Perversity can be fun. Celibidache, for example, was perverse, but there was method to his madness, and an undeniable level of commitment to anything he did. Philippe Herreweghe never rises to the level of inspired perversity; rather, what he offers is an intolerable combination of arrogance and foolishness. Yes, this sounds very harsh, but it’s not unfair. Like so many period-instrument proponents, he can’t let the music-making speak for itself, but needs to explain his intentions in an essay. It is here that he gives himself away.
After graciously allowing that other conductors managed to turn in great interpretations of this symphony despite their “(non)respect of the composer’s indications,” he then goes on to assert that his orchestra “forms part of a movement that attached great importance to respecting the score and the musical, artistic, and cultural context of the time when the work was born,” thereby implying that few others in the field of traditional performance give a damn about these issues. This is arrogance–stunning, incredible arrogance.
Next comes the foolishness. “On the whole the musical culture of the members of the Orchestre des Champs-Elysées,” Herreweghe writes, “is nurtured by an intensive practice of classical and baroque music…” Thus, it follows that they are ideally suited to the stylistic parameters of a work composed in 1900. What could possibly be more idiomatic than an orchestra in which triple and quadruple woodwinds, four horns, three trumpets, timpani, and four percussionists are balanced by Herreweghe’s scrawny “authentic” string section?
This not only does nothing to create additional clarity, it means that the climaxes all sound undernourished, not helped by particularly weak trumpets. The string sound at the opening of the Adagio is intolerable. Forget the business about limited use of vibrato: anyone who doesn’t understand that slow, sustained music of this sort requires it to be used richly and continuously has no business mounting the podium (and we have, by the way, clear documentary evidence from the pre-War period attesting to its absolute necessity in this very movement). Adding insult to injury, in soprano Rosemary Joshua Herreweghe has found a singer whose voice sports not vibrato, but an actual tremolo. It’s about as far from a pure, childlike timbre as you can possibly imagine. In sum, this is a horrible performance: misconceived, unmusical, unstylish, and unintelligent.
