Karajan Checklist

This being the centenary of Herbert von Karajan's birth, there will be commemorations aplenty, starting today in his hometown, Salzburg, with a concert by the Berlin Philharmonic. Here is my highly subjective list of the Karajan recordings I could not live without (unless otherwise noted, the orchestra is the Berlin Philharmonic):

1) Tristan und Isolde, Wagner (Orfeo). This is the live Bayreuth festival performance from July 23, 1952. The intensity of the performance--and of the performers, notably Modl's incandescent Isolde and Vinay's wrenching Tristan--is completely shattering.

2) Der Rosenkavalier, Strauss (Gala). This isn't the justly famous studio recording with Schwarzkopf. It is, rather, a live recording of a 1960 Salzburg performance with the dream trio of Lisa Della Casa as the Marschallin, Sena Jurinac as Octavian, and Hilde Guden as Sophie. Karajan's conducting here is, if anything, better than on the studio recording: better proportioned for one, less feverish and rushed, and in this performance he is the only conductor I've ever heard to make sense of the third-act prelude. Plus he is a remarkably sensitive accompanist to his singers.

3) Symphony No. 6, Mahler (DG). This is from his series, with the Berlin Philharmonic, of Mahler's symphonies. His reading is relentless and precise, an overwhelming combination. I've yet to hear a live performance this convincing.

4) Symphony No. 7, Bruckner (DG). This is his "last recording," made with the Vienna Philharmonic. It's somewhat lighter in texture than his earlier Bruckner-cycle recording with the Berlin Philharmonic, but it feels more passionate, more inspired by genuine human feeling.

5) Symphony No. 8, Bruckner (DG). This is from his Berlin Philharmonic Bruckner cycle, and it is not only fittingly grand in scale and conception, but it makes a powerful case that Bruckner's thoughts when composing it were of life passing and the unknown beyond.

6) Fidelio, Beethoven (Walhall). A concert performance from Vienna in 1953; Karajan was conducting the Vienna Symphony at the time and was waging a kind of war with the Vienna State Opera, so he put this on as a show of strength. Modl, Windgassen, Metternich and Edelmann are the leads; the Marzelline and Jacquino are none other than Schwarzkopf and Schock. There are many fine recordings of this opera, but this is the one that comes closest to how I hear the music in my head: vivid, rich, but not over-lush on the one hand or overly pared down on the other, with a gripping sense of momentum and real catharsis at the end. (And I don't think anyone ever conducted the "Fidelio" overture better.)

7) Symphony No. 8, Dvorak (DG). No one conducts the finale of this symphony as excitingly--those trilling horns sound as though they're exploding, but the ensemble never breaks.

8 and 9) Symphonies 4 and 6, Symphonies 5 and 7, Sibelius (DG). Sibelius's music, like Bruckner's, was a good fit for Karajan's esthetic--tonal and lush but also ascetic and emotionally cryptic. In Karajan's hands the orchestra glows and shimmers, and he lets the music speak for its eloquent self.

10) Symphony in D Minor, Franck (EMI). I believe this was Karajan's first recording with L'Orchestre de Paris. Not only do they sound world-class; he manages to conduct this music with a real sense of French style. No other performance that I have heard brings out the pealing brass in the finale of the coda, a testament to the remarkable clarity Karajan was able to achieve.

11) Organ Symphony, Saint-Saens (DG). Karajan pulls out every perfumed color, every effect, large or small, and brings it all to a pulse-racing ending--once again showing off his ability to bring the orchestra right to the edge but maintain ensemble to the very last note.

12) Sympony No. 2, Brahms (EMI). Many of Karajan's recordings with the Philharmonia are legendary, and rightly so; this one may be my favorite. The strings are plush but with just the right amount of bite to keep them from sounding overly honeyed. The tempi, the musical argument, the architectonics are all exactly right.

13) Symphony No. 9, Schubert (EMI). Karajan recorded a complete set of Schubert's symphonies with the Berlin Philharmonic. All of the recordings are excellent (although I think the tempi in his earlier recording, with the Philharmonia, of the "Unfinished" are less ponderous and more effective). Schubert's Ninth is a hard symphony to pull off. I like Karajan's approach--generous, large-scale, but that precise ensemble and textural clarity keep it from becoming heavy; if anything, it soars.

14) "Ein heldenleben," Strauss (DG). Karajan was a great Straussian, although, to be honest, I prefer Fritz Reiner in much of this music, especially the orchestral works. But this recording may give Reiner a run for the money; the overall arch and thrust of the music is more, well, heroic, more inspired--yes, it's less ironic, perhaps more earnest, but he sells it.

DG has set up a special Karajan web site to mark this anniversary; it looks as though they'll be putting out all sorts of special CDs and DVDs. And of course I must commend Richard Osborne's biography; it is more objective than one might expect from Osborne, a Karajanite par excellence. There are many anecdotes that show a side of Karajan that is endearing and vulnerable; Osborne does not shy away from the less-endearing parts of Karajan's personality, either.

Whosungit?

Melomanes who are also mystery lovers will no doubt want to flock to Paris where an enterprising troupe is reviving an "operette policiere" based on the famous character of Arsene Lupin. The French review I found called the evening "two hours of happiness." It was written in 1930, and the music is by Marcel Lattes, the nephew of Lupin's creator (and a victim of Auschwitz).

You can hear excerpts from the show on Benoit Duteurtre's loads-of-fun Radio France program, "Etonnez-moi, Benoit."

Thank You, Gert, Wherever You Are

G&T has seen a spike in visitors the past couple of days, thanks to a link on a blog that was hitherto unknown to me--Mad Musings of Me, written by one Gert who lives in the UK. My take on Placido Domingo's performance in Iphigenie was the attraction. So thank you, Gert, and welcome Mad Musings readers--hope you'll want to stick around here at G&T.

Where Did They Go?

Listening to a 1977 Met broadcast of Madama Butterfly last night on Sirius was somewhat nostalgic for me. The Sharpless was the American baritone Ryan Edwards. I had heard him the previous season when he sang Enrico to Beverly Sills's Lucia. He had a capacious instrument, strong and steady, and his Sharpless showed me that my memory wasn't playing tricks. He sang only 40-odd performances at the Met, mostly in the late '70s. I'm not sure what happened after that, although he maintains a web site that fills in some of the details.

Pinkerton was Giacomo Aragall, who had been singing at the Met for nearly a decade. He was in truly good voice. I never heard him in the house, but this performance really makes you wonder why he only sang 38 performances at the Met. His tenor was firm and elegant, although perhaps lacking somewhat in squillante and the kind of Italianate ring that some long for in these kinds of roles. Perhaps in the house it sounded washed out, although I'd find that hard to believe.

In those days, European opera houses, flooded with state subsidies, could offer singers more money than the Met, which was facing its own budgetary woes during a period when the United States was suffering through an economic downturn. Singers with big recording contracts needed the Met for promotional purposes, but a whole tier of excellent singers, like Aragall, may have felt that they could make more money in Europe.

As for the Butterfly, it was Renata Scotto in her justly famous portrayal. The wobble had started to creep into her singing, but overall her performance was heartbreaking, progressing from innocence to defiance and, finally, to tragic resolution. I missed some of these elements in Racette's recent characterization.

The only disappointing element was Giuseppe Patane's conducting. I always liked Patane--he never went for cheap effects and maintained good old-fashioned ensemble. In this performance he was perhaps a little too deferential to his singers; at times the momentum sagged to the point of stasis.

You never know what you're going to get in those '70s Met broadcasts--some performances were truly forgettable. Not this one.

Cuisine du Depression: Mock-Apple Pie

Back in 1975, Russell Baker wrote a now-legendary column in which he wryly commented on a multi-course banquet consumed by Craig Claiborne, then the Times's chief food writer, by disclosing his self-prepared gourmet meal, which featured such highlights as pate de fruites de nuts of Georgia, in which "A half-inch layer of creamy style peanut butter is trowled onto a graham cracker, then half a banana is crudely diced and pressed firmly into the peanut butter and cemented in place as it were by a second graham cracker."

Among the several main courses, "I prepared beans with bacon grease, a dish I perfected in 1937 while developing my cuisine du depression."

So it is in the spirit of cuisine du depression that I made a dessert that, as an avid reader of the backs of Ritz cracker boxes, I had long been curious about: Mock-Apple Pie.

There are indeed no apples of any kind in Mock-Apple Pie: the filling is a mixture of crushed Ritz crackers and sugar syrup. The recipe is straightforward and not particularly challenging.

As will be seen from the picture, the finished product does indeed come out looking very much like applie pie, with a filling that is the same consistency and color of the original. (The flaky crust is the Pet-Ritz frozen variety.)

It has a satisfying taste, over all, although I did not think it tasted particularly like apple pie. The lemon zest and juice that is added tends to become the dominant note, and I wonder if sneaking in a little apple juice wouldn't be more to the point. Still, it was enthusiastically received chez moi.