Beethoven: Symphony No.7 / Brahms: Symphony No.3

As neither of these symphonies figured in Klaus Tennstedt’s commercial discography, this BBC production is particularly valuable, even more so as his work in the recording studio, with a few exceptions, rarely reached the heights he could achieve on stage before the public. Tennstedt’s greatest performances had a vital rhythmic pulse, a sense of forward momentum and a compelling intensity that linger in the memory to this day. There was also a nervous energy which, coupled with his intensity, could often leave orchestras exhausted. Tennstedt asked as much from his orchestras in rehearsal as in concert, not in a quest for note perfection, but in his constant search for even greater expression. Like all the great conductors, Tennstedt had a unique and recognizable timbre characterized by a warm palette with prominent woodwind color and very full bass. Details of scoring were always clear without ever obscuring the big picture. His technique has been called less than perfect: one also remembers concerts where his music-making rose above the occasional mad scramble for notes or simply shoddy playing. Tennstedt’s repertoire was focused on the great masterpieces of the traditional canon. I recall speaking with him in New York about a particular work that I thought he could illuminate like no one else. His response, in that raspy voice racked by what turned out to be throat cancer, was typical and profound: “I must continue to do Bruckner and Mahler till I get them right.” Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony was regularly played by Tennstedt, including performances in the United States—in Boston and New York. This particularly fine recording stems from a performance with the London Philharmonic, an orchestra where he served as music director, at the Royal Festival Hall in 1989. There is an affirmative joy that suffuses the entire work: one remembers the whole rather than individual movements. In part, this is because of the organic relationship the conductor finds between the four movement’s tempos. Still, there are unique and memorable moments: in the Allegretto, when the strings add their lyrical melody alongside the primary theme which continues in the brass, the strings remain subordinate in dynamic to the first theme. Tennstedt has the brass make a dramatic diminuendo towards the end of the section, with the strings emerging briefly ascendant till the appearance of the new theme in the winds. In the opening movement, Tennstedt’s poco sostenuto is precisely that: it is unconstrained by time. Each entering voice—flute, horn, and clarinet—is projected with unhurried clarity against glowing strings. Tennstedt’s control of tension and release in the introduction moves naturally into the joyous vivace. The German conductor creates a bucolic mood in this peasant dance, at least at the outset, connecting it to the world of the “Pastoral” Symphony. The Presto movement is played with high spirits and panache; the final Allegro con brio is urgent and rhythmically vital with plenty of drama and excitement. The BBC’s stereo sound is excellent. Brahms’s F-Major Symphony was less frequently heard at Tennstedt’s concerts than the Beethoven Seventh. This recording, taken from an April 1983 concert at the Royal Festival Hall, is especially strong in the middle movements. Brahms’s opening Allegro con brio never settles in, though one admires the yearning strings in the second theme. The third theme, introduced by the clarinet, is a tad stiff, while the development of this theme never gels. One might be generous and suggest that the turbulence is an interpretive choice, but the occasionally ragged string-playing indicates that orchestra and conductor were not entirely attuned to each other. That happily comes right in the second movement. Its tone is established by the rich string answer to the clarinet’s statement of the movement’s principal theme. The coda of this movement hovers, in Tennstedt’s hand, like a particularly radiant vision of the celestial city. The third movement, Poco allegretto, has a Viennese feel. The string playing is superb and well balanced with an equality of voices reminiscent of a fine chamber orchestra or enlarged string quartet. Tennstedt shapes the movement’s second theme with great care and character as he does the transition to the recapitulation of the opening theme (in the horn). The final movement has a few anxious moments of dodgy playing but nothing to deter from the joy of the performance. The sound in the Brahms is not as good as the Beethoven, but this is quickly forgotten. This is not the place for a general discussion of either work, but I cannot finish without mentioning a few favorites. In the Beethoven, Klemperer’s early Philharmonia account retains its classic status for me and despite my admiration for Carlos Kleiber, his well-regarded DGG account can sound frenetic. For Brahms, Walter’s stereo version still speaks legions to me about this work, as does Barbirolli’s uniquely expansive recording with the Vienna Philharmonic. Among contemporary conductors, I highly esteem Claudio Abbado’s Berlin recording. Suffice to say that admirers of Klaus Tennstedt or anyone curious about his art should find a place in their libraries for this disc. FANFARE: Michael Fine