Beethoven: Symphonies Nos. 1-9; Rebecca Nash, Wilke te Brummelstroete, Marcel Beekman, Michael Tews; Laurens Collegium & Cantorij, Rotterdam; Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century/ Frans Brüggen (Glossa SACD, 5 discs, GCDSA 921116)
What is the point of period instrument Beethoven any more? The scholars and pioneers of the last three decades have taught us much about performance practice that has changed the way we listen to Beethoven and has changed the way in which he is performed today. Nikolaus Harnoncourt, Roger Norrington and Charles Mackerras, among others, applied period practices to modern instrument orchestras, recording excellent cycles of the symphonies (with the COE, Stuttgart RSO and Scottish CO/ Philharmonia respectively) and even cycles from Claudio Abbado and Simon Rattle (Berlin and Vienna Philharmonics) adopt ‘historically informed’ tempi and articulation, as well as utilising latest scholarship regarding scores. So what do period instruments have left to offer?
For all that modern instrument orchestras adopt period practices – lithe articulation, eschewing vibrato, playing at clipped tempos, even employing period brass or timpani – the thing that continues to draw me to the period bands is the remarkable colour of their sounds… and those colours are both distinct and varied.
Frans Brüggen is one of the great pioneers of period instrument Beethoven. His Philips cycle, with his Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century, spanned the late 1980s and early ’90s, completed after Norrington’s, but before John Eliot Gardiner’s. He was hardly in the first flush of youth back then, but now – in his late 70s and, if video evidence is to be believed, remarkably frail – he has recorded the cycle with his orchestra again, employing Jonathan Del Mar’s editions, in a series of Rotterdam concerts billed as the ‘Beethoven Experience’. This new set from Glossa was recorded live, as was his Philips cycle (Brüggen loathes studio recording) and comparing his approach has been fascinating, providing the opportunity to re-evaluate other favourite period practitioners, from Norrington and Gardiner to more recent cycles by young whippersnapper ensembles La Chambre Philharmonique and Anima Eterna, conducted by Jos van Immerseel and Emmanuel Krivine.
Time and again listening to this fascinating new Brüggen set, my mind recalled a purple passage by A.A. Milne, in the ‘Poohsticks’ chapter of The House at Pooh Corner:
‘By the time it came to the edge of the Forest the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and, being grown up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, “There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.”’
This epitomises Brüggen’s approach. He knows these symphonies like the back of his hand and one senses the sheer joy and affection he feels at treading over old ground once again, relishing every twist and turn, being in no particular hurry to arrive at his destination. This is signalled from the very start; the opening wind chords of the First Symphony are Adagio molto indeed, with other slow introductions following suit; those to the Second and the Fourth have a remarkable, exploratory feel to them, as if discovering the music anew, while the introduction to the Seventh is sternly emphatic.
Comparing timings can be misleading. Brüggen doesn’t always take scherzo/ minuet repeats after trios – they’re missing from the First and Eighth (although only Norrington and Gardiner of my comparisons do observe that in the Eighth), while in the Second, he plays the first repeat in the Scherzo on the da capo, but not the second. Brüggen’s earlier recordings sometimes contain applause (excised by Glossa) and his penchant for slow introductions can mask the swifter tempos which follow; once into the Allegro vivace, the first movement of the Fourth is as lively as any in my comparative listening. The only times where I felt Brüggen’s steady tempos didn’t completely work for me were in the second movement of the Seventh (slow, but with a tender Trio section) and the opening movement of the Third. Brüggen’s Allegro con brio in the Eroica was always slow, but there’s now very nearly four minutes between him and Norrington. Bruggen is earthy, monumental even, but lacks revolutionary zeal. Despite my reservations about the opening movement, the rest of the Eroica is thrilling, with an intensely felt funeral march and a finale which, although at a steady pace, brings out the humour well and ends in a boisterous Presto coda, charged with blazing horns and trumpets
There is no lack of drama. In the Allegro vivace opening of the Seventh, for example, the emphasis of attack more than makes up for the steady tempo. One might suspect that the slower speeds were partly to combat the reverberant acoustic of De Doelen in Rotterdam, though I rather doubt it. There is occasional blurring of ensemble, but the recording seems to spotlight solo instruments so that plenty of detail emerges when listening to these SACDs in surround sound. For example, I’ve never heard the double bass growls which accompany the first violins in the opening bars of the Eroica’s funeral march so clearly. It’s a much warmer acoustic than on Brüggen’s Philips recording and nowhere near as abrasive as the sound afforded Gardiner and Krivine.
A constant joy is Brüggen’s solo woodwind quartet – Liza Beznosiuk (flute), Frank de Bruine (oboe), Eric Hoeprich (clarinet) and Danny Bond (bassoon); you’d be hard pushed to find a better woodwind ensemble in any recorded Beethoven cycle, with playing that is outstanding. Their highlights include a ‘Scene by the brook’ in the Pastoral which is heart-meltingly beautiful and flute and oboe solos in the finale of the Eroica which are wonderful in their tone, articulation and phrasing.
The strings are similarly golden in hue to Brüggen’s earlier recording, not surprisingly given that eighteen of the thirty-one string players listed survive from that Philips set. The warmer acoustic in Rotterdam softens the string sound most agreeably. Brass playing is often a strength – fiery in the Eroica and the Fifth, the horns, in particular, having some magnificent moments, although the Trio of the Eroica’s Scherzo finds them (appropriately?) rustic in tone and balance. Even more glorious are the timpani, which have a satisfyingly full thwack, rather than the dry gunfire rattle heard in other cycles (particularly Krivine’s set). They also have tremendous impact in the recording, such as in the rollicking 6/8 theme of the Seventh’s first movement and the Scherzo of the Ninth, propelling the action forward.
There are too many highlights made in my notes to make mention of them all, but the glorious rendition of the Pastoral must be heard, as should the Eroica. The disappointments are few, principally a sterner Eighth, less jocular than usual. Whether employing period instruments or not, the Ninth is notoriously difficult to bring off in a recorded cycle (Mackerras on Hyperion and Norrington in Stuttgart being honourable exceptions). Things progress exceedingly well for Brüggen until his the choral finale, where he is let down by some variable solo contributions, not least from the bass Michael Tews, whose uncertain intonation and blustery recitative are a drawback. The basses are also encouraged to shout ‘Freude!’ rather than sing it, which sounds somewhat less than joyful. Elsewhere, the choral forces of Laurens Collegium and Cantorij, Rotterdam are impressive. Both chorus and soloists are reasonably closely recorded, giving them plenty of presence.
Re-listening to other cycles confirms my long-held enjoyment of Norrington’s pioneering spirit, still full of energy and excitement. In comparison, I now find Gardiner polished and rather hard-driven. Of recent cycles, Immerseel’s impresses me less now than when it was first released, partly because Krivine’s Naïve set is so remarkably alert and fresh. Brüggen’s is the perfect foil to Krivine – mellow, earthy and immensely satisfying, like the difference between a crisp white wine and a rich red. I wouldn’t be without either – essential listening for Beethovians, surely, and worthy of the IRR Outstanding accolade.
Glossa houses the five discs in a sturdy box, each disc in a less than sturdy paper slip-case. The booklet includes an affectionate essay on Brüggen and Beethoven by Roland de Beer and a series of informal black and white photographs taken on the concert tour by violinist Annelies van der Vegt.
I see from the de Doelen website that Brüggen and his orchestra have just (at the time of writing) offered a second Beethoven Experience series, containing the Piano Concertos, featuring Kristian Bezuidenhout. Let’s fervently hope Glossa’s microphones were in attendance.
Comparisons:
Frans Brüggen/ Orchestra of the 18th century (Philips, 5 discs) 412 156-2
Roger Norrington/ London Classical Players (EMI/ Virgin, 5 discs) 5 61943 2 (1986-1988)
John Eliot Gardiner/ Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique (DG Archiv, 5 discs) 439 900-2 (1991-1994)
Jos van Immerseel/ Anima Eterna (ZigZag Territoires, 6 discs) ZZT080402.6 (2005-2007)
Emmanuel Krivine/ La Chambre Philharmonique (Naïve, 5 discs) V 5258 (2009-2010)
This review originally appeared in IRR.