Warner’s “Complete” Berlioz: Instrumental Works

Gustave Courbet’s 1850 portrait of Hector Berlioz (from Wikimedia Commons, public domain)

This past Friday, in honor of the 150th anniversary of the death of Hector Berlioz on March 8, 1869, Warner Classics released the 27-CD boxed set Berlioz: The Complete Works. My guess is that the first thing readers noted was the presence of scare quotes around the adjective “complete” in the headline. This is because, on the release date, two Amazon.com customers posted lengthy reviews to the Web site for this album (which may be read more easily on the “Customer reviews” Web page). Both of those customers noted serious (at least in my judgment) omissions from the contents of the box, the first customer being more detailed than the second in addressing this issue. To be fair, however, both of those customers gave the release itself a five-star rating.

My own reaction to these reviews is somewhat mixed. I definitely sympathize with both of the reviewers. Politics has been able to get away with “fake news” long before that phrase entered popular speech; but serious listening to music is not politics (for which I shall be forever grateful)! Furthermore, those who read this site regularly know that I have consistently prioritized listening to performances in concert over listening to any form of recording. However, I have also long believed that the most important value of a recording is that it allows one to get acquainted with music one has not previously encountered; and that value is highest when one knows that one will be able to listen to that music in performance in the near future. In other words familiarity with a recording orients the mind behind the ear, so to speak, with possible foretastes of the concert listening experience. If such a recording is not available in a collection where one expects to find it, I, for one, would probably be more than a little annoyed!

Where Berlioz is concerned, I am not sure how often I shall need to draw upon such foretastes. It may take over 25 CDs to cover the Berlioz canon; but the majority of performers never seem to venture beyond a limited portion of that canon that would probably fit on, more or less, about half as much space. (If that number seems a bit on the large side, bear in mind that it was written by someone who has seen a staged performance of Les Troyens!) As a result, while I certainly take issue with abuse of that adjective “complete;” I think that I am very unlikely to get all hot-and-bothered over anything that might be missing from this collection.

As is the case with all such large collections, I have made it a point to segment the content to provide a logical piece-by-piece account of the entirety. Fortunately, the collection has been organized to facilitate such segmentation. Thus, my overall plan will be to write separate articles focusing on the following categories:

1. Orchestral and instrumental works
2. Secular vocal and choral works
3. Sacred music
4. Stage works

As the above headline indicates, I shall use this article for the first of those categories.

Naturally, all the “usual suspects” in this category are present. They include the Opus 14 “Symphonie fantastique,” the Opus 16 “Harold en Italie,” and familiar overtures such as “Le carnaval romain” and “Le corsaire.” The Opus 17 “Roméo et Juliette” is also included, probably because Berlioz himself called in a “symphonie dramatique,” even though the requirements for both solo and choral singing would lead one to classify it as “vocal and choral.”

Away from that beaten path, I was glad to encounter the Opus 15 “Grande symphonie funèbre et triomphale.” I believe it was during my freshman year that the concert wind ensemble of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology played this piece (but without the choral finale). Given how few pieces have been written for a concert band that have any staying power, getting to know this piece was as valuable to my education as any time spent in a classroom. As to the “instrumental” side of the category, this involved only three compositions for organ, including two fugues, at least one of which was being recorded for the first time. (The formatting of the text in the booklet is a bit sloppy in this regard.)

While I am happy with the content, my feelings about the performances are more mixed. This may have something to do with the fact that I have been listening to Berlioz recordings for over half a century; and, as a result, I have cultivated some rather strong opinions when it comes to my preferences in conductors. The problem is that none of those conductors recorded for labels that are now managed by Warner Classics.

The most recent of them (whom I miss the most) is Colin Davis, who unerringly knew how to make Berlioz sound like music, rather than mere spectacle. From earlier generations I would say that the conductors I miss the most are both French, Pierre Monteux and Charles Munch. (Munch was the conductor on my vinyl recording of the Requiem setting, and his approach remains the only one I have been able to experience without squirming with impatience!) On the other hand I have to say that I was really glad to encounter Simon Estes singing the Friar Lawrence texts from Opus 17, as well as Jessye Norman taking the soprano solos.

Finally, it is worth noting that the final CD of the box has what is claimed to be the first recording ever made of Opus 14. The ensemble is the Pasdeloup Orchestra, founded in 1861 by Jules Pasdeloup, making it the oldest symphony orchestra in France. The recording was made in 1924 with Principal Conductor Rhené-Baton (that was his full name) on the podium. This is an ensemble that was playing Berlioz pretty much from the time of its inception; but I doubt that Rhené-Baton’s interpretation was informed by any sort of “cultural memory.” Nevertheless, as historical artifacts go, this one definitely deserves more than passing attention.

Now it is time to move on to the “secular vocal and choral” category, which is likely to be much more of a journey of discovery for me.