Alexander Zemlinsky (1871-1942)
Symphony in B flat major (1897)
Prelude to Es war einmal… (Original version, 1899)
Sinfonietta, Op 23 (1934)
Prelude to Act III of Der König Kandaules (1936) (Orchestrated by Antony Beaumont)
Czech Philharmonic Orchestra / Antony Beaumont
rec. 2001/03, Dvořák Hall of the Rudolfinum, Prague
Presto disc
Chandos CHAN10204 [76]

This disc was originally released by Chandos in 2004; I’m surprised to find that it doesn’t seem that we reviewed it then but its reappearance under licence to Presto Classical presents the opportunity to do so. It appears that most of the material on the disc had previously been released by Nimbus (NI 5682); the Der König Kandaules prelude was not part of that Nimbus release. This Chandos disc is one of a trio of Zemlinsky albums which Antony Beaumont recorded with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra in the early years of the new millennium. In 2002 they set down the Lyric Symphony (review) and in the following year they recorded Die Seejungfrau and the early D minor symphony, composed in 1892-93 (review). 

Antony Beaumont’s programme for this present disc is cleverly designed because the two major works, the B flat symphony and the much later Sinfonietta, are such different creations: in his booklet essay, Beaumont likens them to “a sunrise and a sunset”. The symphony was Zemlinsky’s third essay in the genre. Beaumont tells us that an E minor symphony was composed in early 1891 but only a few fragments of the manuscript survive. His next symphony was the one in D minor, mentioned above, and then came the B flat symphony. I was interested to learn that at some point in the 1960s Zemlinsky’s widow, Louise stipulated that these early symphonies should never be referred to as, for example, ‘Symphony No 1’ but only by reference to their respective home keys. 

The symphony is a fully scored, richly romantic work in four movements. Though the description ‘fully scored’ is appropriate, the sound is never overblown. To a large extent I’m sure that’s due to the insightful decision that Antony Beaumont took regarding orchestral forces. As he explains in the booklet, he used a slightly reduced string choir of 12/10/8/6/4 – the violins were divided left and right – and he had no wind or brass doublings. (By contrast, he says, when he had recorded the much more opulent Die Seejungfrau he had one additional desk in each string section in order to balance the substantial wind and brass forces.) As a result, I found the orchestral sound was consistently clear during the symphony. I have to admit that I’m not over-familiar with the symphony; I’ve heard it before in Riccardo Chailly’s 1987 Decca recording (421 644-2) However, it’s been a long time since I listened to that disc and I purposely avoided doing so before hearing Beaumont’s version; I wanted to come fresh to the symphony.

The first of the four movements has an extensive and very interesting Sostenuto introduction in which important thematic material is unveiled. When the main Allegro arrives (2:54) the music really bursts forth with bounding energy – the subsidiary marking is schnell, mit Feuer und Kraft. Zemlinsky’s idiom sounds somewhat conservative but Beaumont’s analytical note points out how much innovative compositional skill lies behind what we are hearing. He and the Czech PO give a super, committed account of the movement. There’s a case to be made that at 14:29 (Chailly’s timing is very similar) the movement is a little too long, but I found it invigorating. A lively and unpredictable Scherzando movement follows; this is most engaging. At the heart of the symphony lies the Adagio. Actually, Beaumont takes the movement at quite a flowing speed; so, in his hands this is not too slow for an adagio – interestingly, Chailly takes about a minute less to play the movement, but I thought that Beaumont’s way of unfolding the music was completely convincing. Initially, the music is warm, but at 3:25 Zemlinsky introduces a darker mood; there is rather more bite and drama. Eventually (7:35), the warmth of the opening is reasserted and the movement ends in tranquillity. The finale takes the form of a set of variations on a cantus firmus; Beaumont points to the influence of the comparable movement in Brahms’ Fourth symphony. The subject is quite concise and so are the variations that Zemlinsky develops from it; not only that, his variations are inventive. There’s a lovely, quiet passage (from 5:08) in which the strings’ material is decorated by a series of beautiful commentaries by solo horn and various solo woodwind instruments. That leads straight into a passage (7:25 – 8:43) in which, led off by the double basses, the strings play a five-part fugato; this has a slow, pronounced tread. Eventually, Zemlinsky leads back to a big, proud conclusion in which he brings back material heard at the start of the symphony.

This score was Zemlinsky’s entry for the 1898 Beethoven Prize; I learned from the notes that this competition had been inaugurated and partly financed by Brahms. The work was declared the joint winner but, oddly, Beaumont tells us that it seems Zemlinsky made no further attempt to promote the work once it had been premiered, jointly with the other winning score, by the Vienna Philharmonic in May 1898. I must say I was very pleased to hear it again, especially in such a fine and committed performance as this one.

I mentioned Antony Beaumont’s comparison between the symphony and the 1934 Sinfonietta in which he likened them to “a sunrise and a sunset”. The later work is radically different. For one thing, the diminutive title is entirely justified; in this performance the work plays for 18:37 compared with the symphony’s duration of 45:45. Not only is the work much shorter but, by comparison with the symphony, the language, harmonic expression and arguments are all much more terse. Of course, the difference must surely be explained in part by the very difficult times which Germany was undergoing in the early 1930s and especially after the Nazis took power in 1933. In addition, though, Antony Beaumont draws attention to a musical crisis that Zemlinsky underwent in the 1920s.

The Sinfonietta is cast in three movements. I can’t better Beaumont’s assertion that the outer movements “are at once a celebration of life and a dance of death”. The first movement carries the principal marking Sehr lebhaft (Very lively). It seems to me that Beaumont obeys that injunction to the letter; the music is full of energy, the rhythms are snappy and everything is lean and pointed. By comparison with the symphony this is, for the most part, astringent music, though once or twice the pace slackens off – beneficially so – for short, lyrical episodes. The slow movement (Ballade) has the character of a dead march, though the music seems to me to be more uncertain than, say, a Mahler funeral march. Zemlinsky builds his march to a big, though brief, climax after which the music relapses back into the quiet uncertainty with which it began. Zemlinsky concludes with a Rondo, which again is marked Sehr lebhaft. The character of the music is perky, pithy and extrovert; the Czech PO dash it off with panache. If I’m honest, the Sinfonietta is a work which I respect rather than love. I admire greatly, though, the skill of the present performance.

In between the two main works Antony Beaumont gives us the opportunity to hear the Prelude to Zemlinsky’s opera Es war einmal…(Once upon a time). He began work on this score in 1897, hot on the heels of completing the B-flat symphony. However, the Prelude was written near the end, in March 1899. The opera’s well-received premiere was given at the Vienna Hofoper in January 1900, conducted by Mahler, no less. However, the presence of so dominant a figure as Mahler on the rostrum may have been a mixed blessing, at least as far as the Prelude was concerned. Antony Beaumont relates that Mahler felt that for dramatic reasons the stormy centre of the Prelude – thirty bars out of a total of 86 – should be cut. So it was, but for this recording Beaumont has rightly reinstated the cut material, which runs, I think, from 1:53 to around 3:20. I can see why Mahler might have made that cut because the outer sections that survived his scissors do have a certain dreamy feel of ‘once upon a time’. However, for concert purposes – and probably also if the opera is heard in full – it’s far more satisfactory to hear the contrasting turbulent middle episode.

Added on by Chandos from the original Nimbus sessions is another short work. This is the Prelude to Act III of Zemlinsky’s eighth opera, Der König Kandaules, which he completed in short score in 1936. Antony Beaumont relates in the booklet the circumstances which conspired against Zemlinsky’s hopes of a first performance in New York in 1939. Shortly before that, the composer had revised and orchestrated much of the first Act. However, deprived of a premiere, it seems he set the work aside and it was not until 1996 that the opera was first performed, in Hamburg. That premiere used a reconstructed and orchestrated version of the score commissioned from Antony Beaumont.  The short Prelude to Act III, which plays for 5:30, bridges the action which has just unfolded in Act II and sets the scene for what is to come. It’s a very intense, dramatic and compressed piece of writing. Beaumont’s work on the music seems entirely authentic to me.     

This is a very successful disc which presents a variety of music in excellent performances. The Czech Philharmonic plays superbly and Antony Beaumont is affine and authoritative guide to the music. He also contributes a scholarly but readable set of notes.

The sound is very good. There’s plenty of detail and the acoustic of the Dvořák Hall of the Rudolfinum adds a pleasing but not excessive resonance.

It’s welcome news that this disc is now added to Presto Classical’s on-demand CD catalogue. Zemlinsky fans who missed this album first time round should not hesitate.   

John Quinn

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