Rachmaninoff, Sergei.
Symphony No. 2 in E-Minor, Op. 27 (Complete Version).
The Philadelphia Orchestra, Eugene Ormandy,
Conductor.
Recorded 18 & 19 December 1973 at Scottish
Rite Cathedral, Philadelphia.
RCA Victrola 60132 (AAD/Stereo - U.S. Release).
RCA Victor Japan BVCC-38057. (ADD/Stereo - Japanese Release).*
RCA "Basic 100," 68022, Vol. 53. (ADD/Stereo - U.S. Release).+
Originally released as 
RCA Red Seal ARL1-1150 (Stereo).
RCA Victor
Red Seal LSC-2183 (Living Stereo) and LM-2183 (Mono) in 1958.The complete Second Symphony did have its champions in the lean years (those preceding the Rachmaninoff Centenary, in 1973). Chief among them was Leopold Stokowski, who performed the work complete at the Hollywood Bowl in the 1950s. But it was not until Andre Previn recorded the complete version for EMI in 1973 that the longer version became widely known and celebrated for the masterful work it truly is. The success of the Previn recording was instant and lasting, and was probably the impetus for RCA to record the complete version with Ormandy and the Philadelphians in late 1973 in stereo and quadraphonic, to be issued in early 1975.
It is therefore fitting that during Eugene Ormandy's centenary, 1999, that RCA Japan has re-issued this superb recording of the complete Rachmaninoff Second Symphony (Volume 10 of the Centenary Edition).
The 1973 Ormandy version of the Rachmaninoff Second is my personal
favorite, even more than the Previn, which itself is very passionate and
energetic. One of the false charges critics level against Ormandy
was that his famed "Philadelphia Sound" was a uniformly applied formula
of warm, lush string tonality. This simplistic contention ignores
the peerless contributions of the brass, winds and percussion. But,
most importantly, it ignores Eugene Ormandy's complete and subtle understanding
of the music he conducted. Like Erich Leinsdorf, Ormandy could memorize
a score in a few hours. Like Arturo Toscanini, Ormandy comprehended
the score on an intuitive, emotional, level.
This recording of the Rachmaninoff Second Symphony exemplifies this philosophy of conducting. Just as Sir John Barbirolli had a consummate, authoritative and implicit command of the music of Elgar and Sibelius, so did Eugene Ormandy possess the same qualities when it came to Rachmaninoff's. Whereas a conductor such as Stokowski or Previn (whose recording belongs in the Stokowski camp) would have command of the obvious, what gives the Ormandy recording its sense as an honest and thoroughly heartfelt performance is his command of the less-than-obvious. What drives this performance are the nuances between and beneath the notes. A cursory listening could lead one to dismiss this performance as "formulaic," especially given the more "animated" performances out there. But given an understanding of Rachmaninoff's music, of his friendship with, and tutelage of, Ormandy, and of the ends to which Ormandy subordinated the orchestra -- One realises that the "Philadelphia Sound" was hardly an end in itself.
The first movement, Largo; Allegro moderato, opens in a state
of dark melancholy. The strings, especially the basses, are sumptuous
and full-toned. The development of the first theme is gradual;
Hints of what is to come are given, but the Philadelphia holds something
back. The Rachmaninovian device of building up to the climax is very
aptly employed here. The one thing I most enjoy about the performance
of this movement in particular - and the symphony as a whole - is that
the when solo instrumentalists play in the foreground, they do not overshadow
the playing of other sections and other soloists. This is key, since
there is so much going on in this movement. It is very Russian, very
Romantic: Weaving this tapestry of sound, all the threads remain
integral, yet brilliantly visible.
The introduction to the second theme by the violas is very delicate,
punctuated acutely by the lower strings ('cellos and basses). It
is a very solid, yet gentle, rendering, especially as the winds wander
in and out of the the orchestration. The bittersweet theme introduced
by the solo clarinet leads to the most sensual exposition of this movement
I've heard. It is the orchestral counterpart to a performance by
screen actress Joan Fontaine: Beneath a deceptively cool and reserved
exterior lies an undercurrent of passion and sexual tension. The
ending of the movement is rousing, and jolts the listener with the unexpected:
Instead of finishing on a single note played ff on the double-bass,
Ormandy substitutes the same note played staccato on the timpani!
Of all the movements, the second, Allegro molto, is the most thoroughly Russian of all. Beginning like a festive winter's sleigh ride, this panoply of jubilant sound brings to mind Rimsky-Korsakov more so than Tchaikovsky. There is a concerted and purposeful buildup of tension to an explosive main theme, which is reintroduced in the symphony's finale. As lighthearted, however, as this movement is, the feelings of ecstasy are offset by the ever-present suggestion of mortality. What most impresses me is the sense of contrasts Ormandy and the Philadelphians present: The most striking aspect of this movement are the aggressiveness of the basses; the false expectation produced by them is spirited away in a deftly-executed and understated ending in mezzo-piano. It is a case of the fall of sledge-hammer as the prelude to the proverbial feather, as in the denouement of Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.
The third movement, Adagio, is the most memorable of this symphony.
It begins as a simple liebeslied, through a lucid and evocative
solo on clarinet. The emotional theme of the movement is unmistakeable
to anyone who has ever loved and lost, a paean to unrequited love.
Yet, the movement as communicated by Ormandy and the Philadelphians tells
not of morose defeat, but reminiscing of the joy of love, before the loss.
With the most unadorned simplicity, the main theme is imparted by gentle
turns of phrasing on a four-note figure for oboe. Strings and brass
turn over the theme, seemingly returning the passion to the present time,
if only fleetingly. The restatement of the second theme, a
six-note figure handed over by the solo French horn in turn to the
viola, oboe, flute and clarinet suggest the passage of time since, of seasons
changed and events beginning to fade from memory. The adagio
ends with the flutes and clarinet. What was once a flame becomes
a flicker, slowly dying out. It is difficult to try to communicate
what this movement means to me in words. To those who know the movement,
I can only say that it is the most natural and unforced playing I've ever
heard of it.
The finale (Allegro vivace), on the other hand, is an impassioned hymn of deliverance. With brass and percussion at the forefront, much of the opening theme hearkens back to the first two movements. However, the tension and conflict introduced in those movements has been resolved. The introduction of the second theme, primarily by strings - and echoed by the flutes and trumpets - gives reassurance that while love may not have triumph, that life nonetheless does. After a quite dolce interlude - a refrain of the adagio - the triumphal finish kicks in. A celebration affirming life itself, the finale recalls the suspenseful and powerful ending of the Third Concerto.
There are currently three discs in current release by RCA of this performance.
The budget Victrola issue (60132) stands alone, but is the least expensive
($6.97 at amazon.com). The "Basic 100" release runs $10.49 at amazon,
but has a cleaner remastered sound and the 
1958 Fritz Reiner/Chicago Symphony "Living Stereo" recording of Die
Toteninsel (Rach Sacrilege: I prefer Isle to the
3rd Piano Concerto!) While the Reiner performance lacks the
intensity of the 1945 Mitropoulos recording and the sonority of the Koussevitzky
release, there is something about this recording that gets under your skin.
The performance, taken as a whole, flows beautifully. It is a very
dreamy, other-worldly, rendering, very impressionistic (it is no mistake
it was once billed with Debussy's La Mer on a previous vinyl release
- RCA Gold Seal AGL1-1523). The buildup of tension and release is
more implied than in the Mitropoulos. However, this version has the
most sonorous brass of any version I've heard. This is to be expected,
since Reiner was such a peerless conductor of Wagner and Richard Strauss.
The statement of the Dies Irae theme on the horns is the most ominous
- I get goose bumps every time! The only disappointment is from the
timpanist, who never comes to the forefront, as is required in the penultimate
and final climaxes. The ending, on the other hand, shows Reiner's
master touch: It is softly and subtly inevitable. Death is
triumphant not with a bang, but a whisper.
However, the creme de la creme is the 1999 RCA Japan Release.
It is difficult to obtain, but worth it; just visit my Ormandy
site to link up to Tower Records Japan. The remastering is pristine
and the packaging is gorgeous, using original cover art and a special Ormandy
Centenary label on the CD. Plus, the Rachmaninoff Second is
billed with Scriabin's Poem of Ecstasy, which Ormandy and Philadelphia
recorded in 1971, currently unavailable in the U.S. How to describe
Poeme d'Extase? Many people assume that since both Rachmaninoff
and Scriabin were not only contemporaries, but close friends, and that
Scriabin's music (particularly the Etudes for piano) is close in
style to Rachmaninoff's, that the two should be played similarly.
This is not entirely true; If Rachmaninoff was a Romantic, then he
was a repressed one -- Scriabin was quite the extrovert by comparison.
In fact, in the memorial concerts Rachmaninoff played after Scriabin's
death in 1915, many found Rachmaninoff's pianism too cerebral and aloof,
hardly fitting the epicurean Scriabin. In short, Rachmaninoff was
the Apollonian, Scriabin the Dionysian. So goes this performance:
It is a model of sustained passion, a whirlpool of tonal colour.
It opens mysteriously on the flute, harp and viola. The trumpet,
played expertly by chair Gilbert Johnson, is pulled into the introduction
gradually, while other instruments dominate. Not a strict concerto
(in fact, it was Scriabin's 4th Symphony), Poeme d'Extase is more
of a cross between concerto and tone-poem, rather like Berlioz' Harold
In Italy. The work, which is about 21 minutes in length, is written
in a single movement, and is composed of variations on a single theme.
Over 6-1/2 minutes pass before Johnson's trumpet emerges as the dominant
force of this composition. Johnson's horn has a beautiful round,
warm, tone to it, almost like a cornet - the complete opposite of Roger
Voisin's searing horn in the famed 1952 recording with Pierre Monteux and
the Boston Symphony (RCA Victor Red Seal LM-1775). Though he is the
soloist, Johnson's performance melds with the orchestra's seamlessly, a
peculiar quality Ormandy obtains even with soloists who aren't orchestra
members. There is something beautiful and maddening about this work
- Scriabin was a notorious narcissist, and there is a very irrational,
Nietzschean, flavour to it (in introductory notes to the score, Scriabin
penned of the Spirit, whose force dominates this work, the "human striving
after the ideal and the Ego theme gradually" realises "itself." At
last, climax is attained and "the universe resounds with the joyful cry
'I am.'") The themes of fear, love, death and sex are tenuously
intertwined, rather much like a weird cross between Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead
and Bernard Herrmann's Concerto Macabre in the score for the 1945
film-noir Hangover Square. Ormandy pulls it off beautifully,
batheing the listener in plush, aural upholstery. Poem of Ecstasy
spells out in classical form Lemmy Kilmister's haunting maxim "The answer
to life's mysteries is simple and direct: Sex and death."
The RCA Japan version may very well represent the best example of Eugene Ormandy's conducting available. Make it a part of your permanent library before this limited release disappears.
