Ravel, Maurice. Piano
Concerto for the Left Hand.
from "The Complete Piano Music of Ravel."
Robert Casadesus, Pianist.
Columbia Masterworks Heritage MH2K 63316 (Monaural / ADD).
Recorded 22 January 1947 at the Academy of
Music, Philadelphia.
Debussy, Claude.
Iberia (Images, Set III, No. 2).
Columbia
Masterworks ML-4434 (Monaural). Currently Unavailable.
Recorded 11 March 1951.
Ravel, Maurice. Bolero.;
Pavan for a Dead Princess.*;
Daphnis et Chloe: Suite No. 2.+
Recorded 16 & 17 May 1973; * - 28 September
1971; + - 13 January 1971.
Debussy, Claude.
Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun; La Mer.+
Recorded 19 January 1971; +
- 2 March 1971.
RCA
Red Seal Japan BVCC-38055 (Analog Stereo / ADD)
from the Eugene Ormandy & The Philadelphia
Orchestra Centenary Edition, Vol. 8.
All Selections from this Album Recorded at
Scottish Rite Cathedral, Philadelphia.
Eugene Ormandy left behind a voluminous recorded legacy of Ravel and
Debussy recordings. Unfortunately, most recordings are currently
out of print (in America, though, you can find Prelude to the Afternoon
of a Faun on one of those yuppie samplers, the "Family Circle Weekday
Soothers" [BMG 68582]. This shows the high degree of esteem and attention
lavished upon Ormandy by the current regime at BMG).
This is a shame, because aside from Charles Munch, I consider Ormandy one
of the best interpreters of these two French impressionist composers.
The CBS recording of Piano Concerto for the Left Hand shows Eugene Ormandy at his best as a collaborator, and the two-disc Ravel set offers listeners a superb introduction to the musical talents of the all-but-forgotten French piano virtuoso, Robert Casadesus. Of all the records and compact discs I own of Eugene Ormandy as accompanying conductor, this is my favourite (and, no, I haven't forgotten his recordings with Stern, Rachmaninoff, Rubinstein or Horowitz). This is the first recording of Concerto for the Left Hand that I've heard that makes me forget that the composition was only scored for one hand: Casadesus brings to the music a sense of drama and urgency, commanding the listener to succumb to Ravel's alternately ecstatic and melancholic melodies.
As
with Liszt's Les Preludes or Sibelius' Tapiola, Ravel's Concerto
has the uncanny knack of being able to project a complete musical world
view in under twenty minutes (it comes in at 17:01). In this fleeting
amount of time, Ravel is able to say more than Bruckner was able to in
any one of his repetitive symphonies of behemoth proportions (Bruckner
fanatics, please don't take this as a swipe; I'm not knocking him
as a composer [I love his works], but he was hardly a ruthless editor).
For those unfamiliar with Robert Casadesus, he had one of the most unique
styles of any pianist I've ever heard; He is one of the few pianists
who fully understood the piano as a percussion instrument.
Possessing a very intuitive sense of timing, he distinctly imparted each
note with a staccatoed, rhythmic, thunk, like a military
snare drum. Paradoxically, he was able, nonetheless, to extract from
his instrument wistful and melodic phrases with as well as Artur Rubinstein.
He was not heavy-handed.
The Philadelphia Orchestra's basses and contrabassoon open up this piece quietly, darkly, with an understated, subterranean, undertow of sound. Ormandy builds this up slowly, over two-and-a-half minutes to a massive, rousing fanfare of such electric immediacy, that the soloist had damn well better live up to such a powerful introduction. As soon as Casadesus' piano enters after the fermata, introducing the Concerto's main theme, he accomplishes the seemingly impossible task of bringing up the tension a notch. You can clearly sense that here is the pianist whom the composer regarded as his interpretive exemplar. When the Philadelphians re-enter the scene to reintroduce the main theme, Ormandy complements Casadesus' pianism by stripping the orchestra of all its lushness, opting instead for an up-tempo accompaniment. It's as hard as nails - a blinding light rather than a warming fire. The buildup to the transition before the exposition bears this out fully: The brass, strings and percussion just let it rip exuberantly (this short theme was lifted by Hollywood composer Roy Webb for use in Alfred Hitchcock's 1946 masterpiece Notorious, in the scene where Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman are flying over Rio de Janeiro). Here, the Concerto's Latin flavour comes through fully, devolving slowly into a Habanera. This builds into a short cadenza which segues into the Second movement, a jaunty scherzo-like passage. To the knocking of woodblocks and pulsating of strings, Casadesus stamps out the movement in an expertly syncopated mocking of practising etudes.
This builds up at a strident accelerando to the final movement,
a glorious consummation of frenetic energy in which the Philadelphia's
brass and piccolos issue forth the searing climax, an aural pummeling of
sound that just blows you away - a truly exhilarating example of Ormandy's
expert use of tension and release. The strings bring take the concerto
from the heights of triumph, swirling downward to dark depths as Casadesus
quietly, subtly, plays the main cadenza, a gentle - yet troubled
- song which speaks of longing and unrequited love. Suddenly,
the orchestra re-enters the picture, building up triumphantly to the concerto's
finale in an abbreviated restatement of the jaunty second movement
theme. It is difficult to realise that only seventeen minutes have
passed by, for Casadesus and Ormandy have explored a universe of musical
themes and emotions. They do the genius of Ravel justice in what
I consider the best recorded performance of this work. As for the
recording itself, it is early high-fidelity at its best: A rich and
expansive bass and front-and-center midrange. The surprise is the
high degree of clarity in the treble. The re-issue engineer, Andreas
Meyer, did a beautiful job in rendering a pristine and forceful, though
by no means sterile, transfer.
The
1951 recording of Debussy's Iberia comes from the same era of high-fidelity
mono recordings.
It is Eugene Ormandy's only recording of the piece, which is just fine
with me, because it's thoroughly satisfying. This recording is very
much akin to the Ravel Left Hand Concerto, in that it captures the
Latin rhythms and idiosyncracies expertly -- hard to believe, considering
Debussy had only once been to Spain, and then only a couple of hours in
the border town of San Sebastian.
This piece was recorded when Ormandy's "Philadelphia Sound" was leaner, and more focused on adherence to line than in lush sonorities (which are evident; just harder-edged). Ormandy's opening to the first movement, In the Streets and By-ways, jolts the listener to attention in percussive and pulsating introduction. The percussion, led by tambourine and castinets opens the piece at a brisk pace, supported by strings, horn and winds. The flutes and clarinet meander through the strident opening theme at a relaxed stroll, which contrasts brilliantly with the staccato of the percussion, the strings carrying them along. A mysterious theme is introduced on the bass clarinet, to be picked up by the oboe. La Mer is often touted as the defining example of Debussy's musical impressionism, but , to me, Iberia is far more image-provoking. Closing your eyes, you can see the busy marketplace, pedestrians and sellers everywhere, shadowy allies, the festive atmosphere. Often trumpets and snare drums emerge from no-where in the murky sections, to fall away into main theme, taken up by the clarinets and flutes. It is a very busy tableaux.
The second movement, Perfumes of the Night, is suffused with a murky, fog-bound, sense of mystery. Unlike the hectic energy conveyed in the first movement, one senses abandoned streets or the countryside right outside the village. Considering the mono recording, Ormandy is able to get from the orchestra a complex array of sounds and dynamics from the orchestra in this movement, which basically add up to expert interaction between instrumentalists. This polyphony makes an immediate impression upon the listener, and although pre-stereo, it is easy to place the various instrumental soloists and ensembles; this is probably one of the most peripatetic mono recordings I've come across (which is especially noteworthy, considering the "claustrophobic" stereo that resulted from over-mic'ing of many of Ormandy's recordings of the 1970s).
The final movement, The Morning of a Festival Day, hearkens back to the first movement in its intensity and pace. It is as though the morning sun is breaking through the clouds and fog of night, slowly dispersing night in a blinding fury of light and activity. The plucking strings, swirling winds, marimba and soloists on violin, trumpet, oboe, viola and clarinet (alternately) bring to mind the impressionism Debussy meant to convey of Spain. The mind's eye doesn't recall, however, impressionist paintings -- one instead sees Picasso's sister brushing her hair, watching the festival out her window; one also envisions the running of the bulls from The Sun Also Rises.
In the first entry on the RCA Japan Centenary Edition CD of Debussy and Ravel compositions (Volume 8), the lush sound Ormandy/Philadelphia fans were accustomed to is in full force. Unlike the aforementioned Iberia - which is electrifyingly exuberant and passionate - I find the 1973 Bolero and the 1971 La Mer to be simply solid, competent performances. There is nothing that especially makes them stand out against what I consider to be the "authoritative" performances: Charles Munch and the Boston Symphony's Bolero (1956, RCA "Living Stereo" 6l956) and Arturo Toscanini and the NBC's 1950 recording of La Mer (RCA Gold Seal 60265).
As for Ormandy's Bolero, the tempo is a tad on the slow side, and though he has a firm grip on the dynamics, he seems rather reluctant to unleash the full fury of the orchestra until the very end. This is the performance's saving grace: The brass and percussion open up rousingly. However, the slower-than-usual tempo makes it seem as though I have been listening to Elmer Bernstein's soundtrack to Ben Hur rather than the more upbeat Bolero.
So why should you go out of your way to buy this disc? Because contained therein are the most heartachingly beautiful performances of Pavan for a Dead Princess and Daphnis et Chloe Suite No. 2 I've ever heard. Ormandy's Pavan is simple and elegiac. The French horn opens the piece in a solo which opens to a spread of muted brass and winds, which have an almost Oriental falvour to them. The playing of the soloists and the orchestra exemplifies the best in Ormandy's approach -- the music is unforced and open, and thus unabashedly -- though quietly -- wistful. The performance is one of the most understated I've yet heard. For example, throughout the underscoring on the lower strings, the players never linger their bows too long on the strings, nor apply added pressure for "emphasis." One senses the beauty of life and the inevitability of death in this piece; but, there is an acceptance of death conveyed by the orchestra, not defiance.
Although this may be sacrilege, I actually prefer Ormandy's Daphnis et Chloe Suite No. 2 to the sterling and historical recording by Munch's: It is very emotional, though never lapsing into bathos. This recording is a prime example of Ormandy's ability to render music into emotional language by using his rather natural and unforced technique to draw the listener into the music. Daphnis and Chloe is a composition noted for its strong erotic overtones, but Ormandy's treatment is not lurid; Far from it, communicating in the musical language of romanticism, Ormandy intertwines eros and pathos with the love the two protagonists have for one another. As with Pavan, these emotions are mixed with sadness, longing and wistfulness.
The Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun is an excellent counterpart
to Pavan and Daphnis, though a little less understated.
Though I prefer Stokowski's version for its brilliant tonal sheen, Ormandy's
version is warmer and fits in perfectly with the other pieces on this disc.
