A Few Gems Wash Up in Bernstein Tsunami

Sony seems determined to inundate the planet with mid-priced releases of the bulk of its Leonard Bernstein recordings from the late 1950s through late ‘70s via the massive “Royal Edition,” so called for its utilization, in a coincidental marvel of mistiming, of paintings by HRH the Prince of Wales (i.e., Charles) as cover art.

Living with the series to its present midpoint has at times proven frustrating for its frequent lack of selectivity. The Brahms symphonies, for example, are unpardonably slapdash in structuring and execution.

But as the series progresses toward its ultimate total of (gulp!) 100 releases, we are reminded of what might be called defining interpretations : of Haydn and Mahler, the latter in a sense invented by Bernstein as a composer for mass consumption with his 1960s recordings and live performances with the New York Philharmonic at its most responsive (more about Bernstein and Mahler in a future column).

Bernstein greatly expanded our appreciation of Haydn’s elusive genius at a time when very few of the elder composer’s creations were encountered on major orchestra agendas. Bernstein programmed them, fittingly, as preludes to the Romantic blockbusters--in time, the Mahler symphonies--his New York audience really wanted.

Most of Bernstein’s Haydn--the six “Paris” Symphonies (47550, 2 CDs), the 12 “London” Symphonies (47553 and 47557, 2 CDs each), some of the great masses--retains its forcefulness and even suggests a certain prescience about what might be found convincing in our own era of antiquarian revisionism.

The blazing energy we now demand of Haydn’s corner movements and the rustic bumptuosness of the minuets are abundantly in evidence, while the slow sections progress with a strongly rhythmical, if still somewhat thickish flow that nonetheless differs considerably from the heavyweight romanticizing still the norm 30 years ago.

In short, these are performances, particularly of the “Paris” Symphonies, not to be missed by Haydn lovers. They remind us that Bernstein didn’t just give himself to the giants of Romanticism, or that he wore his heart continually on his sleeve. He found an outlet as well in this witty, learned, emotionally stringent music.

In regard to the Masses, recall that it was Bernstein who made them the property of the super-conductor, as distinct from the specialist, thereby bringing them to an unprecedentedly wide audience. The best of the performances remain hugely effective, in a ruggedly intense way that puts to shame recent, more scholarly, often underpowered editions.

The grandest and most theatrical, the “Mass in Time of War” and “Lord Nelson” Mass, are to be found in 47563 (2 CDs), with the New York Philharmonic and a bevy of soloists, crowned by Judith Blegen’s soaring soprano, and the burly, committed voices of the Norman Scribner and Westminster choirs. For good measure, Sony has included in the package the rollicking G-major Symphony, No. 88.

A gentler beauty, the “Theresia” Mass, utilizes the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus in a 1979 recording notable for refined execution and choral work (the New York heat moderated, even in the conductor’s effort, by a suggestion of British reserve) and attractive solo singing by Lucia Popp and Rosalind Elias.

The “Theresia” Mass is likely to be overlooked in a package otherwise devoted to heavyweight Beethoven: the celebrated, overheated, 1960 Bernstein-New York recording, with the Westminster Choir, of the “Missa Solemnis,” its exceptionally strong solo quartet headed by Eileen Farrell and the late Richard Lewis, and a raw, invigorating “Choral” Fantasy in which the battering-ram pianist is Rudolf Serkin (47522, 2 CDs).

One of Bernstein’s less memorable encounters with Haydn is the mighty oratorio, “The Creation,” which finds him fussing endlessly with tempos, some emerging snail-like, others too rushed for his soloists and chorus.

This two-disc set (47560) is, however, the only way of obtaining the so-called “Harmonie” (German for wind-band) Mass, a prime example of the inspired Bernstein-NYPO way with Haydn, and a rousingly vital--not to be confused with suave--contribution from the Westminster Choir.