After the last war, Wilhelm Furtwangler was invited to conduct in Chicago, and although political pressures made his visit a sure impossibility, one can't help wondering how—given the opportunity—that city's great orchestra would have responded to him. The question occurred to me after listening to Barenboim's Chicago account of Schumann's Spring Symphony, a performance that attempts to weld Furtwangler's brand of inspirational recreativity—with its vast, organic waves of sound—on to the shining, precision-tooled machinery of the CSO. The symphony's majestic opening sounds immense, the journey towards Allegro molto vivace leisurely, the Allegro itself brassy, excitable and somewhat exhausting. Barenboim leans on the score's lower lines much as Furtwangler did in his Vienna broadcast recording (Decca, 3/73—nla); his accelerandos are cast along similar lines, and even specific points of interpretation—such as the basses' sudden call to arms in the Scherzo's second trio—echo those of his great predecessor. Parallel instances occur in the Fourth Symphony, the most notable being the way Barenboim slams on the brakes at the end of the Scherzo, before revving up again for the last movement; but whereas with Furtwangler, the gesture is supremely effective, with Barenboim it sounds mannered and awkward.
Throughout this set, string portamentos lend a flush of warmth to Schumann's violin writing, yet because the Chicago strings have an inherent evenness of tone (quite unlike the luscious 'swell' of, say, the Vienna Philharmonic), expressive slides tend to sound contrived. Most major transitions—always a strong point with Furtwangler—are artfully negotiated, but a firmer sense of structure would have helped the Second Symphony's first movement development, just as more skilful pacing might have accommodated a smoother, less tentative passage out of the Scherzo's first trio (3'05'' into track 6 on the first disc).
Taken overall, the Second Symphony is a vigorous affair, passionately played (the Adagio, especially), although sweetness sometimes verges on the saccharine and there are patches of suspect intonation among the winds. The Rhenish is more forceful than subtle and not without its reflective moments (listen at 5'15'' on track 2—just prior to the movement's horn-dominated final climax); but the fourth movement, although rising to a noble arch, starts out in a state of prosaic immobility. My favourite performance of all is the Manfred Overture, which has tremendous drive and ample flexibility but never strains all the seams. In the symphonies, first movement repeats are observed (where indicated) and the big, bass-strong but occasionally muzzy recordings impress more than they clarify.
I am convinced that were Barenboim to re-record these works now, he would modify and fine-tune what were probably transitional interpretations. My top mid-price recommendations in this repertory are Kubelik on Sony Classical (for poetry and sensitivity—see below) and Sawallisch on EMI (for clarity and impact). Barenboim's are essentially works in progress and as such will always prove interesting—but hardly definitive.'