Sir Edward Elgar (1857-1934)
Symphony No 1 in A-flat
Symphony No 2 in E-flat
Hallé/Sir Mark Elder
rec. live, 30 September 2021 (Symphony No 1) & 23-25 October 2018 (Symphony No 2), Bridgewater Hall, Manchester, UK
Hallé CDHLD7564 [2 CDs: 114]

My colleague John Quinn has already comprehensively reviewed this double CD issue on the Hallé label and I refer to that review both for some background to the conductor’s tenure of twenty-four years as Music Director of that orchestra and a detailed comparison between his early recordings with them of these two symphonies and these more recent, live performances.

As I do not want to duplicate redundantly JQ’s findings, I instead aim here to complement his review by concentrating instead upon a comparison between Elder’s accounts and those by Barbirolli (with both the Hallé and the Philharmonia in the First), Boult (Lyrita, 1968) and Sinopoli, as together that group of five represents a wide spread in terms of timings and emotional approaches and in effect demands a mini-survey of those major recordings. (You will note that it is obligatory to be knighted to conduct Elgar; I could have added Sirs Colin and Andrew Davis and Charles Mackerras.)

The following two tables tell part of the story:

Symphony No. 1:

(Those quicker speeds from Boult and Solti are matched by the recent release on Oehms from Alexander Soddy, which I much enjoy and recommend – review).

Symphony No. 2:

The pattern is clear: Boult and Solti tend to be brisk and unsentimental, Sinopoli the most extended and indulgent, with Elder surprisingly positioned somewhere between Sinopoli’s extreme and Barbirolli, who is often cited as the ideal interpreter. Greater spaciousness of course permits more attention to detail as opposed to flow and momentum and, as ever, personal taste then becomes the determining factor. Thus you might agree with my colleague Marc Bridle in his assessment of Sinopoli in 2021 that “Giuseppe Sinopoli’s Philharmonia Orchestra recordings were peppered with unusual and fascinating detail but these were largely hampered by wilful mishandling of tempo”, while William Hedley in 2010 remarked upon his “fascinating and typically idiosyncratic performances”. On the other hand, some reviewers criticise Barbirolli for performing Elgar in “the old-fashioned way that prevailed in the 1930s and 1940s – slow, slushy and totally self-indulgent, wallowing and luxuriating in the sound rather than realising that there is an undercurrent to the work that must be obeyed, and thus holding the symphony back rather than allowing it to flow along at its rightful pace. The other, more modern way as practised by Solti for example, is to take the work at a more fitting pace, crisper and more precise, thus enabling the work to speak for itself rather than trying to draw out every nuance” (Em Marshall on MusicWeb in 2004). Rob Barnett observed of Barbirolli’s manner in the First Symphony with the Philharmonia that “Everything is played con amore to the hilt” and that “It has a weightiness and a somnolence that for me only partly hits the spot. For all its luxurious and lucid recording perspectives, it suffers from an accidie of the symphonic musculature. It will please you in the correct mood and the nobilmente element is present but I wanted more surge and tramping urgency.” If you share his response, you might favour Boult’s more dispassionate detachment and gravitas as opposed to overt emotionalism. I urge readers to turn to both Rob Barnett’s review and Stephen Hall’s review of Boult’s 1968 recordings of the symphonies on the Lyrita label, which are preferable to those he made later in the mid-1970s for EMI, when he was well into his eighties and to which RB refers to as “sumptuous but oddly underpowered recordings”.

My approach to these comparisons was first to play through the new release of Elder’s recordings then revisit the others in turn, in chronological order.

Obviously a great advantage of the new Hallé issue is the rich, digital sound but the 1956 stereo recording of the First Symphony made by Pye in the Free Trade Hall, Manchester, remastered and issued by Dutton (review), is remarkably good, even if the strings are a tad wiry – and you could not get a more nobilmente played opening, nor do I miss any surge of excitement in the transition to Allegro of the kind RB noted in his recording on EMI; indeed, the Hallé sound remarkably released and even pleasingly wild, egged on by Glorious John’s grunts. I am swept along; this is viscerally exciting playing and the brass are terrific. There is always time, however, to linger over the broad arcing phrases without stalling and the coda is tender, then the masterly reprise of the opening theme wistful. The Scherzo is similarly frantic yet always precise, the scampering strings and crashing timpani generating real thrills before the tripping woodwind Trio; the whole movement skips by in a searing flash – and you will note from the table above that the Allegro molto scherzi in all five performances are essentially identical in speed, as Elgar’s writing seems to dictate its own pace. The transition into the Adagio is seamless but Barbirolli’s way with it could at first seems a little dry-eyed to those who require a more Romantic affect; however, that is because he is keeping his powder dry for the launch of the Big Tune at 3:05 and from then he caresses every phrase, allowing the music to expand. As such, he lies somewhere between Sinopoli’s daring protraction and Boult’s restraint and the conclusion is as tender and poignant as one could wish. The finale begins slowly, ominously, before voices of hope and consolation slide in; while listening to this, the discrepancy between the absurd assertion by a certain critic that the Hallé was a provincial band and the accuracy of intonation and ensemble I hear becomes glaringly apparent. The explosive central passage – all thundering timpani, crowing brass and screaming woodwind – is riotous yet disciplined under Barbirolli and little touches such as another return to the opening theme are deftly negotiated before the builds to a tremendous climax. I can see why this remains a perennial favourite recording, especially as the 50s stereo sound is no barrier.

Barbirolli’s EMI recording is better known for marketing reasons but somehow, good as it is, it does not have the magic of the earlier version. The opening, for example is a smidgin slower and flirts with plodding; nonetheless it is mighty grand and the Philharmonia has a more voluptuous sound than the leaner Hallé. Otherwise, everything seems much the same as before but just a little…slack, perhaps, compared with the Manchester version, which has greater thrust and elan, yet is also tenderer in the slow movement, lovely though the later recording is – and of course, the Philharmonia had such virtuosic instrumental soloists in that era.

Boult is typically patrician, objective and refined – but never cold or perfunctory. His speeds are closer to Elgar’s own as marked and conducted – not that anyone should be bound by either, sensible composers often recognising that their own thoughts and certainly their own conducting can be improved upon by a master of the craft of directing orchestras. The 1968 Lyrita recordings are surely superior to any versions he recorded before or after – as RB remarks, “tauter and crisper” than the later recordings – although their reception was soured by Boult writing an open letter to Gramophone complaining that the recording producer had insisted upon his violins all being placed conventionally left instead of divided as he wished.

One tends to deal in clichés when assessing Boult’s work: “Patrician elegance…English reserve concealing hidden depths…spare economy of expression…” yes, but I have to say that I really enjoy the spring and energy of his way with the music and I agree that the Lyrita twofer captures him at his best. We are back to questions of taste and I find it interesting that the most recent recording I have heard from Alexander Soddy with a fine German orchestra, referred to above, is Boult’s closest cousin. Even Elgar devotees who embrace what a “learned friend” calls “lush, swampy, Romantic Elgar, drenched in rubato and emotion” should hear Boult’s take on the music because it is compellingly taut and driven. Furthermore, there is a bell-like clarity to the LPO under his direction; his care to ensure that every line – the harp, for example – emerges cleanly is admirable and he has a knack of suddenly slowing down to create a “still point” which is most engaging. His Allegro is the fastest of all; he might have been nearing eighty at the time of this recoding but there is nothing “autumnal” about his direction and the movement flashes by. The transition into the slow movement is magical and somehow, despite shaving two, three and even four minutes off the timing in comparison compared with other versions, Boult invest invests this music with immense gravitas and the melody really sings. I did not expect to be so taken by Boult’s way with this music – but I am hooked; something about his phrasing is so compelling. The muted expectation of the introduction to the finale instantly engages the listener. I would nonetheless like to hear rather more spaciousness in the unfolding of the rest of the movement; in this regard it is very like Solti: propulsive and animated, culminating in a scintillating conclusion.

Boult’s Second Symphony is similarly swift and direct. It is here where I most miss Barbirolli’s more overtly emotional engagement but Boult instead first provides sheer drive – but there is no lack of fantasy in the central passage, even if ultimately I still prefer a more leisurely pace. However, his timing for the Larghetto is in fact more or less on a par with Barbirolli’s and he shares his open-hearted honesty; timpani strokes are thwacked, climaxes such as that at 11:18 in that slow movement are driven home and the ending is effortlessly beautiful with its prominent harp glissandi. The Rondo charges ahead like the hunt in full cry, the way Boult first pulls back at five minutes before unleashing the brass in the “thundering hooves” passage is smartly contrived, and the end is riveting. The opening to the finale is nervously flighty and restless as if unable to settle until Boult finally gives the horns their head at 8:15 and the triumphant melody asserts itself; from then on it is a March Imperial to a glorious apotheosis and a sunset glow in the coda. As with virtually every conductor here, his stance is all of a piece, aesthetically consistent and coherent throughout; all the listener has to do is fix upon the style which for him or her best serves the music. I should add that Lyrita’s sound is impeccable; the best of 60s stereo analogue, rich, deep and devoid of hiss.

There is nothing hasty about Solti’s carefully paced opening to the First Symphony and the LPO makes a majestic noise – but maybe this Decca recording is just a little bass-heavy? The timpani and double bass are certainly very forward in the sound picture. Then Solti typically revs up to accentuate the contrast, but the playing is very lithe and sweet – so perhaps we may say that he is only flirting with undue haste rather than actually engaging in it. The reprise of the solemn opening march is, however, again very deliberate so I can imagine that some listeners will find this all a bit “push-me pull-you” rather than diverting. I very rarely join in the default-position chorus of Solti’s critics of calling him “vulgar” but I do think other conductors play a subtler game. It confers a fleeting, fragmentary feeling upon music which needs to hang together. On the other hand, many slower conductors are excoriated for ignoring the example of Elgar’s tempo markings in the score and his own conducting; Boult’s swifter speeds can claim the authority of his being a friend of and contemporary with Elgar and a champion of his works, and modern conductors such as Soddy discussed above have reverted to a certain celerity. I refer you to John Quinn’s and Rob Barnett’s reviews as the former expresses some reservations about Solti’s manner, citing a certain “excitability, impetuousness and volatility”, while the latter writes of Solti’s “headlong and headstrong Second Symphony” describing it as “a hussar-charge gallop” and in fact expressing a preference for it over any other account, whereas JQ is less enamoured of its precipitate velocity. I suggest you sample them for yourself (via YouTube if you do not have the recording) and see how you respond.

Back to Solti’s First: the Allegro molto is brilliantly played; no problem there – and the Trio provides breathing space. The timing of the Adagio is the same as Barbirolli’s two recordings above and Solti moulds the phrasing carefully and affectionately such that there is no lack of poignancy and the LPO’s quiet playing of the ending is heavenly. The finale is driven and turns into a wild ride just on the edge – but still the right side – of hysteria, and the final two minutes are gripping.

I am in two minds about Solti’s Second Symphony – a dichotomy which JQ’s and RB’s reviews neatly delineate; again, I refer you to their respective descriptions and reactions and urge you to come to your own conclusions. Fortunately, we may always default to Barbirolli’s reference recording with the Philharmonia – unless you fall into the camp which follows Solti’s and the composer’s examples and finds Barbirolli too slow. There is certainly a consistency and coherence about Solti’s approach – although perhaps the latter choice of adjective fails to acknowledge precisely the danger his precipitateness entails: that of becoming incoherent or gabbled. I mean no disparagement of Solti’s style when I say that at the end of his first movement I feel as though I have been to the circus – all that flash-bang-wallop is exhilarating. By contrast, the Larghetto is spacious and lyrical – considerably more so than Barbirolli or Boult, and similar to Elder – and as richly embroidered as any other version. That movement is enough to secure anyone’s loyalty to this recording. The circus is back in town for the Rondo, even if the clown is Pennywise; this is a rendering shot through with demonic energy. The finale is the most frenetic yet – and here, yes, I do sometimes feel that Solti is pushing both his crack orchestra and the music beyond reasonable limits, exciting though it is. In the end, I would not nominate this as the prime choice when Barbirolli is in the field – but nor would I wish to be without it.

We now move from one extreme to the other. I am a Sinopoli devotee and am tickled by the idea of his leading a very English orchestra with a strong tradition of performing Elgar only to deliver supposedly iconoclastic accounts. His love for the music certainly comes though and all his gestures are grandiose; no one could accuse him of being boring. He doesn’t tinker or fiddle with the music in the manner of some supposedly eminent conductors I could name; what he does is grand and sincere, and what lovely sounds he secures from his band. In fact, it is only in the Adagio of the First Symphony that we see a departure from a conventional timing; he adds a couple of minutes to the norm – and is four minutes slower than Boult, who is decidedly brisk. I have always thought that there Strauss and Elgar have points of overlapping in their music, especially in the stylistic consonance of pieces like Aus Italien and Alessio, and Sinopoli brings a Straussian exuberance to climaxes, with whooping horns and soaring strings. I thoroughly enjoy the exuberance of his manner but am also seduced by the languoressness of his slow movement – it’s a glorious wallow and the conclusion to the Adagio is transcendent. The finale is marked by the clarity of the lines and Sinopoli’s usual attention to dynamic gradations over long phrases and there is nothing exceptionable or objectionable about its unfolding; It moves skilfully and inexorably towards its rousing, ebullient finish. I am confirmed in my attachment to this recording by the same aforementioned critic slamming this as a “CD From Hell: Sinopoli’s Tired, Decadent Elgar Symphonies”, then, with tiresome predictability, plumping for Slatkin’s mediocre efforts; I could not wish for a better recommendation, given his perversity and complete lack of informed taste.

Mark Elder’s account is in fact very similar to Sinopoli’s in timings, except that he does take quite so long over the Adagio – a minute less, in fact. The first thing that strikes the listener about his recording is the depth and beauty of the digital sound – which of course reflects that of the Hallé itself, as I can attest from hearing them live recently. There is an assured confidence and unanimity about this First Symphony, as if conductor and orchestra are entirely at home with the Elgarian idiom – as indeed their history would indicate. The many changes of tempo are handled with aplomb and the music retains the swaggering quality which eludes Barbirolli in his later, EMI recording – but nor are the more delicate, ephemeral moments neglected, such as the passage beginning around 14:20 or the coda, both with swirling flutes sounding almost like “sea music”. The Scherzo is vehement, with a playful, will-o’-the-wisp Trio at its core, the harps nicely audible, the music segueing elegantly into the Adagio and quickly cranking up the intensity with lots of rubato and a sustained purposefulness – and just when you think no more emotion could be wrung out of this music, half way through Elder further turns up the tension to heart-breaking effect and sustains it through the remainder of the movement to the pianissimo ending, the clarinet floating up a fifth into the ether on a high D – perfect. The muttering opening to the finale contrasts tellingly with that serenity, then the sonorous clarinet recalls that lost calm, the timpani rumble menacingly and the brass issue a warning – the playing of every component of this orchestra is stellar – then the string rush off, hurtling pell-mell towards the first restatement of the slow main theme which is played with enormous dignity before the horns usher in the succession of surging sonic waves to the massive apotheosis saluted with loud cheers and vigorous applause from the otherwise silent audience.

This is a thoroughly coherent, cohesive, engaging account from a conductor and orchestra at the peak of their powers.

The exuberance of the opening of Barbirolli’s Second Symphony is contagious; this is a large-scale work which needs to be seized with both hands and played con gusto – which he does; there is much more verve and audacity about this recording than there is in the First with the Philharmonia; it’s grand and propulsive but also delicate in quiet passages. The Larghetto is the finest of any here, majestic in its sweep with a peroration of startling impact. The Rondo is suffused with nervous energy and in my experience no conductor replicates more vividly than Barbirolli the relentless percussive nightmare of the deranged protagonist in Tennyson’s Maud:

And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat
The hoofs of the horses beat,
Beat into my scalp and my brain.

The finale sustains the momentum; this is surely one of the most consistently thrilling recordings in the catalogue, yet it ends in a tranquil sunset glory worthy of Wagner.

Sinopoli opens the Second Symphony in affectionate, genial manner – but it is actually rather too relaxed to do justice to the inner tension in Elgar’s music and he takes a full five minutes longer over the movement than Solti, to the point that it becomes slack. Five minutes in and it picks up, though, then the central slow section is dreamily mesmerising and the rest is entirely convincing. How beautifully the Philharmonia strings, in particular, play, too. The Larghetto can take his slow tempo; Sinopoli wrings every drop of feeling from the music in operatic, Big Band, Romantic style and it’s a great wallow, without the nuance or refinement of Barbirolli’s account, even though the playing is so sophisticated. Just as you think Sinopoli is pushing limits of tolerance for etiolation the big climax at 15:19 negates any objection and the coda is exquisite. The Rondo is more conventionally paced, rollicking and lyrical by turns – and the Philharmonia and engineers generate a huge sound for the “hoofbeat” interlude. The finale is again five minutes slower than Boult and Solti; it unfolds organically like a flower bud, without affectation and ever revealing new beauties and yet again I am conscious of the sheen on the orchestral sound and the flexible amplitude of Sinopoli’s beat – he clearly loved this music as much as Barbirolli. If it is too slow for your taste – especially if you have been habituated to the manner of those two aforementioned conductors – I quite understand, but I hear no lack of propulsion in its opening, and find its detail and sonority very rewarding.

I left a first audition of Elder’s Second Symphony until last, having enjoyed the versions by his four distinguished predecessors. I would like a little more attack to Elder’s embarking upon the opening and in fact, if I have one adverse-tinged observation of his otherwise skilful treatment of this symphony, I have to say that, like Sinopoli, in general he lingers over the lyrical passages longer than will suit some tastes. JQ makes the same observation in his review but rightly points to the depth and immediacy of the sound which allows us to savour details and sonorities – and he displays plenty of vim and vigour in his reprise of the first theme at eleven minutes, building grandly then subsiding subtly before delivering the final flourish with real panache.

Elder has speeded up somewhat his take on the slow movement since his first recording fifteen years earlier which I think is wise, as it avoids any sense of labouring. He is now just over a minute slower than Barbirolli, similar to Solti but much faster than Sinopoli. The Hallé’s playing is simply glorious here – as fine as, if not better than, any other orchestra. They can do pathos and tenderness, too, and the insistent strumming of the man orchestra under the oboe counter-melody half way through is especially effective. The coda, where dark, muttering forces are overcome by the gentle insistence of the threnody is sublime. The sparkling, mercurial Rondo is executed with great virtuosity and precision, culminating in a splendid explosion. The finale begins with a bluff geniality that I find most appealing, gradually transmuted into a rolling, “maestoso”; Elder achieves majesty but not at the expense of translucency. Despite the comparative leisureliness of his pacing – his is the slowest final here, even slightly slower than Sinopoli – Elder melds the succession of quicksilver ideas into a continuous narrative crowned by a serene conclusion – which, as with the First Symphony, recalls Götterdämmerung in its epic, yet hushed, finality.

My fleeting doubts regarding slower tempi apart, this is a deeply satisfying account – not as electrifying as Barbirolli’s but superbly played and redolent of a commanding understanding of Elgar’s uniquely protean musical idiom.

Ralph Moore

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