C0993. GÜNTHER RAMIN Cond. Gewandhausorchester, Leipzig, w.Erika Rokyta, Lore Fischer, Heinz Marten & Josef Greindl: Magnificat in D; OTTO KLEMPERER Cond. Bayerischen Rundfunks S.O.: Orchestral Suite #3 in D(both Bach). (E.U.) Archipel 0518, Live Performances, 1957 / 24 Nov., 1944, resp. - 4035122405187
“Günther Ramin is both a musical and historical legend in Germany today. His tenure as Cantor of Bach's ‘old church’, St Thomas' Leipzig, from 1940 to 1956, spanned one of the most difficult periods in Germany's recent history, to which Ramin responded with musicianship, enthusiasm, conviction, loyalty and persistence.
With the advent of mass transportation in the early 1920s, Leipzig began to find itself sharing its choir with an ever-widening circle of European musical centres, providing a new challenge for the then Cantor and Ramin's teacher, Karl Straube. Following extensive choral conducting experience during the 1920s and 30s, in addition to being Organist at St Thomas' since 1918, Ramin was appointed Cantor on 1 January, 1940. The choir managed to survive the war, and in 1945 began, like the rest of war-torn Europe, to rebuild. In 1948 the choir made its first trip abroad, being invited to an international youth-choir gathering in Bern and other engagements throughout Switzerland. A distinguishing feature of Ramin's interpretations is the sharpness and clarity of the boys' voices. Ramin's practice of rehearsing each part separately ensures that the four parts, S A T and B, are all equally and clearly audible, each section of the choir infused with an awareness of its own individual contribution and value, giving a depth of dimension to the sound. Another outstanding feature is the choir's diction - Ramin always insisted that every single word must be clearly audible and distinguishable. In stressing the texts themselves and the clarity of enunciation, Ramin was reflecting Bach's own view. Ramin (like his pupil Karl Richter), brings a particularly strong spiritual insight to his interpretations, stressing the text and bringing out significant phrases. Indeed without such spiritual insight Bach's music becomes empty and meaningless.
Ramin is remembered for his loyalty and persistence, his loyalty in remaining with his Leipzig choir after the division of Germany in 1946, despite numerous tempting offers from the West, and his persistence in keeping the choir alive, visible and audible through two dictatorships, Nazi and Socialist, fundamentally different ideologically yet identically antagonistic towards religion. In 1945 most of Germany was in total ruins. From the war's end until 1950, both Germanys were struggling to rebuild. Then as the 50s progressed, the weight of oppression and economic stagnation settled over East Germany in a cloud of depression; music was the people's lifeline to sanity and they clung to it desperately. It was against this background that East Germans tuned in at 11.30 on Sunday mornings to the hear boys and men of Ramin's Thomanerchor who dared to sing Lutheran cantatas and somehow managed to get away with it. These broadcasts were authorized and recorded by the SRK (Staatliches Rundfunk Komitee of the DDR) between 1947 and 1956. Ramin managed to convince his political ‘masters’ that the Thomanerchor was a major potential foreign currency earner, perhaps the only way to win some small support from the political regime. But political support was provided only on strictly limited conditions. The choir was rehearsed during the week without orchestra, to be joined by the Stadt- und Gewandhaus-Orchester and soloists for the Divine Service on Sundays. This served as the only full ‘rehearsal’ for the recorded performance which followed immediately. The performances were taped at 30 inches-per-second (giving a significant improvement in quality over the normal professional speed of 15ips) and the tapes were then taken directly to the studio for broadcasting. The ‘privilege’ of re-takes and editing was not permitted by the SRK; each cantata was, as one old Thomaner remembers, ‘an all-or-nothing’ performance.... and the world would be listening with high expectations. This sense of pressure and importance may help to explain why many of the performances could only be called electrifying….these performances must surely have been motivated by the prevailing political and social conditions. Many who lived through and remember life in the DDR look back on Ramin's Sunday broadcasts as a life-saver which helped them to survive spiritually. Never before have words and music, politics, poverty and oppression been so closely inter-linked.”
- Michael Meacock, INTERNATIONAL CLASSICAL RECORD COLLECTOR, Summer, 1999
“Otto Klemperer, one of the century's great masters of the German musical repertory, in a life that spanned the waning days of 19th-century Romanticism and the most severe of 20th-century atonalities, had two distinct careers in music.
In his first career in Germany, before the Nazis came to power in 1933, he was one of the best-known and most vigorous interpreters of his generation, a gaunt giant of a man who presided over his orchestras like a soaring eagle. Then there came a period of exile, illness and severe mental strain.
In the middle 1950s, in the seventh decade of his life, he again began to make heralded appearances, being hailed as Arturo Toscanini's heir as the world's leading conductor of the German Romantics. Through a fierce effort of will, the old man, his aquiline face twisted into a mask, his massive stature bowed, had found a new place at the top. In his last years, Mr. Klemperer, at the head of his Philharmonia Orchestra, was known as a rock of integrity and moral authority in his conducting. His measured tempos and inspired literalness, his iron insistence on correct performance, brought new meanings to his readings of Beethoven, Mahler and others. Mr. Klemperer's conducting was marked by a strict observance of the text. He was never interested in obvious or flashy effects, and was always in complete command of the orchestra. He had a wonderful sense of orchestral balance, and tried with all his power to communicate the central essence of the music. His interpretations could be austere, but they were never dull. They had an uncompromising kind of musical honesty unparalleled in his generation.
He was regarded by the Nazis as a leading exponent of ‘culture-bolshevism’ because of his dedication to new music and contemporary staging techniques in the opera. In 1933, only a few years after he had received the Goethe Medal from President Hindenburg for his contributions to ‘the advancement of German culture’, he was discharged from his post at the State Opera in Berlin. Subsequently, all his property was confiscated and a warrant was issued for his arrest.
The conductor's first appearance in New York was on 15 Jan., 1926, when he was guest conductor of the New York Symphony Orchestra for two months. In his time here he introduced Mahler's Ninth Symphony and Leos Janacek's ‘Sinfonietta’. Mr. Klemperer's tenure at the Kroll Opera, which ended in 1931, was the high point of his career until then. Although he paid close attention to the classics, he lost no opportunity to perform the new work of composers like Stravinsky, Hindemith and Schönberg.
In 1939, Mr. Klemperer underwent an operation for a brain tumor, which left him partly paralyzed on his right side. His appearances in the months after were painful and unsuccessful. In 1941, after he left a mental sanitorium in Rye, N.Y., the police there sent out an alarm for him, describing him as ‘dangerous and insane’. Mr. Klemperer was found two days later in Morristown, N.J., and appeared composed. A doctor who examined him said he was ‘temperamental and unstrung’ but not dangerous, and he was released. The conductor's subsequent appearances were few and often involved minor musical organizations. In 1946, he left the United States for Budapest, where he was appointed musical director of the opera. With the help of recordings, his career again appeared on the ascendant, but in 1951, while arriving for an appearance in Montréal, he fell while getting off the plane and broke his hip. Until 1955, when he found he could stand again, his conducting was done from a wheel chair.
Mr. Klemperer was a world-famous conductor when he returned to the United States in 1934, an exile. He led orchestras in New York, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and was director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra for six years.
Mr. Klemperer's rebirth as a world-renowned artist came with the Philharmonia Orchestra in London, which he led for 14 years and became conductor of for life. With the introduction of long-playing records, he came into great demand as a conductor, specializing in the German classics. The English public, and the critics, regarded him with reverence. In 1967, at a memorable performance of Mahler's Ninth Symphony, the audience stood in silence as he made his way to the podium. The only other conductor it had stood for was Toscanini, when he made his last appearance in Britain after World War II. In his last days, Otto Klemperer on the podium was a sight that commanded awe, pity and terror. All but crippled, this massive man would slowly make his way to the front, seat himself, look at the orchestra with the permanent scowl that a brain operation had left him, and commence beating time with huge fists. As he looked, so he conducted. He was not a man to go in for frills, or for any kind of superficial effect. His tempi always tended to be slow, and toward the end they seemed to crawl. Yet such was his authority that he could hold the music together, and audiences responded with almost a kind of religious communion. Oblivious to everything but the shape of a phrase and the construction of a piece of music, Klemperer throughout his life represented the German school of musicmaking at its most monolithic and severe.
He was the last surviving representative of that school. It was, in his case, a school that in his youth was represented by Gustav Mahler, Karl Muck and Richard Strauss, and it extended through such conductors as Felix Weingartner, Leo Blech, Bruno Walter and Wilhelm Furtwängler. All of these conductors represented a tradition that had its roots in the 19th century, a tradition of high seriousness tinged with a metaphysical approach towards music; a tradition of making music as honestly, as scrupulously, and as unostentatiously as possible.
The great Mahler himself was so impressed by the work of the young Klemperer that he recommended him as conductor of the German Theater in Prague in 1907. Klemperer followed the normal routine of young German conductors, advancing from opera house to opera house. Where he differed from many German conductors of the day was in his interest in contemporary music. Those who remember the recent Klemperer, the exponent of Beethoven, Brahms and Mahler, forget that from 1927 to 1931 he made the Kroll Opera in Berlin a center of avant-garde activity. He introduced or revived major works by Schönberg, Janacek, Hindemith, Stravinsky and Krenek. In addition to his operatic duties, he conducted many concerts of symphonic music at which he also introduced major works of the 20th century. Later, he was content to specialize in the music of Bach through Mahler and Bruckner. Fortunately he has left a large series of recordings that attest to his monumental approach. Listening to his Beethoven and Brahms series, any music lover immediately finds himself in a rarefied world of sound. Few conductors have had an equivalent ability to bring out the sheer, unvarnished power of the music. Where Toscanini had that incredible linear drive and objectivity, where Furtwängler represented an opposite pole of tempo fluctuation, Klemperer was broad, direct and massive, yet possessed of a musical sensitivity that could illuminate detail as well as the whole.
Many stories are told about him. This tremendous man scared orchestral players. He expected a supreme effort from them, and he had the physical authority to exact instant obedience. Seldom did he pass out compliments. When he did, it was a red-letter day for the players. One story about him has him saying ‘Good!’ to a player who had turned an especially felicitous phrase. The orchestra, astounded, broke into applause. Klemperer never had complimented anybody previously. ‘It was not that good’, Klemperer then growled.”
- Paul L. Montgomery, THE NEW YORK TIMES, 8 July, 1973