Building a Collection #123

Swan Lake, Op. 20

By Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

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“To regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present: that is what I spend my whole life doing”

-Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Welcome or welcome back to Building a Collection, where we discuss the greatest 250 classical music works of all-time. We are moving up the list, and have arrived at #123, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s ballet Swan Lake. Completed in 1876, the ballet was initially a failure, but of course today we know it as one of the most acclaimed ballets ever written.

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840 - 1893)

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky was born in 1840 in Votkinsk, Vlatka District, Russia and died in 1893 in St. Petersburg, Russia. Tchaikovsky was the composer of some of the most popular and enduring melodies and themes in classical music and is widely considered to be the greatest Russian composer ever. Although he lived through a time of tremendous change in musical styles, at heart he was a Romantic and his music is relatively traditional and conservative in style. He is not considered an innovator, but such was his musical genius that his appeal and communicative power lies with his ability to sweep us up in his melodic charm and depth of feeling. Tchaikovsky’s music spanned ballet, symphonic, orchestral, concerto, opera, vocal, chamber music, keyboard, and choral genres. The works that have generally garnered the most acclaim are his ballets, symphonies, orchestral works, and concertos.

Pyotr Ilyich began taking piano lessons at age four, and immediately showed tremendous talent. By the age of nine, however, his anxiety was so great that it significantly impeded his ability to play. Tchaikovsky was a sensitive young man by nature, and the loss of his mother when he was 14 was a crushing blow. While he pursued a legal career for a time, he was continually drawn back to music. In 1861 he began studying composition and harmony and enrolled at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Eventually he would study with the composer Anton Rubinstein.

In 1866, Tchaikovsky moved to Moscow to take up a teaching position at the new conservatory there. Shortly after taking the post he composed his Symphony no. 1, but suffered a sort of nervous breakdown while composing it. Other early works appeared, the most notable being the ballet Swan Lake in 1875. During travels to Paris and Bayreuth, Tchaikovsky met Liszt, but was allegedly snubbed by Wagner. Swan Lake premiered in 1877, leading to greater notoriety and fame. During 1877-1878 Tchaikovsky also composed his Symphony no. 4, which was his first big symphonic breakthrough. He would go on to compose several other blockbuster classical works such as The Nutcracker, The Sleeping Beauty, Piano Concerto no. 1, Symphony no. 5 and Symphony no. 6 “Pathetique” and the Serenade for Strings.

It was also around the same time Tchaikovsky made the foolish decision to marry an admirer by the name of Antonina Ivanovna Milyukova. Most biographers and musicologists agree that Tchaikovsky was homosexual, so the marriage was certainly not a match. But neither was it happy in other ways, and after only a few short months the marriage ended. It was deeply humiliating for Tchaikovsky and led to a suicide attempt. Throughout the debacle, Tchaikovsky’s family remained supportive of him. It may have been the case that the failed marriage forced him to face his sexuality. In any case, he never blamed Antonina for the failure. Throughout the ordeal he continued to correspond with and confide in a woman who was his largest benefactor and pen-pal, Nadezhda von Meck.

Over the years Tchaikovsky’s personal life has been the subject of intense debate and scrutiny, much of it concerning his sexuality. The stance of the Soviet censors was to portray him as heterosexual, and to get rid of any reference to his same-sex attractions. Such censorship has even continued into recent Russian propaganda. But it is well-established that Tchaikovsky sought out the company of men consistently, and that he was deeply in love with a man named Sergey Kireyev, a fellow jurisprudence student while in school. There is little doubt Tchaikovsky had strong same-sex feelings, as this can be found in his brother’s autobiography, as well as Tchaikovsky’s own letters that escaped the Soviet censors.

What is less clear is how impactful the realization of his homosexuality was in Tchaikovsky’s life. David Brown, noted musicologist and biographer, says that he “felt tainted within himself, defiled by something from which he finally realized he could never escape“. But Russian-American scholar Alexander Poznansky maintains that Tchaikovsky experienced little guilt over his sexual desires and “eventually came to see his sexual peculiarities as an insurmountable and even natural part of his personality ... without experiencing any serious psychological damage.” The role that his sexuality played in his life and his music has recently been downplayed by many scholars.

In terms of Tchaikovsky’s legacy as a composer, it is fair to say he forged his own path by combining elements from German symphonic tradition, Russian folk songs and patriotic music, as well as his uncanny ability for melodic invention. He accomplished this while having very little in the way of a Russian musical tradition to call upon for inspiration. Tchaikovsky wanted to be true to his national roots, while at the same time creating art which would be fully embraced in Europe and the west. He was successful in doing this, perhaps more than any other Russian composer. Certainly he was also important to other Russian composers that would follow such as Stravinsky, Shostakovich, and Prokofiev.

For me Tchaikovsky’s music will always have a beauty, charm, immediacy, and emotional power which never goes out of style. The expressiveness of his musical language reflects the human condition in a way that few others have matched.

Swan Lake

In 1875, when Tchaikovsky was commissioned by Vladimir Begichev to write Swan Lake, he had not achieved much fame beyond Russia, and had never written a ballet. The origin of the story used for Swan Lake is obscure, but there are a number of possible sources for the narrative. First, the story seems to borrow themes from German and Russian folktales, including swan-maiden legends. Most notable among the German fairy tales is The Stolen Veil by Johann Karl August Musäus and the Russian folktale The White Duck. Another possible source that is widely mentioned is Tchaikovsky’s own fascination with Bavaria’s King Ludwig II, also known as the “Swan King”. The King’s sad and mysterious death in a lake likely inspired the character of Prince Siegfried in the ballet. But it is also known that Tchaikovsky had previously begun writing a children’s ballet in 1871 titled The Lake of the Swans, intended for his nieces and nephews. It is known that Tchaikovsky greatly admired the operas of Richard Wagner in those days, and may have even intended the character of Siegfried to echo Wagner’s own Siegfried.

Whatever the inspiration for the story, it seems clear that Tchaikovsky used Adam’s well-known 1844 ballet Giselle as an inspiration in terms of his use of “leitmotifs” in the music, or the use of recurring musical themes to depict specific characters or moods in the story. But true to Tchaikovsky’s character, he didn’t just want to write music to accompany the dance, but also wanted the music to stand well on its own. In this respect, he took ideas from Delibes’ ballet Sylvia. The source of the libretto remains unclear. Some claim that Tchaikovsky himself may have been behind the amalgam of fairy tales which led to the final story.

Tchaikovsky was paid 800 rubles for composing the ballet. Unlike the scores of The Sleeping Beauty and The Nutcracker, no written directives for Swan Lake were found for many years. However, in 2015 notes dating from as early as 1876 were identified in the Institute for Art Studies in Moscow, giving us more insight into the original production.

Tchaikovsky worked with the little known choreographer Julius Reisinger on the initial staging, and the premiere took place at the Bolshoi Theater in Moscow in 1877. There is even some speculation that Reisinger was responsible for the story. However, the premiere and initial choreography and themes did not resonate with audiences, leading to disappointment for Tchaikovsky. It wasn’t until 1895, after Tchaikovsky’s death, that Swan Lake was reimagined by choreographer Marius Petipa and his assistant Lev Ivanov that the ballet began catching on with audiences. With more focus on character development in the story, some innovative choreography, and the infusion of more emotional depth, the ballet took on a vibrant life. The performances were more cohesive, with Tchaikovsky’s music becoming more integral to the story line.

At the same time in preparation for this revival, Italian composer Riccardo Drigo revised the score after receiving permission to do so from Tchaikovsky’s brother Modest. There are some significant differences between what Tchaikovsky wrote and the Drigo revival, and it is this 1895 revision that is used most in productions up until today. Indeed, Modest was called upon to also change the libretto and he made some key changes including changing the swan-maiden into a cursed mortal woman, and changing the villain from Odette’s stepmother to the magician von Rothbart. In the finale, instead of the lovers simply drowning at the hand of Odette’s stepmother as in the original 1877 production, Odette dies by drowning herself, with Prince Siegfried choosing to die as well, rather than live without her, and soon the lovers’ spirits are reunited in an apotheosis. The revised version had its premiere in Saint Petersburg in January 1895, and while it was not a huge hit, the reception was positive. Remarkably the ballet was only performed a handful of times the rest of the decade in Russia. But after the turn of the century, the ballet was picked up by other theaters in Europe and began to build in popularity, and it was first staged in America in 1940 in San Francisco.

While there have been perhaps a dozen other productions over the years which have diverged in some ways from the original, the 1895 choreography has been preserved nearly all the time. The primary role in the ballet are as follows:

• Princess Odette (the Swan Queen, the White Swan, the Swan Princess), a beautiful princess, who has been transformed into a white swan

• Prince Siegfried, a handsome Prince who falls in love with Odette

• Baron Von Rothbart, an evil sorcerer, who has enchanted Odette

• Odile (the Black Swan), Rothbart’s daughter

• Benno von Sommerstern, the Prince’s friend

• The Queen, Prince Siegfried’s mother

• Wolfgang, his tutor

• Baron von Stein

• The Baroness, his wife

• Freiherr von Schwarzfels

• Freiherr von Schwarzfels’ wife

• A herald

• A footman

• Court gentlemen and ladies, friends of the prince, heralds, guests, pages, villagers, servants, swans, cygnets

In terms of the synopsis, Swan Lake is generally presented in either four acts, four scenes (primarily outside Russia and Eastern Europe) or three acts, four scenes (primarily in Russia and Eastern Europe). The biggest difference of productions all over the world is that the ending, originally tragic, is now sometimes altered to a happy ending.

Here is the synopsis from the 1895 production:

Act 1

A magnificent park before a palace

Prince Siegfried is celebrating his birthday with his tutor, friends, and peasants. The revelries are interrupted by his mother, the Queen, who is concerned about his carefree lifestyle. She tells him that he must choose a bride at the royal ball the following evening (some productions include the presentation of some possible candidates). He is upset that he cannot marry for love. His friend, Benno, and his tutor try to lift his troubled mood. As evening falls, Benno sees a flock of swans flying overhead and suggests they go on a hunt. Siegfried and his friends take their crossbows and set off in pursuit of the swans.

Act 2

A lakeside clearing in a forest by the ruins of a chapel. A moonlit night.

Siegfried has become separated from his friends. He arrives at the lakeside clearing, just as a flock of swans lands. He aims his crossbow, but freezes when one of them transforms into a beautiful maiden named Odette. At first, she is terrified of him. When he promises not to harm her, she explains that she and her companions are victims of a spell cast by the evil owl-like sorcerer named Rothbart. By day they are turned into swans and only at night, by the side of the enchanted lake – created from the tears of Odette’s mother – do they return to human form. The spell can only be broken if one who has never loved before swears to love Odette forever. Rothbart suddenly appears. Siegfried threatens to kill him but Odette intercedes – if Rothbart dies before the spell is broken, it can never be undone.

As Rothbart disappears, the swan maidens fill the clearing. Siegfried breaks his crossbow, and sets about winning Odette’s trust as they fall in love. But as dawn arrives, the evil spell draws Odette and her companions back to the lake and they are turned into swans again.

Act 3

An opulent hall in the palace

Guests arrive at the palace for a costume ball. Six princesses are presented to the prince, as candidates for marriage. Rothbart arrives in disguise with his daughter, Odile, who is transformed to look like Odette. Though the princesses try to attract Siegfried with their dances, he has eyes only for Odile. Odette appears at the castle window and attempts to warn him, but he does not see her. He then proclaims to the court that he will marry Odile before Rothbart shows him a magical vision of Odette. Grief-stricken and realizing his mistake (he vowed only to love Odette), he hurries back to the lake.

Act 4

By the lakeside

Odette is distraught. The swan maidens try to comfort her. Siegfried returns to the lake and makes a passionate apology. She forgives him, but his betrayal cannot be undone. Rather than remain a swan forever, she chooses to die. He chooses to die with her and they leap into the lake, where they will stay together forever. This breaks Rothbart’s spell over the swan maidens, causing him to lose his power over them and he dies. In an apotheosis, they, who transform back into regular maidens, watch as Siegfried and Odette ascend into the Heavens together, forever united in love.

Swan Lake is rather unique in that many different endings are possible, and over the years many opera companies have chosen either to use Tchaikovsky’s original 1877 ending, or have created their own. Some are happy, some return to the tragic ending. There is no clear consensus on what works best, but it is intriguing how much artistic license is permitted on this point.

The dance structure of the ballet (1895) is as follows:

Act 1

• Introduction: Moderato assai – Allegro non-troppo – Tempo I

• No. 1 Scène: Allegro giusto

• No. 2 Waltz: Tempo di valse

• No. 3 Scène: Allegro moderato

• No. 4 Pas de trois

  • 1. Intrada (or Entrée): Allegro

  • 2. Andante sostenuto

  • 3. Allegro semplice, Presto

  • 4. Moderato

  • 5. Allegro

  • 6. Coda: Allegro vivace

• No. 5 Pas de deux for Two Merry-makers (later fashioned into the Black Swan Pas de Deux)

  • 1. Tempo di valse ma non troppo vivo, quasi moderato

  • 2. Andante – Allegro

  • 3. Tempo di valse

  • 4. Coda: Allegro molto vivace

• No. 6 Pas d’action: Andantino quasi moderato – Allegro

• No. 7 Sujet (Introduction to the Dance with Goblets)

• No. 8 Dance with Goblets: Tempo di polacca

• No. 9 Finale: Sujet, Andante

Act 2

• No. 10 Scène: Moderato

• No. 11 Scène: Allegro moderato, Moderato, Allegro vivo

• No. 12 Scène: Allegro, Moderato assai quasi andante

• No. 13 Dances of the Swans

  • 1. Tempo di valse

  • 2. Moderato assai

  • 3. Tempo di valse

  • 4. Allegro moderato (later the famous Dance of the Little Swans)

  • 5. Pas d’action: Andante, Andante non-troppo, Allegro (material borrowed from Undina)

  • 6. Tempo di valse

  • 7. Coda: Allegro vivo

• No. 14 Scène: Moderato

Act 3

• No. 15 Scène: March – Allegro giusto

• No. 16 Ballabile: Dance of the Corps de Ballet and the Dwarves: Moderato assai, Allegro vivo

• No. 17 Entrance of the Guests and Waltz: Allegro, Tempo di valse

• No. 18 Scène: Allegro, Allegro giusto

• No. 19 Pas de six

  • 1. Intrada (or Entrée): Moderato assai

  • 2. Variation I: Allegro

  • 3. Variation II: Andante con moto (although titled as a variation, this number was likely meant to follow the Intrada and serve as the central Grande adage of the Pas de six after the Intrada but either composed to be out of sequence and published as such after the first variation)

  • 4. Variation III: Moderato

  • 5. Variation IV: Allegro

  • 6. Variation V: Moderato, Allegro semplice

  • 7. Grand Coda: Allegro molto

• Appendix I – Pas de deux pour Mme. Anna Sobeshchanskaya[a]

  • 1. Andante

  • 2. Variation I: Allegro moderato

  • 3. Variation II: Allegro

  • 4. Coda: Allegro molto vivace

• No. 20 Hungarian Dance: Czardas – Moderato assai, Allegro moderato, Vivace

• Appendix II – No. 20a Danse russe pour Mlle. Pelageya Karpakova: Moderato, Andante semplice, Allegro vivo, Presto

• No. 21 Danse Espagnole: Allegro non-troppo (Tempo di bolero)

• No. 22 Danse Napolitaine: Allegro moderato, Andantino quasi moderato, Presto

• No. 23 Mazurka: Tempo di mazurka

• No. 24 Scène: Allegro, Tempo di valse, Allegro vivo

Act 4

• No. 25 Entr’acte: Moderato

• No. 26 Scène: Allegro non-troppo

• No. 27 Dance of the Little Swans: Moderato

• No. 28 Scène: Allegro agitato, Molto meno mosso, Allegro vivace

• No. 29 Scène finale: Andante, Allegro, Alla breve, Moderato e maestoso, Moderato

The adaptations of Swan Lake for stage, in film, dance, computer games, literature, music, television, and opera have been numerous and varied.

Swan Lake has a strong history of protest symbolism in Russia. The symbolism dates to the failed Soviet coup of 1991. On August 19 of that year, as tanks rolled into Moscow, state television aired the entire ballet on loop. Communist hardliners then announced that they had seized control of the country from Mikhail Gorbachev, whom they had arrested. Boris Yeltsin responded by climbing on a tank in central Moscow and urging citizens to turn out in protest. For three days, thousands of protesters stood off the army, after which the coup leaders relented. Within four months, the Soviet Union was gone.

In 1991, there was a tradition of interrupting regular programming by airing the ballet on loop when the government was in crisis: it happened with the death of Leonid Brezhnev in 1982, while a successor was selected, and again with the deaths of Yuri Andropov in 1984 and Konstantin Chernenko in 1985. Swan Lake thus became a sign of political instability and upheaval.

Recommended Recordings

While there have been many more recordings of suites, highlights, or excerpts from Swan Lake, for this survey I have only reviewed either complete ballet recordings, or nearly complete recordings. Besides being a bit of a completist myself, there is so much good music throughout the ballet that it would be negligent to skip over it. But also, if you really want to understand the story, it is important to listen to the complete recording. If you are only looking for the suite, or excerpts, I would point you to the DG recording with Rostropovich leading the Berlin Philharmonic, or to the highlights album taken from Tilson Thomas and the LSO’s fine recording (see below). Yes, it is a long ballet and in the age of CDs, at times it stretched to 3 CDs, but it is somewhat easier in the age of streaming.

One more note on Swan Lake, and that is it is both a ballet and sometimes a concert piece for orchestra. I have a definite bias here for recordings which highlight the orchestral brilliance of the music rather than the balletic element. It is true that performances which are played in the pit for the ballet stage are generally slower, more inflected, and more rhythmically consistent. But I can’t help it. I like performances which are faster, more rhythmically varied, and which treat the music as the showcase. You will notice that bias in my recommendations.

The first recording I recommend is the first truly complete recording that was ever made, with Antal Doráti leading the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra in a recording from 1954 on Mercury (now owned by Decca). Doráti was keen to highlight the dance elements, but also the orchestral virtuosity. The MSO is captured in their regular recording venue of the time, the Northrop Auditorium on the University of Minnesota campus. The sound is good for the time, up close and detailed (and a noticeable improvement from Fistoulari’s otherwise excellent set from 1952 in London), although like many Mercury recordings of the time period, there is some thinness in the strings and woodwinds, and some dryness in the sound. The overall balance is lacking in the bass end. But still, for its vintage this sounds terrific. Doráti is superb throughout at building tension and drama, and he focuses on both the highs and lows in the score. The narrative is given the full emotional treatment, and I like that Doráti is not focused on the “danceability” of his tempos, but rather the overall orchestral effect. On that point, he succeeds marvelously. The MSO was sometimes disparaged for its lack of polish and virtuosity back in the day, but what I hear is complete commitment and playing of a very high order. Recommended.

Moving ahead to 1969, the superb account of the complete Swan Lake by Russian/Soviet conductor Gennady Rozhdestvensky and the Moscow Radio Symphony Orchestra on Melodiya (I actually listened to it on a Bak remastering). I have long had a soft spot for Rozhdestvensky, and this account is an excellent example of the “Russian” way with Tchaikovsky, and I love it. The sound has a bit of background hiss as well as a bit of reverberation in louder passages typical of Soviet engineering of the day, but I like how immediate the sound is (although some may not like the more “in your face” perspective). You will quickly notice how the brass blare out more aggressively than on other recordings, and there is a certain wild personality instilled into the playing which captures the passionate and emotional core of the music. This is a world away from the polish and smoothness of Tilson Thomas and Slatkin (below), with the intensity definitely turned up a notch. Textures are grittier and climaxes are more powerful. Rozhdestvensky plays the ballet score completely, including repeats.

The next recording I want to highlight is André Previn’s lush and glorious 1976 recording with the London Symphony Orchestra for EMI (Warner). Previn was a master at ballet (and film scores for that matter), really anywhere it was important to showcase color and lyricism. If what you want in this score is more of a balance between the orchestral and the balletic elements, then Previn may very well be your choice even though he also somewhat favors the orchestral brilliance. The sound is lush and polished in perhaps a more European manner than a Russian way, but when it is played with such beauty, it is hard to quibble. Orchestral textures are smoother, but Previn doesn’t miss the drama or the impact of the climaxes at all. The playing of the LSO is unimpeachable, and there is the extra treat of having legendary violinist Ida Haendel playing the extensive violin solos. While you notice the warm acoustic of Kingsway Hall in London, there is some overload or congestion in louder passages, which frankly surprised me. But overall this is easily one of the best complete Swan Lake recordings out there.

Another complete version which would be easy to overlook is the outstanding 1982 recording by ballet conductor John Lanchberry and the Philharmonia Orchestra on EMI (Warner). I love how Lanchberry infuses personality into the score by varying tempos and dynamics, and how he conducts this music with more awareness of dance and lilt. The Philharmonia are outstanding, and the recording from Abbey Road is vivid and colorful (though it lacks some of the bloom of Kingsway Hall or Watford Town Hall). Lanchberry is particularly effective at bringing out the rhythmic nuances and details, as you might expect from a ballet specialist. Tempos are still faster than you might hear for the stage, but the whole thing has tremendous lift and spirit. This remains a very competitive set, and one which I will return to for its personality and vibrancy.

The popular Russian/Soviet conductor Yevgeny Svetlanov was like an unbridled horse at times in his style, and while that approach did not always work well, in my view it is just right for Tchaikovsky. His 1988 recording with the USSR State Symphony Orchestra on Melodiya is a prime example of what I like about Svetlanov’s approach. The brass are forward and blaring, the tempos are altered abruptly depending on the narrative, and there is a great sense of being swept up in the passion and emotion of the music. This is an extroverted reading, with some numbers taken at an extremely fast pace, but it is utterly thrilling too. Svetlanov highlights the drama and weight rather than the dance qualities, The sound, true to form on Melodiya, is atmospheric and similar to what you might hear in a concert hall, rather than being detailed. There is some shrillness and congestion in louder climaxes, but nothing bothersome.

Many of Leonard Slatkin’s best recordings with the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra on RCA from the 1980s are overlooked. One that should definitely not be passed over is their 1989 recording of the complete Swan Lake. First, let me say the sound is among the very best on this list from the Powell Symphony Hall in Saint Louis. Similar to Tilson Thomas below, this is a full-blooded orchestral account which could never accompany actual ballet dancers. But nevermind. The power and sweep Slatkin and his orchestra give this music is positively contagious. This is dramatic, theatrical, and thrilling, and Statkin doesn’t miss the romantic subtleties either. Just listen to the No. 9 Finale or No. 13 Dances of the Swans V Pas d’action, which are superbly done. While this recording (and Tilson Thomas below) might miss the biting, raw energy found in some of the Russian interpretations, the sheer elan showcased here leads to much listening pleasure. I read somewhere that critics complained about the “thinness” of the recorded sound here. I simply don’t hear that at all, and it at least matches other accounts here in depth and resonance.

Forward to 1991, and we encounter the outstanding recording by Michael Tilson Thomas and the London Symphony Orchestra. We are firmly in the category of orchestral showpiece here rather than ballet, but with top notch sound from the Sony engineers at Watford Town Hall in London, the recording has considerable warmth and beauty. Yes, Tilson Thomas leans into the more romantic with a bit of indulgence, but it is all so well done. Tempos are brisk, certainly faster than a stage performance. But the tradeoff is greater excitement and tension. Tilson Thomas is not afraid to speed up or slow down significantly as he interprets it would help the musical impact. The Act I Allegro giusto is nothing short of thrilling. Brass, timpani, and other percussion are brilliantly vibrant and enjoyable. Alexander Barantschik on the violin solos is terrific, lyrical and poignant. The LSO shows themselves here to be one of the very best orchestras in the world.

Recorded in their favorite venue of Saint-Eustache Church in Montréal, the Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal under Charles Dutoit recorded Swan Lake for Decca in 1991. This complete set remains one of the most recommendable of modern recordings. In terms of both sound, and orchestral refinement, this version has a lot to offer. Dutoit seems to have a natural instinct for the shifting emotional and rhythmic elements as well, and unlike the Russian recordings, the polish and technical precision are noticeably excellent. The violin solos are exquisitely executed, and the narrative drama is well handled. I am most reminded of Previn’s recording when listening to this, although on the basis of sound, Dutoit’s ambience is more glowing and resonant (almost too resonant in my view), while Previn’s is more detailed and warm. Previn scores points for more sensitivity to the balletic aspects, and more pointed rhythms, while Dutoit is more flowing and flexible. Dutoit also makes some minor cuts in the score. But the truth is both recordings are outstanding.

The 2018 recording by Vladimir Jurowski and the Russian State Symphony Orchestra on the Pentatone label is very fine indeed, and in excellent sound. While Jurowski’s tempos are not as fast as Tilson Thomas, Slatkin, and Lanchberry, there is a much better sense of the overall arc as a ballet, especially as he uses the original 1877 version. At the same time, Jurowski has a keen sense of the rhythmic and dynamic contrasts. Don’t get me wrong, Jurowski still highlights the essentially symphonic nature of the music, so the pacing could not be used for an actual ballet. The strings, woodwinds, and brass are dark-hued in the Russian tradition, but Jurowski exerts more control than Svetlanov or Rozhdestvensky. What you prefer is down to taste really, personally I prefer a bit more abandon than Jurowski gives us. The pacing is seamless, but having said that almost too smooth in some places. But there is no doubt this recording is stirring and idiomatic in the best sense. The sound is excellent, if a tad dry for my tastes.

Other Swan Lake Recordings You May Like

LSO / Fistoulari (Decca 1952)

Suisse Romande / Ansermet (Decca 1958)

National / Bonynge (Decca 1975)

BSO / Ozawa (DG 1979)

Royal Opera / Ermler (Sony 1989)

Czecho-Slovak / Lenard (Naxos 1990)

The Philadelphia Orchestra / Sawallisch (EMI/Warner 1993)

Mariinsky / Gergiev (Philips / Decca 2006)

Russian National / Pletnev (Ondine 2010)

Bergen / Järvi (Chandos 2012)

That’s it for this edition of Building a Collection. Thank you for joining me in this exploration of the glorious Swan Lake. Join me next time when we will take a look at #124: Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians. See you then!

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Notes:

ABC News, How ‘Swan Lake’ became a symbol of protest in Russia. April 29, 2022.

Beaumont, Rachel. (19 February 2015). “The Swan Lake mystery: An amalgam of different fairytales”. Royal Opera House. Archived from the original on 29 March 2017.

Brown, David (1992). Tchaikovsky: The Final Years, 1885-1893. W. W. Norton & Company. pp. 492. ISBN 0393030997.

Holden, Anthony. Tchaikovsky: A Biography, p. 167, Random House (1996), ISBN 978-0-679-42006-4

Letter of Madame Nadeshda von Meck, paraphrased from The Symphonies of Brahms and Tschaikowsky in Score (New York: Bonanza Books, 1935). ISBN n/a.

Macaulay, Alastair (13 October 2015). “’Swan Lake’ discoveries allow for a deeper dive into its history”. The New York Times. Retrieved 6 March 2015.

Maes, Francis, tr. Arnold J. Pomerans and Erica Pomerans, A History of Russian Music: From Kamarinskaya to Babi Yar (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 2002). ISBN 0-520-21815-9.

NPR, In 1991, Soviet Citizens Saw Swans On The TV... And Knew It Meant Turmoil. August 19, 2021.

Steinberg, Cobbett (1983). San Francisco Ballet: The First Fifty Years. San Francisco: Chronicle Books. ISBN 0-9611194-0-3

Swan Lake: the story behind Tchaikovsky’s great ballet score. Published April 29, 2021 by BBC Classical Music. Found online at https://www.classical-music.com/articles/guide-swan-lake

Swan Lake: A History. Community Engagement Department. Ballet Arizona. October 18, 2024. Found online at https://balletaz.org/swan-lake-a-history/

“The Fascinating History of Swan Lake: Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Greatest Ballet”. History Hit. Retrieved 19 June 2021.

Warrack, John, Tchaikovsky (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1973). SBN 684-13558-2.

Wiley, Roland John (1991). Tchaikovsky’s Ballets: Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, Nutcracker. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ISBN 0-19-315314-9.

https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/1672211.Peter_Ilyich_Tchaikovsky

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan_Lake?scrlybrkr=e9ebcefe

The Top 75 Conductors Series

#52: Yevgeny Mravinsky (1903 - 1988)

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At #52 in our series is the Russian and Soviet conductor Yevgeny Mravinsky. Mravinsky became a legend due to his searing and intense interpretations of music by Mozart, Beethoven, Bruckner, Tchaikovsky, Sibelius, Bartók, Stravinsky, and Shostakovich, and due to his long tenure at the helm of the Leningrad Philharmonic. A taskmaster that led his orchestra with brutality and authoritarianism, his style also led to performances which were precise, detailed, dramatic, and full of personality. While his work was sometimes greatly hidden behind the iron curtain, once listeners in the west were exposed to Mravinsky, he became very well-known.

Yevgeny Mravinsky (1903 – 1988)

Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Mravinsky was born in Saint Petersburg in the Russian Empire in 1903. Yevgeny began piano lessons at the age of six and around that time he was also taken to the Mariinsky Theatre to see Tchaikovsky’s ballet The Sleeping Beauty. It was a formative experience, as “he beheld a vision of paradise, the colors, lights, the huge crystal chandelier in the cupola.” When he was 10, Yevgeny began to attend the theatre. Years later he remembered, “I managed to catch Siegfried…Returning home devastated, I searched for the piano and tried, as best I could, to recollect the notes. A cold chill trickled up my spine. Stirred by a new, enigmatic sensation, the composer appeared equally as a magician and sorcerer capable of some mysterious force. It was impossible to perceive him as a real person, only as a genius.” Nicknamed “Zhenya” by his parents, he was also interested in zoology, botany, and the natural sciences. Yet his interest in music grew ever stronger. As Mravinsky started to prepare himself for entry into the Conservatory of Music, the Bolshevik Revolution broke out in 1917.

In 1918, as a teenager, the young Mravinsky began working backstage at the Mariinsky Theatre. Eventually he would serve as a ballet répétiteur from 1923 to 1931. When the young man entered St. Petersburg University in 1920, he studied Biology, but had to drop out after his father’s death. But by 1924, he applied to the Leningrad Conservatory and was admitted after being recommended through family connections.

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The Best New Classical Albums of 2026

Album #27

Requiem

Roland de Lassus

Vox Luminis

Lionel Meunier, director

Label: Ricercar

Release Date: September 4, 2026

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Roland de Lassus (1532 - 1594) (also known as Orlando di Lasso) was a late Renaissance composer from Mons, France (now Belgium). He began his musical career as a choirboy at St. Nicholas Church, and he was apparently an exceptionally good singer, as there were at least three attempts at abducting the boy by rival choirs. After traveling to Italy, he met madrigalist Hoste da Reggio, who greatly influenced his early style. After traveling around a bit, de Lassus was named Maestro di Capella at the Basilica of St. John Lateran in Rome in 1553, a prestigious post. But by 1554, de Lassus had left Rome and in 1556 he landed in Munich. He became kapellmeister of Duke Albrecht V of Bavaria’s court in Munich in 1556 and would remain in Munich for the rest of his life, teaching and composing.

De Lassus composed over 1,200 works of Renaissance polyphony, including masses, motets, madrigals, songs, and more. His style was a combination of Franco-Flemish polyphony blended with Italian expression, and his works are known for their considerable emotional range.

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Building a Collection #122

Aida

By Giuseppe Verdi

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Welcome back to my regular readers and subscribers, and if you are a new visitor I want to extend a warm welcome as well. I hope you find something here to fill your heart and soul for the journey. Whether you are a lifelong audiophile or just beginning to explore the world of symphonies and sonatas, this blog dives into timeless masterpieces, composer stories, and curated selections of recordings. I hope you join our community today as a free or paid subscriber. In addition to the free Building a Collection series, paid subscribers also have access to two additional ongoing series: The Best New Classical Recordings and The Top 75 Conductors.

We have reached #122 and the slot is occupied by Giuseppe Verdi’s grand tragic opera Aida. The opera Aida is in four acts, and was premiered in 1871 in Cairo’s Khedivial Opera House. Once the opera took its place in the standard opera repertoire, it has been performed thousands of times all over the world. At the Metropolitan Opera alone, Aida has been sung over 1,100 times since 1886. It is certainly one of Verdi’s most popular operas.

Giuseppe Verdi

Giuseppe Verdi was born in 1813 in Le Roncole, Italy and died in 1901 in Milan, Italy. Certainly one of the greatest opera composers in history, Verdi perfected Italian opera, taking the genre to new heights dramatically and musically. Considered among the greats in alongside Mozart, Wagner, and Puccini, Verdi lives on in the many performances of his greatest works including: Rigoletto, La Traviata, Il Trovatore, Aida, Otello, Falstaff, and his Messa da Requiem.

Verdi showed early musical talent on the piano, and by the age of 15 had already begun composing. After the Milan Conservatory turned him away, he studied privately with several well-known teachers. In 1839, after moving full-time to Milan, he composed his first opera Oberto. Oberto was a success, but his second effort, Un giorno di regno, was a failure. Worse yet, after tragically losing his two children in previous years, his wife died leaving Verdi alone and depressed. In the immediate years after his wife’s death, Verdi attempted to rebound with the operas Nabucco, I Lombardi, Macbeth, and Luisa Miller in a series of mostly successful productions.

In the period 1851 through 1853, Verdi wrote three of his most popular operas, Il Trovatore, La Traviata, and Rigoletto. Although Il Trovatore and Rigoletto were immediate successes, La Traviata was not well-received initially. After some revisions, it too became a great success. For a time Verdi was involved in politics, and this became evident in his next works, Simon Boccanegra and Un Ballo in Maschera. By now he was well established as one of the greatest composers of his time, and the public eagerly awaited his new works. In the 1860s, Verdi composed La forza del destino and Don Carlos, both premiered in St. Petersburg.

Verdi moved permanently to Genoa, Italy and composed Aida in 1870, which was a great success. But the composer gave up opera for a period of time thereafter, composing his String Quartet and Messa da Requiem in the 1870s. After a long opera gap, he turned out another opera in Otello in 1886 and then his final opera Falstaff in 1893. Falstaff, a bold and creative comic opera, became one of his greatest triumphs. In his final years, Verdi founded a hospital and a home for retired musicians. He retired to live at the Grand Hotel in Milan, composing his final work Quattro Pezzi Sacri (Four Sacred Pieces) in 1897.

Aida

Egypt and the exotic east were subjects of interest to Europeans in the 19th century, and back in 1798 Napoleon had even led his troops with a team of scientists, artists, and cartographers down the Nile to do research. The Pharaohs were endlessly fascinating, and at a time when Verdi was already famous, he was looking for worthy material for a new opera.

At the time, Cairo had a relatively new opera house, and the Khedive in Egypt wanted a brand new, spectacular opera for the theater. So they commissioned a new opera from Verdi. The story for the opera was apparently discovered by the famous French Egyptologist Auguste Mariette, and Mariette suggested the story to Verdi. When Mariette threatened to bring the story to Wagner if Verdi declined to use it, Verdi became very interested. Verdi was immediately drawn to the subject, even though he knew it would need adaptation to be used for Italian opera. A libretto was prepared by Antonio Ghislanzoni based on a French synopsis by Camille du Locle. Verdi worked closely with Ghislanzoni on the text in order to make it work in Italian. The premiere in Cairo was pushed from January to December 1871 because the set materials and costumes could not make it to Cairo from Paris due to the Franco-Prussian War.

The opera was an immediate success at its premiere in Cairo, although Verdi himself was not present. He was angry that only politicians and dignitaries had been present at the Cairo premiere. Therefore, Verdi himself considered its premiere in Milan to be the opera’s actual premiere, and it too was a huge success. Mariette himself actually designed the costumes, accessories, and the sets for the premiere. Verdi had actually composed an overture for the Milan premiere, but scrapped it just before the performance. The ballet music was composed prior to the Paris premiere, and was kept in the score. Soon, the opera went to London and throughout Europe and the rest is history.

Musically, Aida is the culmination of many styles previously used by Verdi, but there can be little doubt that Wagner’s influence loomed over this new opera. Yes, Verdi keeps the arias and the lyricism he was known for, but the transitions are more seamless, and the dialogue is less formally structured. The overall sweep of the story and music has shades of Wagner to it. Even so, the opera contains some of Verdi’s most famous music. John Mangum, annotator for the Los Angeles Philharmonic, comments:

“Some of Verdi’s greatest music inhabits Aida. Radamès’ aria in act one, “Celeste Aida ” (“Heavenly Aida”), in which he sings of Aida ’s beauty; Aida ’s two arias, “Ritorna vincitor” (“Return, victor”) and “O patria mia” (“O my homeland”) in acts one and three respectively; the chorus “Gloria all’Egitto” (“Glory to Egypt”) and the Triumphal March in the second act’s scene of pageantry; and the hauntingly beautiful duet “O terra addio” (“O earth, farewell”), which closes the work, all represent the composer at the pinnacle of his art. Verdi responded acutely to his Egyptian subject and took great care to create an appropriate sound. Orchestrally, he relies on the delicate use of flutes and harp to evoke the shades of a distant past. He also researches ancient Egyptian instruments and had six special trumpets based on his discoveries constructed for the work’s performance.”

The roles in the opera are as follows:

Aida, an Ethiopian princess - soprano

The King of Egypt - bass

Amneris, daughter of the Pharaoh - mezzo-soprano

Radamès, Captain of the Guard - tenor

Amonasro, King of Ethiopia - baritone

Ramphis, High Priest - bass

A messenger - tenor

Voice of the High Priestess - soprano

Priests, priestesses, ministers, captains, soldiers, officials, Ethiopians, slaves and prisoners, Egyptians, animals and chorus

Here is the synopsis from the Metropolitan Opera:

Act I

Egypt, during the reign of the pharaohs. At the royal palace in Memphis, the high priest Ramfis tells the warrior Radamès that Ethiopia is preparing another attack against Egypt. Radamès hopes to command his army. He is in love with Aida, the Ethiopian slave of Princess Amneris, the king’s daughter, and he believes that victory in the war would enable him to free her and marry her. But Amneris loves Radamès, and when the three meet, she jealously senses his feelings for Aida. A messenger tells the King of Egypt and the assembled priests and soldiers that the Ethiopians are advancing. The king names Radamès to lead the army, and all join in a patriotic anthem. Left alone, Aida is torn between her love for Radamès and loyalty to her native country, where her father, Amonasro, is king. She prays to the gods for mercy.

In the temple of Vulcan, the priests consecrate Radamès to the service of the god. Ramfis orders him to protect the homeland.

Act II

Ethiopia has been defeated, and Amneris waits for the triumphant return of Radamès. When Aida approaches, the princess sends away her other attendants so that she can learn her slave’s private feelings. She first pretends that Radamès has fallen in battle, then says he is still alive. Aida’s reactions leave no doubt that she loves Radamès. Amneris, certain she will be victorious over her rival, leaves for the triumphal procession.

At the city gates the king and Amneris observe the celebrations and crown Radamès with a victor’s wreath. Captured Ethiopians are led in. Among them is Amonasro, Aida’s father, who signals his daughter not to reveal his identity as king. Radamès is impressed by Amonasro’s eloquent plea for mercy and asks for the death sentence on the prisoners to be overruled and for them to be freed. The king grants his request but keeps Amonasro in custody. The king declares that as a victor’s reward, Radamès will have Amneris’s hand in marriage.

Act III

On the eve of Amneris’s wedding, Ramfis and Amneris enter a temple on the banks of the Nile to pray. Aida, who is waiting for Radamès, is lost in thoughts of her homeland. Amonasro suddenly appears. Invoking Aida’s sense of duty, he makes her agree to find out from Radamès which route the Egyptian army will take to invade Ethiopia. Amonasro hides as Radamès arrives and assures Aida of his love. They dream about their future life together, and Radamès agrees to run away with her. Aida asks him about his army’s route, and just as he reveals the secret, Amonasro emerges from his hiding place. When he realizes that Amonasro is the Ethiopian king, Radamès is horrified by what he has done. While Aida and Amonasro try to calm him, Ramphis and Amneris step out of the temple. Father and daughter are able to escape, but Radamès surrenders to the priests.

Act IV

Radamès awaits trial as a traitor, believing Aida to be dead. Even after he learns that she has survived, he rejects an offer by Amneris to save him if he renounces Aida. When he is brought before the priests, he refuses to answer their accusations and is condemned to be buried alive. Amneris begs for mercy, but the judges will not change their verdict. She curses the priests.

Aida has hidden in the vault to share Radamès’s fate. They express their love for the last time while Amneris, in the temple above, prays for Radamès’s soul.

While some of the music is grand, much in the Verdi manner, such as the famous Triumphal March and the opening tenor aria Celeste Aida, many other sequences are relatively intimate and more subtle, and involve no more than a few characters. Also, most of the choral work is offstage a bit. The soprano role of Aida is one of the most alluring and thrilling roles in all of opera.

In terms of adaptations, the 1942 Egyptian music film Aydah, stars Umm Kulthum in the title role. It incorporates the opera into a contemporary Egyptian context. The 1952 Broadway musical My Darlin’ Aida, set on a plantation in Tennessee in the first year of the American Civil War, is based on the opera and uses Verdi’s music. The opera has been adapted for motion pictures on several occasions, most notably in a 1953 production which starred Lois Maxwell as Amneris and Sophia Loren as Aida, and a 1987 Swedish production. In both cases, the lead actors lip-synched to recordings by actual opera singers. In the case of the 1953 film, Ebe Stignani sang as Amneris, while Renata Tebaldi sang as Aida.

The opera’s story, but not its music, was used as the basis for a 1998 musical of the same name written by Elton John and Tim Rice.

The opera has been portrayed in the 2001 Italian animated film Aida of the Trees (Aida degli alberi). The characters are seen as anthropomorphic creatures between the fictional kingdoms of Alborea and Petra as the star-crossed lovers must find a way to unify their worlds while facing off against the evil high priest Ramphis

The 2022 version choreographed by the Royal Opera House (directed by Robert Carsen) set the opera in a modern, Soviet-style, totalitarian state.

Recommended Recordings

The oldest recording which I will recommend is the 1946 Tullio Serafin recording (on EMI and now on Naxos Historical) with the Orchestra & Chorus of the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma. The cast is a starry one for the time period, including Maria Caniglia, Beniamino Gigli, Ebe Stignani, Gino Bechi, Tancredi Pasero and Italo Tajo. This is grand Italian opera in the old style. Even though Gigli’s voice is an acquired taste due to his rather “pinched” sound, and his tendency to not hit the note squarely, but his characterization is very interesting. Caniglia’s big voice is an asset, although for me she sounds a bit too mature for the role. But for sheer drama, she is terrific. The other principals are all outstanding: Stignani has an impressive voice, Bechi is memorable and intense, and Pasero is noble and vivid. Tajo has a few moments of unsteadiness but is overall quite effective. Serafin’s direction is unimpeachable. The sound is historic, but perfectly good for enjoying the action.

The first recording of Aida I owned was the 1952 Decca recording with Alberto Erede leading the Orchestra e Coro dell’Accademia de Santa Cecilia in Rome, and it is still one of the best. The soloists are Renata Tebaldi, Mario Del Monaco, Ebe Stignani, Aldo Protti, Dario Caselli, and Fernando Corena. Tebaldi is absolutely glorious here, in younger and fresher voice than she is later for Karajan, and she is a major highlight. Equally, Del Monaco is heroic and powerful, to me preferable to many other tenors. Stignani is once again superb, certainly one of the finest Amneris’ we’ve ever had on record. The other soloists are merely adequate. I should also note the sound is in mono, and a bit wooly. However, all the reviewers of the Pristine remastering note that it is a vast improvement on even the most recent Decca version. The Santa Cecilia orchestra is rough around the edges, but by no means a distraction.

We encounter Tullio Serafin again from 1955, this time in Milan with the Orchestra & Chorus of the Teatro alla Scala on EMI (and on Regis). This features the incomparable Maria Callas as Aida, and the rest of the cast includes Richard Tucker as Radamès, Fedora Barbieri as Amneris, Tito Gobbi as Amonasro, Giuseppe Modesti as Ramphis, and Nicola Zaccaria as Il Re di Egitto. The mono sound is a bit rough, but nothing troublesome. Callas’ voice really goes to the heart of the role, and of course she is unparalleled when it comes to emotion and characterization, and this is well before vocal problems crept in. Gobbi, of course, matches Callas in terms of the distinct quality of his voice and characterization, and the two of them together are unbeatable. Barbieri is very good indeed, and Tucker, despite his unsubtle tone, has the required heft to really do the role justice. Serafin excels in dramatic moments, and allows the story to dictate dynamics and tempo, completely apt in my opinion.

Which brings us to Herbert von Karajan’s excellent 1959 recording with the Vienna Philharmonic and the Singerverein der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde Wien on Decca (now also Lyrica). The main cast includes Renata Tebaldi, Carlo Bergonzi, Giulietta Simionato, Cornell MacNeil, Arnold Van Mill and Fernando Corena. Despite Karajan’s heavier, more “Germanic” approach, the mostly Italian cast makes this more idiomatic than it would have been otherwise. Tebaldi is still very good, despite not being as resplendent as her younger self (above). One distinct advantage here is the outstanding Decca sound and the silken, beautiful strings of the VPO, which draws a contrast with the older and rougher Italian productions. Karajan also produces more tension here than he would on his recording 20 plus years later. Simoniato is superb, pointed and well-accented in her ferocity. Bergonzi is lovely in his high notes, despite not being as hefty as Del Monaco or Tucker. Van Mill’s bass is excellent, and Corena is better here than for Erede. Karajan’s tempos are in general slower than the recordings above, but certainly there is no lack of tension and drama. The sound, as mentioned, is very good.

Moving ahead just a few years to 1961, there is another very fine recording on Decca from Georg Solti and the Orchestra & Chorus of the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma. It is another starry cast with Leontyne Price as Aida, Jon Vickers as Radamès, Rita Gorr as Amneris, Robert Merrill as Amonasro, Giorgio Tozzi as Ramphis, and Plinio Clabassi as the King of Egypt. I can’t say enough about Price’s Aida, as she is in fabulous voice here, both strong and vulnerable at the same time. Her emotional projection seems just right to me. Vickers is simply terrific, in full heroic voice, and this may be my favorite recording from him. Some lament his lack of Italian credentials, but honestly, I think he is among the very best. Gorr’s mezzo voice has quite an edge to it, but in a good way, as the voice is near ideal for Amneris. Tozzi’s voice is confident and sure, and Clabassi has an appropriately heavy voice. Solti doesn’t rush things here, as he could at times, and I find his pacing just about right to maximize the tension and drama. The sound is full and rich from the Teatro dell’Opera in Rome, and the chorus also makes a noticeable impact.

Among the best recordings of Aida, and perhaps THE best, is the 1974 recording from Riccardo Muti on EMI with the New Philharmonia Orchestra, the Trumpeters of the Royal Military School of Music and the Covent Garden Chorus. The soloists are Montserrat Caballé as Aida, Plácido Domingo as Radamès, Fiorenza Cossotto as Amneris, Piero Cappuccilli as Amonasro, Nicolai Ghiaurov as Ramphis, and Luigi Roni as the King of Egypt. Even if Caballé was not an accurate stage presence for Aida, her voice was in its prime and she sounds glorious. This is the best Radamès that Domingo recorded, and Cossotto is extremely impressive and daunting as Amneris. Ghiaurov is deft and reliable in his role, and Roni is solid as well. Cappuccilli is fine, and doesn’t detract from anything, although he is perhaps the weakest link. This is one of Muti’s very best recordings too, his direction being tight, controlled, and well paced. The orchestra and chorus have power and sensitivity, and the recorded sound from Walthamstow Assembly Hall in London is rich and well-balanced. This is strongly recommended.

Other Recordings of Aida You May Like

Rai Torino Orchestra and Chorus / Questa (EMI/Warner 1956)

Teatro dell’Opera di Roma Orchestra and Chorus / Mehta (EMI/Warner 1966)

London Symphony Orchestra and John Alldis Chorus / Leinsdorf (RCA 1970)

Orchestra e Coro dell’Accademia di Santa Cecilia / Pappano (Warner 2015)

Thank you for your readership, and for joining me in this survey of Verdi’s magnificent Aida. I hope you will join me next time for #123 on our list, Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. See you then!

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Notes:

“AIDA – Red Sea Film”. redseafilmfest.com. Archived from the original on 19 December 2025. Retrieved 8 January 2026.

Diaz, Zaida. “Research Guides: Arabic Studies: Arabic Films”. lib.guides.umd.edu. Archived from the original on 20 June 2025. Retrieved 8 January 2026.

Fairman, Richard. (23 January 2025). “A totalitarian reimagining of Aida gets to the heart of Verdi’s opera”. Financial Times. Archived from the original on 8 June 2025. Retrieved 15 April 2025.

Mangum, John. Aida: About This Piece. Los Angeles Philharmonic. Found online at https://www.laphil.com/works/aida

Moore, Ralph. Verdi’s Aida: A partial survey of the discography. Found online at https://www.musicweb-international.com/classrev/2019/Jun/Verdi_Aida_survey.pdf

https://www.metopera.org/discover/synopses/aida/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aida?scrlybrkr=e9ebcefe#

The Top 75 Conductors Series

#51: Pierre Monteux (1875 - 1964)

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At #51 in our series is French and American conductor Pierre Monteux. Monteux was one of the most beloved and consequential conductors of the 20th-century. Monteux had a long career, and he was known for conducting the premiere of Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring), as well as his tenures at the helm of the San Francisco Symphony, the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and his close associations with the Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam, the London Symphony Orchestra, the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, and the Orchestre Symphonique de Paris. Monteux was truly loved by the orchestras he conducted, and he had one of the finest baton techniques of any conductor in history. The 1940s and 1950s saw Monteux make a large number of recordings, and while he especially excelled in French repertoire, he was equally adept at the traditional German repertoire.

Pierre Monteux (1875–1964)

Pierre Monteux was born in Paris in 1875, the son of a shoe salesman and his lineage is traced from Sephardic Jews that had settled in the south of France, although Pierre’s family were not religious. His mother Clémence Rebecca had graduated from the Conservatoire de Musique de Marseille, and she taught piano. Pierre began taking lessons at the age of six. Remarkably, Pierre was admitted to the Conservatoire de Paris at the age of nine. He studied the violin with Jules Garcin and Henri Berthelier, composition with Charles Lenepveu, and harmony and theory with Albert Lavignac. The young Pierre’s violin classmates included none other than Fritz Kreisler, George Enescu, and Jacques Thibaud. Another student studying piano at the same time at the conservatory was the future great Alfred Cortot, and Pierre developed what would be a lifetime friendship with Cortot. In fact, at the age of 12, Pierre organized a small orchestra of students from the conservatory to accompany Cortot for concerts around Paris.

In 1889, Monteux attended the world premiere of César Franck’s Symphony, a work he would later conduct and record to great acclaim. While still a student, Monteux played violin at the Folies Bergère, the famous cabaret music hall in Paris, an experience Monteux would later credit for his keen sense of rhythm. At the age of 15, Monteux took up the viola, and became so proficient that he gained the opportunity to play in the premiere of Camille Saint-Saëns’s Septet with the composer on piano. On another occasion, Monteux played Gabriel Fauré’s Second Piano Quartet with the composer on piano. He even had the chance to play a Brahms quartet in a performance in front of the composer in Vienna. Allegedly, Brahms remarked, “It takes the French to play my music properly. The Germans all play it much too heavily”. There is another lovely story of when Monteux, much later in his seventies, played the viola part with the Budapest Quartet in several of the Beethoven String Quartets by memory, without using a score.

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The Best New Classical Albums of 2026

Album #26

The Last Three Piano Sonatas (Opp. 109, 110, and 111)

Ludwig van Beethoven

Mitsuko Uchida, pianist

Label: Decca

Release Date: July 24, 2026

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I have been meaning to write about this new album from the great Japanese pianist Mitsuko Uchida, but for some reason I forgot about it for a time. But these new performances of Beethoven’s last three piano sonatas (Op. 109, Op. 110, and Op. 111), recorded live in October 2025 at Suntory Hall in Tokyo, are very special indeed and the album certainly deserves to be among the best releases of 2026.

Uchida recorded these works previously in 2006, but these most recent performances are more spontaneous, more flexible in tempos and dynamics, and a greater use of legato. In addition, she uses the newer Jonathan Del Mar Urtext edition of the score. Uchida exhibits such a wonderful sense of touch and phrasing, and her tone is sparkling and transparent without ever being too heavy. That’s not to say she doesn’t bring drama and intensity, because there is plenty. The sound quality is also impeccable, clear, and resonant. You would certainly not know this is a live performance based on the sound engineering.

Let’s begin with Op. 109, Sonata no. 30. Uchida is not afraid to take a more fluid and spontaneous approach, which includes some pauses and the lengthening of some phrases, but certainly nothing extreme. It does give the impression of a living, breathing piece of music, and I love that. She also doesn’t hold back on the power in the second movement Prestissimo, but the sound remains rounded and the inner voices are still quite clear. The more playful variations section of the third movement Andante molto cantabile ed espressivo is so delightfully inflected and delicately rhythmic, this alone would sell the entire album for me. Uchida is light as a feather on the keys but keeps the pulse moving in a genuinely “cantabile” way. This is a beautiful performance.

In Op. 110 Sonata no. 31, Uchida continues with such a light and fluid style in the opening Moderato cantabile molto espressivo, and in this relatively optimistic movement, we still hear dark undertones in the bass line, which Uchida details marvelously. The main theme is played with great finesse and dynamic shading, possibly the best I’ve ever heard this played. It has nobility yet wears its importance lightly. The brief second movement Allegro molto has definite power and rhythmic variety, and Uchida continues in her fluent way, and she is especially good in the faster runs. The Adagio ma non troppo has a yearning which Uchida fully plumbs, and it would be easy to imagine Beethoven toward the end of his life writing this bit of wistfulness and sentimentality. Uchida is in no hurry here, and that is apt because the pacing and dynamics are so important. The dissonant chords toward the end of this movement are poignant and tug at your heart. The final Fuga. Allegro ma non troppo stays in fairly major key territory, the fugue aspect being somewhat hypnotic in effect. Uchida finds a way to draw contrasts here, and certainly in the middle section. The way she pulls back her tone so effectively to create emotional tension is exquisite really. The conclusion roars and is simply terrific.

Lastly, there is the mighty Op. 111, Sonata no. 32, lasting over 30 minutes in two movements. The Maestoso opening is quite well realized by Uchida, and then the movement progresses into Allegro con brio ed appassionato we hear Uchida hold back in order to build tension. And build it she does, the lower register roaring to life at about 2 minutes in. I love how Uchida is able to slam on the breaks and then speed up again without the slightest loss of detail. Again, she elicits the contrasts so incredibly well, both the louder and softer passages are extremely well done. Of course, this is some of Beethoven’s most desperate music, in the sense that he pushes the piano to its limits, as well as the moods expressed, and Uchida makes it all sound so easy. The huge final movement Arietta. Adagio molto semplice cantabile is simply stunning here, Uchida’s playing reaching a sublime level that is hard to describe. It unfolds like a mighty hymn, and we cannot help but wonder what Beethoven might have been thinking and feeling as he wrote it. It is poignant, gentle, lovely, yearning, sad, wistful, meandering, valedictory, and amazing in how much it encapsulates both Beethoven’s life, as well as humanity itself. Uchida is patient here, and she lets the sections speak for themselves. Listen to her touch at 9’43”, again this is just something you have to hear for yourself. The conclusion is so moving as well.

Well, you can probably tell by my superlatives that I really like this recording. For a complete set of the Beethoven Piano Sonatas, I recommend Annie Fischer on the Hungaroton label. But if you are looking for a recording of these final three sonatas, look no further. Uchida is at the top of the list.

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Notes:

Hartley, Dominic. Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) Piano Sonata No. 30 in E major, Op. 109 (1820) Piano Sonata No. 31 in A flat major, Op. 110 (1821) Piano Sonata No. 32 in C minor, Op. 111 (1822). Found online at Beethoven: Piano Sonatas 30, 31 and 32 (Decca) - MusicWeb International.

Ueno, Azusa. Review: Beethoven – The Last Three Piano Sonatas – Mitsuko Uchida (Live). August 2, 2026. Found online at https://theclassicreview.com/album-reviews/review-beethoven-the-last-three-piano-sonatas-mitsuko-uchida-live/

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Building a Collection #121

Préludes

By Claude Debussy

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Welcome back to my regular readers and subscribers, and if you are a new visitor I want to extend a warm welcome as well. I hope you find something here to fill your heart and soul for the journey. Music is such an important part of my life, and I know it is for you as well. My guess is if you are reading this you have more than a passing interest in the great composers and the greatest music ever written. We began counting up from #1 and will eventually reach #250 in a survey of the 250 greatest classical works of all-time. I invite you to peruse my previous posts to find any key works you are particularly fond of, and you will also find my recommendations for the best recordings (in my humble, ever-subjective, opinion).

We have reached #121 and the slot is occupied by Claude Debussy’s seminal piano work Préludes. Written in two phases, Books I & II each contain 12 piano pieces for 24 pieces total. The pieces are quite often performed three or four at a time rather than the complete books. However, when we reach the recommendations for the best recordings, I will only be considering pianists that have recorded either complete books I or II, or both books complete.

Claude Debussy

The French composer Achille-Claude Debussy was born in Paris in 1862 and died in Paris in 1918. Debussy is sometimes referred to as the first “Impressionist” composer. Impressionism in music was a movement among various composers in Western classical music (mainly during the late 19th and early 20th centuries) whose music focuses on mood and atmosphere, conveying the moods and emotions aroused by the subject rather than a detailed tone‐picture. “Impressionism” is a philosophical and aesthetic term borrowed from late 19th-century French painting after Monet’s Impression, Sunrise. Composers were labeled Impressionists by analogy to the Impressionist painters who use starkly contrasting colors, effect of light on an object, blurry foreground and background, flattening perspective, etc. to make the observer focus their attention on the overall impression.

Even though Debussy and fellow French composer Maurice Ravel are considered the foremost figures in Impressionist music, Debussy rejected the label to describe his own music, declaring in a 1908 letter: “imbeciles call what I am trying to write ‘impressionism’, a term employed with the utmost inaccuracy, especially by art critics who use it as a label to stick on Turner, the finest creator of mystery in the whole of art!”. Fair or not, this categorization has persisted for Debussy’s music. You can decide for yourself.

Most musicians and critics consider Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune (1894) to be his first great orchestral piece. It was viewed as a completely original and personal work with an ideal economy of structure and content. Three other famous Debussy works from the same decade are his String Quartet (1893), his opéra Pelléas et Mélisande (1893–1902), and the Nocturnes for Orchestra (1899). The amazing piano piece Clair de Lune (from Suite Bergamasque) comes from the end of that period as well. Later works which further elevated Debussy’s reputation include the five-act musical play Le Martyre de saint Sébastien (1911), Images pour orchestre (1905-1912), Préludes (1909-1913), and Études (1915).

How to best describe Debussy’s music? Debussy was modern in his use of atonality, but it was also his intent to create music which stimulated the senses. The French Symbolism movement of the time influenced Debussy as well, using metaphorical and indirect language to evoke an emotional response. Musical analyst Rudolph Reti identified the following factors which he said established a new concept of tonality in European music:

• Glittering passages and webs of figurations which distract from occasional absence of tonality;

• Frequent use of parallel chords which are “in essence not harmonies at all, but rather ‘chordal melodies’, enriched unisons,” described by some writers as non-functional harmonies;

• Bitonality (the use of two different keys at the same time), or at least bitonal chords;

• Use of the whole-tone and pentatonic scale;

• Unprepared modulations, “without any harmonic bridge.”

I had to look up the meaning of some of those terms above, but it could probably be summarized by saying that Debussy was unconventional and experimental in creating music which defied traditional norms. In short, Debussy was one of the most creative and unique composers in history, and his music has had enormous influence on musical development in the 20th and 21st centuries.

Préludes

Debussy’s Préludes Books I & II consist of 24 short but substantial piano pieces which in some ways mirror Chopin’s 24 preludes in his Op. 28 set, and J.S. Bach’s 24 preludes in his Well-Tempered Clavier. But Debussy puts his Préludes in a purposeful order reflecting some of the tonal connections between each work, and also in terms of temperament and mood.

Similar to Chopin, each of Debussy’s Préludes are mini-masterpieces. However, using the titles Debussy gave each piece are unreliable guides and give us only a vague idea of any meaning. The pieces are best enjoyed as pure music rather than viewing them as representing anything pictorial or symbolic. Debussy only assigned the titles after the music had been written, almost as an afterthought.

Book I was composed between 1909 and 1910, and Book II between 1911 and 1912. At the turn of the century, Romanticism in music was coming to an end, and was increasingly replaced by a more symbolic language meant to give impressions of nature or the transcendent. What results is a more detached and ethereal sound world often described as impressionism. In his Préludes, Debussy weaves unconventional harmonies and patterns to create vivid, if subjective, impressions.

By the time he started on Book I in 1909, Debussy had already established himself as a composer. He had also been exposed to other musical traditions outside the Western tradition. This can certainly be heard in some of his more adventurous Préludes.

Here are the 12 Préludes in Book I, with a brief description of each (here I’m referencing notes by Steven Coburn in the All Music Guide to Classical Music):

Preludes Book I

Danseuses de Delphes (Dancers of Delphi) - slow and hypnotic, it combines layers of parallel chords which create a dance.

Voiles (Sails) - mysterious and evocative, as well as harmonically inventive, there are striking similarities with the second movement of La Mer.

Le vent dans la plaine (The Wind in the Plain) - we get the sense of the wind whirling with a few strong chordal explosions. The faster fingerwork which must be played with the utmost sensitivity partnered with excellent timing for the louder outbursts.

Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir (The sounds and fragrances swirl through the evening air) - a slow waltz which is more like a nocturne, there are three themes which all link together, and which require a deft touch from the pianist.

Les collines d’Anacapri (The Hills of Anacapri) - a lively dance similar to a tarantella, with a slower sort of folk song in the middle. Debussy’s writing is especially vibrant here.

Des pas sur la neige (Footsteps in the Snow) - a barren winter landscape where we hear a sorrowful dirge which is hypnotic in its sustained and fluid manner.

Ce qu’a vu le vent d’ouest (What the West Wind Has Seen) - Rapid passages with alternating faster chords, this is the closest the set has to a “showpiece” and certainly the best chance for the pianist to show his or her bravura.

La fille aux cheveux de lin (The Girl with Flaxen Hair) - perhaps the most familiar of the Préludes, this comes from Leconte de Lisle’s Scottish Song. It is completely disarming in its simple and charming way.

La sérénade interrompue (The Interrupted Serenade) - As a man is serenading his love interest, he is interrupted by several noises. We hear Debussy recreating the sound of a guitar with the keyboard.

La cathédrale engloutie (The Sunken Cathedral) - Debussy uses some archaic modalities and harmonies to create a certain feeling of grandeur and elongated time.

La danse de Puck (The Dance of Puck) - Puck from Shakespeare takes on a witty and playful personality, with quick changes of dynamics and register.

Minstrels (Minstrels) - a parody of turn of the century music which you might hear in clubs or music halls, where popular harmonies are accentuated by strong dissonance, anticipating the music of Stravinsky and Poulenc.

In Book II, Debussy went beyond Book I in terms of innovation by using polytonality more, where the pianist is playing different chords with each hand. Debussy had met Stravinsky in the summer of 1910, and although Debussy was 20 years older, they both admired and influenced each other.

Preludes Book II

Brouillards (Mists) - we hear the polytonality here, as well as Debussy’s overarching style of creating an atmospheric and subtle mood. The harmonies represent a progressive step forward for the composer.

Feuilles mortes (Dead Leaves) - the similarities with Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir are so striking that many scholars believe it was an intentional parody by Debussy.

La puerta del Vino (The Gateway of the Alhambra Palace) - one of the most enjoyable of the Book II Préludes, this has the feeling of a Habanera.

Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses (Fairies are exquisite dancers) - the pianist must play extremely delicately here to convey the wispy and light world of the fairies.

Bruyères (Heaths) - a pastoral Prélude, the intent is to picture an idyllic landscape in England or France. One of the less technically demanding pieces in the set.

Général Lavine – eccentric - meant to portray the famous American juggler with music which is witty and entertaining, much like Minstrels from Book I.

La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune (The Terrace of the Audiences of Moonlight) - requires the ability to convey mood changes and subtlety with great skill, it follows from a French children’s song, Au clair de lune.

Ondine (Ondine) - Debussy paints a portrait of the legendary water sprite here with arpeggiated figures that represent water, alternated with dance-like outbursts.

Hommage à S. Pickwick Esq. P.P.M.P.C. - after Dickens’ Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, the main character of Dickens’ story is portrayed whistling, being in a music hall, and then shades of God Save the Queen.

Canope - a mournful depiction of an Egyptian burial urn, the theme quite similar to Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut from Debussy’s Images.

Les tierces alternées (Alternating Thirds) - almost like an étude, this is a sophisticated study in thirds, varied in dynamics brilliantly by Debussy, while actually using very little musical material.

Feux d’artifice (Fireworks) - depicting a fireworks display over Paris, Debussy uses arpeggios, trills, and rapid chord work to represent the fireworks. It is the most demanding of the Préludes, and the work comes to an effective close with a quote from La Marseillaise, the French national anthem.

Some have suggested the best way to listen to Debussy’s Préludes, is the first time through to just sit back and let the music wash over you without any analysis. Then, the second time through, identify how each piece paints a scene through nature, water, light, or myth.

The Préludes are the pinnacle of impressionistic piano works, combining harmonies, coloristic shading and pedaling, evocative imagery, and innovative textures. Debussy emphasizes flexibility in tempo, bringing out inner voices in the texture, and sensitive use of the pedals. Motives are laid out in relatively short sections rather than extended thematic development. Ambiguity is an intended feature, and yet the maintenance of the structure is imperative.

The pianist has choices to make as to how to play these pieces, how much pedaling to use, how firmly to strike the keys, what tempo to use, whether to use their imagination in a more creative or interventionist way, or whether to play them straight and in a more classical manner. The recordings below run the gamut of these considerations.

Recommended Recordings

The first recommendation dates from 1936-38 and features the French-born German pianist Walter Gieseking. While Gieseking’s later set for EMI (1953) is excellent and receives more attention (see below), and boasts better sound, this earlier set (now on the APR label, but also on YouTube) is the finer of the two on performance grounds. If you can tolerate the dated sound, you will be treated to some of the finest Debussy pianism ever recorded. Gieseking produces a luminous tone with subtle pedal action, and has the full measure of the colors and moods. He is somewhat quicker here than on his later set, but for me his touch is absolutely sublime. Having said that, Gieseking is not overly sentimental either, but there is just something about this set that feels so right to me.

One of the most pleasant surprises of the survey for me was the 1951 recording by Dutch pianist Hans Henkemans on Philips (Decca). This set of both books doesn’t take a back seat to any in the entire catalog, in fact I prefer Henkemans to Gieseking in many places. The sound is slightly distanced, and has a bit of hiss, but nothing bothersome. The amount of color and subtlety Henkemans elicits is quite impressive. I like Henkemans’ tonal quality, expressive depth, and his superb technical skills. These are elegant performances with plenty of impressionistic feeling and imagery. I could see myself being quite satisfied if this was the only recording I had of these pieces.

Encountering Gieseking again with his 1953 set on EMI (Warner) shows the legendary pianist at the height of his powers. These are mature performances by a master of color and nuance, and his sound is sparkling. He is a bit more objective here than in his earlier set, and certainly more so than Henkemans above. But his sense of mood and tonal shading is impeccable. Gieseking is at his best in La cathédrale engloutie, Des pas sur la neige, La fille aux cheveux de lin, Voiles, Brouillards, and Feux d’artifice. Many listeners consider this the benchmark for all recordings of Debussy’s Préludes, and although personally I would not go that far, there is no doubt this is one of the greatest sets of this music.

The complete Preludes by French pianist Jacques Février, recorded in 1961 by Vega (later obtained by Decca), is a classic account which merits a recommendation. First, there is some consistent background hiss which I don’t find bothersome, but is quite persistent. Février plays a Steinway, and there is a refreshing directness to his playing and while he certainly paints in color, he also keeps the pulse moving. I really like the clarity in his playing, and he doesn’t overdo the pedal. This is an idiomatic reading from the traditional French school of pianism. Textures are clean and relatively unsentimental, and Book II works especially well in my opinion. Brouillards showcases Février’s natural feel for color, and La puerta del vino benefits from Février’s firm touch on the keyboard and his keen sense of rhythmic pulse. If you are only familiar with Gieseking, I beg you to hear this at least for the fascinating contrast. It has some similarities with Michelangeli, although Février’s is warmer and more colorful.

Next up is the idiosyncratic, yet brilliant, set from French pianist Samson François, recorded between 1968 and 1970 for EMI/Erato (Warner). François set is a model of imagination and texture, and while he indulges some of the more sensuous aspects of the music, his playing is incisive at the same time. This is really interventionist Debussy, but when the interpretation is as captivating as this, one cannot help but be drawn in by the atmosphere and colors. François can play with sparkle and wit, but can just as easily bring power or subtlety. His insight into this music is about as profound as you will find, his tone is rich and satisfying, and his fluidity and control are astonishing. Just listen to Voiles to see what I mean, this is something special. The sound is good, atmospheric and well balanced.

The 1971 set from Dino Ciani on Deutsche Grammophon remains an excellent recommendation. Ciani is somewhat the opposite of the more calculated Michelangeli (see below) in that his playing radiates warmth, intimacy, flexibility, and humanity. His imagination works well in many of the pieces, where his essentially flexible approach feels just right for this music. Whatever you call that intangible quality that is possible in this music, whether you use the word magical, or mysterious, or atmospheric, there is no doubt that Ciani captures that in his recording. Ciani’s pedaling leans more toward the impressionistic side of things, but I think is well considered. Tragically, Ciani died in a car accident in Rome in 1974 at the age of 32.

From 1978 comes the outstanding set from American pianist Paul Jacobs, originally on the Nonesuch label, later Teldec, and now Warner. Jacobs plays Bösendorfer Imperial concert grand piano, which gives a nicely rounded, firm bottom end to the sound, which I very much enjoy. Meanwhile, the upper registers are clear and ringing but never hammered. What you will also notice about how Jacobs plays these pieces is how the notes float out and linger in the air, giving the recording a sensuous feeling. But Jacobs’ touch is also spellbinding, and his sense of the dynamics is impressive. The technical challenges hold no terror for Jacobs, but as I was listening to this it occurred to me that Jacobs comes as close as anyone to what I believe were Debussy’s intentions with nearly every piece here. Jacobs took great pains to follow the score closely, but he also achieves that sense of mystery, drama, and wistfulness that makes this music so rich. The sound engineering is nothing short of outstanding.

Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli’s acclaimed set from 1978 on Deutsche Grammophon remains recommended, and for me is one of the finest recordings Michelangeli ever made. Listening to it again, I am struck by how emotionally detached his playing comes across. So this sits at the opposite end from Henkemans and François, but the clarity and lucidity of his phrasing is so impressive. He uses less pedal than most of the others on this list, but this is also a valid approach in that it lets the music speak for itself without mannerism (even if, truth be told, I like the mannerisms sometimes). Some listeners find Michelangeli cold and clinical here, but for me what it does is highlight more of the modern elements in Debussy’s writing, after all this is 20th century music. Just listen to Le vent dans la plaine, and you will get a taste of how he handles this music. The tonalities, harmonies, and dissonances are not “clouded” or washed out by the pedaling, and for a more objective approach, you really cannot do better than this set. The sound is excellent late analog, warm and detailed, realistic and balanced.

The Soviet Dutch pianist Youri Egorov had a short-lived, but high-profile career, especially after he defected from the Soviet Union to the west in 1976. His 1983 recording of Debussy’s Preludes shows the full picture of what we tragically lost when Egorov died in 1988 at the age of 33. Egorov was really a master of light and shade, and he had a sensitive touch as well as great control with the pedal. His playing in the Preludes is sparkling and lyrical. Book II is particularly strong, with pieces such as La Puerta del Vino, Les tierces alternées, and Feux d’artifice given brilliant readings. For me, Egorov really shines in the more subtle, veiled pieces which benefit from his great feeling for color and dynamics. The sound is very good.

The 1988-89 recording of the complete Préludes by Japanese pianist Izumi Tateno on the Canyon Classics label is at the center of one of the oddest controversies in classical recording history. These recordings were incorrectly attributed to English pianist Joyce Hatto, and when it was realized that the artist was actually Tateno, it became something of a scandal. But anyway, I really like Tateno’s approach to the Préludes, in that he is assertive, rhythmically alert, and produces a full and rounded tone. He is particularly effective in the pieces that have more rhythmic variety and movement. For example, try Le Vent dans la Plaine, Ce Qu’a Vu Le Vent, La Serenade Interrompue, Minstrels, and La Puerta del Vino. Tateno misses some of the mystery and atmosphere in La Cathedrale Engloutie and Voiles, and I would not say he ever achieves a real pianissimo, but what he does in terms of making things stand out with more detail is an achievement.

The British pianist Gordon Fergus-Thompson recorded the Preludes in 1989, originally for the ASV label, now on the Eloquence Australia label, part of Decca. I am recommending his set because this is one of the best of the traditional accounts. Fergus-Thompson is impressionistic, atmospheric, and colorful, and his subtle use of dynamics and flexible phrasing is very effective. He takes his time and gives the music room to breathe, while still maintaining structure and clarity. His use of pedaling is an important part of his success, as he uses it to create intended moods and to round out the edges. His playing reflects deep consideration and an immersion in the idiom that has traditionally been associated with Debussy. Recommended.

When talking about “period” instruments from the time of Debussy, this is quite different from referring to “period” instruments from the time of Bach, Mozart, or even Beethoven. So, when I say that Jos van Immerseel uses a period piano on his 1992 set on Channel Classics (an Erard from 1897), it bears much similarity to modern sounding pianos. However, the timbre is crisper and more woody in the bass notes, and warmer in the middle of the range. The treble range is somewhat metallic sounding, thinner than on a modern grand. Since the strings inside don’t overlap, the registers remain completely separate, which leads to a rather interesting effect of the sound appearing to come from two separate pianos. In any case, it does make a difference to the coloring and shading, and Immerseel knows just how to take advantage of this. I especially enjoy how he allows notes to just hang and linger in space, it creates such an atmosphere of mystery. The sound here is also very good. Tempos are fresh and never slow, but Immerseel does a wonderful job of varying dynamics and phrasing to maximize effects. Recommended.

The acclaimed 1993 set from Polish pianist Krystian Zimerman on Deutsche Grammophon has been a favorite from the time of its release, and it’s easy to see why. Zimerman brings a combination of clarity and finesse that is rare, and he treats Debussy’s music as something more panoramic and orchestral than others. The more high-energy pieces such as Ce qu’a vu le vent d’ouest and Feux d’artifice feel more like showpieces with Zimerman, wild and sparkling but completely controlled at the same time. Zimerman emphasizes structural integrity and clarity in the textures, and the quieter sections feature his exquisite touch on the keys. If you are looking for impressionism, French flavor, and spontaneity, Zimerman is probably not your choice. But if you value precision, clarity, and excellent control, this is the one. The sound is excellent and well-balanced.

French pianist Stany David Lasry was not a name I was familiar with before this survey, but his 1996 set on the Arcana label is unique and highly enjoyable. First, Lasry uses two restored historical period pianos from Érard, the first from 1874 and the second from 1921. These pianos provide a fascinating insight into the mellow, authentic French sound that Debussy probably intended the Préludes to be played on. The sound is warmer, more blended, and rounded off rather than harsh or percussive. But the performance itself from Lasry is one of the very best due to his very fine touch and his command of the tonal colors. The entire set has an idiomatic and atmospheric feeling to it, and Lasry definitely tends toward the more impressionistic side. He avoids drawing any attention to himself and remains consistent in his vision throughout.

Also, from 1996 comes French pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet’s excellent set on Decca, one of my favorite recordings Thibaudet has made. He uses the pedal generously, but in a focused and intentional way that works quite well. His phrasing is so coherent and inevitable, and he treats each piece as its own sound world. The faster tracks are especially memorable, including Ce qu’a vu le vent d’Ouest, Les collines d’Anacapri, and Minstrels. His virtuosity and showmanship are palpable, but it all feels right. I wasn’t quite prepared for some of the slower pieces being played as directly and briskly as they are here, and some critics have claimed that Thibaudet misses some of the mystery or atmosphere. Personally, I don’t detect that, and overall, I find this to be one of the most satisfying sets.

Scottish pianist Steven Osborne recorded the complete Préludes in 2006 for Hyperion, and consistent with the high quality of Osborne’s recordings, this is highly recommended. Osborne’s precision is impressive, but his sensitive touch on the keyboard is even more impressive. Osborne is trodding a well-worn path, there is nothing outside the mainstream here. But he does it so well, and it is in such good sound, that it must take its place among the best. Osborne is adept at subtlety, so important in this music, and his playing is never less than thoughtful. His approach basically occupies a middle ground between an impressionistic approach and a more modern, structured approach. The clarity and precision are top notch, but Osborne makes it all sound so easy. I like how he is able to plumb the depths while also not becoming too sentimental, and this balance reminds me a lot of the Fergus-Thompson recording. Recommended.

Also from 2006 is the excellent set from French pianist Jean-Efflam Bavouzet on the Chandos label. Bavouzet uses less pedal than many, but he finds a way to bring about mood and color mostly from dynamics and phrasing. Structural clarity is key, much like Michelangeli and Zimerman, and he is aided in that by the relatively close sound picture from Chandos. Textures are transparent, articulation is clear and unmuddled, and there is a great deal of elegance and taste. In Book I, Bavouzet is rather more idiosyncratic than in Book II, and some listeners are not fond of his asynchronous hand placements on notes, which appears to be intentional. To be honest, I actually like it. But that disappears by Book II. Tempos in Book I are also sometimes outside the norm. Take Le Vent dans la plaine, which is taken faster than anyone I’ve heard. But it works! There is much to enjoy here, and much to return to on repeated listening.

The 2008 set by Australian pianist Roger Woodward on the Celestial label is excellent, and in fact nearly ideal in every way. Woodward definitely favors more pedal, and is focused on creating a certain soundscape for each piece. The tone he produces is evocative, mysterious, resonant, and colorful. I particularly enjoyed La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin, and La cathédrale engloutie, though the entire set is fascinating. Woodward comes the closest to reminding me of Gieseking in terms of the overall mood and atmosphere, and he uses a Bösendorfer piano, which serves in helping with the depth of tone. Woodward succeeds in creating drama, intrigue, vivid imagery, and in drawing contrasts with varying his volume and pedal use. Just listen to Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir, which is absolutely sublime. In summary, this is a rich and richly rewarding set which features great imagination and imagery from Woodward, and that helps it stand out.

German pianist Michael Korstick must be one of the most underrated pianists in the world today. I very much like his set of the complete Beethoven Piano Sonatas, and he has also recorded all of Debussy’s piano music. His Préludes date from 2011 on the SWR label. There is no doubt as to Korstick’s technical prowess, but the clarity and tonal variety he brings to these pieces is delectable. You never get the sense that he is following in anyone else’s shadow either. Indeed, some of his playing is louder than might be expected. Sample Général Lavine – eccentric in Book II to see what I mean. There are certainly moments of inward reflection and subtlety, but my overall impression is of a more extroverted approach to this music, which is interesting in its own right. So, a modern reading of these pieces, and a very fine performance at that.

Russian pianist Alexei Lubimov recorded the Préludes in 2012 for ECM, his set being highly critically acclaimed. He uses a 1925 Bechstein piano for Book I, which produces a clear and sharply etched tone, and Lubimov eschews the traditional pedal wash approach by emphasizing structure, clear lines, and a more dynamic rhythmic pulse than usually heard in Debussy. La cathédrale engloutie is particularly effective, with nice choices made by Lubimov, and with his shimmering tone which the Bechstein seems to enhance. For Book II, Lubimov plays a 1913 Steinway, which provides plenty of color and is well suited to the softer notes. Feux d’artifice benefits greatly from its sound. But the real star is Lubimov, who plays each piece as though his life depended on it. The insights and observations are many, too many to list here, but suffice it to say this will blow the dust off your old Gieseking recording (and I say that with great respect for Gieseking’s recordings). The sound is immediate and crystal clear.

The live set of both books recorded by Italian pianist Marco Tezza in 2015 for the OnClassical label has quickly become one of my favorite recordings of these pieces. Taken from live concerts, the sound has that sort of reverberation you will associate with a live concert hall, but I find it quite natural sounding. Tezza is rather at the opposite end of things from Lubimov in that he is intent on creating mood and atmosphere around the notes, and uses the pedal judiciously. Tempos are not rushed, and every phrase seems to have been well considered. Rather than structural integrity, Tezza is spontaneous with his tempos and dynamics, and clinical precision is not the goal. Tezza is a master at painting images and varying the personality of each piece. His playing has a fluidity and extended quality which seems to stretch things out wonderfully. This is an unabashedly impressionistic reading, and well worth savoring.

The 2018 recording of the Préludes (Book I only) by Spanish pianist Javier Perianes for the Harmonia Mundi label is among the very best versions of the first set of 12 pieces. Perianes is searching, delicate, and moody, and some of his pianissimos are breathtaking. Indeed, playing softer and more intimately seems to be one of the overarching themes of this recording. It highlights again how this music can be played in many different ways and still have a great impact. Perianes’ sense of line and lyricism is impressive, and his playing has an almost hypnotic quality to it. The jauntier tunes such as Les collines d’Anacapri and Minstrels are equally effective, showing another side of Perianes that is also compelling. The sound is balanced, detailed, and warm.

Book I of the Préludes by Russian pianist Konstantin Emelyanov from 2022 on the Fuga Libera label is quite interesting and deserves a recommendation as well. Emelyanov’s approach is direct, but the way he varies phrases makes it a unique performance. His tone is crystalline, and he favors structural clarity and transparent textures rather than playing too much with the pedal. There is also a fluidity in his forward pulse, and certainly a brightness to his tone. We are closer to Michelangeli and Zimerman here than Gieseking or Tezza. Emelyanov hews closely to the score as well. I hope he records Book II at some point.

More Recordings of the Préludes You May Enjoy

Although they didn’t make my recommended list, many of the recordings below are excellent, and if you love this music you will need to explore them.

Debussy (Warner 1913)

Cortot (Biddulph 1930-31)

Cortot (APR 1949)

Casadesus (Naxos 1953)

Gulda (Decca 1955)

Meyer (Urania 1955-57)

Ericourt (Naxos 1960)

Casadesus (Sony 1960)

S. Richter (BBC 1961, 1963, 1967)

Pennario (RCA 1965)

Beroff (Erato 1970)

Haas (Erato 1972)

Rogé (Decca 1978)

Blyme (Danacord 1985)

Ousset (Warner 1985)

Nagai (BIS 1987)

Rev (Hyperion 1990)

Arrau (Philips 1991)

O’Rourke (Chandos 1991)

Dalberto (RCA/Sony 1998)

Canino (Stradivarius 1999)

LePauw (Orchid 2007)

Kautsky (Centaur 2007)

Dedova (Centaur 2010)

Aimard (DG 2012)

Oeyen (Delos 2013)

Devine (Brilliant 2017)

Lewin (Sono Luminus 2015)

Gallet (Maguelone 2015)

Brownridge (Challenge 2017)

Kohn (haenssler 2017)

Ashkenazy (Paladino 2017)

Say (Warner 2017)

Mosell (Decca 2017)

Howell (DaVinci 2018)

Jumppanen (Ondine 2018)

Nakamichi (RCA 2020)

Tsybuleva (Signum 2022)

We made it! I know this is a looooong post, and it took me a while to finish, but it is also what is required for Debussy’s Préludes.

See you next time for #122 when we will discuss Verdi’s grand opera Aida. See you then!

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Notes:

Burkholder, J. Peter. Grout, Donald J. and Palisca, Claude V. A History of Western Music, eighth edition (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010). ISBN 978-0-393-93280-5.

Coburn, Steven. Preludes Book I & II. All Music Guide to Classical Music. Pp. 354-355. All Media Guide 2005.

Kennedy, Michael. “Impressionism”, The Oxford Dictionary of Music, second edition, revised, Joyce Bourne, associate editor (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2006). ISBN 978-0-19-861459-3.

François Lesure and Roger Nichols, Debussy Letters (Harvard University Press, 1987): p. 188. ISBN 978-0-674-19429-8.

Lesure, François; Howat, Roy (2001). “Debussy, (Achille-) Claude”. Grove Music Online (8th ed.). Oxford University Press. ISBN 978-1-56159-263-0.

Newman, Ernest. “The Development of Debussy”, The Musical Times, May 1918, pp. 119–203 (subscription required).

Roberts, Paul (1996). Images: The Piano Music of Claude Debussy. Portland, Oregon: Amadeus Press.

Ueno, Azusa. Debussy - Preludes. A Beginners Guide. June 12, 2021. Online at Debussy – Préludes – A Beginners Guide.

https://courses.lumenlearning.com/suny-musicapp-medieval-modern/chapter/claude-debussy/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pr%C3%A9ludes_(Debussy)?scrlybrkr=e9ebcefe#

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impressionism_in_music

The Best New Classical Albums of 2026

Album #25

“Guys and Dolls”

Words and music by Frank Loesser

Sinfonia of London

John Wilson, conductor

Label: Chandos

Release Date: September 18, 2026

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Following upon the success of their recent forays into musicals (Oklahoma!, Carousel, and My Fair Lady), John Wilson and his very fine Sinfonia of London have now released their new recording of Guys and Dolls, the hit musical from 1950 by Frank Loesser. If I’m being honest, this has quickly become my favorite of their musical recordings due to the high quality of the singing and orchestral playing.

The recording features the following soloists in the indicated roles:

Sierra Boggess (Sarah Brown)

Nathaniel Hackmann (Sky Masterson)

Louise Dearman (Miss Adelaide)

David Seadon Young (Nathan Detroit)

Sir Thomas Allen (Arvide Abernathy)

Damian Humbley (Nicely-Nicely Johnson)

Guys and Dolls was a huge success when it opened on Broadway in 1950, running for over 1,200 performances and it won the Tony Award for Best Musical in 1950. It’s based on a collection of short stories by Damon Runyon which were written in the 1920s and 1930s. These stories contained gangsters, gamblers, and other shady characters of the New York underworld. This particular story focuses on the exploits of New York gambler Sky Masterson as he bets on his ability to seduce strait-laced mission worker Sarah Brown.

As he did with My Fair Lady, Wilson was adamant about restoring all the original orchestration, as well as recording the piece exactly as it was at the premiere. This means some departures from the 1955 film version featuring Frank Sinatra and Marlon Brando, as some songs omitted from the film are inserted back into the show here.

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The Top 75 Conductors Series

#50: Dimitri Mitropoulos (1896 - 1960)

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At #50 in our series is Greek and American conductor Dimitri Mitropoulos. Often portrayed as an ascetic, or monkish person, Mitropoulos devoted his life to music. During the height of his career, Mitropoulos led both the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra and the New York Philharmonic, and he was also a very talented pianist. Mitropoulos’ prodigious musical memory was something legendary, as was his completely self-effacing personality and his generous nature. His repertoire was quite wide, and he championed many contemporary works. Mitropoulos left us a significant catalog of recordings, and we will take a look at the best of those in this post.

Dimitri Mitropoulos (1896–1960)

Dimitri Mitropoulos was born in Athens, Greece, the son of a leather merchant. The young Dimitri’s precocious musical abilities were quickly recognized, and from age eleven to fourteen he hosted friends at their house on weekends for informal concerts. As a young man, Mitropoulos studied at the Athens Conservatory, as well as in Berlin and Brussels.

In 1919 at the age of 23, Mitropoulos’ first opera, Soeur Béatrice, was premiered. From 1921 to 1925, he served as Erich Kleiber’s assistant at the Berlin State Opera, and also served in some posts in Greece. Famously, at a 1930 concert with the Berlin Philharmonic, when the soloist became ill, Mitropoulos stepped in at the last minute to play Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto no. 3, and became one of the first musicians to play the solo part and at the same time conduct from the keyboard. After a successful U.S. conducting debut with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, he was appointed Principal Conductor of the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, a post he held from 1937 to 1949. In 1949, Mitropoulos began what would be a fruitful relationship with the New York Philharmonic. After sharing the Music Director role with Leopold Stokowski for a time, Mitropoulos became the sole Music Director in 1951, a post he would keep until 1958. During his time with the New York Philharmonic, he would try to expand the orchestra’s reach through extensive recordings with Columbia Records, and through playing concerts at popular movie theaters in the city.

In addition to championing composers such as Mahler, Berg, Strauss, and other contemporary composers, Mitropoulos also dabbled in jazz and conducted opera quite a bit. From 1954 to 1960 he was the principal conductor of the Metropolitan Opera in New York, although there was no official music director at the time. He also became known for the opera performances he led in Italy, especially from composers such as Puccini, Verdi, and Strauss. In 1958, Mitropoulos was succeeded at the helm of the NYPO by the young Leonard Bernstein.

Mitropoulos conducted the premieres of many contemporary works including Shostakovich’s Symphony no. 10 (1954) and Violin Concerto no. 1 (1956) and the world premieres of Barber’s Vanessa (1958), Ernst Krenek’s Symphony no. 4 (1947), and John J. Becker’s Short Symphony (1950).

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Building a Collection #120

Symphony no. 104 in D major, “London”

Joseph Haydn

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“Young people can learn from my example that something can come from nothing. What I have become is the result of my hard efforts.”

-Joseph Haydn

Welcome back to Building a Classical Music Collection. It’s a long slog all the way up covering the Top 250 Classical Works of All-Time, but we have now reached #120 on the list. Here we encounter Joseph Haydn for just the second time (the first being The Creation at #29), with his final numbered symphony, Symphony no. 104 “London”. This was the first piece I ever heard by Haydn, and it still holds a cherished place in my heart.

Joseph Haydn

Joseph Haydn (1732 – 1809) was an Austrian composer of the Classical period. Haydn represented the quintessential “Classical” period composer, and was the one mostly responsible for perfecting the sonata form. Sonata form is a type of composition in three sections (exposition, development, and recapitulation) in which two themes or subjects are explored according to set key relationships. It forms the basis for much of classical music, including the sonata, symphony, and concerto. Although Haydn did not invent the sonata form, he certainly refined it to perfection.

Haydn wrote hundreds of works for solo instruments, string quartet, and symphony orchestra. In fact, he was very prolific with the symphony form, composing at least 104 symphonies and fragments. He was also a composer of opera, although he never achieved the success with the form that his friend Mozart was to achieve. Eventually Haydn turned to composing oratorios and masses, and he achieved great fame throughout Europe and the world due to these works.

Haydn was an inexhaustible composer, mostly due to being employed for over 30 years as a court musician by the Esterhazy royal family in Austria. Although he did break new ground as a composer, his true lasting impact was his gift for harmony, his sense of wit and humor, and his sense of proportion and structure. Mozart was a friend and colleague, and Haydn also taught Beethoven for a short time. By 1790, Haydn became known as the most famous composer in the world (although in typical humility Haydn himself would defer to Mozart for that distinction).

Some of Haydn’s most famous works include The Creation, his 12 “London” symphonies, Sinfonia Concertante, Cello Concerto no. 1, Trumpet Concerto, “Nelson” Mass, The Seasons, and the String Quartets.

Like many composers pre-dating Beethoven, Haydn’s music fell into disfavor during the nineteenth century due to the influence of the Romantic movement. It was not until the Classical revival seen after World War I and an even larger renaissance for Classical and Baroque music after World War II that Haydn’s reputation was re-established. After being dismissed for many years, Haydn was rediscovered as an innovative genius. You can hear in his works the feelings of optimism, rich harmonies, the distinct sense of order, and his gift for melody.

Symphony no. 104 in D major, “London”

By 1795 when Haydn wrote his Symphony no. 104, he was already immensely popular and wealthy. The premiere of Symphony no. 104 premiered in London in May 1795, and was one of the composer’s greatest triumphs. This symphony was the final of the 12 symphonies dubbed the “London” symphonies, and they were all played widely throughout Europe during Haydn’s lifetime. No. 104 contains so much invention, high spirits, and stately grace, that it became immediately popular, and remains so today. Of course, it is a testament to Haydn’s work ethic and melodic gift that he wrote so many symphonies, and that so many are of a very high quality. While all 12 symphonies composed during his journeys to London have the title “London”, this title is also given this particular symphony in English speaking countries. In German speaking countries, Symphony no. 104 is sometimes known as the “Salomon” symphony, after Johann Peter Salomon who arranged Haydn’s tours in London.

The structure of the symphony is made up of the traditional four movements, for this symphony indicated as the following:

1. Adagio – Allegro

2. Andante

3. Menuetto and Trio: Allegro

4. Finale: Spiritoso

Benjamin Skoronski of the Tucson Symphony Orchestra comments on the symphony:

“The Adagio—Allegro opens with a grand introduction in D minor, leading into a joyful Allegro in D major. Haydn’s signature wit and unpredictability are evident as the symphony unfolds. The second movement, an Andante, unveils a lyrical melody in the strings undergoing enchanting variations, while a brief episode adds nuances through the minor mode. In the third movement, a lively D major Menuetto is paired with a modest Trio in the oboe and bassoon. The symphony concludes with a spirited Finale, featuring a folklike melody long assumed to be quoting from the street-song “Hot Cross Buns,” but has since been identified as “Oj Jelena,” a ballad sung by the Croatians living in Eisenstadt that Haydn must have heard during his earlier years with the Esterházy family. The symphony’s exuberant finale, with these folk-inspired elements, resonates with the diverse cultural tapestry of 18th-century London.”

Charles Burney, a leading music critic of the era, described Haydn’s 1795 symphonies as “such as were never heard before… of what Apollo and the Muses compose or perform we can only judge by such productions as these”. Symphony No. 104 was performed at the King’s Theatre on May 4, 1795 as part of Haydn’s “farewell” concert. In his diary, Haydn wrote,

“The hall was filled with a picked audience. The whole company was delighted and so was I. I took in this evening 4000 gulden. One can make as much as this only in England.”

Haydn returned to Austria a wealthier man.

Recommended Recordings

In chronological order from oldest to newest recording:

The exceptionally talented and underrated Austrian conductor Hans Rosbaud must have loved the London symphony, as he recorded it three times commercially: in 1952 with the Southwest German Radio Symphony of Baden-Baden for the SWR label, then in 1956 with the Berlin Philharmonic on Deutsche Grammophon, and finally in 1962 again with the Southwest German Radio Symphony for SWR. You might think the better orchestra and bigger label would win out here, but you would be wrong. I am recommending both the 1952 and 1962 recordings from Baden-Baden, as they are both in better sound than the DG, but more importantly they are played with more spark and verve, and in fact are remarkably similar to each other. Rosbaud was vastly underappreciated, but he was rather ahead of his time with Haydn in the sense that he avoided thicker textures, takes a precise approach to rhythms, takes speeds a bit quicker than was the norm at the time, and is refreshingly direct and unmannered. If I had to make a choice between the two, I would go for the earlier 1952 version which is tighter and more energetic, and even has marginally better sound than the later one despite being in mono.

From 1959 comes Sir Thomas Beecham’s beloved recording with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra on EMI (Warner). Beecham had a naturally graceful, noble, and rather patrician way with Haydn, so don’t expect anything close to a modern performance here. But in terms of sheer elegance and poise, Beecham is the perfect example of mid-century, traditional Haydn. The sound from Abbey Road is very decent stereo from the time period, and the RPO plays with warmth and finesse. Despite the focus on the more classical elements of the music, Beecham does actually get beneath the surface too, and varies dynamics and pacing to create a specific mood. He never feels the need to rush through phrases, and this pays dividends in terms of the overall arc of the music. The Andante is simply marvelous, the Menuet is slow but graceful, and the finale is jaunty and fun. So nothing revolutionary here, but if you like your Haydn in the more traditional way, this cannot be beat.

Moving ahead to 1972, we have another excellent traditional, modern instrument version from Eugen Jochum and the London Philharmonic Orchestra set down for the Deutsche Grammophon label. You will immediately notice the closer sound than Beecham, and that is a real benefit. Jochum knows how to build tension, and he does that really well in the outer movements, as well as knowing when to push forward and pull back. In that sense, the balance Jochum achieves is ideal between the slower segments and the more up tempo parts. Tempos are lively and full of spirit, but always maintain a clear melodic and rhythmic sense. The sound is transparent and detailed, with front to back balance being quite good. The brass and percussion are heard well, but never overwhelm the strings and woodwinds. The Menuet is taken at a nice, lilting pace, and the Finale: Spiritoso is played with joy and sparkle. Again, if you like big band, traditional Haydn, this must be in your collection.

Also from 1972 is the classic account from Antal Doráti and the Philharmonia Hungarica, part of their landmark complete set of the symphonies on Decca. Although this performance fits in the more traditional category, it has wonderful lift and transparency to it and details abound. The sound from Decca is warm and inviting, and while the orchestra may not have been top flight, they play with tremendous flavor, character and energy. Just listen to the Finale, where Doráti infuses some of his own very appropriate phrasing, and the orchestra plays perfectly. This is easily one of the finest Finales on record. The Menuet is more stately, but also nicely lilting and accented as well. The Andante is beautifully and sensitively played, it almost sounds like a chamber performance. The opening Adagio is most ominous, followed by an invigorating Allegro with wonderful bloom on the sound. Altogether, this remains one of the best accounts available and is one of Doráti’s greatest achievements.

A surprise for me in this survey was the 1976 recording by Günther Herbig, with the East German band the Dresden Philharmonic on the Eterna label. This recording bears a striking resemblance to Jochum’s recording above. This is a big band performance, with very good sound (not quite as good as Jochum’s), and a conductor that takes a bit of a more modern approach in pacing to the quicker portions. The outer movements, again, are well sprung and tightly controlled in terms of precision and dynamics. The Dresden band also maintains a lightness of touch that feels just right for Haydn. The Andante is moving, light, and graceful. The Menuet is truly taken at what I can imagine was a typical dance pace for late 18th century, and the Finale has fire, wit, and charm aplenty. Indeed, the timing on the Finale is within 5 seconds of Jochum. Highly enjoyable and recommended.

Continuing with big band Haydn from the 70s, we have Sir Colin Davis’ outstanding 1977 recording with the Concertgebouw Orchestra, Amsterdam on the Philips label (Universal). Davis’ Haydn recordings have long held a special place for collectors, but going back to this recording again only confirmed for me just how good they are. We have the advantage of the rich and warm acoustic of the Concertgebouw, along with the refined sound of the orchestra. But Davis always had a knack for both Haydn and Mozart, and while he was not part of the historically informed practice movement and he always conducted modern instrument bands, Davis had an innate understanding of how this music works best. Like Jochum above, he understood the contrasts Haydn was making in tempo between the slower and faster sections. He also keeps things light and airy, transparent enough to hear all the detail, and the engineering balance is near ideal. The Andante is played with a bit more sentimentality than Herbig, and very similarly to Beecham. I find the Menuet is once again paced just right for a minuet, and I love how bright and clear the brass flourishes are here as well. The Finale gives me goosebumps because it is so thrillingly played, precise and rhythmically alert, but also entirely well balanced between all sections. Strongly recommended.

The next recording is a bit of a sentimental choice for me because it is the first recording of this symphony I owned, and I fell in love with it. The recording is the 1984 recording by Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music on the L’Oiseau-Lyre label (Decca). This is a period instrument performance, and bears those hallmarks in terms of quicker tempos, less vibrato, sharper attacks on notes, and the hard timpani sticks. But for me it is still an exhilarating performance, although you will notice a thinner sound in the strings after listening to all the recordings listed above. I don’t believe Hogwood and the AAM fully completed their complete set of the Haydn symphonies, but the ones they did finish are of a very high quality like this one. The Menuet and Finale are both brisk and stirring, with nice brass and woodwinds cutting through, and the timpani noticeable but not too pronounced. This is still one of my favorites, especially among period instrument versions.

The 1997 recording by period instrument specialist Sigiswald Kuijken and La Petite Bande on Deutsche Harmonia Mundi (BMG) is superb. I really like how Kuijken allows the phrases to breathe and doesn’t push too hard, while simultaneously keeping a good pulse and momentum. The first movement Allegro is exceptional, spirited, and expertly balanced. While this is a period instrument band, the sound is full and smooth. Textures are consistently transparent, precise, and clean, and rhythms and climaxes are not overdone à la Harnoncourt or Mackerras. Certainly, there is feeling and tenderness, but Kuijken never indulges more sentimentality and maintains the classical line throughout. Overall, this has to be one of the most satisfying period instrument recordings of this symphony.

The late German conductor Thomas Fey finished recording 61 of Haydn’s symphonies before his passing in June 2026, including Symphony no. 104. He recorded them with the Heidelberg Symphony Orchestra on the Hänssler label, and No. 104 was recorded in 1999. Fey studied under Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Leonard Bernstein, but his approach here is probably more similar to Harnoncourt in terms of crispness of attack, forceful dynamics, and some occasional odd mannerisms that crop up in dynamics and phrasing. The Heidelberg band is a modern instrument group which blends in some period instrument techniques. This hybrid approach works well in Haydn in my opinion, and gives this reading a freshness and directness which is thoroughly modern. The pacing is electrifying, and in the case of the Menuet, borders on being too fast (though not as fast as Harnoncourt in this symphony, whose Menuet on his Concertgebouw recording is simply a bridge too far for me). Every now and then when listening to Fey’s Haydn recordings, I find myself wanting more weight in the strings. But the performance here is stunning, exciting, and unique in the best possible ways.

Another period instrument conductor and harpsichordist, Nicholas McGegan, recorded an outstanding Symphony no. 104 with the San Francisco-based period instrument group Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra for their home label, a recording from 2007 which won a Grammy Award when it was released in 2011. This is from a live recording, which adds to the electricity and palpable excitement. The ensemble is precise in its playing, with rhythms that are very well highlighted, while creating a depth of sound that is admirable for a period band. McGegan captures both the seriousness of the music along with Haydn’s wit and energy. I am struck by how well contrasts are handled, along with keeping things balanced and well proportioned. The sound is up close, detailed, and absolutely clear. I especially enjoy the dynamic changes in the Finale, and the slight crescendo added with the timpani rolls. There are plenty of touches like that, as well as some explosive entrances to look out for. Tempos are kept brisk but reasonable. This is probably as close as I came to choosing an “essential” recording for this symphony, such is the high quality of this performance and recording.

Back to modern instruments with the 2008 recording from Mariss Jansons and the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra on the Sony label. While on modern instruments, Jansons’ tempo choices are relatively brisk for big band Haydn, and it works exceedingly well. The Allegro of the first movement is modern in its pace, the Andante doesn’t linger, and the same goes for the Menuet. The Finale is thrilling too, with wonderful drive and pointed accents and rhythms. It was around this time in his career when Jansons began using some mild to moderate historically informed practices, which you can hear. But at the same time, there is a nice fullness of sound from the BRSO, and crystal clear yet resonant sound from Sony. There is something uniquely satisfying about this performance, in that it offers the best of a large orchestra such as the BRSO and also brings it into modern day in terms of pacing and phrasing. Recommended.

In 2009, period instrument conductor Marc Minkowski recorded an acclaimed Symphony no. 104 live at the Vienna Konzerthaus with his group Les Musiciens du Louvre, a performance which was greatly acclaimed in the press and later released on the Naive label. This is another outstanding period performance of this symphony, with the Louvre musicians providing a pleasingly full and refined sound. The sound is more substantial than you might hear from some other period groups. Minkowski takes the Finale for a fun and exciting spin with lots of energy and powerful climaxes. Horns and woodwinds are projected forward in the soundstage, giving the entire performance a feeling of weight. This is not your grandfather’s London symphony, but rather a lively and bracing account which is designed to move the listener, and it definitely achieves that goal. The sense of joy and teamwork in the music making is spontaneous and memorable. Highly recommended.

Another relatively big surprise for me was the 2013 live recording by the Verbier Festival Chamber Orchestra from the Verbier Festival in Switzerland, under the direction of Gábor Takács-Nagy on the Deutsche Grammophon label. The sound for a live recording is stunning, and the sound really jumps out at you in a clear and wonderfully resonant way. Every phrase is well thought out, and Takács-Nagy gives us as profound an opening Adagio as you are likely to hear. The orchestra uses some period performance practices such as less vibrato, and being a chamber orchestra there is less weight in the strings. But the phrasing is so effective in the Allegro, with the woodwinds and brass captured particularly well. The Andante is no-nonsense and not overly sentimental, while the Menuet is thoroughly invigorating, if a tad on the fast side for me (quite close to Fey, and slightly slower than Harnoncourt). The Finale is as good as they come, with powerful accents, strong timpani blows, excellent bass contribution, and with outstanding rhythmic and dynamic contrasts. Highly recommended.

Other Recordings of Haydn’s Symphony 104 You May Like:

VPO / Furtwängler (DG 1944) (Possibly misattributed to Furtwängler and the VPO, possibly was actually the Munich Radio Orchestra under Alfons Dressel)

LPO / Krips (Decca 1949)

Cleveland / Szell (Sony 1954)

BPO / Rosbaud (DG 1956)

VPO / Karajan (Decca 1959)

Lamoureux / Markevitch (Philips 1959)

New Philharmonia / Klemperer (EMI/Warner 1965)

Vienna Chamber Orchestra / Märzendorfer (Music Heritage 1971)

Moscow / Barshai (Melodiya 1973)

BPO / Karajan (EMI/Warner 1976)

ASMF / Marriner (Decca 1976)

NYPO / Bernstein (Sony 1976)

English Chamber Orchestra / Paillard (Sony 1980)

BPO / Karajan (DG 1982)

Concertgebouw / Harnoncourt (Teldec/Warner 1987)

Austro-Hungarian / A. Fischer (Nimbus 1989)

Istropolitana / Wordsworth (Naxos 1989)

St. Luke’s / Mackerras (Telarc 1992)

Collegium Musicum / Hickox (Chandos 1999)

CBC / Labadie (CBC 2010)

Australian Chamber Orchestra / Tognetti (ABC 2019)

Danish / A. Fischer (Naxos 2023)

Thanks once again for joining me on this epic musical journey! Please enjoy this uplifting symphony, and join me next time for #121 on our list: Claude Debussy’s Preludes.

See you then!

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Notes:

All Music Guide to Classical Music, The Definitive Guide. All Media Guide. Pg. 567. “Franz Josef Haydn”. Backbeat Books, San Francisco. 2005.

Judd, Timothy. Haydn’s Symphony No. 104 in D Major: A Triumphant Farewell to London. March 11, 2024. Found online at https://thelistenersclub.com/2024/03/11/haydns-symphony-no-104-in-d-major-a-triumphant-farewell-to-london/.

Kozinn, Allan. The New York Times Essential Library Classical Music, A Critic’s Guide to the 100 Most Important Recordings. Pp. 81-83. Times Books. Henry Holt and Company. New York. 2004.

Morrison, Chris. All Music Guide to Classical Music, The Definitive Guide. All Media Guide. Pg. 577-78. “Symphony no. 104”. Backbeat Books, San Francisco. 2005.

Schonberg, Harold C. The Lives of the Great Composers (Revised Edition). Pp. 79-93. W. W. Norton & Company, New York. 1981.

Skoronski, Benjamin. Symphony No. 104. Tucson Symphony Orchestra. Found online at https://www.tucsonsymphony.org/program-notes/haydn-joseph/symphony-104/

https://www.azquotes.com/author/20848-Joseph_Haydn#google_vignettes

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Haydn

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symphony_No._104_(Haydn)?scrlybrkr=e9ebcefe

The Best New Classical Albums of 2026

Album #24

“Homage to Heifetz”

Édouard Lalo

Symphonie Espagnole

Erich Korngold

Violin Concerto in D major

María Dueñas, violin

Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra

Gustavo Dudamel, conductor

Label: Deutsche Grammophon

Release Date: August 28, 2026

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We have seen both Spanish violinist María Dueñas, and Venezuelan conductor Gustavo Dudamel before in the Best New Classical Albums,

Dueñas in March of 2025: https://classicalguy.substack.com/p/the-best-new-classical-albums-of-ef7?r=avz62

and Dudamel in April 2026: https://classicalguy.substack.com/p/the-best-new-classical-albums-of-f61?r=avz62

But now they join forces for this new album titled Homage to Heifetz, of course a reference to the legendary virtuoso Jascha Heifetz (1901 - 1987), and the album includes Édouard Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole (really a concerto despite its name), Erich Korngold’s Violin Concerto in D major, and a handful of shorter Debussy pieces. Dueñas is accompanied by the Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Dudamel.

Despite the album’s title, Dueñas’ tone and style could really not be more different from Heifetz. Where Heifetz was smooth and refined, Dueñas is passionate and spontaneous. Where Heifetz has a faster, old-fashioned vibrato, Dueñas has a wider and more varied vibrato. Where Heifetz can sound cold and mechanical at times, Dueñas’ playing is warm and sensitive. For the concertos, Dueñas’ violin is very bright on top, and not as warm as Heifetz in the middle and lower range, but she makes up for that in her phrasing and dynamic shading.

Here were my impressions as I listened to the album:

Lalo: Symphonie Espagnole

I. Allegro non troppo – Opens with a bold, passionate orchestral statement and flamenco-inspired violin gestures. The opening orchestral statement here is strong and accented. We quickly hear how adept Dueñas is with using portamento in her phrasing to emphasize the seductive quality of the music. We also hear how well she projects herself forward in the sound picture, but equally how well she pulls back in more subtle moments. I am really impressed by how weighty and on point the orchestra is here led by Dudamel, and I feel they really have this music in their veins. To be clear, Dueñas is more intent on creating a feeling than on making a smooth sounding tone, and that is perfectly fine by me. It has character.

II. Scherzando: Molto vivace – A light, flirtatious movement driven by Spanish dance rhythms like the seguidilla. We are definitely in a dancing mood here, but Dueñas is also intent on communicating the luscious melody as well as the seductive and romantic qualities in the score. The Simón Bolívar is once again alert and is aided by a nicely atmospheric acoustic and by DG’s fine engineering. Woodwinds are especially notable here, and Dudamel works well with Dueñas to caress the melodic line in a delicious way.

III. Intermezzo: Andante – A deeply Spanish-flavored middle section that was historically omitted in some 20th-century performances. The first time I heard this, it reminded me of something quite familiar, and it was immediately appealing. But what did it remind me of? Bizet’s Carmen! You would be forgiven for believing Lalo stole this melody from Bizet, it feels so similar to me, and indeed this was composed less than a year after Carmen. Despite the similarities, it has its own voice and charm. Dueñas weaves the line so effortlessly here, her tone soaring beautifully above the orchestra. The tune is quite catchy, and deeply satisfying in its rhythm and style. The Spanish roots are evident, and the virtuosic challenges hold no terror for Dueñas, but she also brings across the emotion better than anyone I’ve heard. I went back and compared this to my first CD of this work by Itzhak Perlman and Daniel Barenboim with the Orchestre de Paris, and it really does not hold a candle to this new recording. Dueñas is so expressive, it is simply a masterclass in how to play this in my opinion.

IV. Andante – A melancholic, highly lyrical, and expressive slow movement. This movement shows again how attuned Dueñas is to the expressive element in this music. Just listen to how she enters at 1’05” ...spectacular control and dynamic range. When things open up in the center section, her tone rises gloriously. Good stuff.

V. Rondo: Allegro – A brilliant, fiery, and highly virtuosic finale packed with rapid-fire passagework and energetic rhythms. I’ve always enjoyed this finale; it has energy and swagger. Once again, the virtuosity required is no problem for Dueñas, but the orchestra also comes back into view clearly here. Dudamel and the orchestra play with great touch and vitality, and the whole thing is impressive rhythmically. The woodwinds are again highlighted wonderfully. Dueñas’ playing has a sense of abandon, as though she is just freely playing without a care, sample 2’30” through 2’45”, and you will hear what I mean. Thrilling and exhilarating at the same time.

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Riccardo Muti and The Philadelphia Orchestra made an outstanding recording of Romeo and Juliet Suites 1 & 2 in 1981 for EMI. Long out of print, but found on streaming services, this recording is certainly recommended. Muti’s essential vision is powerful and raw, the edgy and precise playing of the Philadelphians being a world away from the old Ormandy smoothness. March of the Knights is menacing and stunning in the depth of sound, and the entire Suite no. 2 shows a remarkable level of engagement and color. Montagues and Capulets is very well done, and everything is on point. This was an early digital recording which had some glare in early pressings but now could be a demonstration level recording. The detail, balance, and clarity are outstanding. Muti is also tender when needed, and there is a nice balance between the lyrical and the rhythmic elements.

With a bit of a softer edge is Yoel Levi’s very fine 1984 recording of Suites 1 & 2 with the Cleveland Orchestra on Telarc. For me, this one doesn’t quite rise to the greatness of the Muti recording above, but it would still be a solid choice. Levi is especially sensitive to the more lyrical and touching moments. The Telarc engineering also reveals lots of nice detail.

Once again, thank you too all my readers and especially to those that provide comments and feedback. I work as a team of one on these posts, and I am grateful for my community of subscribers that help me improve.

Best wishes, and happy listening!

The Top 75 Conductors Series

#49: Willem Mengelberg (1871 - 1951)

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At #49 in our series is Dutch conductor Willem Mengelberg. Easily one of the most fascinating and iconoclastic conductors in history, Mengelberg did not hesitate to do things his way, and indeed he insisted on it. Due to the prime of his career taking place before the advent of high-quality sound recordings, the number of excellent recordings he left us is probably less than most others on this list. But his 50-year tenure as Principal Conductor of the Concertgebouw Orchestra, Amsterdam stands as one of the most consequential tenures in the history of classical music. Mengelberg’s approach worked particularly well in late romantic works, especially Mahler and Strauss. His legacy looms large, despite controversies late in his career which effectively sidelined him for the remainder of his life.

Willem Mengelberg

Mengelberg was born in Utrecht, Netherlands, the fourth of fifteen children of German-born parents. His father was the well-known Dutch German sculptor Friedrich Mengelberg. When he was young, Willem studied composition, violin, and conducting in Utrecht, and shortly thereafter he entered the Cologne Conservatory (today the Hochschule für Musik und Tanz Köln) where he studied under Franz Wüllner, Isidor Seiss, and Adolf Jensen.

In 1891, when he was only 20, Mengelberg was appointed General Music Director of the City of Lucerne, Switzerland, where he did it all: he conducted an orchestra and choir, directed a music school, taught piano lessons, and did some composition. Just four years later, when he was 24, Mengelberg was appointed Principal Conductor of the Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam, a position he would hold until 1945. In 1902, Mengelberg would meet Gustav Mahler, who would remain a friend. Mengelberg would tirelessly champion Mahler’s works throughout his career.

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The Best New Classical Albums of 2026

Album #23

Anton Bruckner

Symphony no. 9 in D minor

Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra

Herbert Blomstedt, conductor

Label: BR Klassik

Release Date: September 4, 2026

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The 99-year-old Herbert Blomstedt strikes again! The Swedish American conductor appears again on a new release by BR Klassik of Anton Bruckner’s Symphony no. 9 which immediately takes its place among the truly great recordings of this unfinished masterpiece. Truth be told, this performance was recorded live in May 2009 in the Philharmonie im Gasteig in Munich when the maestro was a mere 82 years of age. But clearly BR Klassik felt this one was worthy of release, and I can confirm it was well worth it.

But it gets even better. On the second disc is a recording of Blomstedt’s rehearsal of the symphony in May 2009, in German. It is nothing short of fascinating to hear how Blomstedt approaches the work and how he gives instructions to the orchestra (despite it being in German, I needed to translate it). Blomstedt has long been one of my very favorite conductors, and to hear his conducting technique and his thoughts behind this massive symphony is truly enriching.

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Building a Collection #119

Romeo and Juliet, Op. 64

By Sergei Prokofiev

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“My chief virtue (or if you like, defect) has been a tireless lifelong search for an original, individual musical idiom. I detest imitation, I detest hackneyed devices.”

-Sergei Prokofiev

Whether you are a regular reader or brand new to my Substack, I want to extend a warm welcome to you. If you are just joining this series, we are counting upwards covering the Top 250 Classical Works of All-Time, a series I call “Building a Collection”. We have now reached #119, which is rather unbelievable to me, but we are still not even halfway! At #119, we encounter 20th Century Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev and his beautiful score for the ballet Romeo and Juliet. I have again been struck by just how glorious this music is, and it gives me a new appreciation for Prokofiev because I can’t get over how beautiful this entire score is, and just how lush, romantic, and modern it feels. This music is so appealing because it is easily approached and tonal but also contains a lot of modern touches such as chromaticism, dissonance, and various key changes. This makes the music so perfect for Romeo and Juliet because as we know the story is tinged with desire, longing, love, tragedy, and death. Prokofiev really captures these moods perfectly, and makes it feel relevant for us today.

Sergei Prokofiev (1891 - 1953)

Sergei Sergeyevich Prokofiev was born in the small village of Sontsovka in the Russian Empire in an area which is now Ukraine. His father Alekseyevich was an agronomist from Moscow, and his mother Maria was from a family of servants in Saint Petersburg. Prokofiev’s mother’s family, even though serfs, were all educated in theatre and the arts from an early age.

Prior to Sergei’s birth, his mother had lost two daughters, and thus she had become a devoted music student, spending two months a year studying piano in Moscow and Saint Petersburg. The young Prokofiev was inspired after hearing his mother practicing piano in the evenings, primarily Chopin and Beethoven, and he began composing at the age of 5. At the age of 7, the young boy became fascinated with the game of chess, and actually became very adept at it. By the age of 9, he had written an opera by the title The Giant, along with some overtures and various other pieces. Throughout his life, Prokofiev especially enjoyed composing operas.

In 1902, Prokofiev’s mother met the composer Sergei Taneyev, director of the Moscow Conservator at the time, and Taneyev suggested that he try to get the young man to take piano lessons under Alexander Goldenweiser. Although that didn’t work out, Taneyev was able to convince composer Reinhold Glière (himself a noted composer) to travel to Sontsovka to spend the summer teaching Prokofiev composition. At the end of the summer, the 11-year old Prokofiev insisted on trying his hand at writing a symphony. Glière would return the next summer for further lessons. Later in life, Prokofiev would have praise for all that Glière had done to teach him, but also noted that Glière’s method was relatively conventional and conservative, and Prokofiev felt as though he was called to use more unconventional modalities and phrases. Indeed, increasingly as he grew in his skills, he became attracted to dissonant harmonies and less common time signatures. He experimented with some of these interests in his short early pieces.

Despite his precocious ability, Prokofiev’s parents were reluctant to have him embark on a musical career at such a young age. They wanted to move to a city where Sergei could study at a traditional school. They decided on Saint Petersburg, but when they moved there, they were introduced to famous composer Alexander Glazunov, also one of the professors at the Saint Petersburg Conservatory. Prokofiev showed Glazunov his operas (by now he had composed four operas), and the professor was so impressed that he recommended the young man apply to the conservatory. Prokofiev did well on the initial auditions and tests, and enrolled in 1904.

Apparently the young Prokofiev didn’t make many friends at the conservatory in those years, as he was viewed as arrogant and unusual in his manner, and he was also fond of keeping tabs on his classmates’ musical errors. He studied under such noted composers as Lyadov, Tcherepnin, and Rimsky-Korsakov. He also befriended Nikolai Myaskovsky, who would also become a noted composer, and they would remain lifelong friends. While Prokofiev was often viewed as eccentric and rebellious, he was also admired for the originality of his compositions, which he often banged out on the piano. While his grades at the conservatory were nothing special, he was developing a unique and individual compositional voice.

Things changed in 1910 when his father died, which was a financial blow to Prokofiev. But he had gained a reputation in Saint Petersburg for performing his own daring and adventurous piano works in public, especially at the Evenings for Contemporary Music in the city. His works at this time were dissonant and chromatic, and he was even invited to play the Russian premiere of Arnold Schoenberg’s Drei Klavierstücke, Op. 11. Prokofiev’s own use of polytonality and modern compositional tools became well-known. During this period, he also composed his first two piano concertos, and Piano Concerto no. 2 in particular caused some level of scandal at its premiere in 2013 due to its strong modernist content and dissonant harmonics. However, the advocates of modernism were enthusiastic about his new works.

After finishing his time at the Conservatory in 1914, Prokofiev traveled to London where he met the famous ballet impresario Sergei Diaghilev. Diaghilev commissioned Prokofiev to write a ballet, but his initial effort was rejected as “non-Russian”. Diaghilev wanted something with more nationalistic character, and subsequently the next score Prokofiev brought him was titled Chout (“The Buffoon”), based on a collection of folk tales by Alexander Afanasyev. Since this was Prokofiev’s first real ballet, Diaghilev suggested many revisions, which Prokofiev implemented later prior to its first production. The premiere was given in Paris on May 17th, 1921 and it was a huge success. The ballet was greeted with acclaim by such attendees as Igor Stravinsky, Jean Cocteau, and Maurice Ravel. Ravel called it “a work of genius” and Stravinsky said it was the only piece of modern music he could listen to with pleasure.

During World War I, Prokofiev retreated to the Conservatory and studied the organ in order to avoid conscription. In 1916, he finished composing the opera The Gambler (based on Dostoyevsky’s novel). However, the premiere was interrupted in 1917 by the revolution. That summer, Prokofiev composed his Symphony no. 1 “Classical”, Prokofiev himself saying that the style hearkened back to what Haydn would have composed had he been around in the 1900s. It is essentially a neoclassical work, and while certainly classical in style, Prokofiev incorporated a lot of modern touches. Meanwhile, he completed his Violin Concerto no. 1, but the premiere again had to wait until 1923.

Soon under Communism, Prokofiev came to believe that music was not going to play a major role. He decided to go to America, and try his luck there. He went to the authorities in Moscow and was given permission to go. In August of 1918, Prokofiev arrived in San Francisco. He gave solo concerts in New York, leading to further engagements and he received a commission from the Chicago Opera Association for a new opera. This became The Love for Three Oranges, but the premiere was postponed due to the death of the COA’s director. Because of the delay, the opera was not a big success and Prokofiev found himself in some financial difficulties. He had to return to Paris in 1920.

After returning to Paris, Prokofiev continued his association with Diaghilev and also composed his Piano Concerto no. 3. The Love for Three Oranges also premiered in Chicago finally in 1921, with Prokofiev conducting. When Prokofiev auditioned the opera in front of Diaghilev (on piano), Stravinsky was present but decided to leave after the first act, and said to Prokofiev that he was wasting his time composing operas. Prokofiev countered that Stravinsky was in no place to give his opinion on someone else’s artistic direction since he himself was prone to error. This apparently sent Stravinsky into a rage, and the two nearly came to blows over it. The two had a strained relationship for many years after the incident.

After moving with his mother to the Bavarian Alps in 1922, and then getting married in 1923, Prokofiev worked on his next opera project, The Fiery Angel. Even though there was demand for his music in Russia, Prokofiev chose to remain in Europe and moved back to Paris. The reception of his Symphony no. 2 was lukewarm at best, and he began to believe that perhaps he was no longer a sensation. Nevertheless, Diaghilev commissioned from Prokofiev a very modernist opera titled Le pas d’acier (The Steel Step) which was very well received in Paris. Meanwhile, around 1924, Prokofiev became interested in Christian Science, a practice he would continue for the rest of his life. It also seemed to have an influence on his composing style, turning him against the ultra-modern style that was in vogue, and toward a more simplistic, honest style which he felt matched his feelings more closely.

In 1927, Prokofiev made his first tour of the Soviet Union where, for over two months, he toured Moscow and Leningrad. A production of The Love for Three Oranges was staged successfully at the Mariinsky Theatre, and he completed work on his Symphony no. 3, which prompted conductor Serge Koussevitzky to declare it was the finest symphony since Tchaikovsky’s Sixth. In 1929, Prokofiev finished his final Diaghilev commission, the ballet The Prodigal Son, premiered in Paris in May 1929 and featured choreography by Balanchine. The final scene with the prodigal son crawling across the stage to his father’s embrace is paired with some of Prokofiev’s most affecting and moving music. Diaghilev passed away just a few months later.

While the Great Depression raged in Europe and America, demand for new operas and ballets diminished. However, there was still strong demand to hear Prokofiev in recitals on piano. Having said that, Prokofiev saw himself first and foremost as a composer, and did not like being taken away from composing to play the piano. He was also homesick and wanted to build more connections inside the Soviet Union. Since the Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians (RAPM), which had censored some of Prokofiev’s works, had been dissolved, Prokofiev increasingly became involved in being an artistic liaison between the Soviet Union and western Europe.

Prokofiev’s newer works still had to pass through official channels in the Soviet Union, and the next one to do so was Lieutenant Kijé, music which was written for the film of the same name. In 1936, Prokofiev settled permanently in Moscow, after several years where he had been shuttling between Paris and Moscow. It was in that year that Prokofiev composed Peter and the Wolf for Natalya Sats’ Central Children’s Theatre in Moscow. While he was commissioned to write the huge Cantata for the 20th Anniversary of the October Revolution, it was not performed at the anniversary because the committee decided the music was too radical for the text it was using, and would not be understood by the common man. The piece was not played until 1966, some 13 years after the composer’s death.

In 1938, Prokofiev collaborated with Soviet screenwriter and director Sergei Eisenstein to produce the music for the historical film Alexander Nevsky. Although the sound quality on the film was poor, Prokofiev adapted the music into a large scale cantata for mezzo-soprano, orchestra, and chorus, a work which would become one of his most successful creations. At the end of 1940, Prokofiev was commissioned to compose Zdravitsa (literally “Cheers!”, but sometimes subtitled Hail to Stalin in English) (Op. 85) to celebrate Joseph Stalin’s 60th birthday. While Zdravitsa was meant to portray the idyllic world Stalin had created, Prokofiev’s Piano Sonatas 6, 7, and 8 (sometimes known as the “war sonatas”) reflected more of Prokofiev’s actual feelings about matters. The strained and melancholy themes depict someone that puts on a good face, but in reality is in deep pain and sorrow.

The ballet Romeo and Juliet was premiered by the Kirov Ballet in 1940, and despite rehearsal difficulties involving the dancers objecting to the highly syncopated rhythms, the ballet was an almost immediate success and at the time was lauded as the apex of Soviet ballet.

During the years of World War II, Prokofiev was initially evacuated to Tbilisi, Georgia after the Germans invaded. Generally, the Soviet authorities were more lax in their oversight of artists during the war, and so during this time Prokofiev had more freedom of expression. During this time he composed works such as Ivan the Terrible, War and Peace, and Cinderella. In 1944, Prokofiev completed his Symphony no. 5 and in 1945, along with Piano Sonata no. 8, the symphony premiered in Moscow. When taken together with performances at the same time of his Symphony no. 1 and Peter and the Wolf, it became clear that Prokofiev was now the leading composer in Soviet Russia.

In January 1945, Prokofiev suffered a concussion after a fainting spell in his apartment, and he was in the hospital for some time. He did recover, but he was strictly limited in terms of activity, and his composing slowed. Even so, Prokofiev finished his Symphony no. 6 and Piano Sonata no. 9 prior to the institution of the “Zhdanov Doctrine” in 1948. The doctrine was the result of a committee headed by Andrei Zhdanov following a three-day conference of 70 composers, musicians, and musicologists where Prokofiev was criticized by the regime for remaining silent, possibly signaling a defiant attitude. Indeed, Prokofiev missed the entire first day, arrived late on the second day dressed quite casually, and snubbed a Soviet official that was trying to reprimand him. When the decree was published, the works of six composers - Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Khachaturian, Shebalin, Popov, and Myaskovsky - were censored due to charge of “formalism”, which was essentially “renunciation of the basic principles of classical music” in favor of “muddled, nerve-racking” sounds that “turned music into cacophony”. This led to nearly all of Prokofiev’s works being either banned, or not performed. Consequently, Prokofiev quickly fell into financial difficulty and he amassed a large amount of debt.

In 1949 Prokofiev suffered a stroke, and his doctor limited him to composing only one hour per day. That spring he finished his Cello Sonata in C major, written expressly for the young cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, and he also reworked his Cello Concerto for Rostropovich. The latter became more of a Symphony Concerto, and is now one of the staples of the cello repertoire. Prokofiev’s final completed work was his Symphony no. 7, premiered in October 1952. This was to be the last public appearance Prokofiev would make.

Prokofiev died of a brain hemorrhage (which very high blood pressure most likely contributed to) on March 5, 1953, oddly enough on the same day as Joseph Stalin. Because Prokofiev’s apartment was adjacent to Red Square, it was impossible to remove Prokofiev’s body for a funeral due to the throngs that gathered for three days to mourn Stalin. Finally, Prokofiev’s coffin was carried by hand down a back street in the opposite direction of Red Square. Only about 30 people attended his funeral, but among them was Dmitri Shostakovich, someone that had grown in admiration for Prokofiev over the years. Rather unbelievably, Prokofiev’s death was announced only by a small announcement on page 116 of the leading Soviet music publication, with the first 115 pages devoted to Stalin. Prokofiev is buried in Moscow.

While Prokofiev has consistently been praised by composers and musicians for being one of the most gifted and unique voices in twentieth-century music, in the west it has taken much longer for him to be appreciated, likely due to Cold War feelings. But there is no doubt that Prokofiev has had an enormous influence on modern classical music.

Romeo and Juliet

While Tchaikovsky’s three major ballets, Swan Lake, The Sleeping Beauty, and The Nutcracker were long considered the greatest full-length ballets ever written, that began to change in the latter half of the twentieth-century as more and more listeners became exposed to Prokofiev’s ballet Romeo and Juliet. Today many critics, musicologists, and listeners would certainly place Romeo and Juliet in the same company as Tchaikovsky’s ballets, and some even believe it exceeds those in quality. In any case, Romeo and Juliet is one of Prokofiev’s supreme masterpieces, and is enormously popular today. Part of the reason for its popularity is due to the suites that Prokofiev created from selections of the full score. The full score is quite long, and so for many listeners the suites (or even some conductors’ own selection from various suites) are how they became acquainted with this music.

Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet, based on Shakespeare’s play, consists of four acts comprising ten scenes, and within that there are 52 separate dance numbers. Prokofiev composed the music mostly in 1935, and this is important when you look at the music of the early twentieth-century like Stravinsky and Ravel, but also Korngold and later Copland. This music is so appealing because it is easily approached and tonal but also contains a lot of modern touches such as chromaticism, dissonance, and various key changes. This makes the music so perfect for Romeo and Juliet because as we know the story is tinged with desire, longing, love, tragedy, and death. Prokofiev really captures these moods perfectly, and makes it feel relevant for us today.

The first full-length performance of the ballet was given in Brno, Czechoslovakia in 1938, although suites from the ballet were already in circulation. The work’s premiere in the Soviet Union did not happen until 1940 due to many changes at the Bolshoi, but it is also thought that the crackdown on “modernist” music was also to blame. Originally the work was written with a happy ending (contrary to Shakespeare), but the Soviet authorities objected, and it was revised.

The history of the score’s creation is given by Prokofiev himself, as follows:

“At the end of December (of 1934) I returned to Leningrad specifically for the negotiations with the Kirov Theatre. I expressed my wish to find a lyrical scenario for a ballet… We started recalling the scenarios: Piotrovsky named “Pelléas and Méllisande”, “Tristan and Isolde”, “Romeo and Juliet”. I immediately “clung” onto the latter – it would be impossible to find a better one! It was arranged that Piotrovsky, Radlov and I (S.P.) would be making a libretto. It was decided to engage as a producer Rostislav Zakharov – a former student of Radlov… However, we didn’t conclude a contract with the Kirov Theatre… I arrived in Moscow, and Golovanov, the then chief conductor of the Bolshoi Theatre said that if this was about “Romeo” the Bolshoi theatre would immediately conclude a contract with me. The contract was signed in the summer of 1935. The theatre gave me the opportunity to work on the ballet in “Polenovo” – the holiday home of the Bolshoi theatre, where I managed to almost finish the ballet using themes composed in the spring. An audition of the ballet took place in the theatre. It had no success. The ballet was not put on the stage at that time… Yet it was staged in the Kirov Theatre in 1939 (1940). R. Zakharov dropped out after the ballet had been rejected by the Bolshoi theatre. Lavrovsky, on the other hand, during the staging of the ballet in Leningrad, added quite a lot to what had been composed before him. Later I decided to include him in the co-authors of the libretto.”

One of the more confusing aspects of the ballet is that the full score is played relatively rarely, but the three suites comprise the vast majority of the important music. The three suites (as organized by Prokofiev) are as follows:

Suite No. 1 from Romeo and Juliet, Op. 64bis

1. Folk Dance

2. Scene (the Street Awakens)

3. Madrigal

4. Minuet (the Arrival of the Guests)

5. Masks

6. Romeo and Juliet (Balcony Scene and Love Dance)

7. Death of Tybalt

Suite No. 2 from Romeo and Juliet, Op. 64ter

1. Montagues and Capulets (The Prince Gives His Order and Dance of the Knights)

2. Juliet as a Young Girl

3. Friar Laurence (Romeo at Friar Laurence’s)

4. Dance (Dance of the Five Couples)

5. Romeo and Juliet Before Parting

6. Dance of the Girls with Lilies

7. Romeo at Juliet’s Tomb (Juliet’s Grave)

Suite No. 3 from Romeo and Juliet, Op. 101

1. Romeo at the Fountain (Introduction & Romeo)

2. Morning Dance

3. Juliet (Juliet’s Variation & Juliet at Friar Laurence’s)

4. The Nurse (Preparing for the Ball & The Nurse)

5. Aubade (Morning serenade)

6. The Death of Juliet

Suites 1 & 2 are the most popular and well-known. But many conductors through the years have chosen their own selections from the suites to build a program which makes the most sense musically. In my reviews below, I have tried to indicate what the conductor/orchestra has chosen to include for each album.

For a list of all 52 numbers, I direct you to the Wikipedia page for Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romeo_and_Juliet_(Prokofiev)?scrlybrkr=e9ebcefe#

Something that Prokofiev masters in this work is the creation of characters, moods, and personalities with musical phrases. But more than that, they all sound so different but equally compelling. That is why this is such a rich and enjoyable listen. There are many memorable scenes and melodies, most of them depicting yearning, grace, passion, warmth, or some combination thereof. You will also hear Prokofiev quote himself in one of the Gavottes, taking the tune from his own Classical Symphony. My favorite selections from the ballet are listed below, but these are by no means the only things worth hearing.

1. Introduction. A romantic beginning, we hear the sort of sumptuous strings that will return throughout the ballet.

4. Morning Dance. When the march-like brass section comes in, this is terrific fun, and perhaps Copland took some inspiration from this?

6. The Fight. We hear the strings scurrying quickly here, with the rapid movement turning into the famous big tune of this movement on brass.

8. Interlude. Another well-known movement, fun and jovial.

10. The Young Juliet. This is a wonderful and virtuosic portrayal, and the strings emerge with rhythmic bounce but then we hear a more leisurely central section. The brass and woodwinds are again prominent here, and this movement is also one of Prokofiev’s more familiar ones.

11. Arrival of the Guests. This is another well-known section, one of Prokofiev’s most enjoyable creations.

13. Dance of the Knights. This is perhaps the most famous movement featuring a menacing and dark march, with brass playing a prominent role. We hear a good sample here of Prokofiev’s genius, the dissonance here feeling perfect for the theme, even if the music remains tonal. This is fun.

18. Gavotte. Departure of Guests. This has a wonderfully dance feeling to it, and the famous melody here is playful and graceful, while Prokofiev uses variations of prior tunes ingeniously.

21. Love Dance. We hear some wonderful chromaticism here, the brass is big and bold, then we hear the strings come in with a lovely strain. The longing in the music is palpable, and the music is essentially romantic in nature.

25. Dance with Mandolins. This movement is fascinating rhythmically with the brass and woodwinds over the mandolin. It is so inventive and colorful.

43. Interlude. Sounds almost like film music in a grand, epic way. The essential romantic nature of this score is heard, and there is a lot of color and character in the score.

51. Juliet’s Funeral. The sad, foreboding strains are dissonant and extremely tragic. It is played with emotion and beauty and comes across as terribly bittersweet as you might expect, but more bitter than sweet.

The recurring motifs Prokofiev uses are a big part of the musical language. Memory comes in at several points in the form of melodies that return but slightly altered. Rapture and tragedy are virtually inseparable in this music.

Recommended Recordings

I have decided to recommend recordings of both the complete ballet score, as well as some of only the suites, and others that were put together piecemeal by the conductor. I have noted these differences on each recommendation.

The first recording I am recommending is from 1959 on the Melodiya label, a Soviet era recording of the complete score from Gennady Rozhdestvensky and the Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra. I’ve always admired Rozhdestvensky for his deep understanding of Russian music, and while the sound here is somewhat recessed, the performance is very well played and conveys all the sense of wonder, yearning, and tragedy this story contains. The pacing and phrasing reflect an orchestra accompanying an actual staged ballet, rather than just a concert performance. For me, this lends it an authentic quality. The recording has plenty of fire and rhythmic spark, although for me Rozhdestvensky shines most in the more lyrical passages. While Rozhdestvensky never knew Prokofiev, he became one of the composer’s most devoted advocates, and his Prokofiev recordings are highly valued.

The next recommendation is also from 1959 and features the Czech Philharmonic conducted by Karel Ančerl on the Supraphon label. This is an album of excerpts rather than the complete score, but what really comes across here is the excellence of the orchestra and Ančerl’s seemingly instinctive understanding of the balletic elements of the dance. The Mongagues And The Capulets, as well as The Young Juliet are alert and sprightly, but also very sensitively played. Masks is also delightful, and Romeo and Juliet is played sensuously and with tenderness. The sound is atmospheric rather than clinical, meaning it has some air around the sound, not a bad thing at all, and lends a feeling of mystery to the proceedings. I can’t say enough about the excellence of the CPO’s brass and strings. For me, this is just more evidence of what an outstanding and perceptive conductor Ančerl was, and this is really something to savor.

Another very fine classic account of this music comes from 1962, with Polish American conductor Stanisław Skrowaczewski leading the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra in Suites 1 & 2 on the Mercury label (owned by Decca). The sound from Mercury Living Presence is less dry and fierce than some others in the series, and that produces a warm, sumptuous sound, ideal for this music. There is dramatic intensity, as well as quite a bit of rhythmic bite when it counts most, and the dynamic range is nicely balanced. Romeo at Juliet’s Grave is particularly gripping, and probably worth the entire album just to hear it. The emotional depth and the beauty of the playing is something special in my opinion. Highly recommended.

Moving forward to 1973, we encounter the outstanding recording of the complete score by Lorin Maazel and The Cleveland Orchestra on Decca, perhaps Maazel’s greatest ever recording. The sound is spectacular, and Maazel delivers all the color and angularity of Prokofiev’s score with great skill. The Clevelanders are polished and precise but also carry weight and power. Rhythms are taut and the control leads to a dramatic reading which is more thrilling than lyrically sensitive. But for my tastes, this works really well. Tempos are fairly well driven, and the orchestra, perhaps not surprisingly given it was still largely the orchestra Szell built, is precise and technically immaculate. Of all the recordings of this masterpiece, this comes the closest to an essential recording, and Maazel is able to make it all sound like a cohesive story, something the suites don’t always accomplish.

Also from 1973 comes another complete version from André Previn and the London Symphony Orchestra on EMI (Warner). Previn was at the peak of his career at this time, and his partnership with the LSO produced some outstanding recordings, this being one of them. Previn’s overall vision of the work is more lyrical than Maazel, and the richness of the LSO strings and the warm acoustic of Kingsway Hall in London make this a very satisfying listening experience. Previn was among the finest ballet conductors of the 20th-century, and similar to the Rozhdestvensky recording, pacing and rhythms are geared toward actual dancing rather than orchestral fireworks. The more dramatic sequences have weight and the faster numbers have an infectious bounce and lift. After listening to this one again, I was left with an overriding feeling of joy that rather dispelled the tragic nature of the story.

In 1977, Erich Leinsdorf recorded excerpts from Romeo and Juliet with the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, released through Sheffield Lab, and even with a short running time of only 36 minutes, what they did record is stunning both sonically and performance-wise. What is unique about this recording is that it was recorded directly onto disc without using tape or edits in between. Tape hiss was eliminated, resulting in a remarkably clear and life-like sound picture. Since they knew there couldn’t be any second takes, the orchestra played with hyper-focus and precision. Thus, it is a bit of a collector’s item for audiophiles, but on performance grounds it is also very fine. I could not find it on streaming services, but it is easily found on YouTube. Leinsdorf was rather well-known for rhythmic clarity and crisp execution, and we definitely hear those qualities here. The only significant drawback is the short selection of excerpts.

Riccardo Muti and The Philadelphia Orchestra made an outstanding recording of Romeo and Juliet Suites 1 & 2 in 1981 for EMI. Long out of print, but found on streaming services, this recording is certainly recommended. Muti’s essential vision is powerful and raw, the edgy and precise playing of the Philadelphians being a world away from the old Ormandy smoothness. March of the Knights is menacing and stunning in the depth of sound, and the entire Suite no. 2 shows a remarkable level of engagement and color. Montagues and Capulets is very well done, and everything is on point. This was an early digital recording which had some glare in early pressings but now could be a demonstration level recording. The detail, balance, and clarity are outstanding. Muti is also tender when needed, and there is a nice balance between the lyrical and the rhythmic elements.

Jumping ahead to Esa-Pekka Salonen’s three commercial recordings of selections from Romeo and Juliet, all three have something to offer. Where Salonen particularly shines is with the modern textures and the more rhythmic passages. His first recording with the Berlin Philharmonic from 1986 on Sony consists of 19 excerpts he chose himself. The BPO sounds light on its feet, alert, and well attuned to the dance elements. Tempos are brisk for the most part, although the Dance of the Knights is slowed down purposely, creating a darker and more ominous sound. Salonen’s second recording is a live performance of just Suite no. 2 with the Los Angeles Philharmonic on Deutsche Grammophon from 2007. This is a detailed and crisp performance, where Salonen brings out the colors quite well, but is rather short in terms of timing. Most recently is Salonen’s album of selections with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra on their own label, released online only. This recording is only about 42 minutes, covering 11 selections, but is in pristine, crystal clear sound. Salonen also seems to have matured here, allowing the music to flow more naturally rather than pushing the envelope. He also pays more attention to the more subtle, tender passages where there is a greater romantic sweep. But he keeps his characteristic focus on sharp edges and rhythmic precision. Clearly Salonen has a love for this music, and all three recordings are recommended.

One of Seiji Ozawa’s very finest recordings with the Boston Symphony Orchestra is his 1987 set of the complete ballet score on Deutsche Grammophon. The sound is excellent, rich and warm, well capturing the best acoustical qualities of Symphony Hall in Boston. Ozawa was an outstanding interpreter of ballet music in general, and here he emphasizes the lyrical and romantic aspects of the music. Plenty of detail is heard, but there is a nice atmosphere around the sound, such that you can imagine the music accompanying a live stage performance. Speeds are moderate, never rushed, and more dramatic episodes are still given their full due. Morning Dance has plenty of warmth and pep to it. The Fight moves along at a perfect pace, and the brass are appropriately menacing. Arrival of the Guests is grand, and Dance of the Knights sounds terrific. Highly recommended.

For me, Mariss Jansons’ time with the Oslo Philharmonic was when Jansons’ conducting was the most interesting, and his 1988 recording of Suites 1 & 2 on EMI (Warner) reveals playing of depth and beauty. As always with Jansons, the orchestral playing is taut, controlled, and precise. But what Jansons does with the score is rather the opposite of Ozawa, Previn, and Rozhdestvensky in that he conducts the music more like a concert program than a ballet. This leads to some outside the mainstream tempos and phrasing, but the music can handle this, and when the orchestral playing is this beautiful and rhythmically alert, it provides a valid alternative to the more lyrical, balletic options. So, this is a recording high on adrenaline and drive, and the sound is very good, with just a hint of shrillness on the very top violin notes.

Myung-whun Chung, Korean conductor and now former director of the Paris Opera, recorded a really wonderful selection of excerpts from Romeo and Juliet in 1994 with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra for Deutsche Grammophon. He has chosen 15 of the numbers from the various suites in a program that lasts just over an hour. This recording benefits greatly from the warmth of the Concertgebouw acoustic, as well as the burnished sound of the RCO. I love the balance, perspective, and resonance of the recording, which lend a dramatic atmosphere to the recording. Dance of the Knights is as good as they come, and other bon bons from the ballet show a lightness of touch such as Juliet as a Young Girl. The brass and strings are exceptional, and again I’m struck by just how much joy is in this score despite the obvious tragic undertones. Pacing is middle of the road, but never drags at all. The more romantic numbers, such as Madrigal, are handled superbly. Recommended.

Russian conductor Valery Gergiev recorded Romeo and Juliet back in 1991 with the Kirov Orchestra for Philips, but for me his 2004 live recording of the complete score with the London Symphony Orchestra on LSO Live is better in nearly all respects. The dry acoustic of the Barbican never does any favors for recordings, but the sound is perfectly fine. The real strength of this recording is the sensitive and sympathetic conducting of Gergiev, lyrical when needed, and dynamic varied depending on the scene. This is not really a concert version, but rather more on the balletic end of things. Gergiev builds a cohesive structure and goes for depth and feeling rather than fireworks. Still, the LSO provides energy aplenty and incisive bite when needed, and the brass in particular are spectacular. Indeed, at times the louder moments crash through fiercely. Gergiev has never been one to pull off the type of precision you hear with Maazel or Jansons, but this recording has a lot going for it in terms of drama, tension, and energy.

Yet another outstanding complete set comes from Russian British conductor Vasily Petrenko and the Oslo Philharmonic in a recording from 2016 on the LAWO label. Petrenko has let me down in the past on some of his recordings (although his Shostakovich symphony cycle on Naxos is quite good), but not this time. Here Petrenko draws out playing of real distinction and beauty. Some of Petrenko’s tempo choices have been criticized, but listening to it again, I don’t have any quibbles with them. The sound quality is of a high standard, and we can hear a lot of details that are sometimes missed, especially in the woodwinds. Somewhat like Ozawa, Petrenko’s goal is not to be heavy-handed or overly bombastic in his approach. Rather, this performance leans into the romantic themes heavily, and the Oslo Philharmonic are light on their feet. There is a good amount of tenderness and vulnerability in the love scenes. Petrenko’s lighter touch is a delightful alternative to heavier, more overtly Russian, approaches. The LAWO engineers do an excellent job of managing the sound from the Oslo Concert Hall, traditionally a difficult recording venue.

I am struck by how wonderful the 2026 recording is from Gustavo Dudamel and the Los Angeles Philharmonic, both in terms of performance and sound. Indeed, I am so enthusiastic about it that I may be ready to declare it Dudamel’s finest recording ever. But that is probably too hyperbolic. But this is really good. Recorded live at the Walt Disney Concert Hall in 2018, the sound is outstanding: lush, sumptuous, detailed, and balanced. My favorite Dudamel recordings are those that highlight his intuitive sense of rhythm and dance, and that is probably why this new recording is so successful. He takes a fundamentally balletic approach to this music, rather than playing it just as a concert piece. While he lets the music flow and doesn’t hold back on the power where needed, I enjoy the fact that Dudamel keeps the dance qualities intact. I should mention that I’ve never heard the Los Angeles Philharmonic sound this good. I mean really superb. The woodwinds and percussion instruments stand out the most for me, but the brass and strings are just as impressive.

Other Recordings of Romeo and Juliet You May Like

Leningrad / Mravinsky (Profil 1952)

LSO / Abbado (Decca 1966)

BSO / Leinsdorf (RCA 1967)

Rotterdam / de Waart (Decca 1973)

Cleveland / Levi (Telarc 1984)

Montreal / Dutoit (Decca 1989)

Kirov / Gergiev (Philips 1991)

RPO / Ashkenazy (Decca 1991)

San Francisco / Tilson Thomas (RCA 1995)

Royal Opera House / Ermer (ROH 1996)

Cincinnati / Jarvi (Telarc 2002)

Suisse Romande / Jordan (Warner 2003)

Thank you once again for accompanying me on this journey! I hope you have found some recordings you like among those listed above, and that you enjoy getting to know one of the best ballets ever written.

Join me next time for #120 on the survey, Josef Haydn’s Symphony no. 104 “London”. See you then!

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Notes:

Светлана Петухова. Балет Сергея Прокофьева «Ромео и Джульетта» [Petukhova S. The Ballet of Sergei Prokofiev “Romeo and Juliet”]. Moscow, 2018, pp. 31-32 // Мендельсон-Прокофьева М.А. Дневники. [Mendelson-Prokofieva M.A. Diaries.], Moscow, 2012, pp. 485-488.

Clark, Katerina (1995). Petersburg: Crucible of Cultural Revolution. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. ISBN 9780674663367.

Cummings, Robert. Sergei Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet. All Music Guide to Classical Music. Backbeat Books. San Francisco. 2005. Pp. 1027-1028.

Ezrahi, Christina (2012). Swans of the Kremlin: Ballet and Power in Soviet Russia. ISBN 978-1-85273-158-8.

Guillaumier, Christine (2020). The Operas of Sergei Prokofiev. Woodbridge: Boydell Press. ISBN 978-1-78327-448-2.

Jaffé, Daniel (1998). Sergey Prokofiev (2008 ed.). London: Phaidon Press.

Layton, Robert: “Prokofiev’s Demonic Opera” Found in the introductory notes to the Philips Label recording of The Fiery Angel

McAllister, Rita. “Sergey Prokofiev” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians: London: Macmillan Publishers, 1980.

McSmith, Andy (2015). Fear and the Muse Kept Watch, The Russian Masters – from Akhmatova and Pasternak to Shostakovich and Eisenstein – Under Stalin. New York: The New Press. p. 272. ISBN 978-1-59558-056-6.

Morrison, Simon. “Dnevnik 1907–1933 (review, part 2)” [Diary]. Serge Prokofiev Foundation. Retrieved 27 August 2019.; originally “Dnevnik 1907–1933”. Journal of the American Musicological Society. 58 (1): 233–243. Spring 2005.

Morrison, Simon (2009). The People’s Artist: Prokofiev’s Soviet Years. Oxford, UK and New York: Oxford University Press.

Nestyev, Israel (1961). Prokofiev. Florence Jonas (translator). Stanford: Stanford University Press.

Nice, David (2003). Prokofiev: From Russia to the West 1891–1935. New Haven: Yale University Press.

“Prokofiev”. Ballet Met. Archived from the original on 12 November 2013. Retrieved 23 March 2014.

Prokofiev, Sergei (2000) [1960]. S. Shlifstein (ed.). Sergei Prokofiev: Autobiography, Articles, Reminiscences. Translated by Rose Prokofieva. The Minerva Group. ISBN 978-0-89875-149-9.

Prokofiev, Sergei (2006). Diaries 1907–1914: Prodigious Youth. Translated by Phillips, Anthony. London/Ithaca: Faber and Faber/Cornell University Press. ISBN 978-0-8014-4540-8.

Prokofiev, Sergei (1979). David H. Appel (ed.). Prokofiev by Prokofiev: A Composer’s Memoir. Guy Daniels (translator). New York: Doubleday & Co. ISBN 978-0-385-09960-8.

Prokofiev, Sergei (1991). Soviet Diary 1927 and Other Writings. London: Faber and Faber.

Ross, Alex (2007). The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. pp. 282–283. ISBN 978-0-374-24939-7. OCLC 82172875.

Rouner, Jef (25 April 2011). “How Josef Stalin Stole Sergei Prokofiev’s Flowers”. Houston Press. Retrieved 26 November 2018.

“Sergei Prokofiev”. Music Academy Online. Retrieved 23 March 2014.

The Many faces of Prokofiev. Part 2. Sprkfv.net. Retrieved on 28 August 2010.

Tomoff, Kiril (2006). Creative Union: The Professional Organization of Soviet Composers, 1939–1953. ISBN 978-0-8014-4411-1.

Wakin, Daniel J. (8 March 2009). “The Week Ahead: 8–14 March March: Classical”. The New York Times. Retrieved 23 May 2010.

https://www.azquotes.com/quote/692256

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romeo_and_Juliet_(Prokofiev)?scrlybrkr=e9ebcefe

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergei_Prokofiev

The Top 75 Conductors Series

#48: Zubin Mehta (1936 - )

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At #48 in our series is Indian conductor Zubin Mehta. A dynamic and highly sought after conductor in the early days of his career, Mehta is most associated with his leadership of orchestras such as the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, and the New York Philharmonic. A sometimes-controversial figure in classical music, Mehta in recent years has slowed down considerably due to age and declining health.

Zubin Mehta

Zubin Mehta was born in 1936 in Bombay, India (now Mumbai), the older son of Mehli and Tehmina Mehta. His father was a self-taught violinist who both founded and conducted the Bombay Symphony Orchestra. Mehli had studied the violin under Ivan Galamian in New York, who also taught Itzhak Perlman and Pinchas Zukerman. So, Zubin grew up in a household that was full of music, and his father clearly had a large influence on him. He learned to play violin and piano under his father’s instruction, and by the time he was a teenager, his father permitted him to lead sectional rehearsals of the Bombay Symphony. By the age of 16, Zubin was conducting the entire orchestra during rehearsals.

While he was clearly interested in music, his mother urged him to pursue a more “respectable” profession than music. As a result, Zubin studied medicine at St. Xavier’s College in Mumbai. But when he was 18, the young man dropped out of college and moved to Vienna to study under Hans Swarowsky at the Vienna State Music Academy. Mehta stayed at the academy for three years, during which time he learned to play the double-bass, and for a time he played with the Vienna Chamber Orchestra. Swarowsky recognized Mehta’s ability, and after graduating with his degree in conducting in 1957, he entered the Liverpool International Conductor’s Competition in 1958, which had over 100 contestants. Mehta won first prize in the competition, the prize being an assignment as associate conductor of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic. The concerts Mehta conducted in this role were very well received. After entering the summer academy at Tanglewood, he attracted the notice of the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s director Charles Munch. Later, in 1960, Munch would be instrumental in Mehta being named Music Director of the Montreal Symphony Orchestra.

In 1960 and 1961, Mehta traveled widely filling in as a substitute for conductors around the world, and during that time he made his debut conducting the Vienna Symphony Orchestra, the New York Philharmonic, the Berlin Philharmonic, and the Israel Philharmonic. In 1962, Mehta took the Montreal Symphony on a world tour, playing in Moscow, Leningrad, Paris, and Vienna to great acclaim. Also in 1961, Mehta was appointed the Assistant Conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. At the time, the LAPO’s conductor designate was Georg Solti, but when Solti heard Mehta had been appointed without his consultation, he resigned in protest. Since the orchestra had been without a conductor for four years at that point, Mehta was then appointed Music Director at the age of 26, the youngest conductor to ever be appointed to the chief role of any major North American orchestra (later tied by Gustavo Dudamel, also appointed at 26 with the LAPO).

Mehta would hold the LAPO post from 1962 to 1978, and for a time he would hold both the LAPO position and Montreal position at the same time. Mehta is given credit for improving the sound and performance level of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, and he was highly praised for his ability as a collaborator with soloists. He built the orchestra into a truly world class ensemble, and Mehta’s recordings with the LAPO are, for me, the finest of his career.

Read more

The Best New Classical Albums of 2026

Album #22

Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach

“Instrumental Theatre of Affects”

Berlin Symphonies, Wq 173

Arte dei Suonatori

Marcin Świątkiewicz, Director

Label: BIS

Release Date: June 12, 2026

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Johann Sebastian Bach’s fifth child and second surviving son was Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (often abbreviated as C.P.E. Bach), and he was born in 1714 in Weimar, Germany. It is generally agreed that Emanuel was Bach’s most musically gifted son, and he is generally the most well-known of all the other Bachs. He wrote a tremendous amount of music for keyboard, both solo pieces and concertos. But he also wrote 18 works which fall under the title “symphonies”, although these works are almost more like concertos for orchestra if you will.

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Building a Collection #118

Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin (BWV 1001-1006)

By Johann Sebastian Bach

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“I play the notes as they are written, but it is God who makes the music.”

-Johann Sebastian Bach

Back to Bach for #118 on our survey, with his Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin (BWV 1001-1006), which really shows off what the violin can do in the hands of the great virtuosi. Bach shows here that he was just as proficient writing for violin as he was for keyboard, though not as prolific for violin. While probably not appropriate for “easy listening”, these works show how inventive and original Bach was in his writing.

Johann Sebastian Bach

In terms of biographical information on Johann Sebastian Bach, there are many resources online and in print. For some general information, I refer you to my post from June 19, 2022 which contains more information about Bach the man and composer. Here is the link to that post:

https://classicalguy.substack.com/p/21-bach-the-brandenburg-concertos?r=avz62&s=w&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin

J.S. Bach wrote so many masterpieces for keyboard such as the Goldberg Variations, The Well-Tempered Clavier, The English Suites, The French Suites, Inventions and Sinfonias, and Partitas that we sometimes forget Bach himself was also a virtuoso violinist and composed equally well for string instruments. Bach’s own son Carl Philip Emanuel Bach remembered his father “In his youth, and until the approach of old age, he played the violin cleanly and penetratingly…he understood to perfection the possibilities of all stringed instruments.” Among his most famous works are the Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin (Bach’s own title was Six Solos for Violin Without Bass Accompaniment).

The Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin BWV 1001-1006 are a set of three sonatas and three partitas played by a solo violinist. First published in 1720, it is unknown whether Bach wrote them for himself or for accomplished violinist friends. These works are all the more notable since Bach was a master of counterpoint with multiple musical lines playing simultaneously providing harmonic unity and divergence. Using multiple instruments makes counterpoint easier. In these works, the solo violin is also often asked to play more than one line, creating works that are extremely demanding for the soloist. Such is the writing that at times it sounds as though more than one instrument is playing.

The three sonatas are in a form known as “sonatas da chiesa” (sonatas from church), in four movements with the pattern slow - fast - slow - fast. Bach even includes fugues in these movements, which is a large contrapuntal structure using one theme which is then built upon with ever-increasing complexity. The three partitas, also called suites of dance movements, which tend to be more free-flowing and rhythmic. Bach has between five and seven movements in each of these partitas. The Chaconne that ends Partita no. 2 in D minor runs for over 14 minutes, and is considered one of the great violin monuments ever written in the history of Western classical music. It is unknown whether these pieces were played during Bach’s own lifetime.

Bach used a lot of appogiaturas in these works. An appogiatura (from the Italian appoggiare “to lean upon”) is a musical ornament that consists of an added non-chord note in a melody that is resolved to the regular note of the chord. By putting the non-chord tone on a strong beat, (typically the first or third beats of the measure, in 4/4 time) this accents the appoggiatura note, which also delays the appearance of the principal, expected chord note. There are also a large number of double-stops, which are when the violin plays two notes at the same time creating a chord. Playing styles have changed over the years as well which you can hear on the recordings, with some older violinists using more vibrato (a slightly tremulous effect imparted to vocal or instrumental tone for added warmth and expressiveness by slight and rapid variations in pitch) reflecting perhaps a more romantic view. The use of slurs between notes also varies (slurring notes is when the musician plays the notes “legato” or without separation). Some soloists use more or less slurs depending on their own interpretative vision, regardless of what the composer intended.

These works, especially the four written in a minor key, reflect a stark sound world full of drama, melancholy, mystery, and intensity. They will not do for light dinner party background music, but rather require more attention and reflection. The sonatas are the darker sounding, with the partitas being more regal and nimble. In fact, they work quite well at centering the mind and heart, and for marveling at the glory of Bach’s writing. Composers such as Bartok, Ysaye, and Paganini would later use Bach’s as a model for their own works. The Sonatas and Partitas have also been transcribed for keyboard and mandolin.

The structure of the Sonatas and Partitas is as follows:

Sonata No. 1 in G minor, BWV 1001

1. Adagio

2. Fuga (Allegro)

3. Siciliana

4. Presto

Partita No. 1 in B minor, BWV 1002

1. Allemanda – Double

2. Corrente – Double (Presto)

3. Sarabande – Double

4. Tempo di Borea – Double

Sonata No. 2 in A minor, BWV 1003

1. Grave

2. Fuga

3. Andante

4. Allegro

Partita No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1004

1. Allemanda

2. Corrente

3. Sarabanda

4. Giga

5. Ciaccona

Sonata No. 3 in C major, BWV 1005

1. Adagio

2. Fuga

3. Largo

4. Allegro assai

Partita No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006

1. Preludio

2. Loure

3. Gavotte en rondeau

4. Menuet I

5. Menuet II

6. Bourrée

7. Gigue

The Essential Recording

The list of violinists that have recorded the Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin is a veritable who’s who of the greatest violinists in history, and some have recorded them multiple times. There is no shortage of outstanding recordings, both on the modern violin and on the baroque violin. Personally, I prefer a modern violin, but some of the best recordings are on baroque violin. Some will come down to personal taste. There are recordings of vastly different timings and styles, all of which have their merits.

The recording which rises to the top is Nathan Milstein’s second traversal recorded in 1973 by Deutsche Grammophon. Milstein’s approach has been characterized as “elegant”, “refined”, and “flawless”. Adjectives fail at times to really capture how a recording makes you feel, however, and one of Milstein’s objectives throughout his career was to “not get in the way” of the composer. This quality of getting to the heart of the music characterizes all of Milstein’s recordings, along with his dazzling technique and easy virtuosity.

Milstein was obsessed with playing each note, and with clean articulation. He would practice and experiment with different fingering and bowing techniques throughout his life. Always interested in continuing to develop as a musician, Milstein would later become somewhat of a pioneer in playing the music of Bach with an intellectual honesty that respected how Bach may have heard a violin played in his time. This corresponded with the larger historically informed movement at the time, reconsidering the playing style of baroque and classical composers.

In 1945, Milstein met the violin that he would play the rest of his life, the 1716 “Goldman” Stradivarius. Interestingly, he renamed this Stradivarius the “Maria Teresa” in honor of his daughter Maria (presently wife of Marchese GiovanAngelo Theodoli-Braschi, Duke of Nemi and Grandee of Spain, descendant from Pope Pius VI) and his wife Therese. Also an early pioneer of recordings, Milstein did not record quite as much as some of his peers, but the ones he made are high quality performances.

Mistein had recorded Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas previously for EMI from 1954-1956. The style he employed on this earlier set was more romantic if you will, with marginally more use of vibrato and with decidedly less impressive sound. While still a great set that should be heard, it is not on the same level as his second set. On the second set we are reviewing here from 1973 on Deutsche Grammophon, the sound is much improved. But Mistein’s style had also changed to use less vibrato.

The qualities I like most about Milstein’s second recording for DG are:

• Milstein’s ability to add color in subtle but revealing ways;

• Milstein’s use of less vibrato overall, but still using some vibrato in a judicious way when it seems warranted;

• Speeds are neither too fast nor too slow, but make sense throughout;

• Milstein seems to know when to push and when to back off, so his use of dynamics is keen. It is clear how Milstein’s many years of study of these scores have paid off with fresh perspectives, but also maintaining fidelity to the score;

• The recorded sound, from my perspective, is full and realistic.

Deutsche Grammophon rightly reissued this set as part of its “Originals” series of legendary recordings. For me, this is the tour de force of Milstein’s recorded legacy.

Recommended Recordings

Recommending recordings is a highly subjective business, especially when there are loads of great recordings, as there are with Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas. In some respects, it comes down to personal preference. But in my recommendations below, I have tried to represent a variety of tastes, techniques, styles, and violins (i.e. baroque vs. modern). But of course I have my own preferences, as always.

In chronological order by recording date:

The first recommendation is from 1934-36 from the great American-born British and Swiss violinist Yehudi Menuhin. Menuhin’s first traversal of these pieces for EMI (Warner and also Naxos) captured a young Menuhin at the height of his ability, and his interpretation is a tour de force. The reading is tightly controlled, but also emotionally expressive and stunning in virtuosity in a way that his later recordings are not. The sound is actually quite good, considering when it was recorded.

Ahead to 1956, and the complete set from Last, but certainly not least, is Johanna Martzy in a classic recording from 1954-1955. The recording is now on the Profil label, and can be found in various incarnations on CD. While this is a broad interpretation, it wraps its arms around you in a way that you simply must hear to understand. A heartfelt, warm, and unique interpretation. The sound is very good for the vintage. I recommend that you hear it.

Up ahead in 1960 we have the dignified, noble, and warm account by the Belgian virtuoso Arthur Grumiaux. You will notice the full sound from his violin, as well as a generous amount of vibrato. But what Grumiaux does so well lies in his tremendous expression of feeling and emotion, and while Bach was not a romantic in the usual sense we think of it, Grumiaux finds loads of pathos and heart in this music. This is a set to treasure, and only the most die-hard period instrument proponent or modernist could find any fault here. The sound is immediate and resonant.

I remember hearing the name of American violinist Oscar Shumsky in the past, but I don’t recall hearing any of his recordings. But his 1978 recording on Nimbus (also from the Musical Heritage Society) reveals something quite special. None other than David Oistrakh considered Shumsky one of the greatest violinists in the world, and on this set one can hear exactly why. Yes, this is playing in the older, traditional style. But it has so much feeling and intelligence, as well as stunning virtuosity, that it must be recommended. The sound, for me at least, is a tad too resonant, but is perfectly acceptable. It has some things in common with Grumiaux for example, but Shumsky puts his own style on it.

Belgian period instrument pioneer Sigiswald Kuijken recorded an acclaimed set of the Sonatas and Partitas in 1981 Deutsch Harmonia Mundi, and it remains one of the very finest versions with baroque violin. Kuijken’s playing is sensitive, but never fussy, and while tempos are a bit brisk in some areas, he does a wonderful job of moderating things for more emotive or reflective segments. Also, unlike some period instrument violinists, Kuijken is not afraid to use a moderate amount of vibrato, and his phrasing is thoughtful and intimate. For me, this is one of the best versions for hearing the baroque violin, and we don’t hear nearly as much of the screeching sometimes associated with the baroque violin. I also feel Kuijken is more expressive than many, regardless of violin type. The sound is close and intimate, but never overpowering. This one is definitely a keeper.

The world-famous Israeli-American violinist Itzhak Perlman is more of a traditionalist on his 1987 recording (EMI/Warner), but if you are looking for a recording of these pieces which is full of affection, warmth, and romantic overtones, then this is the one for you. Perlman’s golden tone is so beautiful that one is almost mesmerized by it, and I mean that in the best way. Indeed, it reminds me of Grumiaux’s famous recording in its fullness and warmth. Of course Perlman’s virtuosity is never in question, but the strength of his interpretation lies in how he handles phrases with such loving care. At times he is a bit heavy handed, but in the overall picture this is a tremendous recording by one of the greatest violinists of the 20th century. Recommended.

The German violinist Christian Tetzlaff has recorded the Sonatas and Partitas no less than three times. The first outing from 1993 on Erato is the version I’m recommending here, and while his later outings (on haenssler form 2005, and on Ondine from 2016) are both very good, it is this earlier account which finds Tetzlaff more beguiling, with fuller tone and marginally more interesting things to say interpretively. Tetzlaff seems a bit freer here in terms of tempos and rhythms, and for me he seems more emotionally involved than later. This is a modern reading in the sense that Tetzlaff doesn’t linger or romanticize things, but even so there is no lack of depth or feeling. The sound is nearly perfectly balanced for my tastes. Quite impressive from the (then) 27-year-old Teztlaff.

The late career 1995 traversal of the Sonatas and Partitas from the legendary Polish British Canadian violinist Ida Haendel on the Testament label gathers a lifetime of experience into a probing and satisfying reading. Haendel uses a modern violin, and is fully immersed in the more traditional style. But she infuses it with so many of her own touches and flawless tone quality. Every phrase is well considered, and she takes her time where she feels that it is appropriate for the music. Yes, it is heartfelt and more expressive than we hear in a more modern style, but I love her introspective moments especially where she withdraws the volume to provide contrast. The sound is well balanced and easy on the ear.

Ingrid Matthews, director of the Seattle Baroque Orchestra, recorded the Sonatas and Partitas in 2000 for the Centaur label, and it is an outstanding set. Matthews plays a baroque violin, but similar to Kuijken, she has a real feel for how this music should be played. I love her thoughtfulness, phrasing, and her dynamic choices. You hear some of the typical things with baroque violin, there is a bit of harshness on the higher notes, and she eschews using vibrato. But there is so much to cherish here, her double stops (as well as triples etc) are so well done. She doesn’t merely play the notes, but really spins them into a narrative, and varies her approach depending on the mood. The sound is a tad distant and resonant, but not overly so. Recommended.

On baroque violin comes one of the very best sets by Rachel Podger, released in 2002 on Channel Classics. My worries about the baroque violin sounding steely or harsh are quickly dispensed here. Podger is a baroque specialist, and although tempi are marginally quicker here and there, the overall conception is very satisfying and rewards repeated listening. Podger uses little vibrato as you would expect, but there is no loss of beauty in her tone. Very enjoyable.

Also from 2002 is the second recording from Latvian violinist Gidon Kremer on the ECM. Perhaps not surprisingly, if you are familiar with Kremer, he employs a lean and austere tone and doesn’t shy away from making some uglier sounds on the violin. Still, he uses vibrato when called for, and his phrasing is so well considered that you feel like you are hearing the music for the first time. Kremer varies his dynamics rather more than some, which is all to the good. The opening Adagio from Sonata no. 1 is heart rending, and the Fugues from all three sonatas are truly played as fugues. Kremer really digs into the Chaconne in an almost defiant way (I like it), and the famous Prelude from Partita no. 3 is exciting and he varies dynamics extremely well (like Julia Fischer below). Great stuff. The sound is a tad on the dry side, but very clear and well balanced. What you will notice is how well Kremer can play both loud and soft, and everything in between. This recording shows Kremer as a true master of these works.

Julia Fischer’s outstanding set from 2004 on Pentatone is captivating due to Fischer’s absolutely ravishing tone. I can’t think of a violin recording that sounds better to be honest. She uses a modern violin, and a moderate amount of vibrato. Her phrasing seems so fresh and honest, tempos are mainstream, and dynamics are shaded just right. The famous Chaconne from Partita no. 2 is stunning, emotionally vulnerable, but Fischer leans into the phrasing in a way that gives it even more drama. Throughout the set, Fischer is in no hurry, and that is certainly not a bad thing. I’ve also never heard the Prelude from Partita no. 3 played so well, simply terrific. The sound is crystal clear. Highly recommended.

I’ve long admired Russian-born British violinist Viktoria Mullova, and while she recorded the Sonatas and Partitas early on for Philips, it is her second recording from 2008 on the Onyx label that I am recommending. On this album, she used a baroque violin with gut strings that was tuned down to the baroque pitch. Compared to her earlier recording, this one is warmer, more flexible, and overall, more emotionally connected. As you may expect, she uses little vibrato but produces a bright and woody sound from her 1750 Guadagnini violin. Her Chaconne is less intense than say Kremer, but no less emotionally involved. It is rather astounding how much Mullova has changed since her early recordings, and for the better. The sound is acoustically resonant, but pleasing in its immediacy and balance.

Isabelle Faust, on baroque violin, is never less than thought provoking and original in her 2009 interpretation. Her recording on Harmonia Mundi is also one of the quickest traversals on record. Her intonation and virtuosity are never in doubt, and you might imagine this is what the music may have sounded like in Bach’s day. The straightforward baroque approach of using no vibrato sometimes comes across as overly academic and faceless. But Faust has enough variation in her dynamics and phrasing to give it shape and personality. This is playing of the highest order, an outstanding set which you should hear. The sound is clear and full, even if the violin has some harshness on top.

Also from 2009 is the outstanding recording from Russian violinist Alina Ibragimova on the Hyperion label. While Ibragimova uses a modern violin, you would be forgiven for thinking this is a period instrument set. She truly avoids vibrato almost entirely, and her phrasing is silvery and almost chromatic sounding. There is a sense of improvisation at several points, which I like, and a real feeling of intimacy about her playing that is quite unique. So again we have a modern style and approach here, rather than a romantic one, and Ibragimova does a stellar job of creating mood and feeling through varying her volume and her bowing pressure. You notice a bit of the screech factor occasionally, but this is also part of the atmosphere she is trying to create. The sound is fully up to Hyperion standards, which is to say excellent.

The 2010 traversal from Armenian violinist Sergey Khachatryan on the naive label is one of my very favorite versions of this music. He uses a modern violin and certainly leans to the romantic side in his tone (his faster vibrato is something I quite like), and yet he also doesn’t linger too long on phrases. Khachatryan’s reading sounds completely different than almost anyone else, and there is a real sense of spontaneity and real involvement with the music. The way he withdraws his tone, and then bursts forth in a louder statement shows how deft his feeling for the dramatic is, and it almost seems as though he is telling a story through Bach’s music. The Adagio from Sonata no. 1 is tremendous, as is his Chaconne later. The Prelude from Partita no. 3 is dazzling. He does remind me of some more traditional violinists such as Heifetz (though less cold in tone), Kagan, and Milstein.

The 2011 set on baroque violin by French violinist Amadine Beyer on the ZigZag label is another outstanding example of what’s possible in this music. Her playing is fresh and individual, with very little vibrato, and without any harsh upper register screeching. Faster movements are a delight, consistently engaging and rhythmically alert. Double stops are extremely well done, and nothing is rushed despite the somewhat quicker tempos. Like Faust and Ibragimova, emotional inflections are produced by varying the dynamic range and bowing style rather than vibrato and steel strings. It does lend a cool quality to the reading, but this is part and parcel of the baroque approach to the music. There is a sort of calmness and intimacy to Beyer’s playing which borders on detachment, although this is yet another valid way of playing these works. The sound is very good, with a mild resonance that works well with Bach.

American violinist Daniel Stepner, long time member of the Lydian String Quartet, as well as concertmaster for the Handel and Haydn Society, recorded the Bach Sonatas and Partitas over a period of 23 years, finishing the set in 2012. The set is on the Centaur label. While Stepner plays a baroque violin, over the period of time of the recordings he used three different violins. This is not a “smooth” performance, and that is precisely why I like it. Stepner varies the dynamics significantly, enhancing the emotional sensibility of the music, and at times it even sounds like he pushes the instrument to the brink of its potential. Stepner’s readings are high-energy and full of confidence, and his technical skills are stunningly precise. The sound is very good too.

Another American violinist, Rachel Barton Pine, recorded an exceptional set of the Sonatas and Partitas in 2016 on the Avie label. Barton Pine plays a modern violin, and what she does so well is to blend a modern, historically informed approach with technical precision and tonal warmth. She creates a rich tone, which she judiciously allows to sing out at key moments. So it’s a bit of a hybrid approach between the more traditional and the modern styles. She never gets in the way of the music, and also never seems to make a harsh or ugly sound. In this sense we are in more flowing, graceful territory than many of the more modern or baroque violin versions. Barton Pine’s playing is beautiful and intimate rather than edgy, and that will appeal to many listeners. The sound from Avie is warm and balanced.

From 2017 comes an outstanding set from Russian violinist Mikhail Pochekin, who I must admit was unknown to me until I listened to his recording, although his own website states he is a well-known interpreter of Bach. Indeed, on the merit of this recording I agree. He uses a modern violin, and there are certainly some similarities here with Ehnes as well as Khachatryan. Pochekin’s phrasing is thoughtful and full of interesting ideas. He is more “interventionist” in his playing than many on this list, meaning he adds more of his own touches. But I like them, and yes he uses vibrato and some rubato relatively generously, perhaps in an older school Russian manner. But in other places, his reading is thoroughly modern. He refuses to play too loudly, and his softer playing is tender and subtle. I really love the contrasts he draws out. Take a listen to the Prelude from Partita no. 3, really superb. The sound is ideal, balanced, and warm.

The live 2017 recording from the Verbier Festival featuring Hungarian violinist Kristóf Baráti is simply superb, released by Deutsche Grammophon in 2022. Baráti had recorded these pieces twice previously, but this set is altogether more spontaneous, fluid, and emotionally involved. He uses a fair amount of vibrato but also leans into phrases where he doesn’t use much at all. This is probably the most passionate performance on this list, and Baráti’s playing is nothing short of astonishing. He takes risks, and for me they pay off richly. Listen to the Chaconne, this reminds me of Shumsky’s recording in that Baráti lets the music unfold like an epic drama. It is a moving account. Not unlike Pochekin, he infuses personality into the music in a way that is perhaps more interventionist than some, but it also makes things more interesting. The sound is a tad over-resonant, but it is not an issue. There is plenty of clarity and warmth in the acoustic.

Yet another excellent baroque violin recording comes from Boris Begelman on the Deutsche Harmonia Mundi label from 2018. Begelman mixes a meditative and reflective quality with a more accented and edgy quality depending on the movement, and I find this works really well. When listening to this album, one has the sense of being transported in time back to when this music was first heard. It takes on a dreamy, ethereal quality which befits the music. Each particular movement sounds like a story being told, such is Begelman’s ability to vary his tone based on the type of movement being played. Like some baroque versions, his playing can take on a rugged sound, but he marries this with a tenderness in the slower movements which make for a nice contrast. The sound is very good.

Gottfried von der Goltz’s 2018 recording of the Sonatas and Partitas on the Aparté label is another very fine baroque violin performance. Von der Goltz does not speed up the tempos as much as some others, and there is a flow to his playing that is really very nice. He infuses the music with some of his own touches, but everything is of a piece, and he even uses some vibrato here and there. Among period instrument versions, von der Goltz creates one of the most alluring tones, and there is never any screeching. Dynamics are in the mainstream, and there are few, if any, odd gestures or mannerisms to distract us. The sound is fairly immediate and just resonant enough to lend some atmosphere around the notes. Recommended.

American violinist Hilary Hahn, who made quite a mark as a young virtuoso, is absolutely brilliant on her set of the Bach Sonatas and Partitas from Sony and Decca. She has a modern violin, and uses vibrato generously when called for, and produces an amazing tone. She recorded the different pieces at different times, and it appears the complete set was released in 2018. Hahn is near ideal in her treatment of phrases that call for more expression and those that are meant to be played more or less directly as written. Her interpretive choices always seem to pay off, and she is not afraid to put her own stamp on the music. The sound is clear and immediate, without being in your face. Hahn has integrated the best of many styles perhaps more successfully than any modern violinist. Top notch stuff.

Canadian violinist James Ehnes in his second commercial recording made in 2021 on the Onyx label really gets to the heart of this music. Ehnes is thoughtful and produces a burnished, golden tone throughout with many enjoyable insights along the way. His style is a blend of traditional and modern in terms of pacing, phrasing, and vibrato. I like how Ehnes brings out the counterpoint in Bach’s writing, at times by taking slightly slower tempos. Both of Ehnes’ recordings are very fine, but the slight edge goes to this most recent one. Clear, warm sound.

I’ve become very fond of the 2022 recording on the Claves label by Swiss violinist and professor of violin at the Mozarteum University in Salzburg, Esther Hoppe. While Hoppe does not use a baroque violin, she employs very little vibrato, and her tone is redolent of period practice (and she regularly collaborates with period instrument performers). Hoppe has some similarities with Faust, but I find her approach more thoughtful and reflective in the best way. Dynamics are well shaded to provide contrast, and she provides a wonderful expressivity when called for. The music is much more than academic in her hands but takes on a vibrancy that is a testament to her artistry. The sound is very good, with nice resonance and balance.

Other Recordings of Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas You May Enjoy

The truth is there are just loads of good recordings of these pieces, and many of the sets below are outstanding as well. I will leave it up to you to decide which ones you like best. If you have any favorites I’m missing below, feel free to send me a message.

Heifetz (RCA 1952)

Olevsky (Doremi 1953)

Milstein (EMI 1954-56)

Szigeti (Vanguard 1955-56)

Szeryng (Dg 1967)

Olof (Doremi 1969)

Suk (EMI 1970)

Marschner (Doremi 1972)

Kremer (Philips 1980)

Mintz (DG 1983)

Kagan (Warner 1989)

Buswell (Centaur 1994)

Zsigmondy (Paladino 1995)

Milenkovich (Dynamic 1997)

Ehnes (Analetka 1999)

Fischbach (Garrett 2004)

Tetzlaff (haenssler 2005)

Zehetmair (Warner 2006)

Holloway (ECM 2006)

Kaler (Naxos 2006)

St. John (Ancalagon 2008)

Grimal (Ambroisie 2009)

Juritz (Nimbus 2010)

Busch (PHI 2011-12)

Pietsch (Es-dur 2014)

Ritchie (MusicaOmnia 2014)

Schickedanz (Audite 2014)

Huang (Centaur 2015)

Shaham (Canary 2015)

Kuusisto (BIS 2015-17)

Kaplan (Bridge 2016)

Chung (Warner 2016)

Zehetmair (ECM 2016)

Ross (Albany 2016-17)

Fried (Nimbus 2017)

Carmignola (DG 2018)

Hadelich (Warner 2021)

Kavakos (Sony 2021)

Whew. That was a lot. Thanks for hanging in there with me. I am certain you will find several recordings from the lists above to enjoy. I love Bach, but after hours and hours of listening, I’m ready to move on. Join me next time for #119, Serge Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. See you then!

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Notes:

Auer, Leopold, My Long Life in Music, 343–344.

High Fidelity, November 1977, 84, 86.

Kozinn, Allan. The New York Times Essential Library Classical Music, A Critic’s Guide to the 100 Most Important Recordings. Pp. 32-34. Times Books. Henry Holt and Company. New York. 2004.

Schonberg, Harold C., THE NEW YORK TIMES, 22 Dec., 1992

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2013/sep/15/isabelle-faust-violin-musical-sleuth-interview

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appoggiatura

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Sebastian_Bach

https://kidadl.com/quotes/best-johann-sebastian-bach-quotes-from-the-famous-german-composer

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonatas_and_Partitas_for_Solo_Violin_(Bach)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nathan_Milstein

Top 75 Conductors Series

#47: Sir Neville Marriner (1924 - 2016)

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At #47 in our series is English conductor and violinist Sir Neville Marriner. Due to his extensive discography and his very long association with the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields orchestra, Marriner is one of the most recognized and beloved conductors of all time.

Sir Neville Marriner

Marriner was born in England, and in grammar school his initial introduction to music was as a member of a jazz band at school. Initially he learned to play the piano and violin from his father (his father Herbert was a carpenter by trade), and later he studied the violin with Frederick Mountney.

In 1939 when just a teenager he went to the Royal College of Music in London where he studied violin under William Henry Reed, and he became accomplished enough to sit in the second violins with the London Symphony Orchestra. This was just before the war, but Marriner enlisted in 1941 serving in reconnaissance. However, he was airlifted out due to some serious kidney problems and was discharged. He returned to the Royal College, but by then his teacher Reed had passed away. At that point Marriner decided to enroll at the Paris Conservatoire, and he studied violin there with René Benedetti.

The rest of the 1940s and most of the 1950s saw Marriner playing violin in several different chamber ensembles. While he did teach music briefly at Eton College and at the Royal College, he also played violin in the Martin String Quartet beginning in 1948, a group he would play with for the next 13 years. He also met harpsichordist Thurston Dart, and they formed a musical duo which later became the Virtuoso String Trio (also including Peter Gibbs). That group morphed into the Jacobean Ensemble (led by Dart), which Marriner played in starting in 1951. Also in the early 1950s, Marriner played with the Philharmonia Orchestra, and later from 1954, again with the London Symphony Orchestra. Marriner also did some playing with the London Mozart Players.

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