Willem Mengelberg (conductor)
The Concertgebouw Telefunken Recordings, Vol. 5 
rec. 1941-2, Grote Zaal, Concertgebouw, Amsterdam, The Netherlands 
Pristine Audio PASC751 [2 CDs: 145]

I am delighted to find myself reviewing Vol. 5 of Pristine’s issue of all Mengelberg’s Concertgebouw Telefunken recordings so soon after Vol. 4 (review). I think this is the penultimate volume; still to come are the 1942 recordings of Schubert’s 8^th and 9^th symphonies and a few shorter pieces, but Pristine have already discovered alternative recordings of quite major pieces about which I knew nothing, so perhaps they have further surprises up their sleeve.

This set contains two such alternative recordings, one of which has been known about for a long time, but the other was entirely new to me. The one previously-known is the first item on this set, Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique. Despite the great freedom of his approach to music (at least by today’s metronomic standards), paradoxically Mengelberg was not a spur-of-the-moment performer, as Furtwängler could be.  Having decided on his interpretation, he stuck to it pretty consistently.  This being so, having reviewed the previous versions of this and the Beethoven’s 5^th, I will refer the reader to them rather than just repeat myself. Fortunately both appear on Vol. 1 (review). A simple look at the timings of each movement will show how consistent Mengelberg was – apart from one movement (which I will come to shortly), the greatest discrepancy between seven of the eight movements in the two symphonies is twenty-three seconds, and many are single digit differences. The exception I mentioned was the Finale of the Pathétique. I don’t know whether there is actually any documentary evidence for it, but the general belief has always been that Mengelberg was unhappy with the tempo of the last movement of his 1937 recording, and convinced Telefunken to allow him to re-record the piece four years later. Certainly the Finale in 1937 lasted 8.40 and in 1941 was 9.36, which is an appreciable difference, though hardly one providing a totally different experience. Further evidence that this amount of difference could not really have satisfied the conductor comes from his live performance with the Paris Radio orchestra in January 1944 which was issued by Malibran about fifteen years ago (CDRG 189). This remarkable performance shows us clearly how Mengelberg wanted the Finale to go, lasting just over twelve minutes. It is full of a passion and extreme emotional response which the two commercial sets don’t even approach. I do hope that Andrew Rose will consider working his magic on both of the Paris concerts which Malibran issued (there are two double-CD sets, each containing a complete concert, one with Paul Tortelier as soloist and the other with Alfred Cortot). The basic sound quality is remarkably good, but the dynamic range is severely restricted and there are a couple of problems with repeated grooves on the acetates which I am sure he could do wonders with. The Malibran set of this concert no longer seems to be available, but the Pathétique can be found on YouTube. It’s well worth listening to, but one can’t help wondering what a live Concertgebouw performance would have been like if he was able to get such quality from a French radio orchestra.

It is even less obvious why Telefunken decided to re-record Beethoven’s 5^th. The performance is almost identical to the earlier one, and it may be that the decision was purely for technical reasons. Many of the earliest Mengelberg Telefunkens had a pronounced mains hum (which has been removed in Mark Obert-Thorn’s transfers), and this seems the most likely reason, though quite why it should have been considered a priority in 1941/2 is difficult to fathom. In fact, the new set was never issued on 78, and only saw the light of day as an LP transfer on American Capitol in the early 1950s which was claimed to be the 1937 recording, as were all re-issues of it until the 1990s. The fact that no-one recognised that the two performances were different for forty years, even though the recorded sound is markedly different, is evidence of the conductor’s consistency. The sound of the orchestra in 1937 is much more massive but more distant than in 1942, which has much closer microphone placing, paradoxically giving a smaller-sounding picture.  It is the difference between a centre seat in the first few rows and a seat half way down the hall. Ironically, the technical reason for the re-recording is rather negated by the fact that the only available source is the LP transfer (a flood in the Telefunken factory during the 1950s destroyed most of their matrices). I have a number of Capitol’s Mengelberg dubbings on 78, and they are remarkably good for their period, but are nevertheless inferior to direct pressings, and the sound has a rather crumbly quality as a result.

The second item on the first CD is Strauss’s Tod und Verklärung, which I reviewed recently in a transfer by the Dutch Mengelberg Society (review). Again, I see little purpose in simply repeating myself, so I will comment entirely on the qualities of the two transfers. In the review indicated above, I wrote of the Dutch re-issue, “Tod und Verklärung is an excellent transfer. This recording is on the latest volume of Pristine’s Mengelberg Telefunken series, and I hope to be able to compare the two when that arrives – I expect there to be little in it.” I was correct to a large extent, but there are distinct differences between the two. The Pristine starts with an unexpected amount of surface noise, which is absent from the DMS issue, though this soon dies away and is never a problem over the performance as a whole. The sound of the DMS issue is much more processed, which results in a slightly “bottled up” quality. This is especially noticeable with the timpani, which have a distinctly tubby, boomy quality. Pristine’s sound is more spacious, but on the other hand there is a considerable amount of fizz on high frequencies, especially violins, which is largely ameliorated by DMS. There is no simple answer to which is best (I know several collectors who are positively allergic to anything they see as over-processed sound). If I had to choose one, to my surprise, it would be DMS; I find the sound more comfortable on the whole, and the lack of violin fizz a real advantage.

The two compositions which I have yet to consider are both on the second CD. It is remarkable that Mengelberg recorded Borodin’s In the Steppes of Central Asia only six weeks before the Nazis began Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of the Soviet Union which put all Russian music into the “enemy” camp. It does, however, explain why the original 78 is extremely rare – it can’t have had a catalogue life of more than a few months. It is a fine performance, but perhaps lacks that “echt” Russian atmosphere that a Mravinsky or a Golovanov would have brought. Again, the sound is a little crumbly in the higher frequencies, but not disturbingly so.

The Dvořák “New World” was a performance I didn’t really know, but I am bowled over by it. The introduction to the first movement is beautifully moulded with slight but sensitive rubato, and the horns and woodwind have real presence, but at the first imperious fortissimo string command it becomes absolutely clear that this is going to be a performance of deep seriousness and drama. There’s going to be no “Hovis advert” cosiness here! As with Mengelberg’s Franck Symphony which I reviewed in Vol. 4 (review) to my ears there is a sense of disquiet, even anguish, in this performance. There is little bucolic “feel good”, and the music’s constant minor tonality (it is a symphony in E minor, remember) gets a particular emphasis (e.g. at 4.30 into the first movement). The brass especially are regularly given a positively military urgency (this is a symphony full of brass fanfares). 

At the start of the 2^nd movement the deep, bottom-heavy sonority and articulation of the brass seem like an ominous warning rather than a sad introduction to a sweetly nostalgic evocation. The cor anglais solo, too, has a subdued, dark melancholy, giving it a gravity which it does not usually possess, and the sudden brass chord at 3.03 is a brutal interruption. The accelerando before the recapitulation of the theme (3.45) seems to have a sense of panic. The section beginning at 5.30 emphasises that disquiet, almost dread, and this is further intensified when the violins take it up at 6.40 with a momentum that is truly disturbing. There is some relief in the folk dance at 8.50, but even that is soon interrupted by strident brass fanfares. The strange breaks in the tune from 10.30 make far more sense than usual in this emotional landscape. These can sound as though the players have momentarily lost their places, but here the effect is of an emotional breakdown in the line, as though they simply cannot go on for a moment. The dark, uncompromising grandeur of the repetition of the brass parts from the introduction underlines the emotional effect.

The third movement is slower and heavier than usual, with the central section sounding more exhausted than restful, with the emphasis on the jabbing accompaniment. Only at 4.30 is there some respite and even some simple enjoyment. In the fourth movement’s first iteration of the main theme, Mengelberg makes the jabbing chords in the accompaniment positively brutal, giving a sense of anger, and the continuation, which is usually given a tripping sense of jollity, has none of these qualities here. This movement is full of military brass fanfares. The final peroration is at first positively terrified, but then dips into numbed inaction, but the rushing upward arpeggios in the strings at 9.29 seem like a race into the abyss, the final chord fading towards nothingness. I had never really understood this final chord before, but Mengelberg has made sense of it. A truly remarkable performance. It’s well-know that Furtwängler’s war-time performances have a heightened emotional volatility which reflects the political situation, but I have never heard anyone suggest that the same thing happened with Mengelberg. The obvious reason for this is that Mengelberg collaborated with the Nazi invaders, but perhaps this “New World” and the Franck symphony suggest that his reaction to the events of the time was distinctly more ambivalent than has been thought.

Mark Obert-Thorns transfers are as fine as always, though I can’t help wondering if the amelioration of the high frequency fizz which the DMS achieved in their Tod und Verklärung couldn’t be possible in his tranfers, too. I look forward very much to the concluding volume of this excellent series.

Paul Steinson

Contents
Tchaikovsky – Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 74 “Pathétique” rec. 22 April 1941 
Strauss – Tod und Verklärung rec. 14 April 19
Dvořák – Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 “From the New World” rec. 23-24 April 1941
Borodin – In the Steppes of Central Asia rec. 25 April 1941
Beethoven – Symphony No. 5 in C minor, Op. 67 – rec. 15 April 1942

Producer and Audio Restoration Engineer: Mark Obert-Thorn