The Columbia Beethoven Centennial Symphony Series, Volume 2 (1926) - PASC386

This is the second in a series of reissues of the first electrical recordings of Beethoven’s nine symphonies, originally issued in honor of the centennial of his death. Oddly, while the first four symphonies were recorded by British conductors, the rest of the recordings were by Felix Weingartner. CD reissues have reached a point of such high quality that I think it’s fair to say that most 78s and LPs have never sounded this good, since digital editing even provides the capability of removing or neutralizing faults in the originals. Of course, consumers have better equipment now than the people of 1927 had, so I’m not surprised, given the skill of the practitioners, that old recordings sound so good nowadays. Labels like Bearac, Haydn House, Klassichaus, Music & Arts (which also issues live performances), Naxos Historical, Pristine Audio, and the late, lamented Treasures from the Vault might be compared to craft beers vs. the big national breweries, and really, the big recording companies like EMI, Sony, and Universal have to consider the bottom line and the reality that many customers are not interested in old recordings and performers they may never have even heard of. Arkiv and Australian Eloquence also resuscitate old recordings but seldom reach far into the past. One striking example before I get to the actual subject. Remember Remington Records, one of the original budget labels, which existed from about 1951 to, say, 1956? Ten-inch LPs were originally $1.49 and 12-inchers, $1.99. Unlike some other budget labels, Remington did not deal in “pirate” recordings—they used real people recording under their real names and if conductors like H. Arthur Brown, George Singer, and Kurt Wöss were not exactly household words, there were also the better-known Fritz Busch, Thor Johnson, and Artur Rodzinski. Due to some problem I can’t account for, Rodzinski’s Beethoven First Symphony, his only recording for the label, was issued as being led by “Conductor X” and purchasers were invited to guess who the famous, anonymous conductor was. Thor Johnson actually made a few early stereo recordings for the company and, by that time, Remington’s LP surfaces, while not exactly quiet, did not have the sandpapery noise of its earlier releases, one of which was a Beethoven Third by Fritz Busch. When I saw that Bearac was offering a CD of the Busch (I owned the LP), I couldn’t resist ordering it, since I doubted that some guy in the suburbs of Athens had access to Remington’s master tapes and I was overcome by curiosity. It proved to be astounding—yes, there was slight surface noise but no worse than 78 transfers. I doubt that I will be astounded again and I am not astounded at how good these transfers of 1927 78s (actually recorded the year before) are.

Perhaps, influenced by the number of 78-rpm sides his recording of the “Eroica” might consume, Henry Wood sets a fast pace in the first movement and also in the finale—even the HIP crowd might approve, though they might disapprove of his omission of the first movement repeat (he observes all the subsequent ones). According to his brother, Karl, Beethoven himself was concerned that the repeat might make the symphony too long but ultimately decided it was necessary. Since Wood’s recording took up 14 sides as it is and, given the price of 78s back then (about $2.00 here) as compared to average income, I think the decision is easily justifiable—then, again, I don’t especially care about the repeat, anyway. My colleague, Richard A. Kaplan, whose 78s were used for the CD transfer, informed me that, in those days, Columbia couldn’t squeeze as much music on their 78s as Victor could, hence, Mengelberg’s Victor recording of the piece takes up 14 sides and includes the repeat. Wood’s performance exudes vigor and nervous energy. The second movement actually does sound like a march. Despite the speed, the orchestra executes the fast-moving passages well—was he using a smaller string section? In any event, Wood’s is an energetic, intense performance that, if put in the shade by later, better-recorded ones, gave the record-purchasers of the late 1920s no excuse for disliking the music. Interestingly, the producer, Mark Obert-Thorn, points out that the recording venue is unknown, but it wasn’t New Queen’s Hall, which was reserved for HMV! Just for the record, the ones I used as context references were Klemperer No. 2, Maag, Steinberg, Walter No. 2, and Fritz Busch.

I used to own Hamilton Harty’s Fourth on a budget Columbia Entre LP. Here, my context was supplied by Klemperer, Leibowitz, Maag, Monteux, and Walter No. 1. The recording sounds as if one microphone were used; it does have a certain depth—the strings are up front, the winds farther back, and the brass in the rear, but some solo wind detail gets nearly buried. A little less resonance in Manchester’s Free Trade Hall might have helped. You will hear more portamento than you’re accustomed to nowadays. He skips the first movement repeat but observes the one in the fourth movement (Leibowitz also makes this choice). I wish his slow movement were more of an Adagio; for me, it’s too brisk; on the other hand, the finale zips along at an exhilarating pace and is well executed (Leibowitz and Monteux are even a shade faster). In 1927, electrical recordings of the symphony obviously got off to a good start, though I think that subsequent 78s by Ormandy, Toscanini, and Szell received more impactful sound and are at least as good as performances. Then again, who said that these important documents need to compete with anyone’s subsequent recordings? They give us a tantalizing glimpse into the musical past. It’s hard to believe that they are 87 years old and listening to them has been a pleasure.

James Miller

This article originally appeared in Issue 37:1 (Sept/Oct 2013) of Fanfare Magazine.