Herbert von Karajan was so prolific a recording artist that proof is easily available to either support or disprove his credentials as a “great conductor of the 20th century”. EMI tilts its idiosyncratic selections to the more vital conductor of the 1950s, wisely refusing to rest its case on the overcontrolling, mannered, latter-day Karajan. Unfortunately, the roots of that later style are easily discerned at times, such as in his mid-1950s Ravel-Mussorgsky Pictures at an Exhibition, notable for a blandness unique in the recorded annals of the work, with neither wit in the jabbing trumpet promenades nor menace in the growling basses. Along the way we’re also treated to routine solo turns and the image of Bydlo’s cart gliding smoothly along a highway of infectious boredom.
But a 1953 Sibelius Fourth, also with the Philharmonia, finds Karajan at his brooding best, with phrases strongly sculpted, the opening reeking of mystery, and the orchestra in top form. Fine as his later Berlin Philharmonic versions were, this one’s his best-recorded Fourth. The sound too, in glorious mono, is first-rate, with clearly etched details emerging naturally from a sound picture lacking only stereo to be fully competitive today.
The other big work on these discs is unexpected–Walton’s First Symphony, in a live 1953 broadcast recording with a sub-par Italian radio band and engineered in a way that defies EMI’s best attempts to make it more than just listenable. Despite compressed dynamics, restricted tonal range, and an orchestra stressed beyond its capabilities, you hear a very un-Karajan-like peformance, bristling with energy and passion (slightly cut, with a good bit of rescoring too).
The rest of the disc is given over to what amounts to pop-concert fare, which makes for some strange discmates we never would expect to hear cheek-by-jowl with heavier works. On Disc 1, Johann Strauss’ Tritsch-Tratsch Polka is immediately followed by the Walton Symphony, and Disc 2 leads off with Waldteufel’s Skater’s Waltz, oddly followed by the Silbelius Fourth and a good but not great Liebestod from 1971 with Helga Dernesch. The final half-hour is drawn from vividly engineered 1958-1960 Philharmonia sessions with an atmospheric Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody, a slightly heavy Polka from Weinberger’s Schwanda the Bagpiper, a pair of delectable Chabrier works, Espana and Joyeuse Marche, and an overblown Offenbach Barcarolle.
