Simon Rattle on the cover of one of his Stravinsky albums (from the Amazon.com Web page for the single-disc release)
Readers familiar with the history of music in the twentieth century may accuse me of being a bit prankish in my decision to couple Arnold Schoenberg and Igor Stravinsky in a single article accounting for performances by the Berlin Philharmonic led by Simon Rattle. Both of them spent the last years of their lives in Los Angeles County. However, as far as I can tell, the two of them were never in the same place at the same time (at least knowingly)! Indeed, the closest they ever came involved the fact that Robert Craft worked with both of them and may well have engaged in conversations in which each asked about the other! Thus, in accounting for the new Rattle anthology released by Warner Classics, I decided to take a compare-and-contrast approach to the two individuals that were clearly leading figures in the history of twentieth-century music.
Sadly, the grounds for comparison are more limited than I would have wished. Stravinsky is represented by only two CDs, while Schoenberg has three, one of which includes music that he arranged, rather than composed. Furthermore, each composer went through a series of stages, each of which involved a different approach to composition; and, in neither case, is the full extent of those stages given a fair shake. However, as is always the case where “the business” is concerned, one must work with what one has; and I shall try to do my best in accounting for both of these “rival” composers on this new anthology.
As is often the case such anthologies, I tend to follow where my strongest memories lead me. Therefore, I would like to begin with Stravinsky’s rather innovative approach to composing symphonies. After his initial undertaking, the 1905 symphony in E-flat (sometimes identified as his Opus 1), Stravinsky put the very idea of a symphony aside for over a decade. After that, each of his compositions had its own unique qualities, which reflected what he thought a “symphony” should be. The first of these was the 1920 “Symphonies of Wind Instruments.” Ten years later he composed the “Symphony of Psalms;” and, in the following decade, he composed the “Symphony in C” (1940) and the “Symphony in Three Movements” (1945).
In the Warner collection, the “Symphonies of Wind Instruments” is situated between “Le Sacre du printemps” and “Apollon musagète.” All three of these were recorded in concerts on dates very distant from each other; and my guess is that the producers (Stephen Johns and Christoph Franke) had a “compare and contrast” album in mind. Nevertheless, these are all early compositions, even though the two ballet scores were recorded using their respective 1947 revisions. (Stravinsky seems to have known how to keep his checkbook healthy when a copyright was about to expire!)
The other three symphonies are grouped on a separate CD but not ordered chronologically. Nevertheless, they do account for the composer’s “later thoughts” about what he wanted a symphony to be; and I, for one, enjoyed listening to how they had been grouped when the CD was pressed. On the other hand, where the ballet scores are concerned, I think that I still prefer listening to the recordings that Stravinsky himself made.
Schoenberg is represented by only three original compositions. However, the first of these is also his longest! Gurrelieder requires both solo vocal and choral resources, and its full duration requires two CDs. I actually purchased this as a two-CD set when it was first released. I felt that listening to this music frequently would be the only way I could get my head around what had struck me as a sprawling undertaking. I never quite succeeded, but there are definitely moments that still send a chill down my spine, particularly when they are sung by Karita Mattila!
Another work that requires a fair amount of exposure before the listener begins to appreciate the content is the first (Opus 9) chamber symphony. This was subsequently rescored for a full orchestra (still keeping “chamber” in the title), published as Opus 9b. Personally, I still prefer the original version; but Rattle seems to have found just the right way to guide the attentive listener through the orchestral version’s plethora of enigmatic cadences. Where that genre is concerned, I was far more satisfied with Opus 34. The full title of this composition (including the parenthesis) is “Begleitungsmusik zu einer Lichtspielszene (Drohende Gefahr, Angst, Katastrophe),” which translates as “Accompaniment Music for a Light Play [as in “the interactive play of lights] Scene (Threatening Danger, Fear, Catastrophe).” All of those parenthetical qualities are clearly evident, and one does not need visual stimuli to reinforce them!
The remaining Schoenberg selection is his orchestration of Johannes Brahms’ Opus 25 (first) piano quartet, composed in the key of G minor. Schoenberg clearly had fun in deploying instrumental qualities that one would never encounter in Brahms’ own orchestral undertakings. Nevertheless, it is clear that, in composing the concluding “Ronda alla Zingarese” movement, the composer wanted to have some fun; and I always break out in a grin when Schoenberg deploys a xylophone to add to the “fun factor!”
Schoenberg really did have a sense of humor. (The family car had a horn that was tuned to play the opening motif of his second string quartet.) On the recordings that he made in Berlin, Rattle seems to have an effective grasp on the composer’s full extent of dispositions!
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