''The Early Years—Pierre Monteux'' it says on the box. The early years are, of course, those of Philips, not Monteux. This mid-price set offers his very last stereo recordings, made between 1962 and 1964, when Monteux was in his late eighties—vintage years to be sure, for the conductor, the LSO and Philips engineering—on five discs for the price of four. Unlike RCA's recent 15-disc ''Monteux Edition'' (of mainly 1940–50s recordings, 9/94), most of this set has been (and gone) on CD, but the Brahms is new to the format, and the Tragic Overture here receives its first-ever release. Philips have commissioned new notes to accompany each disc, and all five have in-depth and revealing comments on Monteux's way with each piece. The new CDs have also been ''digitalized by Bitstream'', a process which has fractionally opened out and brightened up the treble, beneficially so, except in Debussy's Images where the original engineers' discreet addition of 'artificial reverberation' is now a degree more audible. Compared with today's average offerings from London or Amsterdam, hall ambience is minimal (especially in the Brahms symphony), but the balances are flawless, and the benefits of Monteux's separated violin desks are everywhere to be heard.
Of Monteux's two Eroica recordings (the 1957 VPO Eroica has just been reissued on an all Beethoven/Monteux/VPO bargain-price Double Decca—see page 75), this 1962 Amsterdam account is the one to have: ''textures have a Stravinskyan bite and clarity... the Concertgebouw are producing that fierce, bright, glistening tone which has always been a sure sign that their collective psyche is aflame'', wrote RO in 1988. Concertgebouw recordings tend not to have such physical presence these days (compare the Eroica recordings from Haitink and Kondrashin), or such rousing, ringing trumpets, though the horns in the third movement Trio are rather distant, an effect which probably prompted the note-writer to comment on its ''mysterious, subterranean character''. Monteux's broader than average Amsterdam first movement (without repeat) actually lasts longer than its VPO predecessor, yet it feels faster (the Viennese string playing is inclined to sound etiolated and limp), due, in no small part, to the more resolute accentuation. 'Accommodation' is the key to Monteux's success here. There is no passage that falls casualty to the furrowed brow manner of, say, a Harnoncourt, no empty, forceful barking that makes you wish Beethoven had been a little less liberal with his sforzandos.
The first movement of Monteux's Amsterdam Unfinished (with repeat) is unusually fast (only a few seconds longer than Norrington on EMI 12/90), relaxing beautifully for the second subject (good, focused tone and phrasing here, not the common pianissimo thread). Anxious activity, rather than dark atmosphere, finds solace in a traditionally slow and processional second movement. Monteux's LSO Swan Lake selection (with some numbers pruned, and a couple of concert endings) is well chosen for contrast, and the opening number sets the scene with some rapid string playing of effortless precision and point. I don't think I've ever heard the swan theme (solo oboe) sung with such dignity and melancholy the syncopations in the Act 1 Pas de Deux Waltz handled with such elegance, or the ballet's closing minutes played with such tragic grandeur. On occasions Tchaikovsky sounds like Delibes, but Tchaikovsky would undoubtedly have approved of that.
In the last of Monteux's four recordings of the Brahms Second Symphony, subtleties of nuance and timing, and modifications of pacing, reflect a lifetime's love and experience of the work, and a man who is still keen to explore its textural and structural possibilities. Typically, it is light-toned and gentle in cast, almost symphonic chamber music, and has parallels with his 1959 Dvorak Seventh (on Decca Historic, 4/93) in its clearly articulated accompaniments (for example, the viola figure, from 10'57'' in the first movement development, brought out to set up the vigorous contrapuntal workings) and nature impressions ('raindrop' pizzicatos from 5'33'' in the slow movement). It is generally less bold and high-spirited than his first (1945) San Francisco recording (included in RCA's Edition) with the LSO finale lasting almost a minute longer. Unlike that first recording, Monteux also takes the first movement repeat. You would expect a Monteux Academic Festival Overture to raise the spirits, and you won't be disappointed certainly not at his witty pointing of the ''Great Bassoon Joke'' (Tovey) from 4'31''. The Tragic Overture is articulated more powerfully than the symphony, always on its feet, and with heaven-sent, pianissimo muted violins (from 8'11'') preparing the way for the noble brass transformation of the opening theme.
Monteux's LSO strings come into their own for the Debussy and Ravel items. There is a very good case for suggesting that, in the range of expression he was capable of encouraging from his string desks, Monteux (himself originally an orchestral violinist, and then a violist in a string quartet) had no peers. It would be unwise of me to speculate that Monteux devoted a large proportion of rehearsal time for these recordings to concentrating on string style and expression, but that is how it sounds. All portamentos (where marked) rise or fall beautifully—and together!—under the fingers (La valse and the central movement of ''Iberia'' abound in examples), you will also hear a great range of vibrato, very prominent, for example, in the gorgeous husky tone for the viola and violin gipsy song solos in the first two movements of ''Iberia'', from 2'43'' and 4'25'' respectively (it is worth mentioning that Monteux's ancestors were Spanish), or the more exalted moments from Le martyre. And if you are unable to succumb totally to the maximum vibrato and extraordinary textures as Monteux leads us through the ''Fairy Garden'' at the end of Ma mere l'oye, then you are a lost cause (the 1964 LSO strings, solo and ensemble, outshining those of the 1993 Berlin Philharmonic for Boulez on DG, 9/94). And pizzicato? Divert your attention from the superbly accented and phrased solo wind turns in the first half of Bolero (the trombone solo is a joy) to listen to the way Monteux points up the often guitar-like accompaniment in the strings.
I could write a great deal more, but words are inadequate to describe this calibre of music-making. Hopefully Philips will release the discs separately as the majority of these recordings would be amongst the top recommendations in today's field, despite their age (perhaps, because of it). '