>>>>  BRAND NEW - NEVER OPENED Seven LP Boxed Set  <<<<

Beethoven The Nine Symphonies George Szell The Cleveland Orchestra

Columbia Masterworks M7X 30281

Brand New 

(Sealed in original shrink wrap.)

< Expedited shipping available >

Includes 12 Page Booklet by Harold C. Schonfeld and Donal Henahan

Acclaimed as one of the greatest sets of the Beethoven symphonies.

Released in 1970 to coincide with the Beethoven Bicentennial 

and in memory of Maestro George Szell.

Rare and highly collectible. 

ClassicalNet Review  As far as I know, Szell's set of Beethoven's symphonies has never left the catalog. Sony/CBS/Columbia/Epic has made money from it for at least four decades. I had the original LPs, with the best liner notes on anything (let alone Beethoven) I've ever read, by composer and chief annotator for the Cleveland Orchestra Klaus George Roy. 

I grew up in Cleveland during the Szell years, and Szell fundamentally shaped both the way I listen to music and my expectations of music performance. He has remained one of my musical heroes, as have several individual members of his orchestra. I got involved in the Beethoven symphonies through Szell's recordings, and despite the sets I've listened to since, I still find his readings absolutely central. Younger generations of conductors have gone over these recordings with Talmudic intensity, as they have with those of Toscanini and Furtwängler. 

I have never believed in One Beethoven. To me, a lot of roads lead to Nirvana. However, in the early stereo era, there really wasn't much to choose from. Most recordings used the same types of forces with many of the same assumptions. Historically Informed Performance was a crazy gleam in fringe musicologists' eyes, and it seemed to have the same chance of penetrating the concert hall as a feather on the breath of God (how wrong we were!). Older recordings struck most people as a recherché way to spend one's time, particularly if you owned a high-end stereo rig. CDs have gone a long way to changing this attitude. Thus, the complete Beethoven sets'way back when offered a constricted interpretive range. Still, the only conductor from the same era whose Beethoven has lasted as long as Szell's is Karajan, who made at least three stereo traversals of the symphonies. I've never particularly cared for any of the Karajan sets I've heard, although I find myself most partial to the DG recordings from the early Sixties. That Ninth, in particular, is one of my favorites. Overall, however, I would describe Karajan's readings as too smooth by half. Beethoven's music, after all, bristles with "edges." Transitions and contrasts are both abrupt and stark. When I listen to Karajan's Beethoven, I imagine a burgher in his living room smiling, secure in the knowledge that, Gott sei gelobt, he's getting Culture with a capital C. I hear a stamp of official consumer-institute approval, rather than any intellectual or, God knows, visceral excitement. People often accuse Karajan of trying to create a cult of personality, but the personality that comes out in so many of his recordings is bland and corporate. Above all, Beethoven encourages independent thinking on the part of performers, even those Toscanini disciples who aim to create the illusion "Beethoven's music as he imagined it" don't all sound alike – Toscanini and Szell two notable examples.

Szell's Beethoven doesn't completely jibe with my ideal, but his view definitely belongs to him, and when I think of Beethoven in a sustained way, I often hear in my head Szell's readings illustrating those thoughts. Those who know Szell's work usually praise or condemn it on the grounds of "precision," as if precision either guaranteed high quality or sucked the life out of a performance. I tend to believe that it's nice to hear what a composer actually wrote and that sloppiness doesn't mean soul, but precision itself means little to me. Szell's precision – and, for sheer playing, his Cleveland Orchestra excelled every other orchestra of its era, including Berlin and Chicago – isn't simply lagniappe, but the spring of many other virtues. Szell's readings here vibrate in a tension between elegance and drive, both reinforced by the orchestra's precision.

Symphony #1 in C Op. 21 (1796-1800)

What first breaks into my consciousness as I listen to the opening of the Symphony #1 is, "What fantastic first violins!" Actually, "What a fabulous first violin section!" They play as one, with enormous suppleness. The Philadelphia string section may have played more sumptuously, the Vienna Philharmonic with slightly more warmth, but you may not want either in a symphony so close to Haydn and Mozart. Keep in mind that the introduction, although beloved of musicologists, doesn't usually constitute a high point of this symphony, but Szell's traversal of it, with gorgeous wind solos, from the very beginning sets a standard higher than any other I've heard. The first movement, lean and muscular, springs like a terrier. The second, a Haydnesque larghetto, verges on minuet, as scraps coalesce into a full melody with accompaniment. In this movement, the winds take one's breath away. Their ensembles are perfect in their balance and fit, and extremely short solos of two notes suffice to establish these players as masters. The named Minuet is, of course, no minuet at all, but the first example of the full-blown Beethoven symphonic scherzo, an apotheosis of the hunt. We're not in Haydnland any more. It's got plenty of drive, although Szell doesn't take it particularly fast. The crescendos move with inexorability, but they never, even at the climax, bluster. They succeed in part because the orchestra diminuendos seamlessly and in full dynamic control. The trio, when it comes, features that fantastic Cleveland wind section and approaches, but never crosses into, sumptuousness. "Measure" is the key here, although it doesn't preclude excitement. One can say the same for the finale, one of Beethoven's wittiest. Here and there, Szell manages to bring out similarities between it and those of the Mozart #39 and #41. It begins tentatively with an idea that suddenly gathers and speeds up into the opening of the main idea, like a whip about to crack. Again, it has all the power any reasonable person wants and subtlety besides. One really fine moment occurs at the climax of the opening allegro and the quiet transition to its repeat, all without a stumble or a sudden collapse. It's as if you suddenly found yourself a few thousand feet lower, and yet with full support. Above all, Szell gives you a reading full of historical imagination. Beethoven probably did not hear this symphony in his head as Szell gives it to us, but it certainly conjures up the world of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. It takes a musician of immense culture to pull something like this off.

Symphony #2 in D, Op. 36 (1801-02)

It wouldn't surprise me to learn that the second is the least-performed of Beethoven's nine symphonies. I consider it long misunderstood as "merry" or even "lightweight." Many nineteenth-century critics, for example, thought of it as the last time Beethoven would compose music anybody would consider beautiful. It comes from the same period as the Heiligenstadt Testament, the composer's cri du coeur after he realized he was going deaf. The usual line runs that none of Beethoven's anguish comes through in the symphony. To me, the symphony is all "about" how life gets fouled up. It strikes me as the most personal symphony in the cycle, the one where Beethoven for once doesn't assume a public persona. The first movement is practically bi-polar. The same themes continually get treated first in a major, and then in a minor mode, and Beethoven juxtaposes their treatments with maximum contrast. The slow movement, one of Beethoven's loveliest, contains the seeds of Mendelssohn's lyricism. It begins practically breathing the air of Elysium, but once again comes under the cloud of a minor mode, and much of its drama comes down to which mode wins out. Szell's account of the scherzo is, once again, beautifully proportioned, with real care given to its dynamic shape. It neither needs to yell or to boom to make its point, and the trio is pure joy. In terms of the narrative of the entire symphony, this is the manic movement of the symphony, with its various parts logically sequent but fragmented. The finale again reminds me of its counterpart in the Mozart Symphony #39, only this time the flick of the thematic tail occurs at the beginning of the theme, rather than at the end, as in the Mozart. One would hope for some resolution, but that bus never arrives. We get the same major-minor treatment of themes as in previous movements. Nevertheless, Beethoven works up a more or less heroic ending (mock-heroic comes nearer the truth). Like most conductors, Szell gets the symphony's wit, but not its pathos. The only reading I've heard that embraces this view is Harmoncourt's on Teldec.

Symphony #3 in E-flat, Op. 55 Eroica (1803-04)

I should say that I've never heard a recording of the Eroica (and there are tons of them out there) that satisfied me. In fact, for a long time, I thought I disliked the work itself, until I heard a marvelous live performance by Klauspeter Seibel and the Louisiana Philharmonic – a surprise, because most people wouldn't think of these forces as the A-team. Nevertheless, this account makes more musical sense than any first-rank recording I've heard. The first two movements make or break a reading. The first movement runs so long that sometimes conductors forget where they are and become incoherent. The second-movement funeral march has become so iconographic that conductors tend to lay on Significance with a trowel.

Szell takes the first movement at a pretty fair clip but, like just about everybody else, loses focus, mainly by failing to emphasize a motive that deceives him into mistaking it for a mere transition. In fact, it's a significant part of the movement's spine. I must say, however, Szell's ending is nothing short of magnificent. His handling of Beethoven's counterpoint – his understanding of how it functions – takes a back seat to nobody. Again, it's the coalescing of scraps into an overwhelming texture that impresses here, and Szell's willingness to risk the charge of scrappiness at the beginning, rather than insisting on Magnificence all the time, makes the effect. In the funeral march, Szell's power to let the music speak without the symbolic baggage it has accumulated strikes me first. Actually, what really strikes me first is once again, "What a great string section!" followed by "What fantastic woodwind soloists!" – especially, because of his prominence, the first oboe (Marc Lifschey). Szell offers something somber but not ponderous – in the context of so many other readings, almost chaste. Funerals are, for once, a serious and not a theatrical business. Szell sounds the main note of stoicism but manages to slip in sharp stabs of pain, almost gone before they register. The orchestra, flexible and graceful as Chaplin, practically melts into the lighter moments and yet can build climaxes of shattering intensity. Paradoxically, the high end of the dynamic level isn't as loud as some I've heard, yet packs as big a wallop.

Szell lets me down a bit in the scherzo. He holds back too much. To me, this is an obsessive movement, driven by intense little eighth-note seconds in the accompanying strings. Others let fly, which I think almost right. Best of all would have been Szell's control coupled with his usual concentration of energy. However, I forgive him everything at the trio, with its massed horns – power without pomposity, for once. Furthermore, in the finale, Szell gives a lesson in how to build a long movement. The variations individually come off well, but you never doubt their place in the overall design. He brings it off, of course, by absolute dynamic control, both at the macro-level of the paragraph and at the micro-level of the individual phrase. Actually, in this reading I love best the quieter, slower sections (contrary to my usual shallow preference for slam-bang). They draw me in, before finally giving me the final shove into the brass salvoes. For my money, the most beautifully shaped Eroica finale out there.

Symphony #4 in B-flat, Op. 60 (1806)

Schumann once called the Fourth Symphony "a Greek maiden between two Norse giants," ie, the Third and Fifth. Despite my enormous regard for Schumann's criticism, I've never made sense of this remark, particularly in light of the first movement. It begins with a long, sober introduction, which finally breaks into a raucous horse laugh of an allegro (based on the intro, by the way). This movement flummoxes many conductors, who have little idea what to make of it. Psychologically, we've got the humor equivalent of Benny Hill within an extremely witty purely musical context – sort of like hearing Noël Coward making fart jokes or Larry the Cable Guy delivering Wildean epigrams. Szell, fortunately, is not too refined for his own good. He gets both the coarse humor and the wit. The slow second movement probably counts as my least favorite of the cycle, although writers looking for the Immortal Beloved (good luck!) have jonesed on it. Usually, I fall asleep about a third of the way through. At least Szell keeps me awake, with a lyrical line more suave than Cary Grant. More roughhouse breaks in at the scherzo, but Szell reserves his power for the trio. He stretches the musical line to the point where it seems to always have somewhere else to go – always opening out to something new. The fourth movement takes a swirling idea of sixteenths – sometimes in the foreground, sometimes in the background. It doesn't always sound, but Szell always keeps it in your mind. I've heard more frantic performances, but none with this combination of excitement and architectural smarts. I should also mention, yet again, the strings and also the kettledrums (the legendary Cloyd Duff), who put immense space around this music, as well as principal bassoonist George Goslee, a player with beautiful tone and terrific line. Along with principal clarinet Robert Marcellus, he represents to me the exemplar of the Szell musician.

Symphony #5 in c, Op. 67 (1800-1808)

I admit I have never heard a bad performance of Beethoven's Fifth. Even Jorge Mester's joke reading for Peter Schickele and Bob Dennis sounds pretty good to me. It strikes me as a symphony that almost plays itself. At this stage, we're talking about fine points of wonderful.

Szell's first movement won't appeal to those who want a weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. Instead, Szell aims for a classical sense of tragedy, and the reading of the entire symphony retains those proportions. For me, the high points of the first movement are the quieter moments – the major second subject, for example – and from the false fugal entry to the end. The second movement moves with lithe grace, never getting bogged down in gooey sentiment. Nevertheless, there's reasonable power at the trumpet entries, and the contrapuntal passages almost suspend time. Those who want the first movement to rock their world will also likely meet with disappointment in the third movement. Szell avoids the usual steroids in favor of restraint. This pays off in the transition to the finale, where the music holds its breath before bursting forth in a blaze of brass. The level isn't all that loud (if you want volume, dial up your amp), but it's got plenty of power. Furthermore, the transitions from loud to soft and back again will thrill you and lead to massive climaxes, all without yelling. For me, the highlight of the performance once again occurs near the end, with the chirping of the flutes and other winds, as they begin the rush to the concluding bars.

Symphony #6 in F, Op. 58 Pastoral (1807-1808)

I love the "Pastoral" Sixth. For me, the really difficult movement is the last. It's so simple and direct, conductors can't hide behind a waterfall of notes or Big Emotions. It really tests musicality. Szell's account of the symphony eschews sentimentality. If you want happy peasants, Disney centaurs, and babbling brooks, go elsewhere. Szell emphasizes Beethoven as symphonist, rather than as illustrator. The reading doesn't lack magic, but it's musical magic – delicate, wildflower textures, long singing lines, crisp dances. Szell also gives us insight into the composer's symphonic practice – that the first movement, for example, springs entirely from the opening tune, and that the famous "birds" passage in the second movement not only has a structural function, but that Beethoven prepares us for it earlier and throughout. The third movement stands out for its oboe and clarinet solos (Marc Lifschey and Robert Marcellus). The "storm" movement interests me the least, no matter whom I've heard conducting it, although it always delivers sharp thrills. The finale, the biggest challenge in the symphony, arrives with nobility and without mawkishness. All in all, a patrician reading.

Symphony #7 in A, Op. 92 (1811-12)

Wagner, famously, called the Seventh "the apotheosis of the dance," another remark I've never completely understood. Isadora Duncan took him literally and actually danced to the thing. All that aside, however, if ever a Beethoven symphony was made for Szell, this one's it, and the conductor doesn't disappoint. The first movement gives off the impression not only of power, but immense power in reserve – from the long, spacious introduction, to the breaking forth of the main idea. Forget Mozart's "Jupiter," this movement strongly evokes the Olympian on his throne. Despite Szell's customary elegance, you feel the rhythm in your guts. The first movement grabs you by your collar, and you feel yourself flying. The second movement, one of Beethoven's genuine hits during his lifetime and which so impressed Schubert, often fails because conductors hit the rhythmic idée fixe way too hard. The rest of the movement tends to get lost as they twiddle their thumbs waiting for the next climax. Szell stresses alternate melodies and counterpoint, with a heart-stopping fugal buildup toward the end. Again, those fabulous first-desk winds (plus Myron Bloom playing horn with chamber-like discretion and sophistication) take center stage. The scherzo probably qualifies as one of the most manic in the set. I'd almost say Szell lets go, but that implies a loss of control. Indeed, the frenzy of the thing increases precisely because Szell keeps control. Attacks snap, the line crackles, all because rhythm is so tight. The trio arrives as an island of immense calm and stability. You can't conceive how the music will return to its frenzy, but return it does, zipping off like the Road Runner. Calm? What calm?

In the finale, Beethoven flirts with disintegration, a pattern increasingly prominent in his late period. The music consists of fragments, and the musical train threatens to break down. Szell skitters close to the edge without falling over. His line has so much energy, the music never really stops. Indeed, he manages even more intensity after the pivot notes have sounded. An astonishing performance.

Symphony #8 in F, Op. 93 (1811-12)

For years, critics had flogged Beethoven's symphonies as grossly out-of-scale, misshapen grotesqueries. With the Eighth, the composer returned to the proportions, at any rate, of the Haydn symphony. Critics then landed on him for writing something so trivial. He couldn't win or write in any vein without somebody telling him he was doing it wrong. This symphony gets characterized – wrongly, I believe – as "merry." Although it does have its clever and droll side, I find far more prominent, in the first movement especially, a cosmic, elemental quality. Beethoven writes with a concentration which increases the power of his ideas. I know of no composer better able to evoke immensities of scale in so few notes. Wagner, Bruckner, and Mahler are downright windbags in comparison. Mendelssohn is often as economical, but not as powerful. Szell takes the first movement as if it were Eroica, Part II, with that same buoyant, rolling gait, almost like a Zeppelin taking off. The second movement, "Allegretto scherzando," makes jokes about scale. A very delicate idea begins in the high strings and winds. Beethoven then turns it over to the heavier cellos and basses – Bottom among the fairies, if you like. He even turns this around by giving weightier ideas to the lighter strings – the sprites mocking Bottom. I doubt whether Haydn would have recognized the third movement by Beethoven's title of minuet. It stands a long way from the court dance, or any dance, for that matter. Some conductors inflate it like Rudyard Kipling's frog. No worries about Szell. He reserves his fire for the trio, a gust of full-blown Romanticism before others jumped on the wagon, beautifully expansive. First horn Myron Bloom sends out lines that stretch forever. For the finale, Szell gives us what Tovey described as "the laughter of the blessed gods." Beethoven essentially takes the tropes of martial music and turns them into something supremely comic, an awe-inspiring blend of lightness and muscle. A high point of the set.

Symphony #9 in d, Op. 125 (1817-24) Choral

As with the Eroica, I can find fault with every recording of this I've heard, on the grounds of interpretation, playing, or sound quality. A great many Ninths act as if they can't wait to get to the choral finale, the other movements merely necessary stations on the way to the Ascension. To me, the hardest movements are the first and the slow third. Apparently, conductors can easily lose their way in the first and run out of gas before the end of the third.

As fine as it is, Szell's Ninth just misses, I think, something extraordinary. It comes down to the first movement. At the beginning, one gets a sense of tremendous expectation, like holding your breath as you wait for catastrophe. One can find much to admire here – from the crisp rhythms rapped out by the brass and strings, the perfect ensemble, the contrapuntal clarity, and Szell's ability to sing the lyrical parts of the movement without getting soppy. However, Szell's usual classical restraint seems to me a mistake here. Beethoven has left the black-and-white Kansas of classicism behind. He's definitely striving for something new, even new to himself – wilder, more turbulent, less inhibited. Szell's account misses that extra ounce of oomph in the climaxes. It's a lost opportunity, because his readings of the other movements surpass all but a few and indeed emphasize Beethoven's new turmoil, without losing proportion and control. Some conductors give you excitement by pushing past the breaking point. Normally, Szell increases the vitality of his readings by exercising greater control. He twists up to and never past the breaking point. I prefer his way. In this case, however, control becomes caution. We miss the daring of the orchestra dancing on the edge.

The scherzo usually comes off in even middling accounts. However, Szell makes it a locus classicus of Beethoven playing. The contrapuntal entries crackle with electricity. Cloyd Duff's asymmetrical booms from his timpani knock you on your pins, and climaxes build inexorably. Even more magic happens at the trio with the five wind principals – Sharp on flute, Lifschey on oboe, clarinetist Marcellus, bassoonist Goslee (with a wonderful bubbling line), and Bloom on french horn – five stellar soloists who also happen to be superb chamber players (the two don't always go together). At the trio, the music begins to breathe like nobody's business, and you ride a musical wave that seems to roll forever. As marvelous as that passage is, the entrance of the lower strings caps it, and the orchestra drives home its identity as a virtuoso ensemble of virtuoso and extraordinarily intelligent musicians.

The Adagio sinks many a performance, mainly because conductors seem to lose interest 'way before the end and then have to find it again. Szell, on the other hand, delivers the apotheosis of the Beethoven adagio – that Platonic ideal so lovingly evoked by Elgar in his "Nimrod" variation. Szell however does it with Beethoven himself. The movement opens with those solo winds alternating with the equally incredible strings, opening up a line that soars all the way to Hudson Bay. The account yields a richness almost like no other, mainly due to Szell's care with the "subsidiary" theme. Many other conductors concern themselves only with the primary strain and mark time until it reappears. Szell mines the profound implications of both – a double whammy if you will. How Szell ever got a reputation for "coldness," I have no idea. This movement will shatter your heart.

Of course the choral finale has the most glitz and once upon a time gave performers a great deal of trouble. Even today, some singers have difficulty with the florid soloist passages, but by and large, professional conductors and players know by now how this movement goes. I tend to dislike the Big Bow-Wow or the Kosmic Kum-Ba-Ya approach, and, yes, I do know what the lyrics mean. But so many recordings come across like Jon Lovitz's Master Thespian recitingHamlet. This says nothing against Hamlet (or Beethoven's finale, for that matter) but against chewing the scenery. For me, this movement constitutes one of Szell's greatest performances. The piece is indeed "misshapen" from a classical viewpoint – deliberately so – but Szell finds the greater balance of it without sacrificing expression. This is not only joyous Beethoven, but wise Beethoven as well. Again, we hear the concern for the long musical line. Beethoven issues the challenge to performers from the beginning: how does one find the long line in music that stops and starts, that proceeds by interrupting itself? With Szell, the pulse never stops. It's almost like a relay as one idea passes the baton of forward impulse to the next. Szell puts us on the shore of the Big Tune and initiates one of his best builds, with ravishing playing both from the strings, low and high, and from George Goslee's bassoon countermelody. The bass soloist's "Freude!" answered by the choral men seems shot from guns. It announces an exciting account. I would admit, however, that the individual voices of the solo quartet, excepting tenor Richard Lewis, aren't as glorious as some I've heard, but they definitely take the prize as best ensemble. And the chorus! Trained by Robert Shaw, they not only put out a tone as big as choral humankind, but also keep rhythm and sharp ensemble in the fleetest passages, matching the orchestra. Highlights of the movement include the first double fugue, the little march (especially Bernard Adelstein's elfin trumpet, playing perhaps only two different notes), among many others. I've sung the Ninth many times, so I have some idea of the choral difficulties – the strangled high notes on "über Sternenzelt," the sheer stamina you need for the softer passages after you've just screamed your guts out. The Cleveland Orchestra Chorus says, "Problems? What problems?" Along with those built by Wilhelm Pitz in England, it had to be one of the great large choirs of its day. The prestissimo flight to the end predictably gets your adrenaline going, but here it moves with greater power at slightly less speed than what you often hear. Szell prepares for this moment, ratcheting up tension at the merely fast-as-hell places. By the time we get to the final burst out of the gate, the spring can't wind any tighter. The music lets go in a rush. At the end, I wanted to yell and still can't figure out why I didn't. It's my house, after all.

Summary

None of these readings fall below first rank. Szell's first, second, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth are at least as good as anybody's. I prefer Carlos Kleiber's and Dohnányi's Fifth. The only Seventh I like better than Szell's is, again, Kleiber's, but that preference comes down to my personal vagaries rather than to an ontological difference in quality. Szell's Eroica suffers from many of the same problems as every other recording I've heard, but to less of an extent. My favorite Ninth, as far as interpretation goes, is Furtwängler's from 1951. You shouldn't rely on any one set of Beethovens. At least supplement it with individual recordings. The Szell set, however, is as good a candidate for an integral set as any I've heard.

Steve Schwartz, 2008

George Szell

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia For the Hungarian Prime Minister, see Kálmán Széll.

George Szell (June 7, 1897 – July 30, 1970), originally György Széll, György Endre Szél, or Georg Szell,[1] was a Hungarian-born American conductor and composer. He is remembered today for his long and successful tenure as music director of the Cleveland Orchestra, and for the recordings of the standard classical repertoire he made in Cleveland and with other orchestras.

Szell came to Cleveland in 1946 to take over a respected if undersized orchestra, which was struggling to recover from the disruptions of World War II. By the time of his death he was credited, to quote the critic Donal Henahan, with having built it into "what many critics regarded as the world's keenest symphonic instrument."[2][3] Through his recordings, Szell has remained a presence in the classical music world long after his death, and his name remains synonymous with that of the Cleveland Orchestra. While on tour with the Orchestra in the late 1980s, then-Music Director Christoph von Dohnányiremarked, "We give a great concert, and George Szell gets a great review."[4]

 

Life and career

[edit]Early career

Szell was born in Budapest but grew up in Vienna. He began his formal music training as a pianist, studying with Richard Robert. One of Robert's other students was Rudolf Serkin; Szell and Serkin became lifelong friends and musical collaborators.[5] In addition to the piano, Szell studied composition with Eusebius Mandyczewski (a personal friend of Brahms), and with Max Reger for a brief period. Although his work as a composer is virtually unknown today, when he was fourteen Szell signed a ten-year exclusive publishing contract with Universal Edition in Vienna. In addition to writing original pieces, he arranged Bed?ich Smetana's String Quartet No. 1, From My Life, for orchestra.

At age eleven, Szell began touring Europe as a pianist and composer, making his London debut at that age. Newspapers declared him "the next Mozart." Throughout his teenage years he performed with orchestras in this dual role, eventually making appearances as composer, pianist and conductor, as he did with the Berlin Philharmonic at age seventeen.[6]

George Szell and composerJaroslav K?i?ka during the staging of K?i?ka's opera The Gentleman in White in Prague, April 1932.

Szell quickly realized that he was never going to make a career out of being a composer or pianist, and that he much preferred the artistic control he could achieve as a conductor. He made an unplanned public conducting debut when he was seventeen, while vacationing with his family at a summer resort. The Vienna Symphony's conductor had injured his arm, and Szell was asked to substitute. Szell quickly turned to conducting full-time. Though he abandoned composing, throughout the rest of his life he occasionally played the piano with chamber ensembles and as an accompanist. Despite his rare appearances as a pianist after his teens, he remained in good form. During his Cleveland years he occasionally would demonstrate to guest pianists how he thought they should play a certain passage.[6]

In 1915, at the age of 18, Szell won an appointment with Berlin's Royal Court Opera (now known as the Staatsoper). There, he was befriended by its Music Director, Richard Strauss. Strauss instantly recognized Szell's talent and was particularly impressed with how well the teenager conducted Strauss's music. Strauss once said that he could die a happy man knowing that there was someone who performed his music so perfectly. In fact, Szell ended up conducting part of the world premiere recording of Don Juan for Strauss. The composer had arranged for Szell to rehearse the orchestra for him, but having overslept, showed up an hour late to the recording session. Since the recording session was already paid for, and only Szell was there, Szell conducted the first half of the recording (since no more than four minutes of music could fit onto one side of a 78, the music was broken up into four sections). Strauss arrived as Szell was finishing conducting the second part; he exclaimed that what he heard was so good that it could go out under his own name. Strauss went on to record the last two parts, leaving the Szell-conducted half as part of the full world premiere recording of Don Juan.[6]

Szell credited Strauss as being a major influence on his conducting style. Much of his baton technique, the Cleveland Orchestra’s lean, transparent sound, and Szell's willingness to be an orchestra builder all came from Strauss. The two remained friends after Szell left the Royal Court Opera in 1919; even after World War II, when Szell had settled in the United States, Strauss kept track of how his protégé was doing.[7]

In the fifteen years during and after World War I Szell worked with opera houses and orchestras in Europe: in Berlin, Strasbourg — where he succeeded Otto Klemperer at the Municipal Theatre —Prague, Darmstadt, Düsseldorf, and Glasgow, before becoming principal conductor, in 1924, of the Berlin Staatsoper, which had replaced the Royal Opera. In 1930, Szell made his United Statesdebut with the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra. At this time he was better known as an opera conductor than an orchestral one.

[edit]Move to the U.S.

At the outbreak of war in Europe in 1939, Szell was returning via the U.S. from an Australian tour; he ended up settling with his family in New York City.[2] After spending a year teaching, Szell began to receive frequent guest conducting invitations. Important among these invitations was a series of four concerts with Arturo Toscanini’s NBC Symphony Orchestra in 1941. In 1942 he made his Metropolitan Opera debut; he conducted the company regularly for the next four years. In 1943 he made his New York Philharmonic debut. In 1946 he became a naturalized citizen of the United States.

[edit]The Cleveland Orchestra: 1946 to 1970

Szell at University of Michigan, c. 1956

In 1946, Szell was asked to become the Music Director of the Cleveland Orchestra. At the time the Cleveland Orchestra was a highly regarded regional American orchestra (the top-tier American orchestras were Philadelphia Orchestra, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Chicago Symphony Orchestra, New York Philharmonic and NBC Symphony Orchestra). For Szell, working in Cleveland would represent an opportunity to create his own personal ideal orchestra, one which would combine the virtuosity of the best American ensembles, with the homogeneity of tone of the best European orchestras. Szell made it clear to the trustees of the Orchestra that if they wanted him to be their next conductor, they would have to agree to give him total artistic control of the Orchestra; they agreed. He held this post until his death.

The next decade was spent firing musicians, carefully hiring replacements, increasing the orchestra's roster to over one hundred players, and relentlessly drilling the orchestra. Szell's rehearsals were legendary for their intensity. Absolute perfection was demanded from every player. Musicians would be dismissed on the spot for making too many mistakes or simply questioning Szell's authority. Although Szell was not alone in this practice — Toscanini was nothing if not dictatorial — such firings would not happen today: musicians' unions are much stronger now than they were then. If Szell heard a player practicing backstage before a concert and did not like what he heard, he would not hesitate to berate the musician and give detailed notes on how the music should be played, despite the concert being minutes away. Szell’s autocratic style extended to giving suggestions to the Severance Hall janitorial staff on mopping technique and what brand of toilet paper to use in the restrooms.[8]

Szell proudly boasted: "the Cleveland Orchestra gives seven concerts a week and the public is invited to two." Some critics found the Orchestra to sound over-rehearsed in concert, lacking spontaneity. Szell conceded this critique, saying that the orchestra did much of its best work during rehearsals. But Szell's high standards paid off. According to music critic Ted Libbey, "Szell's formidable musicianship and paternal authority commanded equal measures of respect from the Cleveland players, who under his baton achieved what was probably the highest executant standard of any orchestra in the world."[9]

By the end of the 1950s it became clear to the world that the Cleveland Orchestra, noted for its flawless precision and chamber-like sound, had taken its place alongside the greatest orchestras in America and Europe. In addition to taking the Orchestra on annual tours to Carnegie Hall and the East Coast, Szell led the orchestra on its first international tours to Europe, the Soviet Union, Australia, and Japan. Among the awards he received in his lifetime was that of an honorary Commander of the Order of the British Empire (C.B.E.) in 1963. He was also a Chevalier de la Legion d'honneur.

[edit]Conducting style

Szell's manner in rehearsal was that of an autocratic taskmaster.[10][11] He meticulously prepared for rehearsals and could play the entire score on the piano from memory.[12] Preoccupied with phrasing, transparency, balance and architecture, Szell also insisted upon hitherto unheard-of rhythmic discipline from his players.[13] The result was often a level of precision and ensemble playing normally found only in the best string quartets.[14] For all Szell's absolutist methods, many of the orchestra's players were proud of the musical integrity to which he aspired.[12] Video footage also shows that Szell took care to explain what he wanted and why, expressed delight when the orchestra produced what he was aiming for, and avoided over-rehearsing parts that were in good shape.[15] His left hand, which he used to shape each sound, was often called the most graceful in music.[16]

As a result of Szell's exactitude and very thorough rehearsals, some critics (such as Donald Vroon, editor of American Record Guide) have censured Szell's music-making as lacking emotion. In response to such criticism, Szell expressed this credo: "The borderline is very thin between clarity and coolness, self-discipline and severity. There exist different nuances of warmth — from the chaste warmth of Mozart to the sensuous warmth of Tchaikovsky, from the noble passion of Fidelio to the lascivious passion of Salome. I cannot pour chocolate sauce over asparagus."[8] He further stated: "It is perfectly legitimate to prefer the hectic, the arhythmic, the untidy. But to my mind, great artistry is not disorderliness."[17]

He has been described as a "literalist", playing only what is in the score. However, Szell was quite prepared to play music in unconventional ways if he thought the music needed these; and, like most other conductors before and since, he made many small modifications to orchestrations and even notes in the works of Beethoven, Schubert and others.[14] His recordings of the four Schumann symphonies contain changes to the composer's orchestration (slight changes, admittedly, and fewer than most other prominent conductors have made).

A stickler for perfection, Szell could at times seem almost absurdly stubborn, but he always aimed only to get the best results. His great expertise regarding instrumental techniques assisted him in this respect.

Cloyd Duff, timpanist with the Cleveland Orchestra, once recalled how Szell had insisted that he play the snare drum part in Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra, an instrument which he was not supposed to play. A month after having recorded the concerto in Cleveland (October 1959), it was to be performed at Carnegie Hall, as part of an annual two-week tour of the Eastern United States along with Prokofiev's Symphony No. 5. Szell had begun getting increasingly irritated about the side drum part in the second movement and by the time they reached New York, Szell's escalation was going off the scale. "Starting with the one who had played on the recording, Szell tried out each of the staff percussionists on the side drum part. He made them so nervous that, one by one, they all stumbled. Finally Szell turned to timpanist Cloyd Duff."[18]

This is the story as Duff tells it:[18] “ Szell came to me and said to me, "Cloyd I want you to play the snare drum part. I remember how you played these things in Philadelphia [over twenty years earlier at the Robin Hood Dell when Szell was guest conductor and Duff was a student at Curtis]." He had an awfully good memory, he liked my percussion playing. He said, "I want you to play the part," and I really blew my lid. I said, "You're ruining the whole section. Nobody can make a diminuendo to please you because they're so nervous. Every one of those men is capable of doing that." He said, "Even so, I want you to play the part." I said, "Do you realize how silly that will look, to see me get up from the timpani to go over to the snare drum and then back to the timpani and back to the snare drum at the end?" I said, "It's really uncalled for," or words to that effect. But, he said, "OK, but I want you to play that part. It's very important that we do it just right." I said, "OK, I'll play it for you, but don't you dare look at me." So when I played it, I played it louder than they had played it before so I had more room to make a diminuendo. Everybody was a little bit shocked that I had played it as loudly as I did. But Szell, true to his word, looked away, didn't look at me once and I didn't look at him under the circumstances. ”

Szell's reputation as a perfectionist was well-known, but his knowledge of instruments was deep and in-depth. The Cleveland trumpeter Bernard Adelstein recounted Szell's knowledge of the trumpet:[18]

“ He knew all the fingerings on the trumpet. For example, on the C-trumpet, the "E" on the fourth space is played open, with no valve, and it's a flat note. But there are two other options on the C-trumpet. You can play the same note with the first and second valves or the third valve. Both of them sound sharp. The third valve is a little sharp and the first and second valves together sounds even sharper. And he knew that. He called me in once when we were playing an octave in Don Juan. He said. "The 'E' is a flat note on the C-trumpet." I said, "Yes, that's why I play it on one and two." He said, "But one and two is sharp, isn't it?" I said, "Yes, but I make an adjustment, by lengthening the first slide a little bit." And he said, "Ah, yes, but it's still out of tune." ”

[edit]Repertoire

Szell primarily conducted works from the core Austro-German classical and romantic repertoire, from Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, through Mendelssohn, Schumann and Brahms, and on to Bruckner, Mahler and Strauss. He said once that as he got older he consciously narrowed his repertoire, feeling it was "actually my task to do those works which I thought I'm best qualified to do, and for which a certain tradition is disappearing with the disappearance of the great conductors who were my contemporaries and my idols and my unpaid teachers."[19] He did however program contemporary music; he gave numerous world premieres in Cleveland, and he was particularly associated with such composers as Dutilleux, Walton, Prokofiev, Hindemith and Bartók. Szell also helped initiate the Cleveland Orchestra's long association with composer-conductor and avant-garde icon Pierre Boulez.[12] At the same time, Szell championed the music of Haydn and Mozart in a period when those composers were little represented in concert programs.

[edit]Other orchestras

After World War II Szell became closely associated with the Concertgebouw Orchestra of Amsterdam, where he was a frequent guest conductor and made a number of recordings. He also regularly appeared with the London Symphony Orchestra, the Vienna Philharmonic, and at the Salzburg Festival. From 1942 to 1955, he was an annual guest conductor of the New York Philharmonic and served as Musical Advisor and senior guest conductor of that orchestra in the last year of his life.

[edit]Personal life

Szell married twice. The first, in 1920 to Olga Band, ended in divorce in 1926. His second marriage, in 1938 to Helene Schultz Teltsch, originally from Prague, was much happier, and lasted until his death.[2][20] When not making music, he was a gourmet cook and an automobile enthusiast. He regularly refused the services of the orchestra's chauffeur and drove his own Cadillac to rehearsal until almost the end of his life. He died from bone-marrow cancer in Cleveland, Ohio in 1970. His body was cremated, and his ashes were buried, in Atlanta, along with his wife upon her death in 1990.[21]

[edit]Discography

Most of Szell's recordings were made with the Cleveland Orchestra for Epic/Columbia Masterworks (now Sony Classical). He also made recordings with the New York Philharmonic, the Vienna Philharmonic and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra. Few of his mono recordings have been reissued. Many live stereo recordings of repertoire Szell never conducted in the studio exist, both with the Cleveland Orchestra and other orchestras.

Below is a selection of Szell's more notable recordings — all with Szell conducting the Cleveland Orchestra (issued by Sony, unless otherwise noted).

Ludwig van Beethoven:

• The 9 Symphonies (1957–64)
• The Piano Concertos; Leon Fleisher (p) (1959–61)
• The Piano Concertos; Emil Gilels (p) (1968, EMI)
• Missa Solemnis (1967, TCO)

Johannes Brahms:

• The 4 Symphonies (1964–67)
• Piano Concertos; Leon Fleisher (p) (1958 & 1962)
• Piano Concertos; Rudolf Serkin (p) (1968 & 1966)
• Violin Concerto; David Oistrakh (vn) (1969, EMI)
• Concerto for violin and violoncello; David Oistrakh (vn), Mstislav Rostropovich (vc) (1969, EMI)

Anton Bruckner:

• Symphony No. 3 (1966)
• Symphony No. 8 (1969)

Antonín Dvo?ák:

• Symphonies Nos. 7-9 (1958–60)
• Slavonic Dances (1962–65)
• Cello Concerto; Pablo Casals(vc) / Czech Philharmonic Orchestra
  (1937, HMV)
• Cello Concerto; Pierre Fournier(vc) / Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra
  (1962, DG)

Joseph Haydn:

• Symphonies Nos. 88, 92-99, 104 (1954–69)

Zoltán Kodály:

• Háry János Suite (1969)

Gustav Mahler:

• Symphony No. 4; Judith Raskin (sop) (1965)
• Symphony No. 6 (1967)
• Symphony No. 10 (Adagio only) (1958)
• Des Knaben Wunderhorn; Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (sop), Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau(bar) / London Symphony Orchestra (1968, EMI)

Felix Mendelssohn:

• Symphony No. 4 (1962)
• A Midsummer Night's Dream, Overture and Incidental Music (1967)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart:

• Symphonies Nos. 28, 33, 35, 39-41 (1960–67)
• Eine kleine Nachtmusik (Serenade K. 525) (1968)
• Piano Concertos; Robert Casadesus (p) (1955–68)

       Szell as pianist

• Piano Quartets Nos. 1-2; Budapest String Quartet, Szell (p) (1946)
• Violin Sonatas, K. 301 & 296; Raphael Druian (vn), Szell (p) (1967)

Modest Mussorgsky:

• Pictures at an Exhibition (1963)

Sergei Prokofiev:

• Symphony No. 5 (1959)
• Piano Concertos Nos. 1 & 3; Gary Graffman (p) (1966)

Franz Schubert:

• Symphony No. 8 "Unfinished" (1957)
• Symphony No. 9 "The Great" (1957)

Robert Schumann:

• The 4 Symphonies (1958–60)

Jean Sibelius:

• Symphony No.2; Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra
  (1964, Philips)
• Symphony No.2 (1970) – Live concert in Tokyo, Japan, Szell's last recording.

Bed?ich Smetana:

• The Moldau / New York Philharmonic (1951/2007 United Archives)
• Four Dances from the Bartered Bride (19??)

Richard Strauss:

• Don Juan (1957)
• Don Quixote; Pierre Fournier (vc), Abraham Skernick (va) (1960)
• Till Eulenspiegels lustige Streiche (1957)
• Tod und Verklärung (1957)
• Four Last Songs; Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (S) / Radio-Symphonie-Orchester Berlin (1965, EMI)

Igor Stravinsky:

• The Firebird Suite (1919 version) (1961)

Pyotr Tchaikovsky:

• Symphony No. 4; London Symphony Orchestra (1962, Decca)
• Symphony No. 5 (1959)
• Capriccio Italien, Op. 45 ; Cleveland Orchestra (1958)

Richard Wagner:

• Overtures, Preludes & Extracts from The Ring (1962–68)

William Walton:

• Symphony No. 2 "Liverpool" (1961)
• Partita for Orchestra (1959)
• Variations on Theme by Hindemith (1964)

[edit]References

1. ^ Sources differ on Szell's birthname or "real" name. Slonimsky 2001, for example, begins its entry, "Szell, George(actually, György)...", and Charry 2011 gives his birth name as György Endre Szél. This form would seem consistent with Szell's Hungarian origins. However, both Charry 2001 and Rosenberg 2000 fail to cite the name "György" at all, mentioning instead the more Germanic "Georg," which would seem appropriate in Szell's childhood home of Vienna. Rosenberg goes so far as to say, "[h]e was born Georg Szell on June 7, 1897, in Budapest..." (p. 237, emphasis added). Sources agree, however, that in later life (at least after coming to America) Szell went by the Anglicised "George," and that is the name credited on his extant recordings.
2. ^ a b c Henahan, Donal (31 July 1970). "George Szell, Conductor, Is Dead". The New York Times: pp. 1.. Retrieved 2007-07-15.
3. ^ Brown, Richard; Brown, Gene (1978). The Arts. New York: Arno Press. ISBN 0-405-11153-3.
4. ^ Oestreich, James R. (26 January 1997). "Out From Under the Shadow". The New York Times.
5. ^ Rosenberg, Donald (2000). The Cleveland Orchestra Story: "Second to None". Cleveland: Gray & Company. pp. 238.ISBN 1-886228-24-8.
6. ^ a b c . Interview with John Culshaw. September 1968. BBC. London.
7. ^ Mermelstein, David (1997): "George Szell and Richard Strauss." (Liner notes). Sony Music Entertainment Inc.ASIN B0000029XS
8. ^ a b Rosenberg, Donald (2000). The Cleveland Orchestra Story: "Second to None". Cleveland: Gray & Company, p. 238. ISBN 1-886228-24-8
9. ^ Ted Libbey. The NPR Listener's Encyclopedia of Classical Music New York: Workman Publishing, 2006
10. ^ Bernheimer, M. (May 2002). "Proper Conduct".
11. ^ "Gary Graffman, CIM Commencement Address". May 21, 2007.
12. ^ a b c McLanathan, R.B.K., Braun, G., and Brown, G. (1978). The Arts. Ayer Publishing. ISBN 0-405-11153-3.
13. ^ Adelstein, B.. "Conductors".
14. ^ a b Schiff, D. (July 18, 1999). "Rehearing Szell: Intensity Without Ponderousness". New York Times.
15. ^ "Video of Szell rehearsing the 2nd movement of Beethoven Fifth Symphony".
16. ^ "The Glorious Instrument". Time. 22 Fbreuary 1963. Retrieved 2008-06-07.
17. ^ "Music: The Glorious Instrument". Time. 1963-02-22.
18. ^ a b c Charry, Michael (CD booklet insert: Prokofiev-Symphony No. 5; Bartok-Concerto for Orchestra, Sony Masterworks Heritage Series, Sony Classical, Catalogue# MHK63124)
19. ^ Kozinn, Allan (19 October 1997). "Filling Out the Picture of an Autocratic Maestro". The New York Times. Retrieved 2007-07-15.
20. ^ Charry, Michael (2005). "George Szell: Biography and Chronology". SonyClassical. Retrieved 2007-07-15.
21. ^ Charry, Michael (2011). George Szell: A Life of Music. Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press. ISBN 978-0-252-03616-3.

[edit]Further reading

• Charry, Michael (2011). George Szell: A Life of Music. Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press. ISBN 978-0-252-03616-3.
• Charry, Michael; Sadie, Stanley ed. (2001). "George Szell". The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed. London: MacMillan. vol. 24; pp. 880–881. ISBN 0-333-60800-3.
• Schonberg, Harold (1967). The Great Conductors. New York: Simon & Schuster. pp. 337–340; Index. ISBN 0-671-20735-0.
• Slonimsky, Nicolas; Kuhn, Laura Diane (2001). Baker’s Biographical Dictionary of Musicians. New York: G. Schirmer. vol. 6; pp. 3559–3560. ISBN 0-02-865525-7.
• Rosenberg, Donald (2000). The Cleveland Orchestra Story: Second to None. Cleveland, Ohio: Grey & Company Publishers. ISBN 1-886228-24-8.

[edit]External links

• George Szell at Allmusic
• George Szell fansite
• George Szell discography
• Video of Szell rehearsing the 2nd movement of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony
• European archive Copyright free LP recording of Brahms 3rd symphony by George Szell (conductor) and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra at the European Archive (for non-American viewers only).

 From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Text is available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License;  additional terms may apply. See Terms of use for details. Wikipedia® is a registered trademark of the Wikimedia Foundation, Inc., a non-profit organization.