It has been an uplifting experience—hard on the heels of Sinopoli's quirky Strauss offerings with the same orchestra (DG, 11/92)—to hear again this classic Kempe series. EMI's big, bold remasters are generally successful and there's no mistaking the technical excellence and tonal specificity of the Dresden Staatskapelle of the early 1970s. Kempe himself sometimes resented being seen as a Strauss specialist, but his untimely death, coming so soon after these sessions, confirmed him forever in that role and prompted some critics to wonder whether he had not been the most naturally gifted Straussian of them all.
Once again, these lithe, lucid, unexaggerated performances are packaged as boxed sets—not the ideal layout for those disinclined to invest in the lesser works. On the other hand, the first set, which teams three familiar symphonic poems with the bulk of Strauss's concertante music, may encourage further exploration. It will certainly test your attitude to East German horn vibrato, splendidly ripe in Iron Curtain days and difficult to ignore in Peter Damm's distinctive accounts of the two Horn Concertos. This first disc, which also includes a splendid Duett-Concertino and a less recommendable Oboe Concerto, would seem to be a straight reissue of the EMI Studio compilation discussed in some detail by IM ((CD) CDM7 69661-2, 6/89). The second CD is a must for the dedicated Straussian, though the garrulous note-spinning of the Parergon and Panathenaenzug composed for Paul Wittgenstein may not appeal to the non-specialist. The much earlier Burleske is no longer such a rarity and its clean textures and lucid structure make a strong showing in this context. On both discs, solo instruments are placed well forward with the orchestra by no means implausibly recessed in the generous acoustic of the Dresden Lukaskirche. Disc No. 3 offers the most rewarding music-making of all. In Till Eulenspiegel and Don Juan, Kempe's pacing and judging of the tricky corners is well-nigh exemplary (even Karajan in his final recording of Don Juan—DG, 8/84—has the odd sticky moment) and his mercurial approach shows an awareness that this above all is young man's music. The playing may lack the last ounce of BPO polish, but ensemble is unfailingly excellent. Kempe's sympathetic Don Juan seems almost as exciting as Reiner's, lacks nothing of Karajan's customary strength of line, and yet displays a warmth and humanity conceivably alien to both. Ein Heldenleben follows (with insufficient gap) and brings another superb reading, marginally lighter in tone than its familiar modern rivals. As ever, Kempe's music-making is unfailingly civilized, but for those accustomed to Karajan's sensational power and opulence, it may seem that he lets the hero's critics off rather lightly and disdains to raise the roof for the hero's deeds of war. The remastering is not altogether kind to the massed Dresden strings.
The second box opens with Ulf Hoelscher's decent, eloquent account of the Violin Concerto, less self-consciously brilliant and flighty than some, and proceeds to the Domestica, always a difficult piece to balance and record. Here the transfer engineers set such a high level that the sound becomes a little brash and aggressive in the more overblown sections towards the end. Kempe's performance is as compelling as you might expect, even in the final pages where it seems Strauss has lost interest and cannot think up a convincing ending: the final chords are despatched very briskly with no nonsense. The Dresden wind playing is again particularly distinguished and only those looking for Karajan's riper sonorities (EMI, 1/89—nla) will feel in any sense short-changed.
Also sprach Zarathustra also suffers from slightly constricted sonics (is this the remastering?): the timps at the start seem too small and dry and there is an alarming edit at 24'51''. The horns excel themselves throughout, though the strings cannot match Karajan's Berliners (DG, 8/84 and 4/88). There are more timpani problems in Tod und Verklarung, and, for all the excitement of the allegro passages, you may feel that Kempe is too refined to make the most of the culminating statements of the Verklarung motif, treating them in a rather matter-of-fact fashion. Even in 1974 eyebrows were raised at the inclusion of his own pot-pourri of Rosenkavalier waltzes in a definitive set of Strauss orchestral music. They are of course most winningly done. The third disc is devoted to music associated with the stage, beginning with an excellent ''Dance of the Seven Veils''. The familiar suite from Le bourgeois gentilhomme, which suffers from some instrumental highlighting and includes the items cut by Reiner (RCA) and others, is followed by the trifling Schlagobers waltz and the all-too-substantial Josephslegende symphonic fragment—both excellently turned if you like your Strauss second-rate.
Volume 3 is particularly attractive. Kempe's Metamorphosen is marvellously lucid and fluent, while lacking either the well-upholstered emotional fervour encouraged by Karajan (DG, 2/84) or Previn's more attenuated Viennese variant (Philips, 4/88). In Dresden, the work unfolds with complete naturalness as if it were recorded in a single take which, to judge from the poor entries at 2'45'' and 11'55'', it may well have been. Eine Alpensinfonie is similarly distinguished, inevitably less epic than Karajan's (DG, 5/83) but even more persuasive in such passages as the calm before the storm. Alas things fall apart rather in the closing stages: there are serious tuning problems in the ''Ausklang'' which might have been overcome with some judicious patching. Kempe's Aus Italien is less highly coloured than Muti's (Philips, 9/90), but there is no doubting its special radiance, while Macbeth has seldom sounded more convincing than it does here in its first stereo recording. Kempe's celebrated remake of Don Quixote is rarely out of the catalogue and it's not difficult to see why. The distinguished soloists may be forwardly placed—Previn's recording (Telarc, 10/91) is probably the best balanced in this respect—but orchestral detail is not lost and Kempe's fabled sobriety and restraint does not preclude risk-taking effects like the horn-playing in Variation 7. Fortunately, the transfer is well-judged. If the Dance Suite after Couperin is less persuasive, it is scarcely Kempe's fault; this cumbersome anachronism is something of an acquired taste, an unlikely encore to a distinguished set. I should stress that all the discs are generously filled, properly annotated, and urgently recommended to those prepared to contemplate the inevitable duplication involved in collecting the series.'