Amid the ongoing talk of the classical music record industry in crisis, an odd phenomenon is taking shape: great records of repertory chestnuts are still being made. “What’s so strange about that?” you ask. Here’s what: many of these spectacular new recordings aren’t coming from the expected sources–major artists on major labels– but rather from, well, just about anywhere. This fact hit home hard recently, as you will see if you read on, so I thought that this would be a good time to examine this trend in greater detail since it touches on many of the issues that lie at the very heart of the current “crisis,” not the least of which are some of the underlying assumptions and expectations that we all have as listeners.
Many factors distinguish today’s marketplace from that of years gone by, but one particular difference concerns us here. For most of its history, the classical music industry acted as an offshoot to the business of giving live concerts. Great artists performed their limited repertoire of certified masterpieces and their exclusive labels backed them up with recordings documenting their careers, thus allowing both the artists (and the labels) to capitalize on their fame and success. This practice still exists at some of the major labels, but on an increasingly limited basis and, more to the point, at an ever further remove from the vast bulk of recording activity taking place today.
The emancipation of the recording industry from its origins as an adjunct to live concerts has had many consequences, some of them quite beneficial to the consumer. It has permitted the release of vast tracts of repertoire, from early and Baroque music to “neglected” symphonists of every nationality and period, which most people will never have the opportunity to hear live, if indeed these works will ever be performed in concert at all. It has permitted labels to proliferate and specialize in music of particular periods and styles, given countless artists access to the music loving public, and of course provided a boon to record purchasers, even while opening up a large and frustrating (to producers) gap between the spending habits of concertgoers as compared with those interested in home listening.
Particularly relevant, though, are the consequences resulting from giving so many new or little-known artists access to the general public through the medium of recordings. Most of these performers are largely unknown, many are mediocre, but some are fantastic, and more to the point, in the world of music even mediocre artists often have a few great evenings (or studio sessions) in them, and the chances that the microphones will be ready to capture them on these special occasions, however rare, are better than ever before. Making records today is just so easy and cheap, technologically speaking. This in turn raises the tantalizing possibility of discovering great music making at virtually any point, from any source — a possibility that’s becoming an ever more frequent occurrence if one has the time and opportunity to listen and the willingness to do so without prejudice or preconceptions.
In the past few months, I have had the good fortune to encounter at least four such recordings, two of them in circumstances that make for revealing comparisons, as recent versions of the same music by “major” artists and ensembles have been released at roughly the same time. These four are: the best-ever rendition of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Antar Symphony (No. 2) from Kees Bakels and the Malaysian Philharmonic on BIS; stunning new readings of Shostakovich’s Symphonies Nos. 5 and 6 from Oleg Caetani and the Giuseppe Verdi Symphony Orchestra of Milan; a Mahler Fifth Symphony on ABC Classics from the Melbourne Symphony under Markus Stenz that puts the recent (perfectly respectable) Rattle/Berlin Philharmonic disc to shame; and last but not least, Strauss’ An Alpine Symphony from the Warsaw Philharmonic led by Kazimierz Kord on CD Accord, a performance that positively annihilates in every respect the new Thielemann/Vienna Philharmonic snooze-fest on DG.
These releases raise interesting problems for us critics. After all, its one thing to praise to the skies neglected genius Theodosius Svohblcky-Dryzckiwszk’s Symphony No. 31 played by the Lower Ruhr Valley Symphony Orchestra conducted by Egbert Schuchterflecker. I mean, who’s going to know the difference? The three aging members of England’s Theodosius Svohblcky-Dryzckiwszk Society as well as any surviving relatives will be thrilled beyond measure as a matter of course; collectors of recordings of neglected composers — all hundred or so worldwide — will want to listen anyway, and everyone else will simply ignore the review. But telling the public that the Vienna and Berlin Philharmonics, at least in this case, don’t hold a candle to the Warsaw Philharmonic and the Melbourne Symphony, or that true greatness may reside in the Malaysian Philharmonic (shudder), or (the ultimate horror!) an Italian orchestra–let’s just say that there’s a real issue of credibility here. As critics, we have an obligation to report what we hear, but will we be believed? Should we even care?
In this respect it’s important to keep in mind that when it comes to a critic’s reputation, praise is far more dangerous than condemnation (and much more difficult to write as well). If a listener disagrees with a critic who hates a disc, he’ll probably say, “He has his opinion and I have mine, and I happen to enjoy many of the things that this critic dislikes.” No harm done. But when a reader finds disgusting a recording that a critic raves about, then the critic risks being labeled an incompetent with no standards, a sell-out to commercial interests, and a musical ignoramus besides. This is perfectly understandable. After all, that reader probably feels he has been duped into spending his hard-earned money on crap, and hell hath no fury like a serious collector deceived, especially one on a limited budget.
And let’s not kid ourselves: artistic reputations really do influence listeners’ perceptions, especially when part of the classical music mystique involves the validation of one’s own taste and discernment, a goal most easily achieved by joining crowds of like-minded fans of major artists. Don’t get me wrong: there’s nothing bad in this as long as it doesn’t become a fetish. The quality of music making today is extremely high. Most major artists surely earn their stature and popularity over time, and deserve the adulation of their fans. Besides, like many forms of entertainment, the classical music world has always been artist driven. People buy recordings by performers they admire, know, and trust, never mind what they sound like, and many (if not most) consumers have already made up their minds to like something before the first note sounds. Unfortunately this is true of some critics too, but that’s another story.
The problem in making sincere critical praise of the unknown credible is compounded by the fact that what we might call this “repertoire driven” segment of the industry, the one that now dominates the new release racks, spends very little money on marketing or promotion, leaving it almost entirely up to chance that the public will discover its work (or that a store will bother to stock it). This in turn leads to the frustrating problem that even readers who might actually be inclined to act on a critic’s recommendation and risk a purchase often have a heroic task ahead of them merely trying to find a place where they can buy the disc. Solving these problems represents perhaps the major challenge facing the industry today, particularly the independent labels, and they are doing a lousy job at it on the whole.
In prior decades, we took it on faith that major artists on major labels, if not always representing “the best” on every occasion in every work, at least offered standards higher then those found in, say, Lahti, Finland or Nashville, Tennessee. Remember how odd it seemed to us just a few years ago that Chandos would record a Tchaikovsky symphony cycle with the Oslo Philharmonic under a no-name called Mariss Jansons? Now we know that this prejudice in favor of “name” artists was just plain ignorance, a fact clearly demonstrated by the innumerable excellent recordings made by vast numbers of superbly trained musicians the world over, in turn supported by generous quantities of public and private money available to artists and ensembles of every stripe. The Malaysian Philharmonic is funded by that country’s state-owned oil industry. It’s as good a band as money can buy, and I say this without a trace of cynicism. The orchestra’s fine quality speaks for itself.
So does this mean that the Malaysian Philharmonic and the other orchestras previously mentioned are “greater” than those of Berlin or Vienna? Of course not, or at any rate, not yet. One important aspect of greatness must be the ability to maintain consistently high standards over the long term. But for the critic (and the home listener) none of that should matter. These folks have made great records, and even if in concert they sound dreadful as often as not, at least one document exists to prove that on at least one occasion they stood with the very finest the world of music has to offer. As critics, we can do our best to point this out fairly and accurately. But it’s up to the industry itself to promote these unknown artists and ensembles, and otherwise alert the public to the fact that there’s some mighty impressive new talent out there, while at the same time making it as easy as possible for the curious or skeptical to sample and buy. In today’s classical music world, greatness is no longer an assumption automatically bestowed on hallowed artists and institutions, but an ideal to be pursued, discovered, acclaimed, and cherished wherever it may be found.
David Hurwitz
