The first of Karajan's three Berlin Brahms cycles (1963) was, by general consent, his finest for DG. As to which was Karajan's finest 'phase' in general (if such a thing is calculable), only time will tell. Assessment is not helped by the continuing unavailability of most of his 1950s Philharmonia recordings (Brahms symphonies amongst them), including repertoire he never re-recorded (a frustrating five years have elapsed since a number of these had their only release on CD in limited edition EMI boxes).
Few would deny that this Brahms C minor Symphony has a 'halcyon days' feel. It is certainly present in the first two movements (timings here are midway between Toscanini and Furtwangler), the drive established in the main Allegro of the first (no repeat) allowing Karajan to relax for the second theme without loss of purpose – Brahms both poet and powerful symphonic thinker handsomely served. The second movement, ideally mobile, evolves freely and seamlessly, with masterfully graded wide dynamic contrasts felt rather than fashioned. Here, as elsewhere, this orchestra's tone production is more even, rich and rounded than for the 1959 Kempe (recently reissued). So far, so good. In the third movement, bar-by-bar dynamic contrasts are smoothed out, with the route to the Trio's climax taken as one very gradual crescendo; it goes without saying that there is none of the agitato that Furtwangler (or, to a lesser degree, Abbado) injected into this movement. The finale's 'daybreak' (the Piu andante from 2'52'') is broad and awe-inspiring (with horn pitching that may be deemed not quite true). But compare the Berlin accounts from Kempe, Furtwangler (DG, 6/86 – nla), or Abbado as the following big tune gathers pace – in their hands, rather more of it. Karajan here has gauged tempo, dynamics and accentuation in order that the strings can articulate without strain; all very impressive, but his Allegro's progress is thus relatively short on attack, energy and the ability to fly.
The more I hear Karajan's Schumann First Symphony, the more am I convinced that it is spring cultivated and monitored under laboratory conditions. The most unsettling of those conditions is an 'effect' common to a number of his 1970s DG Berlin recordings, namely, for a fairly closely balanced orchestra (particularly the strings, which are not entirely glare-free), as dynamic levels drop, to walk off several paces into a glowing Berlin sunset. This shift of position (and acquisition of ambient bloom) is most obviously heard in the sudden drop to piano for the coda of the Scherzo (track 7, 4'50''). The 'effect' also exaggerates the conductor's own contrasts, neither exactly redolent of the vitality and freshness of spring: the resolutely robust and measured delivery of the rustic forte, and the carefully crafted confection of his dolce piano. R1 '9507011'