It is sad that Toscanini, who made a series of fruitful visits to London in the 1930s, returned only once after the war. The concerts recorded here preserve the two legendary occasions in the autumn of 1952 when in a Brahms cycle at the Royal Festival Hall he conducted the Philharmonia Orchestra, then only six years old but already the front runner among London orchestras.
The recording itself, now legendary, has generated pirated versions, but never before has the original made by EMI under the supervision of Walter Legge, been officially released - remastered for Stewart Brown's Testament label by the brilliant transfer specialists of EMI.
The result is a revelation. This new set brings the clearest of demonstrations that the RCA recordings of Toscanini and the NBC Symphony Orchestra made during the last years of his life (including his Brahms cycle of the very same 12-month period) give only an imperfect picture of a conductor who at the time, and for a generation or so previously, was almost universally counted the greatest in the world. That dominant reputation has been eroded over the years, but this issue, I hope, will help to put the record straight.
I, myself, have known these performances from a privately circulated set of LPs offered many years ago by the Arturo Toscanini Society. That set was drawn from BBC broadcasts - the first concert on the Third Programme, the second on the Home Service - complete with announcements and many minutes of applause. Sadly the sound, restricted and often crumbly, has never allowed me to get much pleasure from the performances. The difference now is astonishing.
Though mono recordings made in the Royal Festival Hall are inevitably limited, the clarity and definition quickly make one forget any limitations. One even forgets the intrusive coughing. As it is, the glorious horn playing of Dennis Brain has a rich bloom, and the timpani is thrillingly focused, arguably too prominent but very dramatic, notably in the First Symphony. Not only Brain's horn but the woodwind of Gareth Morris on flute, Sidney Sutcliffe on oboe and Frederick Thurston on clarinet are markedly sweeter than their counterparts in Toscanini's own NBC Orchestra in the Brahms recordings made during the same period.
As Alan Sanders says in his illuminating note giving the detailed background to the concerts, the NBC version of No 3, recorded in New York barely a month after this performance, is quite different, a 'rhythmically staid recording which entirely lacked the lyricism and eloquence of the Philharmonia performance'.
The NBC Orchestra's account certainly has its merits, but Sanders' description points to the marked contrasts, not only in No 3 but in all four symphonies. Whereas the New York performances, resonant and superbly drilled, have a hardness and rigidity, with the dynamic contrasts ironed out, thus eliminating pianissimos (partly a question of recording balance), the Philharmonia's consistently bring a moulding of phrase and subtlety of rubato which bears out the regular Toscanini instructions to 'Sing!'. And in contrast with most Toscanini recordings, the hushed playing is magical.
These players, gathered as the best in Britain by Walter Legge - not just a great recording producer but the Philharmonia's founder - were plainly following every nuance of Toscanini's baton (he seems rarely to have issued verbal instructions in his Philharmonia sessions). Dennis Brain, asked why he played a particular passage quite differently from usual, attributed it not to word or gesture, but to Toscanini's magnetism. The New York players, by comparison, seem evidently to have forgotten how to respond to the finer subtleties of this notorious taskmaster among conductors.
It is not just the comparisons with the 1951-52 NBC recordings which give the clue, but other recordings of Brahms symphonies by Toscanini. His account of No 1, recorded with the NBC Orchestra 10 years earlier in 1941 and also issued in RCA's Toscanini Edition, is far warmer and more flexible than his later one, if less refined in its nuances than the Philharmonia performance; and his recording of No 2, made live at the Queen's Hall in 1938 with Sir Adrian Boult's BBC Symphony (now available on Testament, equally avoids hardness, even if it is far plainer, less subtle than the Philharmonia one.
As Sanders explains, unlike Toscanini's often abrasive contacts with BBC players in the '30s, the Philharmonia sessions were consistently happy. At the end he said he wished he were 10 years younger and so be the more able to make regular recordings with the Philharmonia. Alas, already 85, he never returned.
The performances did, however, involve three blips. In the first concert after the National Anthem (included here) Toscanini absent-mindedly thought he was continuing with the First Symphony, beating 6/8, only to realise with a start when two sharp chords erupted from the orchestra that it was the Tragic Overture, though from the high-powered performance that follows, wide in its expressive range, you would never know there had been any problem.
The second flaw is certainly noticeable when, starting the hushed chorale after the great horn solo of the finale in No 1, the principal trombone splits not just one note but three, missing out still more. Yet in context it hardly matters, particularly when the chorale is firm enough, and the horn section under Dennis Brain promptly compensates with a glorious display.
The third blip comes in the finale of No 4, when pranksters let off firecrackers, which sound in the recording like unscheduled percussion effects. Toscanini was quite unfazed, giving a magnificent reading, not only filled with adrenalin enough to match the drama of the movement, but also a heart-stopping flute solo from Gareth Morris in the slow 3/2 variation.
The extra flexibility of the Philharmonia performances over the NBC has an interesting effect on tempo. Whereas in No 1 the NBC speeds of 1951 are faster, not just than those of the Philharmonia but of the 1941 NBC performance, in the other three symphonies the Philharmonia timings tend to be a degree quicker, notably in No 3, where for example the Andante flows far more comfortably.
One charming picture of Toscanini's Philharmonia rehearsals is given in Stephen J Pettitt's history of the orchestra (Robert Hale: 1985). He asked for one of the Brahms Haydn Variations to be repeated 'purely for the pleasure of it'. Pettitt says it was the scurrying No 5, but I have a hunch that it was No 6, with its vigorous rhythms, as joyful a performance as I have ever heard.
Walter Legge fought hard to get these live recordings officially issued, but everything was against him, not least contractually. As with last year's set of the Bayreuth Gotterdammerung under Knappertsbusch (10/99), Testament is to be congratulated on at least sorting out so successfully what has long been a frustrating tangle.'