Karajan Conducts Gustav Holst and Richard Strauss

This new release from Gramola couples two important orchestral works of the 20th century. The recordings date from the time when Herbert von Karajan was making his ‘Golden Era’ recordings, with the Wiener Philharmoniker, in the early 1960s. Originally issued on the Decca label under the auspices of celebrated producers John Culshaw (Holst) and Erik Smith (Strauss) they have withstood the test of time. The quality of sound of both is outstanding, bearing in mind that they are now two-thirds of a century old.

Straight away, the listener will be struck by the menacing opening of Mars, brutal and insistent; the Vienna brass producing a disturbing ‘snarl’ throughout. My touchstone in The Planets is Venus, and here Karajan creates a suitably numinous account which stresses its serenity. Mercury is often described as “quicksilver,” an adjective entirely appropriate here. One contemporary reviewer felt that the celesta was slightly out of tune with the orchestra. Maybe. It remains a sparkling performance.

Like other critics I wondered how Karajan would approach the quintessentially English sound of Jupiter. In fact, he provides a broad sweep in the “trio” section, whilst avoiding any hint of sentimentality. The lead up to that ‘big tune’ is a riot of sound.

Saturn is a remorseless march, dark and lugubrious relieved only by occasional flashes of light. The anvils at the climax are particularly effective. One commentator perfectly summed up the movement by explaining that the Bringer of Old Age, “is a creaky giant, wheezy and weary, but still an eminent presence when roused.”  Uranus gets a “rollicking” performance: the brass fanfare at the beginning is genuinely scary. In Neptune, Karajan creates pure mystery. The wordless female voices (the Vienna State Opera Chorus) sustain a perfectly eerie mood as they fade away into a haunting and desolate silence.

I first came to this masterpiece through Steinberg and the Boston Symphony Orchestra on Deutsche Grammophon: this was the LP that lived in the school music-room library. Nowadays, I would favour a British conductor when listening to The Planets. This may be Mark Elder and the Hallé on Hyperion (with Colin Matthews’s Pluto, which some listeners still resist), or Adrian Boult’s 1979 EMI recording.

So why turn to Karajan? For me, his performance of The Planets treats the whole suite as one vast, surging arc of cinematic colour and momentum, the movements flowing into each other with a scale and inevitability that few conductors manage.

I do not normally define “best” when it comes to musicians, but I accept that Herbert von Karajan was one of the last century’s great interpreters of Richard Strauss. Karajan made him sound big, beautiful, thrilling, and moving. He controlled the orchestra, so everything felt smooth, powerful, and perfectly timed. It is the kind of playing that sweeps people along even if they do not know a note of Strauss.

An understanding of the poem by Alexander Ritter is not essential to appreciating the symphonic poem Death and Transfiguration, composed in 1889. In fact, Ritter wrote the text after the score was complete. The basic idea is that of a “lonely and ailing” man fighting against his inevitable death, while recalling incidents from his past life. There is no suggestion that Strauss had any specific individual in mind. More likely he was reflecting about the “eternal suffering” of humanity. The work is divided into four sections: The sick man on his deathbed, The battle between life and death, The moment of death and, finally, Transfiguration. Most people will sympathise with at least part of the “programme” – certainly as they grow older. But it is possible to hear this as absolute music: a purely musical drama without reference to any programme, whose strength lies in its thematic transformation, orchestral colour, and long‑spanned architecture.

Karajan’s account presents two sides of the piece. There is a “shattering intensity” inherent in the struggle between life and death, but also a gentler, more sensitive side in the childhood memories and the apotheosis. Surely the interpretation of these closing bars is heartbreakingly beautiful.

Whether or not Karajan's 1960 recording with the Wiener Philharmoniker is a “definitive” version of Death and Transfiguration is not something I wish to comment on. I should also note that I have not heard his 1983 recording with the Berlin Philharmoniker. There are dozens of other recordings: Reiner, Böhm, Kempe, and Krauss among them. An exploration of all these is a full-time occupation.

This CD is a true classic, capturing a legendary conductor and orchestra at the height of their powers; if you want to hear these two epic masterworks played with maximum drama and rich, golden sound, this is the recording to own. All this is perfectly preserved by this early stereo recording.

Track Listing:
Gustav Holst (1874-1934)
The Planets, op.32 (1914-16)
Richard Strauss (1864-1949)
Death and Transfiguration (Tod und Verklärung) (1889)
Wiener Philharmoniker/Herbert von Karajan
rec. September 1961 (Holst); June 1960 (Strauss) Sofiensaal, Vienna, Austria
Gramola 92008

With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.