This is a project that I've been thinking about for some time. Toscanini's recordings have had an enormous appeal to me since I was about 10 year old. My mother took me to a Tower Records in Seattle to look for a copy of a Brahms symphony, and I was immediately drawn to the hypnotic eyes of an elderly man dressed in black, sporting a remarkable mustache. The cover stated that this man's name was Arturo Toscanini. I had never heard the name before, but the old man looked important. I asked my mom if she had heard of Toscanini. "Well, of course," she said. "He was probably the most famous conductor in the world."
Between 1990 and 1992 RCA released 71 volumes of material that Toscanini had approved for release. These ranged from recordings of great masterworks like the Beethoven and Brahms Symphonies to ephemeral oddities like Liadov's Kikimora and Leopold Mozart's Toy Symphony. There were ancient recordings in dreadful sound dating from the early 1920s and a number from the 50s that still sounded very good. I collected as many of the recordings as I could and devoured them eagerly.
I've always felt that when learning a discipline it is of profound importance to study the work of the great masters. Painters should study Rembrandt, writers should study Melville, and filmmakers should study Kubrick. There is a long list of great conductors to study, from Abbado to Zinman, but the name of Toscanini will always loom large over the others. Why is this? Is it just because of his fame and enormous influence over the technical standard of orchestral performance, or is there a profound truth to his recreative musical skill that still has importance for the modern interpreter?
Returning to the Toscanini collection with fresh ears, I have found that even a superficial listening to his most famous recordings is enough to show that his work is every bit as relevant today as it was 50 years ago. His 1946 recording of Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet is filled with an astonishing, crackling energy that bites with restless fervor. The 1936 Beethoven 7th is a monumental achievement. The 1950 La Mer is breathtakingly atmospheric. His Wagner recordings have an extraordinary linear power that I have heard from no other interpreter.
There are also clunkers. The 1951 recording of the Beethoven 7th is a monumental disappointment coming on the heels of his recording of 15 years earlier. His Mozart was often unidiomatic and stiff. The few American works he conducted had little of the flair that is required to make them come alive.
The fascinating thing is that there is something to learn from all of these. Even when the music he made was not of the highest level, it always said "This is Toscanini." No musician can perform at 100% in every single performance, but only a great one can stamp great and lesser readings alike with a distinctive sound that can only have come from one source. Toscanini's work has a ceaseless wealth of brilliant ideas to study.
This is where 80 Days of Toscanini comes in. Every day from September 1st until November 18th I will listen to a little over an hour's worth of his recordings, and over the course of 80 days get through the entirety of his official discography. For each of those days I will write my observations of that day's listening session. Naturally I hope that this will have some interest to the outside world, and I will do my best to make it entertaining.
Part of what interests me about this project is to see how Toscanini's recordings evolved over the 34 years he was making them. To this end I will be listening to these recordings in roughly chronological order, beginning with the early set he made with the La Scala orchestra in 1920 and 1921, and ending with his final discs with the NBC Symphony in 1954. It's not always possible to be strictly chronological, as his recording sessions for a certain piece were sometimes separated by years, and he may well have made many other records in the meantime. His recording of Beethoven's Symphony No. 2, for example, was done in sessions taking place on November 7th, 1949 and October 5th, 1951. The Franck Symphony in D Minor was culled together from radio broadcasts that took place six years apart. In most cases I will order the recordings based on when they were completed.
Toscanini approved recordings he had made with five different orchestras. His long career culminated in 17 seasons with the NBC Symphony, and these recordings make up the vast majority of his recorded legacy. Earlier in his career he made recordings with the La Scala orchestra, the New York Philharmonic, the BBC Symphony and the Philadelphia Orchestra.
If all goes according to plan my schedule will run as follows:
- La Scala recordings: September 1.
- New York Philharmonic recordings: September 2-4.
- BBC Symphony recordings: September 5-6.
- NBC Symphony recordings, seasons 1-4: September 7-16.
- Philadelphia Orchestra recordings: September 17-19.
- NBC Symphony recordings, seasons 5-17: September 20-November 18.
I'm very excited about all this, and I look forward very much to hearing your comments and suggestions throughout this project. I will post again in a few days with more about exactly why I decided to do this.
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