, our answers were correct more often then not. These distinctions are almost impossible to make today. When asked in a NewYork Times interview why today’s orchestras sounded alike, Seiji Ozawa said Mahler was what mattered, not the orchestra. Though oblique, even evasive, Ozawa’s answer confirmed the question’s premise. It also beggared another. How did it happen?
I believe recording technology and record companies’ desire to control the results of the final product was and is at the heart of this phenomenon. Almost overnight compact digital discs replaced LP records. The effects of this revolution influenced recording companies, musicians and the public in ways unimaginable at the time, unalterably changing their attitude towards each other and the music. Working with CD technology was a far cry from the good ole direct-to-disc days of yore when performers had to play each movement straight through, no stops. If a mistake was made, a new vinyl replaced the old and another complete performance was attempted. Thus, early 78 rpm recordings were ‘live’ performances. After the invention of recording tape, mistakes could be cut out, literally. An offending passage or note was removed with a razor blade. A correction was inserted and the gap closed with Scotch Tape.
Whereas traditional recording studios are grounded, digital studios are compact and transportable. With digital technology, studio quality recordings can be made anywhere on earth. After the Cold War, former Eastern bloc orchestras and soloists, now in possession of quality instruments and eager for hard currency, willingly provided their services for fees dramatically lower than their western counterparts. In a few years, hither-to unknown performers began to flood the world’s art music market with solo, chamber and symphonic recordings. Sales of American made recordings plummeted. Critically, digital recordings allowed producers to manipulate sounds of lesser orchestras enough to satisfy a public more interested in The Great Gate of Kiev’s sonic splendors than which orchestra and conductor recorded it. For many record buyers, the sound of an orchestra and the subtleties of a maestro’s interpretation became almost irrelevant.
Some North American recording companies went out of business and many large orchestras lost their recording contracts. Solists and ensembles tried to energize ther careers by crossing over into the burgeoning pop music market. Recording companies tried hyping up performances of classic favourites such as Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and marketed Mozart for babies, for lovers, for fine dining and for working out.[2.]
Today the death of the CD seems imminent and mp3 downloads may well be the heir apparent. The sound quality of an mp3 is inferior to the CD, but will that matter to the public? Anyway, I have a large collection of LPs and too many CDs. Most of my recordings, made in the last 30 years, are sonically indistinguishable. They offer me no fresh insights into the music I often enjoy. I do not need another technically dazzling Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto #3 when the 1951 Horowitz, Reiner collaboration with the RCA Victor Symphony Orchestra trancends performances by all pianists, past or present [3.]
So, I’ve been listening to early Twentieth century recordings of symphonic repertoire conducted by the likes of Beecham, Klemperer, Mengelberg, Bletch, Furtwangler and Stokowski, all judiciously digitalized by Andrew Rose at Pristine Classical. Aided by the latest audio equipment, Rose discovers instrumental voices present, but hidden or diminished by early recording equipment and makes them audible. Along with balances, Rose may have to justify pitch, tempo and overtone fluctuations as well as reducing or eliminating surface noises and the thin metallic sound common to many old 78 recordings. He is acutely aware of the dangers in taking his remasterings too far and assiduously maintains relationships indicated by the recordings, his ears and technology. Rose often leaves surface and audience noises in order to maintain the life of an especially significant recording.
The orchestra players of this era were superb and with their conductors, created performances technically comparable to their modern counterparts while differing substantially, in some cases dramatically, to readings by almost all of today’s conductors. These interpretations changed or enhance aspects of a work in ways not always indicated by the composer, especially phrasing, accents, dynamics and tempi. Toscanini railed against conductors he considered guilty of these transgressions. And yet, leaving an NBC Symphony concert at intermission, Wilhelm Furtwangler said of Toscanini, “He’s just a time beater”.
Are you old enough to recall the admonition, “Don’t just play what’s on the page”? Many conductors of yesteryear were not bound by the page and were unafraid to trust their feelings, allowing works to take them spontaneously wherever their spirit’s willed. They are an elite compared to the replicators who constitute today’s majority. Below are some examples from a bygone era. I suspect most of you know the works from which the samples are taken. Like them or not, they demonstrate a time when conductors knew from common practice that scores were not written in granite. They knew the music had to speak differently to different people. [4.]
I chose the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony because it is a series of contrasting events which Mengelberg realized beautifully. His pacing and tempi bring the messages of Schiller’s poem to life in ways unmatched by contemporary recordings. To my ears, modern singers, often heavy handed opera stars, are here, sensitive masters of the oratorio style and have time to listen and give each other space. As well, each section of the movement is allowed its own space, this sometimes by simple means such as a significant dimenuendo or extended fermata. For the first time I understood what Beethoven disciples meant when they spoke of this work as monumental. The bass drum, cymbals and triangle verge on inaudible, but the penultimate timpani bar makes up for those failings and provides a monumental ending. All excerpts are products of Pristine Classical digital recordings.
NOTE: These audio samples cannot be heard from e-mail. They can only be accessed from my web site, robinengelman.com.
Opening and Recitative, 4th movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Mengelberg and the Concertgebouw Orchestra, Live recording in Amsterdam,1940.
First vocal quartet, 4th movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Op Cid.
March, 4th movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Op Cid.
Last quartet, 4th movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Op Cid.
Last measures from the last movement to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Op Cid.
And finally, some opening bars from Mozart’s Overture to The Marriage of Figaro, The Thomas Beecham Orchestra,1916.
Though the great string bass player and teacher Oscar Zimmerman was first to mention Thomas Beecham to me 50 years ago, I have just recently begun listening to his recordings. Beecham is the first to make me hear the inherent character of individual Mozart symphonic movements. After years of ho hum listening, a revelation.
Postlude: Please see my article Listening to the Past: An Addendum.
Foot notes:
[1.] But according to Norman Lebrecht,Toscanini’s charisma and recordings did not increase attendance at classical music concerts. Ironically, Columbia invented the Long Playing record.
[2.] The CD has always had its detractors. Its sound is dry and extreme dynamics are truncated, simply rejected by a predetermined electronic limit. As of this writing, 2014, the LP has made a limited comeback. A large Toronto audio retailer has reintroduced high end turntables and a limited number of LP records.
[3.] Serge Rachmaninoff said of Horowitz’ playing his Concerto No. 3, “He swallowed it whole. He had the courage, the intensity, the daring.”. (Wikipedia) Rachmaninoff, one of the century’s great virtuosos, made this comment while on tour in the United States playing the same concerto.
[4.] “If you want to play Schubert well, you need to know the atmosphere in Vienna, especially during the night, to know the literature, to breathe what is Vienna. It’s not just the notes you see in the score. Culture is translated in phrasing, timbre, all that makes the sound that expresses what you know about a composer, the spirit beyond forte and piano (loud and soft).” Ricardo Muhti as quoted by Nancy Malitz, Chicago in the Aisle, 3 November, 2014.
Robin Engelman 
Mary Jolliffe, a Canadian Arts Legend.
Mary Jolliffe, November 11, 1923 – October 29, 2014.
I first met Mary Jolliffe at a soirée in the home of Karin Wells and Peter Schenkman. Mary was seated at the dining room table and I was introduced to her as a musician. Mary looked me in the eye and said, “You’re not going to discuss the meaning of art are you?” Her voice had an edge honed by a life time of smoking cigarettes and quaffing booze. Though I don’t remember my response, I recognized the challenge in her question and probably mumbled something along the lines of me knowing nothing about art.
Karin Wells, a C.B.C. producer, had met Mary years before me and they had been fast friends ever since. At the time we met Mary, she was no longer working as a publicist, editor and general factotum to the theater and dance world. She was already a legend. She had been inducted into the Order of Canada and though she never wore its distinctive pin, she thought that kind of thing was silly, she certainly deserved it.
My wife and I attended many dinners given by Karin and Peter and often came to drive Mary home at the end of the evening. We became friends though I doubt she knew anything about music. Once in a while she would ask me a question about music, but she was only trying to include me in the conversation. We didn’t need to talk about music or theatre or dance. We just enjoyed being together, and though our topics were often of a serious nature, we could slide easily into the humorous and the absurd.
Mary had been born in China to missionary parents. During Mary’s Memorial service, Karin said that Mary would wake-up in the morning in China and see dead bodies outside her parents compound wall. Mary told me that at the beginning of the troubles in China, she had been flown to safety by a member of Clair Chennault’s flying Tigers. Later in Canada she was hired by Tyrone Guthrie to be the Stratford Shakespeare Festival’s first publicist. Thus began her long career in the arts.
Mary had a clear perspective on the vagaries of people and their bureaucracies. She kowtowed to no one and did not tolerate bull shit. Frail as she appeared, there were tines when she reminded me of Japan’s national treasures, those old Zen masters of martial arts, who could prostrate a room of young wannabes without appearing to move. After Stratford, she made invaluable contributions to National Ballet of Canada and spent a few years in New York City with the Metropolitan Opera’s Touring Office. Mary came back to Canada to work with the new National Arts Center in Ottawa and later the Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council.
I’ve never met anyone who loved the English language more than Mary. The most serious moments I ever had with her concerned the subtleness of language. She knew I enjoyed words, though she was a master far, far beyond me. One day as she read the opening paragraph of Bleak House by Charles Dickens, her voice almost acquired a reverential tone. When she had finished she said, “Isn’t that incredible? Such beautiful language. The mastery of it”. Months later Mary gave me her copy of the Nonesuch edition of Bleak House, a reproduction of the original edition.
Mary’s personality, her impetuosity and spontaneity, were what drove my wife and I to her. She had reached an age when she “didn’t give a damn”. And much like the late C.B.C. director Franz Kramer, she could be counted on to speak the truth and to express her thoughts, even at times deemed inappropriate by her friends. Her voice was loud and energetic, probably because she was hard of hearing and often refused to wear her hearing aid, or maybe not.
We went with Mary and another friend to dinner at a respectable middle-class restaurant. We were having a good time and were talking rather than deciding what to order, so the waiter had to come back a couple of times. On or about his third trip to our table, Mary picked up the menu for the first time, glanced at it for a moment and said in a voice well above a stage whisper, “Oh fuck it, I’ll have the lamb”. The restaurant became quiet and the waiter smiled.
During Mary’s Memorial, former associates remarked on Mary’s Oh fuck it moments. She had other opinions as well. “Oh darlings, he, or she, was a gormless ass”, Or ” He, or she, was an ego ridden non-entity”. Mary always correctly pronounced ego as Eggo.
My wife and I have lived in a smokeless environment since I gave up cigarettes about 20 years ago and we discourage smoking in our condo. Mary, who really needed cigarettes, was our exception. Mary tried to quit, but as she often remarked, “Darlings, at my age, what the Fuck does it matter?”. Many years ago Mary had been fired from a job because of alcohol abuse and its affects on her dealings with people under and above her. She finally took the pledge and when we met her, she had been holding a steady course for many years excluding the occasional brief lapse. Though she tried, Mary was never able to give up her smokes.
When her dementia began, Mary became terrified during her lucid moments. She once looked at me and said, “I’m scared” and she truly was. At 90 years of age she was beginning to lose control and knew it. My wife and I drove her to doctors appointments and meals of dim sum, helped her shop and retrieve her prescriptions. But it was clear that Mary often did not know who we were and we stopped visiting. Soon after, we learned of Mary’s death in her last residence, a nursing home.
She had lived for a long time among friends, well, some friends, in Toronto’s Performing Arts Lodge (PAL). When she unknowingly began to drop lit cigarettes, Mary was reluctantly convinced to enter a home. She had contributed mightily to the success of PAL. She served for years on the PAL’s board of directors and her ability to read and write comprehensively and argue cogently, pulled them out of one hole after another. Now that Mary is no longer there, they’ll have to take care of themselves.
My wife and I are among a large group of people who miss her more than words can express. She had repeatedly and adamantly refused to write her memoir. Pity.
Mary, not long before her death.
Posted by robinengelman on January 9, 2015 in Articles, Commentaries & Critiques, History
Tags: Canada Council, Canadian Opera Company, Karin Wells, Mary Jolliffe, Metropolitan Opera Touring Company, National Arts Centre Ottawa, National Ballet of Canada, New York City Ballet, Order of Canada, Performing Arts Lodge.C.B.C., Peter Schenkman, Stratford Shakespeare Festival, Tyron Guthrie