Herbert Von Karajan and The Grand Masters of Classical Music

He is a musician symbolic of the post-war German economic miracle. No one knew how to anticipate and interpret this crucial period better than Herbert von Karajan through his stature (which was carefully crafted and maintained with obsessive care from the end of the 50s), media coverage, and global diffusion of his records. Conducting and recording alone were not enough for Karajan. He aspired to be a sound engineer, director, filmmaker, and a creator of festivals and institutes. He appeared behind the wheel of sports cars and airplanes, and at the helm of sailboats, constantly displaying his fascination for technique. And yet, his lifestyle does not conceal his true calling: a brilliant musician who succeeded over decades in mastering the repertoire of the grand masters of classical music.

Beethoven: Symphony no. 5, Orch. Berlin Philharmonic, DG (1962)

If you haven’t already heard Karajan, you should start with Symphonie no. 5 from his first Beethoven compilation with DG; the composer he never ceases to revisit. The strength of the direction, the imperious contrasts, the intensity of expression, he never shies from the spectacular and, what’s more, it reminds us of a crucial fact: this is Karajan and Berlin is his orchestra. It provides the joyous impression that Karajan is drunk with his own power. A dazzling first version had been recorded with the Vienna Orchestra (mono, Emi/Warner 1948) and displayed Karajan’s inner potential. Subsequent studio recordings should only be seen as reinterpretations. Listen also to Symphony no. 4 (DG, 11/1962). But to really experience the animalistic magnetism that is displayed by the coupling of Karajan/Berlin, the video recording of the 5th Symphony filmed by Henri-Georges Clouzot is a must-see: the French filmmaker magnifies the performance to a fabulous cosmology in black and white.

Brahms: Symphony no. 2, Orch. Berlin Philharmonic, DG (1963)

Brahms is another icon that Karajan revisits again and again. Like with Beethoven, from the 60s onwards, each decade brought with it a new variant, that seemed to overshadow the last. Now that time has passed, we can observe that the early years represented a standard that Karajan renewed and purified but didn’t necessarily erase from memory. Perhaps it is also due to the fact that the 60s was a decade that converged the history of the Berlin Philharmonic. And finally, because Brahms’ composition, his meticulous sense of care for form and taste and lavish sounds, held together by a legato that integrates each element into an exquisite product. There is an abundance of poeticism mixed with nostalgia but also a unique majesty.

Bruckner: Symphony no. 8, Orch. Vienne Philharmonic, DG (1988)

Bruckner’s majestic symphonies, that demand hard work and perseverance have always fascinated Karajan. If he had recorded their entirety – the nine “usual” symphonies – in Berlin, he didn’t play them all in concert and concentrated primarily on his final trilogy (the seventh, eighth, and ninth and the Te Deum). As in many of his final testaments, unreserved power is replaced with a sense of interiority, a metaphysical interrogation that is no doubt linked partly to the physical pain that plagued his later years. His approach is marbled and meditative (the immense Adagio alone lasts 25 minutes) but is still exceptionally well driven. As always, the bright timbre of the Vienna Philharmonic – his most loved orchestra second only to Berlin -, the softness of the ethereal chords brings to life this impenetrable marble and delivers transcendence, even redemption. All is accomplished and finalizes the final 7th symphony, published post-mortem (DG 4/1989).

Dimitri Shostakovich: Symphony no. 10, Orch. Berlin Philharmonic, DG (1966)

Karajan chose with care what spoke to him in the Russian repertoire: Tchaïkovski was his favorite (and is revisited throughout his career be it in London, Berlin or Vienna), alongside Moussorgski, Rimski-Korsakov, Prokofiev and Stravinsky. His first recording of Shostakovich’s Symphony no. 10 marked his interest in works created out of war (as well as Nielsen, Holst, Honegger, Prokofiev) and cemented the unique, dense sound of Berlin in the 60s. Such fullness and body is not to be confused with the more metallic and jagged sound of the Russian phalanx. Karajan exhibits his genius for continuity and tension with a relentless and tragic eloquence. The second version (DG, 01/1981) is less polished, more distant perhaps. But one should definitely look out for the Moscow concert in 1969 in the presence of Shostakovich (Melodya): Karajan at his best and one of his most extraordinary public performances.

Gustav Mahler: Symphony no. 9, Berlin Philharmonic, DG (1982)

Mahler holds a special spot in Karajan’s career development. He didn’t make an appearance in it until the very end. It is perhaps due to the fact that the Jewish composer was banned by the Nazis. Two ninth symphonies exist, each recorded within two years of each other. The concert that followed the studio recording (he typically carried out recordings before playing them in concerts) was received with so much acclaim that it was also carefully recorded and published. The magnificence of the direction and artistic sound is present in both versions. Each is loyal to Mahler but also in general to post romanticism and decadence where a feeling of tragedy transforms into pure beauty. The studio version (11/1979, 2 and 9/1980) also offers somewhat Straussian traits. Intricately more strained, the concert version turns itself towards the future. And hence we are given the privilege to compare each one with the other.