PROKOFIEV Symphony No. 5. SCHOENBERG Violin Concerto • Louis Krasner (vn); Dimitri Mitropoulos, cond; Louis Krasner (vn); Bavarian RSO • ORFEO 204 891, mono (74:14) Live: Munich 7/9/1954

It was in 1940 that Louis Krasner, with the able help of Leopold Stokowski and his Philadelphia Orchestra, premiered this born-in-California Violin Concerto, one of the composer’s thorniest pieces. Of course, many argue that everything in the atonal realm that Schoenberg wrote is planted in the garden of unearthly non-delights, but I would beg to differ; the more we compare so much of his intellectualized yet highly crafted work with the free-for-all atonal monstrosities that we have heard since then, his genius begins to shine even more brightly. Nevertheless, this one peculiar piece has not had a particularly successful performance history, and though I have not heard Hilary Hahn’s latest foray, Krasner (1903–1995—also famed for his commissioning of the Berg concerto, among others) had a special way with this piece, perhaps one of first discovery, or perhaps because his was a generation just stumbling upon this “new” music and heard it differently than we do today.

Mitropoulos was no stranger to adventure, and his approach adds the necessary excitement and emotional tone that is so often lacking in other performances (like those of Boulez and Pierre Amoyal). I myself would not give this work two thoughts if not for this recording—Krasner sells it like no other, and with Hahn now presenting us with a bold programming move, I hope that any resurgence in the work’s public perception will recognize Krasner and his effort as foundational, and indeed, mandatory for all who truly desire to hear this piece in a convincing and exceptional manner. Anyone who wants to understand this piece should hear this recording.

But the Schoenberg must be regarded, at least in this release (from 1994) as a fabulous appendage to an even more desirable listen. Dimitri Mitropoulos loved Prokofiev, and though we do not have that much captured on tape (his Romeo and Juliet Suites are among the very greatest—see Sony), we are fortunate enough to have two recordings of the ever-popular Symphony No. 5 to evaluate. The latest release, also on Orfeo and featuring the VPO, is a 1954 live recording that does not capture the conductor or the fabled Viennese at their best. Those attempting to judge the conductor’s efforts in this work are making a mistake if they use it as any kind of benchmark. This earlier recording of an even earlier performance (four months to be exact, from July of 1954, also live) is truly a marvel of controlled passion, beautiful playing, and explosive climaxes.

The Bavarian Radio Symphony seems to tune into the conductor’s every desire by anticipation, so completely at one (and at ease, judging by the relaxed tonal suavity of the reading) are they with his every nuance and tempo change. And speaking of tempo, it is probably this aspect of the reading more than anything else that convinces one of the efficacies of this recording. The first movement is measured, but with a sense of forward thrust that hints of what is to come. The beautifully captured monophonic sound in no way impedes the wide sonic spread coming from the stage, balanced and with a real sense of depth. No, the orchestral playing is not perfect, as this is a live, unpatched recording, but it’s pretty close, and there is a real sense of seat-of-your-pants excitement, as almost all of the Mitropoulos recordings demonstrate.

The Scherzo movement is taken at a moderate pace, surely more appropriate in putting forth the so-called “sardonic” wit of the composer, and actually making the piece tougher to play. The temptation of the third movement is to get the underlying string triplets out of the way by upping the tempo, always a huge mistake, as Mariss Jansons so ably demonstrates on his recording from Chandos with the Leningrad PO. Here we have tempo fluctuation as needed and when called for by the emotive propensities of the score, and not as dogmatic definition. The strings have never sounded so impassioned in their big theme as on this recording. And again, at the end of movement 4, the measured pace allows for a wide fluctuation in expressive nuance. Some, used to the manic propulsiveness of many modern recordings, may actually think it starts too slowly, but let things develop and all becomes clear. There was not much of a performance tradition—the Symphony was only 11 years old at the time of this recording, and much interpretation comes from the guts of the conductor, and perhaps the few instructions from the composer that were as often as not ignored.

I am not for one minute saying that this reading supplants all others; indeed, despite the biting humor of the last movement, and the great mono sound, we always need to hear this symphony in up-to-date sonics, if possible. It’s not easy to relinquish Ormandy, Karajan, Bernstein, Järvi, Jr., and even the erratic Gergiev—nor should we. But ignoring this release puts one at risk of missing a seminal performance, easily one of the best recorded, and thereby deserving of all accolades in the Hall of Fame.

FANFARE: Steven E. Ritter