The extent to which a composer’s own recorded interpretations of his works cast a pall on future versions, both live and on disc, forms one of the most interesting questions in the aesthetics of music today. In Britten’s case the problem is particularly acute, because not only was he one of the great creative geniuses of the 20th century, he also was an equally superb conductor and pianist. A piece like the War Requiem, moreover, is so complex from a purely executive point of view that, like Mahler’s Eighth Symphony for example, the conductor spends little time actually “interpreting,” and functions more like a traffic cop, directing the various performing forces within a fairly narrow range of variation, whether of tempo, dynamics, phrasing, accent, or balance. Of the post-Britten recordings of the War Requiem, almost all differ only marginally from the composer’s own Decca classic, and to the extent that they better it, the improvements are almost entirely technical (superior sound, perhaps a finer soloist, slightly more incisive choral singing or orchestral playing).
In short, while it’s certainly possible that a performance will come along that is markedly different from the composer’s own in a positive sense, the chances of that happening, especially in the U.K. where the “correct” Britten tradition lives on, are slim. They were even slimmer in 1969, the year of the present broadcast recording, when the composer was still alive to supervise new performances. Only the arrival of an interpretive personality different from, but just as strong as, the composer’s own (such as happened in the case of the Davis/Vickers Peter Grimes) might signal a fresh perspective. Certainly, Giulini could have been another such artist, but the presence of the composer himself leading the chamber orchestra guarantees that, out of sheer respect for his authoritative presence, there will be nothing new here. Thus, the differences between this recording and the composer’s own are wholly negative: you get virtually the same interpretation with all of the minor slips, fumbles, and audience participation inherent in a live performance, topped off by dynamically constricted, congested sound. The Royal Albert Hall (famed as one of the most terrible acoustic spaces in the world) swallows both the climaxes and the quiet moments in its vast, musically deadening galleries. So while the cover of this disc optimistically proclaims “Giulini”, it’s really Britten’s show, and we’ve been there, heard that, with much better sound and playing on Decca.
