A3

DVOŘÁK The Nine Symphonies. —Overture, op. 62. Scherzo Capriccioso, op. 66. In Nature's Realm, op. 91. Carnival—Overture, op. 92. • István Kertész, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. • LONDON 430 046-2 [ADD]; six discs: 70:43; 73:55; 68:09; 72:05; 72:33; 74:41. Produced by Ray Minshull, with John Mordler1. Symphonies: No. 1 in C Minor, op. 3 ( “The Bells of Zlonice“); No. 2 in B♭, op. 4; No. 3 in Bb, op. Í01 ; No. 4 in D Minor, op. 13; No. 5 in F, op. 76; No. 6 in D, op. 60; No. 7 in D Minor, op. 70; No. 8 in G, op. 88; No. 9 in E Minor, op. 95 (“From the New World“).

This set is sheer joy. István Kertész was a unique conductor who brought a radiant freshness to most of the music he recorded, and no composer benefited from it more than Dvořák. In the notes to this release, producer Ray Minshull reveals that Kertész was an endearing, lazy genius, who read some of these scores only on his flight to London to record them and yet knew every note, every rehearsal number; no wonder they sound so spontaneous! These recordings were made from February 1963 to November 1966—Kertész had previously recorded the “New World“ with the Vienna Philharmonic in 1961. It was during those years that the London Symphony was taking its turn as London's finest orchestra, with Barry Tuckwell leading the superb horns, and of course Decca/London was at the forefront of recording technology. All this contributed to a wonderful set of Dvořák symphonies; while not every one is the best available, the thing that makes this set so unusual is that every symphony is superb, so very close to the best—one cannot imagine a set of the Beethoven nine at such a consistently high level of achievement. London's ADRM remasterings sound very much like the original LPs: warm, spacious, reverberant recordings with sweet highs and slightly boomy bass —which was tighter on the Ampex reel-to-reel tapes. To top it all off, they come at a rock-bottom price; London has squeezed all this onto six long CDs with only two symphonies spread across two discs (the Second and the Fifth), and the set is currently being sold in New York for as little as $29.94. The first two symphonies have some appealing ideas but go on much too long: both run well over fifty minutes; Kertész does all that can be done for them. Dvorak's Third, like Bruckner's, is his Wagner symphony, but with a gaiety and vigor unknown to either of the Germans; the London Symphony's horns and brass ring out grandly, in an unmatched performance. The Fourth is generally thought to be a weaker symphony, touched by empty bombast; but Kertész is so convincing as to turn it into another winner. John Wiser found the final two movements “operatically vulgar nearly beyond redemption“ (Fanfare 14:1); I hear that too, but when one is in the mood it can stir the blood. Starting with the Fifth, we move into prime Dvořák, and continue with prime Kertész; his tempos are always appropriate: Allegros roll energetically along at a good clip, Adagios sing warmly, and Scherzos have plenty of rhythmic bite. Everything sounds natural and relaxed; nothing is forced or pushed. The Fifth and Sixth are wonderful here; the sunny rustic joy of this Sixth is irresistible. But Kertész takes that same relaxed view of the darker Seventh Symphony—one would hardly guess that it is in a minor key. This is the only misfire in the whole set; a strong but slightly woolly finale in particular misses the powerful tension of several other versions. Both Haitink—yes, a passionate, white-hot Haitink!—and Colin Davis triumphed in their recordings with the Concert-gebouw Orchestra; but the Haitink Philips/Epic LP never made it to CD, and the Philips Silver Line CD of Davis's Seventh and Eighth sounds thinner than its original LP. George Szell's early-mono LP from the Concertgebouw was the perfect Eighth, finding all the beauty and relaxation without ever dawdling; the Kertész sounds very similar to that reading, in superior sound. This 1966 “New World“ is a fine performance, a well-played consensus interpretation that is an all-around improvement over Kertész's earlier recording; Wiser called this one “the most effective of 'modern' recordings,“ along with the Davis/Concertgebouw. But it lacks the spontaneous character of most performances in this set, as well as the essential lightness of Talich's straightforward reading on Supraphon. Readers will have individual preferences among the many recordings available; I like the slashing attacks of Mengelberg's Concertgebouw Orchestra, available only on 78s and on a poor Teldec CD. There will be some who prefer the strong character of the winds, with Talich and thereafter, in all the later symphonies. I do not sympathize with the school of thought that separates Czech from non-Czech performances of Dvořák, claiming that German orchestras in particular miss the true spirit of the music. The London Symphony plays beautifully throughout this cycle. I won't go so far as to claim that Kertész was Talich's equal as a Dvořák conductor, but he was close; given the beautiful sound of these London discs, I will probably listen more often to Kertész. I have not found performances from two other boxed sets—by Kubelik for DG and Rowicki for Philips—to be of comparable interest, and so I have not heard all nine from either. Digital recordings of the symphonies by Järvi and Neumann were issued on nine separate discs each, Neumann's with no fillers; both are now being repackaged on six discs, but neither is in the same league with Kertész. London apparently followed John Wiser's advice (14:1 again) that they “ought to offer this whole series as a set.“ The first six symphonies and In Nature's Realm come on four discs in a double-album jewel box; the final three symphonies plus the other fillers are on two discs in an identical box, which also contains a twenty- eight-page booklet with the disc and track data, plus an introductory essay on the making of the recordings and discussions of every work, all by Ray Minshull, in English only. The two jewel boxes are then packed into a cardboard outer casing along with five heavy cardboard fillers; I guess London thought the booklet would not fit into a jewel case. No one will buy this set for the quality of its fillers, but they too are spectacular. This is by far the finest Carnival I have ever heard, wild and boisterous at one moment, soft and lilting at another. The same applies to the Scherzo Capriccioso; both share the Kertész quality of being exuberant yet relaxed. Kertész recorded seven other pieces of Dvořák orchestral music (the and Husistká Overtures, The Golden Spinning Wheel, , , the Symphonic Variations and the D-Minor Serenade), plus the (London Jubilee 421 810-2). One laments that he didn't get a chance to do the , and that London never brought him together with a good soloist for the cello concerto. I expect to be satisfied with his Dvořák symphonies for a long time; I may want to hear Talich's final four and the others mentioned now and again, but these Kertész readings are glorious. They have just passed a most demanding test: hearing nine Dvořák symphonies consecutively. So put out the few bucks, turn up the gain, and just wallow in this gorgeous music. James H. North

This article originally appeared in Issue 15:6 (July/Aug 1992) of Fanfare Magazine.

DVOŘÁK Symphonies Nos. 1–9. Requiem.1 Serenade in d. Scherzo Capriccioso. Symphonic Variations. My Home. Husitská. In Nature’s Realm. Carnival. Othello. The Water Goblin. The Noonday Witch. The Golden Spinning-Wheel • István Kertész, cond; 1Pilar Lorengar (sop); 1Erzébet Komlóssy (mez); 1Róbert Ilosfalvy (ten); 1Tom Krause (bs); 1Ambrosian Singers; London SO • DECCA 483 0744 (9 CDs + 1 Blu-ray audio: 663:12 + 663:12 )

My review of this set can be summarized as “I have good news and bad news for you.” The good news—nay, the absolutely fabulous news—is that Decca has finally gathered together all of the iconic recordings of Dvořák’s music made by István Kertész into a single box set, in gloriously refurbished sound that leaves all preceding editions in the dust. The bad news is that, if you bought any of those previous editions—perhaps even more than one previous edition—well, you’re just going to have to shell out more cash and buy this set to replace them. And I do mean “have to”—I was absolutely amazed at the sonic advances Decca has made in this new edition. I still remember how, in the early to mid-1980s, I was originally on the fence about switching over from LPs to CDs. Yes, a new technology was likely to phase out an older (though LPs have recently enjoyed an amazing renaissance). But, was there really going to be the promised improvement in sound quality as well as convenience to justify the expenditure of replacing hundreds, ultimately even thousands, of LPs? (Not to mention the unnaturally glassy, disembodied sound of some early digital recordings.) What sold me on CDs was when I acquired a newly issued box of this very cycle of Dvořák symphonies, and was astounded at the night-and-day difference as blurred passages in the bass line were cleared up and made completely intelligible. If this new remastering isn’t quite as drastic an advance, it is still quite remarkable, particularly on the Blu- ray audio disc. Compared to previous CD editions, the new CDs in this set feature noticeably greater clarity, but are a bit dry and deficient in the bass register; by contrast the Blu-ray disc combines the best of both worlds and will now be my preferred medium for listening to these works. At this point a digression is needed regarding the impressive physical layout of this edition. An exceptionally sturdy outer cardboard case (much more so than the norm) houses two separate and equally sturdy CD-case sized hardcover books. One book contains the nine CDs; instead of the cardboard sleeves being separate, they are bound into the book, which is however quite easy to handle. The sleeves do not contain any product information; instead, on both front and back they reproduce the original LP album covers, in this case featuring the wonderful reproductions of Pieter Bruegel paintings (I almost kept the original LPs just for those). The second book contains the Blu-ray audio disc plus all the disc contents and other information (timings, performers, etc.) for both the CDs and the Blu-ray, plus essays on both the music and on Kertész in English, French, and German, plus the text of the Requiem (original Latin and trilingual translations) and several photos, printed on 68 pages of heavy glossy paper. Everything is very attractive, even elegant. About the only criticisms I can offer are that complete disc timings are not provided separately for all of the CDs (CDs 1 and 2, and 6 and 7, are lumped together because of works being split across two discs), and the listing of the Blu-ray disc contents does not provide timing points for how far along one is into the disc at the various track numbers. The contents of the Blu-ray disc exactly follow the order of the consecutive CDs. The nine symphonies come first, on five discs, followed by the Requiem, Serenade, Scherzo Capriccioso, and Symphonic Variations on the next two discs, with the final two containing respectively the five overtures and the three tone poems that Kertész recorded. One greatly regrets that his untimely death by drowning off the coast of Israel prevented him from finishing an absolutely complete traversal of the orchestral works that would have added The Wood Dove, A Hero’s Song, and the 10 Legends, and perhaps the three mature concertos and as well. I do have one residual complaint about the order of the contents. In the older CD editions, two of the symphonies were needlessly split across two CDs in a six-CD set, a situation that easily could have been avoided by a simple redistribution of the filler items. In the current set, that situation has been partially rectified by producing CDs with timings of over 80 minutes, but Symphony No. 2 is still split across two CDs. This could have been avoided had Decca been willing either to distribute the tone poems as fillers with the symphonies, or else not to adhere to a strictly numerical order for their layout. The recordings in this set were made between 1963 and 1970. Reviewing a previous edition of the symphonies and four fillers, colleague James H. North wrote in 15:6: “This set is sheer joy. István Kertész was a unique conductor who brought a radiant freshness to most of the music he recorded, and no composer benefitted from it more than Dvořák.... [W]hile not every one is the best available, the thing that makes this set so unusual is that every symphony is superb, so very close to the best—one cannot imagine a set of the Beethoven nine at such a consistently high level of achievement.” I will not only second that comment, I’ll raise it a bit further: The recordings of the first six, less often recorded, symphonies still remain the best ever made. (This set made me fall desperately in love with the First and Fourth Symphonies, even given their repetitive thematic materials and occasional gaucheries.) Here especially, buoyant rhythms, crisp articulation, and instrumental color abound, with Kertész miraculously eliciting a totally authentic Czech sound and playing style from an English orchestra. If in the latter three symphonies he faces stiff competition from numerous other great maestros (Talich, Kubelík, and Bruno Walter spring immediately to mind as personal favorites), his are still front-ranking versions. An important additional point is that Kertész remains one of only three conductors to date (the other two being Neeme Järvi and José Serebrier, neither of whom is remotely competitive here) to have recorded the Symphony No. 1 unabridged, instead of gouging a five- minute cut out of the middle of the first movement. The various tone poems and overtures likewise top the field (only Talich and Kubelík are fully competitive). Finally, the Requiem also holds its own opposite the Karel Ančerl recording as one of the two classic versions of that work to be set down in the studio—and here it now also emerges as a major sonic blockbuster that can withstand comparison to more recent digital versions. As a general rule, I’ve avoided putting remasterings of generally available studio recordings on my annual Want List. But I’m sorely tempted to break that rule here; I adore Dvořák’s music unreservedly, and performances of it simply don’t get any better than this. At the very least, it deserves Classical Hall of Fame status, and that is what it’s getting here. James A. Altena

This article originally appeared in Issue 41:1 (Sept/Oct 2017) of Fanfare Magazine.