Simax have followed their three-CD set of historic interpretations of Grieg's piano music (9/93) with a similar one devoted to recordings of his songs. Both were issued to mark the celebrations held in the composer's native Bergen last summer and were presented at the Grieg Symposium. The discs here encompass the years 1888-1924 and I understand there are plans for a companion set which will cover recordings from the electrical period through to the advent of LP. The great majority of the vocal items come from the vast collection of Arne Dorumsgaard, whom collectors will recall from the early days of the LP catalogue as a composer and arranger (Gerard Souzay recorded some of his songs). An invaluable feature, as with the earlier Simax set, is the authoritative documentation by Finn Benested and Dag Schjelderup-Ebbe.
According to Grieg, his wife Nina was the finest interpreter of his songs, and this compilation brings to light a cylinder she made in 1889 when she would have been 44. She stopped singing in the 1890s, though she outlived Grieg himself by almost three decades. Although she is barely audible through the deluge of background noise, hers is obviously a voice of striking purity. We hear her singing a short snatch of ''Solveig's Song'' from Peer Gynt without accompaniment. Listening to her across a divide of over a century is a strangely moving experience. The earliest singers recorded here are the Danish sopranos, Augusta Lutken (1888) and Otta Bronnun (1889), the most recent Kirsten Flagstad and Geraldine Farrar (1923) and the Norwegian tenor Gunnar Graarud and the less familiar Latvian, Hermann Jadlowker (1924). Pianists are not named, but it would be nice to think that John Forsell, whose exhilarating voice is heard in four songs, was accompanied by his usual partner at this period, Wilhelm Stenhammar—though, alas, there is no reason to believe that he was. Aino Ackte possessed a thrilling voice with an exceptionally wide tessitura and was Beecham's Salome in 1908. (It was for her that Sibelius composed Luonnotar.) Her recording of Grieg's Jeg elsker Dig (''I love but thee''), made in Paris in 1903, is remarkably free interpretatively and one realizes why she was held in such veneration. Of course, during the early years of the gramophone, singers tended to gravitate towards a handful of popular songs, which are represented in some abundance here. There are seven versions of En Svane (''A swan''), 11 of Jeg elsker Dig and no fewer than 16 of ''Solveig's Song''. The only Emmy Destinn record, Mens jeg venter (''While I wait'')—Berlin, 1904—is not in good condition.
However, the roll-call of singers included in this set is extraordinary and anyone with an interest in the history of singing generally should acquire it. It is of great documentary interest, even if the duplication inevitably makes it more recommendable for libraries and specialist collectors. Hopefully, the contemplated companion issue will bring us Flagstad's Haugtussa which she recorded three times with the same pianist, Edwin McArthur: first in 1940, then again ten years later and lastly, in 1956, for Decca.
Two of the songs from the 1950 Haugtussa, ''Blabaerli'' (''Bilberry slopes'') and ''Ved gjaetle-bekken'' (''At the brook''), turn up in the RCA compilation whose second disc includes 26 songs—again with some duplications. There are five versions of Jeg elsker Dig: Flagstad (1936), Lauritz Melchior (1937), Richard Crooks (1941), Helen Traubel (1942) and Birgit Nilsson (1961). There is some overlapping with Simax: Olive Kline singing God morgen (''Good morning''—recorded in 1913), Galli-Curci's ''Solveig's Song'' (1917) and Geraldine Farrar's En drom (''A dream''—1923). The Simax sounds just that little bit fresher in the case of the Kline, though there is a more intrusive surface, while the RCA transfer of the Farrar is cleaner. The disc is well worth having for the glorious Melchior, Flagstad and Jussi Bjorling performances. I would add the value of this RCA set is enhanced by the fact that each disc will ultimately be available separately.
Artur Rubinstein made two shellac recordings of the Piano Concerto: the 1942 account with the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy (on RCA's third disc) and a later one with Dorati. I had remembered the Philadelphia as being poetic yet brilliant, but returning to it now must confess to a certain disappointment. It does not convey that sense of fresh discovery one finds in the best performances from the pre-war Gieseking through to the post-war Curzon, Kovacevich, Lupu and, more recently, Perahia and Andsnes. The opening is taut, a trace matter of fact perhaps—and although there are moments of poetic insight, spontaneity seems to elude Rubinstein. Ormandy holds everything together on a firm rein, yet is always sensitive in matters of dynamics and phrasing. The copies used for the transfer are good although surfaces are at times busy, particularly towards the end of sides. The end of the second 78 side has a small but irksome blemish. Nor does Rubinstein's 1953 account of the Ballade prompt the same poetic intensity of Godowsky on his celebrated Parlophone set from 1930 (Pearl, 9/93). The sound is close and shallow, and as a result pp markings do not always register as such (and on some occasions because Rubinstein does not observe them). The Lyric Pieces are highly articulate in his hands and there is no lack of elegance, but they are handicapped by the somewhat claustrophobic acoustic and closely balanced recording.
The first disc opens with the classic 1928 Kreisler/Rachmaninov account of the C minor Violin Sonata, Op. 45 (included in the ten-CD Gramophone Award-winning Rachmaninov set, 3/93) and, more importantly, the Budapest Quartet's account of the G minor Quartet, another great performance that may have been equalled since its first appearance in 1937 but not, in my view, surpassed. It has a tremendous grip that in no way tarnishes its lyrical charm and freshness. There is also a Mischa Elman trifle (Album Leaf) and the disc is completed by ''The Last Spring'' (Elegiac Melodies), played with that seamless phrasing and incomparable eloquence that the Boston strings displayed in Koussevitsky's days.'