Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
The Complete Symphonies
Camilla Tilling (soprano); Kelley O’Connor (mezzo-soprano); Issachah Savage (tenor); Ryan McKinny (bass-baritone)
The Washington Chorus
National Symphony Orchestra/Gianandrea Noseda
rec. live composite, 2022-23, John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Washington D.C.
German text & English translation of Friedrich Schiller’s An die Freude provided
National Symphony Orchestra NSO0013 SACD/BDA [338]

This box set contains all nine symphonies on five hybrid SACDs and also on two Pure Audio Blu-ray discs, the second of which also includes a video of a performance of the Ninth from 3 June 2023, all presented in a colourful box with notes and biographies etc. in English and Spanish, colour photographs and abstract illustrations of each symphony by artist Mo Willems (which as far as I am concerned add absolutely nothing to my appreciation of the aural experience on offer).

Superficially attractive, yes – but sorry; I have to ask that most clichéd of questions: do we “need” another box of Beethoven symphonies? Invariably one qualifies the response with the observation that those who attended the concerts might want a souvenir of the occasion and enjoy revisiting the experience, especially as the last disc offers a Blu-ray video of the last of the three performances of the ‘Choral’ from which the recording has been assembled; there is also a tiny, dedicated band of collectors who will obsessively purchase new recordings of core repertoire but the average Beethoven devotee will already have more than one set on the shelves or the hard drive. Even discounting pre-stereo recordings, there must literally be hundreds to choose from. Out of favour in some quarters, especially since the advent of “period practice”, but still probably the most widely owned and forming both a first introduction to the music and a benchmark against which others will inevitably be judged, are the three sets Karajan recorded with the Berlin Philharmonic – but of course he also recorded a set in mono with the Philharmonia in the early 50s; nobody else has been so influential in this repertoire. However, it is half a century since his fourth and final set and attitudes to interpretative choices have moved on.

The most obvious manifestations of so-called “historically informed” or “authentic” concerns centre on tempi, vibrato, scale and phrasing. Smaller bands playing fast, clipping phrases and with a minimum of vibrato have long been in fashion but are still by no means to all tastes and indeed some of the excesses of period fanaticism have in recent been curbed in favour of a more selective and aesthetically fastidious sensibility.

So how does all that apply to Gianandrea Noseda’s treatment of these core works?

As with most modern conductors; he has adopted a compromise between the two false antitheses of  “period” versus “traditional”: his speeds are decidedly zippy but he is using a full-sized orchestra which makes some judicious use of vibrato. Right from the very opening of the First Symphony you can feel him pushing ahead and for me there is always some loss of the massive, imposing dignity of Beethoven’s music when the slow sections are rushed like that; Adagio molto it is not, by any definition – and I don’t care what Beethoven’s metronome markings were. There is always plenty of energy but it is of the hyperactive kind; furthermore pauses are scanted in favour of always maintaining momentum. This was my complaint about the recent release of the first three symphonies by the Australian Chamber Orchestra – technically brilliant but heartlessly perfunctory. Noseda is not as cursory but again, the opening of the second movement is hardly what I recognise as Andante cantabile – it really does not sing; rather, it barks, although admittedly the second half of the instruction is con moto, which opens the door to a swifter treatment – and the opening to the finale is certainly grander before the scurrying Allegro molto e vivace main body of the movement. That instruction could be the motto for this set; in general, the lighter, brighter passages come off best, which is why the Pastoral is probably the most successful symphony here.

So the performance of the First I can at least enjoy, with reservations; the Third, however, simply exasperates me, it is so un-heroic. I see no point in downplaying the symphony’s Romanticism in favour of mere propulsion; I often feel as if I am being hurried through a gallery without being allowed time to stop and admire the pictures. Things like that wonderful series of three downward key changes around fourteen minutes into the first movement  towards its end go for nothing; Noseda does not want me to savour anything; he just jostles me along to the next bit. Similarly, the funeral march is hardly stately or awe-inspiring but unsurprisingly the Scherzo is engagingly lively – although the timpani are too soft and distanced.

Furthermore, it soon becomes apparent that the sound is not ideal; the orchestra sounds quite recessed as if the microphones are set back and there is quite a lot of rustling hall ambience – an odd, papery sound –  which reduces the impact of what are almost invariably energised performances. This also affects the ability of the chorus to make its mark in the Ninth; more of that anon.

Moving on to the second disc, the pattern is set: bustling and business-like; indeed I am reminded of a phrase I coined many years ago to describe John Eliot Gardiner’s approach to most of what he conducts: “Brisk Efficiency”. This suits the Adagio con brio first movement of the Second but Noseda’s “one-size-fits-all” manner lacks variety. The Larghetto is pleasant but the veil over the sound and the lack of warmth in the strings robs it of its Mozartian pathos; this music needs to remind me of the bitter-sweet complexity of the slow passages in Così fan tutte, but it is a little prosaic and four-square, while the Scherzo and finale are distinctly flabby. The mighty Seventh is more of the same: Noseda sets off at a hurried pace, eschewing any suggestion of pause or rallentando, such that it sounds like a run-through. The famous Allegretto has little presence; it is neatly played and that’s about it. The Presto is…very presto, just as you might expect. I find myself asking: does this music actually mean anything to the conductor? The finale is – yes, very fast…sigh…

Next comes the Fourth and Fifth. The “cat-like tread” of the opening of the Fourth is nicely done but again the recorded sound does it no favours. The ensuing Allegro vivace is breathless and the Adagio…isn’t; it’s Andante con moto. The Scherzo/Menuetto scampers like a Labrador puppy and if the finale is really Allegro non troppo, it’s hard to imagine what Noseda would do if he thought he really was ignoring the “non troppo” bit, as it would be physically impossible for his strings to play any faster. My exasperation reaches a new zenith with the opening of the Fifth; it is absurd and the second movement lets up not a jot; so it goes throughout. The fervency of Noseda’s audible grunting is not converted into real excitement; his rhythmic tinkering seems self-conscious. The tripping Sixth, as I remark above, is the most enjoyable performance here – full of sunlight, even if nobody is taking any pause for a spot of sunbathing; we gambol and frolic through the bucolic landscape like hyperactive lambs. The peasants are clearly on a high in their dancing; the third movement is more suggestive of a furiant by Dvořák and the thunderstorm is distinctly hyper-electric.

Let me be frank: by this stage I was tempted to abandon listening to complete movements because the performance die was so evidently immutably cast and I just dipped into the Eighth before listening to the whole of the Ninth – which was not an entirely happy experience. Nor did I watch the video. The Eighth is predictably propulsive; nobody could accuse Noseda of having a “pick ‘n mix” approach because his treatment of the whole cycle is all of a piece. The finale is certainly vivace.

The Ninth begins in determined but hardly hieratic fashion and Noseda presses the tempo to create a sense of urgency; there are never any perceptible pauses between phrases – but I certainly enjoy the elan of the second movement Molto vivace -Presto, in which the bass line and brass harmonies are given a welcome prominence but again the timpani are too remote. Overall, it is no surprise that Noseda is some four or five minutes faster than most classic accounts – which is essentially rather too fast for comfort. This is especially apparent in the rather harried and soulless Adagio; indeed, from then on the performance just does not take off. The opening fanfare of the finale is lacklustre and under-powered and the fuzzy recorded sound does not help. The entry of the soloists is always a crucial; they are a mixed quartet: Ryan McKinny has a meaty, powerful bass but his vibrato is obtrusive and his tone often “fruffly”. Camilla Tilling’s soprano tends to pulse and yelp and her top is tentative. I like Issachah Savage’s clean, resonant tenor; the tessitura of the marching song holds no terrors for him. The mezzo-soprano’s contribution is neither here nor there but she is fine. The chorus is enthusiastic and sustains the long, held, top notes admirably but as noted above, recorded quite remotely, like the timpani, so their words are occluded in a wash of sound. The final bars are quite rousing but this is in no sense anything special.

Will I listen to this cycle again? No. Do I think it adds to the lustre of the Beethoven discography? Not really. Even the sound is somewhat disappointing and the unremitting haste emerges as more of a persistent mannerism than an enlightening interpretative decision.

Ralph Moore

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