European Brahms symphony cycles have an irritating habit of creeping on to the British CD market unnoticed (neither Kurt Sanderling’s second set on Capriccio nor Otmar Suitner’s on Berlin Classics cycle – both of them digital – has as yet received its fair share of critical exposure), and I was grateful for the opportunity of comparing these two new contenders. Both emanate from German-based companies, although Sir Neville Marriner’s cycle was recorded in London’s Henry Wood Hall during October and November of last year. Andrew Keener supervised a resonant though fairly cold body of sound for Hanssler, lively and well balanced, whereas Michael Kempff (Koch) achieved warmer results in the acoustically more comfortable Joseph-Keilberth-Saal, Bamberg.
Horst Stein’s cycle was taped live during last July and September and is very different from Marriner’s, with a more compact sound frame, significantly broader tempos and more fastidious instrumental voicing (significant modulations witness the minutest shifts in pace or volume). Marriner’s forthright approach pays off best in key snatches of musical argument, such as the central sections of the Second Symphony’s finale (terrific attack from the strings at 3'42'') and the Fourth Symphony’s Andante moderato, both of which are well drilled and highly charged. The Fourth’s Allegro giocoso is played with impressive vitality, and so is the finale. In fact, had it not been for a rather unconvincing opening movement, Marriner’s new recording would have levelled with the best from recent years. By contrast, Stein is strongest in the Fourth’s first movement, where lyrical phrasing is underpinned by rhythmic solidity. His second movement is more placid than Marriner’s, and his third less vital, though the finale heads towards an equally impressive denouement albeit via a more circuitous interpretative route.
Marriner’s readings of the remaining symphonies are less imposing, though all three include their respective first movement repeats (Stein’s do not) and wear an athletic demeanour that many will find refreshing. Marriner opens the Third idiosyncratically, jabbing at the first brass chord and distending the second. Important string figurations at 4'46'' into the Andante are vague in outline (compare Stein at 4'51'') though, in general, the middle movements are nicely gauged.
Stein’s First Symphony is one of the finest available, with strong emphases on the darker aspects of Brahms’s scoring (the held horns in the opening Un poco sostenuto; the trombones, contra-bassoon and horns that glower from around 16'03'' into the finale) and noble shaping of the finale’s big string tune – although Marriner’s swifter tempo might be seen as more appropriate for Allegro non troppo ma con brio. Note, also, how Stein builds that magical passage 3'30'' into the third movement where flutes and oboes engage in animated dialogue.
Stein is even more impressive in the Second Symphony. The violins’ entry at 1'23'' into the first movement is truly piano dolce and the coda (from around 14'30'') conjures a genuinely Brahmsian glow. The Adagio non troppo second movement is notable, above all, for its ochre colouring and long-breathed phrasing. Brahms marks the opening two bars poco forte, softening to piano or pianissimo only by the third bar, and Stein creates the illusion of sudden pain fading in the wake of consolation. One might also sample the warming rise of brass tone at the transitional passage from 2'35'', or the Fafner-like sigh of the bass tuba answering trombone at 5'18''. Only the finale hangs fire, being alarmingly short on con spirito (at an over-generous 10'35''; Marriner takes 8'48'').
The final reckoning finds me best disposed towards Horst Stein’s memorable traversal, although four CDs with no first-movement repeats and no fill-ups must be counted as poor value, even at mid price. Readers who like their Brahms broad, well-structured and lovingly detailed will not be dissuaded (Stein’s cycle would in any case be among my own digital top half-dozen) but others might like to consider Suitner (a similar approach but with the repeats included), Sanderling (the Capriccio set is the more imposing of the two), Kubelik or Eschenbach. Mackerras recalls old-world expressive devices within a small-orchestra sound frame and Harnoncourt delivers an unusually high yield of interpretative interest. Those who can tolerate mono sound are reminded, inevitably, of Furtwangler, Toscanini and Eugen Jochum’s DG cycle (neatly contained on just two CDs in a slimline double-pack), while Szell is, for me, top in the analogue-stereo field. ‘Spoiled for choice’ is the phrase that most readily comes to mind, though I for one am not complaining.'