Classic on CD: “Mariss Jansons – The Edition” – Culture

The conductor Mariss Jansons was more popular with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra (BRSO) than almost any of his predecessors. For 16 years, from 2003 until his death in 2019, he was chief conductor of the BR Symphony Orchestra. Now the BR has 70 CDs a large edition released. It shows the outer glamor of the orchestra and the inner greatness of the conductor. The repertoire focuses on German and Russian Romanticism, from Franz Schubert to Richard Strauss, from Peter Tchaikovsky to Dmitri Shostakovich. There is hardly anything contemporary, Wolfgang Rihm’s “Requiem-Strophen” stand a bit lost for themselves. Historical performance practice and original sound are also not part of the tradition of the BRSO, Schubert’s G major Mass no longer has to be applied so thickly today. It is simply too contrary to Schubert’s aesthetic, which relies on noble simplicity. Then when you play soloists in opera format, conceptual accidents are inevitable. Even if the diva and the buffo think outside the box, so to speak, and flaunt great inwardness, that is hardly convincing.

These are, as it were, the negative sides of a tradition. The Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra has long since become a traditional orchestra. Not because it is particularly old – it was only founded as such in 1945, but because, like other top ensembles, it actively cares about its own identity. This identity cannot be anything other than a specific sound, and maintaining or developing it means looking after the next generation and introducing talented music students to the orchestra in their own academies. The BR has been doing this very successfully for several years.

In the “Rosenkavalier Suite” a sunken epoch comes to life again – melancholy, not reactionary

How much the sound and the basic attitude of an orchestra can change under its conductors is exemplified by the recording of the “Rosenkavalier Suite” by Richard Strauss, one of the showpieces by Janson’s predecessor Lorin Maazel. He emphasized the elegance of the piece through his congenially elegant way of conducting, while Jansons immersed himself in the music here as in a great anachronistic dream, a strange return of a lost epoch.

And that’s exactly what this music is. It not only symbolizes, it not only embodies in the sense of an aesthetic reference, but its effect is created precisely by the fact that the listener feels transported to a time that he only vaguely, perhaps no longer knows, but with strong feelings associated with melancholy. So not with a longing for the return of the times, but with an acceptance that still has to be worked through emotionally. That is why this piece of disappointed love, which is also a great farewell to the glamor of the empire, sounds so little politically reactionary, especially with Jansons, and so very forgiving.

Obviously a different attitude is emerging, pointing to different traditions. And they lead to Saint Petersburg, where Janson’s father Arvid became assistant to the legendary Yevgeny Maravinsky with the Leningrad Philharmonic in 1952. If there is a Russian way of conducting, then it is probably less characterized by spontaneity and the search for extremes at all costs, but rather by a well-thought-out dramaturgy, which, however, is practically physically carried out and implemented. It doesn’t always look elegant, and neither should it. The polished surface should at best be the result of a deeper understanding, not an end in itself and certainly not the ultimate meaning of a composition. So it’s not about beautiful sound, but about using the possibilities of tonal design in the service of a comprehensive dramaturgy of expression. It is not certain whether the musicians of the BR Symphony Orchestra have always felt that way. But they provided the perfect conditions for Jansons, in that every single one devoted the greatest ambition to being the best on his instrument. In the hope, of course, that the sum of the individuals is greater than the sheer addition of their abilities. The conductor is responsible for this desired and necessary added value. Especially when he is chief conductor and therefore also works as an orchestral teacher who teaches musicians his musical language more or less subtly.

And for Jansons, joy means first and foremost: sonic opulence, surprises, pop effects. Children’s birthday party for the grown-ups. It is no coincidence that pieces like “Till Eulenspiegel’s funny pranks” turn out so perfectly. It is one thing that the horn player does not mess up the introductory solo, but how Jansons really blossoms in this piece, how he experiences every dramatic step and with it the whole orchestra, is almost unique in the reception history of this work. With childlike naivety he is happy about every unexpected use of the drums, enjoys the solo interludes of individual orchestral instruments. But just as childishly he retains a love for this music that makes him shy away from all too brutal actions. The grim-like distortion that many conductors strain here almost voluptuously cannot be found in this live recording from 2009. The same can be said of Janson’s recording of Franz Schubert’s great C major symphony.

Here, too, he does not rush anything, keeps the whirling kettledrum in check, reads in Schubert’s score rather the Viennese classic and timid early romantic, not an eccentric high romantic. This is of particular benefit to this symphony, which is so often driven into loud noise. Which usually leads to the fact that you hear fewer details and therefore less at all. This paradox is genuinely musical. The louder the music, the less you can hear. Now Jansons is not a man of soft tones, he could hardly be that with this always powerful orchestra, but he does not seek his musical salvation in the extremes. He knows about the delicate balance between expression and exaggeration, lurid drama and real intensity.

The narrative drama comes from an inner core, an ember of musical conviction

A good example of this is certainly Anton Bruckner’s Seventh, a concert recording from the Great Hall of the Musikverein in Vienna from November 2007. This symphony really requires staying power. That should not only be enough for the twenty-minute first movement and the equally long Adagio, but for the whole piece. More than an hour of maximum concentration is required to achieve and maintain maximum tension. There is a huge risk of being dragged and dragged. The rules “very solemn”, “very slowly”, “a little slower”, “not too fast” lead to this. Jansons counters this danger simply by taking it very carefully with this score. He avoids the massive that is commonly associated with Bruckner, the large clouds of sound, the flat-rate block processing of entire sections. Instead: finely chiseled individual voices and timbres, clearly delimited from one another, sharpened profile everywhere. Even small contrapuntal insertions can be identified as such. And above all a heavenly floating string melody that outshines the whole thing more than holds it together. It doesn’t have to, because the cohesion and with it the whole narrative drama come from an inner core, a glow of musical conviction of almost Wagnerian proportions.

Note: There are real highlights in this large-format edition. The visual presentation, however, is not one of them, neither the astonishingly blurry cover photo nor the many failed CD covers and certainly not the quartered, coarse plastic insert for the CDs. Right down to the content, image design and layout of the extensive accompanying book, there is an aesthetic impression of the 1980s, to put it positively, which does not match the musical aesthetics, especially the level of recording technology. Because, even with live recordings, it is always impressive.