It was Stokowski and Walt Disney's Fantasia which combined to inspire my initial indoctrination to classical music and in the 1940s, as an addicted teenager, I went to the film some 17 times; I saw it again recently. Its imagery has been distorted to fit the wide screen, Stokowski's role seriously diminished, Deems Taylor's folksy introduction removed and, worst of all, the original soundtrack, bringing the first serious example of commercial stereo—although it was not offered in stereo in British cinemas at that time for reasons of wartime austerity—has been replaced by a new digital (mirror) performance. This produced distorted high frequencies from the loud-speakers in my Dolby-equipped local cinema. This is a great pity, since Stokowski's sound is marvellous for its time (I have the first LPs taken from that soundtrack, issued here by Rank in a brief dalliance with records).
Cincinnati is where Stokowski's love/hate affair with the American critics and public began in 1909 (he moved on to Philadelphia in 1912), so it is an appropriate gesture for Kunzel and the present excellent Cincinnati orchestra to pay an affectionate tribute to the founder of their international reputation. They begin with the famous Bach Toccata and Fugue and helped by gloriously full-blooded Telarc stereo it sounds marvellous. That moment near the final cadence when the horns blaze out, to match those shafts of brilliant light on the screen, is overwhelming. Then, like a gnat after an elephant, Boccherini's Minuet follows, played lightly and gracefully. Bach's 'little' Fugue in G minor was the last piece Stokowski played in public—at the Festival of Venice—in 1975. He rearranged it for strings then, but on the record we have his original score with its colourful interplay of woodwind and mighty closing climax, wonderfully exciting, but as far as one can possibly get from modern ideas of 'authenticity'.
David Loebel, who contributes the admirable back-up notes, quotes Schoenberg as finding the Stokowski ''Clair de lune'' so convincing he ''thought it was an original of Debussy''. It is most delicately and tastefully played (and luscious too), although the scoring of a vibraphone—used in a shimmering pianissimo suggests that Schoenberg's view was somewhat misguided. The performance has a degree, even, of ecstasy. The arrangements of Albeniz's ''Sevilla'' and Debussy's ''La cathedrale engloutie'' are very free indeed. The first goes completely over the top at the sumptuous climax, but is touchingly poetic at the close, the Debussy is made to sound like a combination of Hollywood and Scriabin, but with great effect. The Prelude of Rachmaninov is unashamedly vulgar. Most interesting is ''Night on bald mountain'', as the Americans call it. I had wondered why Kunzel has not opted to end his programme with Stokowski's soupy version of Schubert's Ave Maria as in the film, but that would have meant cutting the grandiloquent brass chorale of Night which acts as Stokowski's coda (in the film the gentle elegy after the Black Mass—beautifully played here led direct into Schubert's melody).
Any admirer of Stokowski will have a field day with this invigoratingly alive and splendidly played concert. The great conductor was an enormously successful musical evangelizer, long before the gramophone and broadcasting networks took over, and he unashamedly used Hollywood for his purpose. This superbly recorded CD is a fine display of Stokowski as aural seducer. Congratulations to all concerned—orchestra, conductor and engineers alike. This record must be one of my ''Critics' Choice'' for next Christmas.'