As a dyed-in-the-wool record enthusiast/collector/nut, I own a hefty assortment of Brahms symphony recordings. By "hefty" I refer to my 25 separate recordings of the First, matched by similar numbers for the remaining three. 18 of the Haydn Variations. I'll stop with the bean counting, but you get my drift. I've also spent a fair amount of time studying the symphonies analytically, playing them from score, and hearing live performances. I'm not some world-beating expert on Brahms, but I know my stuff.
I'm not a particularly tough customer, nor am I one of those horrid types who shower one particular interpretation with impassioned veneration while condemning all the rest to eternal hellfire. I can typically find something in any performance that's interesting, something to admire. The Brahms symphonies are, after all, quintessential forums for musicians to express their artistry. Given the stature that a fine Brahms recording bestows, you don't find that many that have been phoned in. Orchestras aren't inclined to saw through a Brahms symphony, given the by-now impressive tradition that has blossomed around these monuments of the orchestral literature.
But certain orchestras have special Brahmsian street cred, and the Vienna Philharmonic is the band that has the longest and closest relationship to the works. The Vienna Phil was Brahms' own orchestra, after all. We may safely assume that Brahms had the sound of those large-bore brass instruments and that blend/contrast between the winds and the strings in his inner ear when he worked out his orchestrations. Other orchestras have shone forth magnificently in Brahms—Berlin, London, Cleveland, the Philharmonia, Chicago. But I always keep coming back to Vienna.
I didn't explore Carlo Maria Giulini's late Brahms cycle with Vienna until very recently. I have long considered his American outings in Chicago and Los Angeles, together with those fine Philharmonia renderings from England, to represent him at the full bloom of his elegant maturity, but in Vienna we hear him later in life, an already lyrical and poised artist glowing with conviction and secure in his bombast-free approach to the works. Listeners might be obliged to adjust to some relatively slow tempi, but given the unbroken strength of the line and the exquisite sonic balances, it's hard to imagine the music being as effective with the tempo ratcheted up a bit. The tempi aren't all that slow—there's nothing here on the order that awaits the unwary listener hearing the Klemperer St. Matthew for the first time—but the bristle one associates with some conductors is completely absent.
The sustained breath is, well, breathtaking. Hearing the opening of the Haydn Variations made me realize just how much beauty can be extracted from a simple neighbor-tone figure, without exaggeration. Poise, rich tone, and pacing that always allows the music to sound fully are trademarks of the late Giulini style. You'll have to go a long way to hear a First that opens with such expansive grandeur, or a Second that highlights the sweet melancholy that threads through this mostly sunny composition. I give his Third full marks for being the most convincing I have ever heard, even—and it pains me to say it—more than Furtwängler's, for me the touchstone interpretation of this most complex of the four symphonies.
I'm also a sucker for the sound of the great hall of the Musikverein, especially when recorded with the opulence accorded by DGG's engineers who originally captured the Giulini performances. Right around the same time, DGG also preserved James Levine's magisterial performances of same works, another sadly overlooked Brahms cycle. In both sets the hall itself is a character in the story, while the Vienna Phil shines forth in all its incomparable glory, unique and quirky and compelling. The Giulini set has just been re-released by Newton; I don't know if there has been any remastering involved. The audio itself is reason enough to buy the thing; this is Deutsche Grammophon at its absolute peak of sonic mastery.
The classical music world is a kaleidoscopic community, not a monolithic entity. Flashy performers come and go. Stars ascend, twinkle for a while, then fade. But there always seem to be some incomparable artists amongst us, the pure musicians who never stop growing and who just get better and better as the years roll by. That was Giulini. How he graced our profession! And to hear him in his autumn, leading a supreme orchestra through works he had known for three-quarters of a century—well, it just doesn't get any better than that.
So: Newton Classics 8802063, four CDs in a simple but elegant jewel case, recorded from 1989 through 1992. Get it. Your inner muse will thank you.
