In the previous two parts we saw Rodziński as an analytical interpreter of the score and as a theater man who transformed orchestral works into musical drama. In this third and final part we focus on his role as an accompanist to soloists, on the late peaks with Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich, on the technical care of the box and we formulate a final judgment after listening to this box.
The partner: soloists and dialogue
One of the greatest surprises of this complete Westminster box is perhaps the way Rodziński reveals himself as an accompanist – a word that is actually too limited, because in virtually all concertante works there is no relationship between soloist and orchestra, but a real musical dialogue. It is precisely in these recordings that we see how attentively Rodziński listens to soloists: he tries not to bend their musical personality to his will, but creates the space in which they can fully express themselves. At the same time, the orchestra is never reduced to a colorless background: when the score calls for it, he lets the orchestra blossom broadly, and when the soloist takes the musical word, he naturally draws back the sound.
We find the absolute peak on cd 2, with Erica Morini in the violin concertos of Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) and Pyotr Tchaikovsky (1840-1893). Morini's playing possesses a rare combination of virtuosity, elegance and inner concentration – her technique never stands on its own, every phrase seems to emerge from the music itself, and Rodziński senses that perfectly. In the Brahms concerto, the orchestral introduction sounds broad and warm, but never heavy or excessively romantic, and when Morini makes her entrance, there is no struggle between soloist and orchestra but a natural conversation. Especially the slow movement counts among the most beautiful moments of the entire box: the oboe introduction receives an almost human warmth, after which Morini takes over the melody with a lyricism that still sounds impressive, while Rodziński doesn't just accompany but helps shape the musical breathing of the work. The Tchaikovsky violin concerto on the same cd also reaches that level: Morini avoids any form of superficial virtuosity and seeks primarily the lyrical core of the music, while Rodziński offers a rich orchestral accompaniment in which details remain audible without ever overshadowing the soloist. Brahms and Tchaikovsky are two completely different worlds, but are approached here with the same combination of refinement and intensity. The attached rehearsal fragment is telling: we hear how Rodziński guides the orchestra in its accompaniment of the soloist and explains why a phrase must sound exactly like that, but equally how much humor is involved – there is genuine laughter. Another image that has little to do with the authoritarian man from the stories.
We hear these same qualities on cd 3, with Antonio Janigro in Schelomo by Ernest Bloch (1880-1959), Kol Nidrei and the Canzone for cello and orchestra by Max Bruch (1838-1920), the latter work a small discovery: a gem that rarely appears on concert programs, but here immediately convinces by its lyrical beauty. Janigro does not choose a heavy romantic approach, but plays with a rather modern clarity and attention to structure, which aligns closely with Rodziński's own aesthetics – expressive, but never sentimental. In the second part of that same cd we meet Paul Badura-Skoda as soloist in Franck's Symphonic Variations and the rarely performed Piano Concerto by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908). The latter is a pleasant surprise in which the colorful orchestral palette, the woodwinds and the flute solos all get full space without the piano ever being drowned out.
On cd 5 we hear Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849) with Badura-Skoda, and here too the natural collaboration between pianist and conductor stands out: Badura-Skoda does not choose a heavy romantic Chopin, but rather a refined, elegant interpretation in which subtle delays and pauses determine the musical line, and Rodziński not only follows – he listens constantly. The warm sound of the Vienna orchestra gives these concertos a special color – Chopin takes on a different dimension here than in many modern performances, less focused on outward virtuosity, more on style and musical refinement. Jörg Demus too finds an ideal partner in Rodziński on cd 15, in the Piano Concerto and two lesser-known works for piano and orchestra by Robert Schumann (1810-1856). Demus plays without exaggerated romantic gestures, refined and controlled, with much attention to the architecture of the music, and Rodziński responds to that perfectly: when the orchestra takes an active role, he lets the different sections speak clearly, with particularly beautiful moments for the woodwinds, but as soon as the piano takes the musical word, he discreetly draws back the orchestral sound.
The late peaks: Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich
Tchaikovsky is the composer who perhaps most clearly reveals the scope of Rodziński's artistry. Symphonies nos. 4, 5 and 6 (CDs 21-23) rank not only among the strongest moments of these Westminster recordings, but also form a summary of everything that makes this box so special. His Tchaikovsky is intense, but never exaggerated – Rodziński trusts that the music itself possesses sufficient dramatic power and refuses to artificially weigh it down. In this he stands close to the tradition of conductors such as Yevgeny Mravinsky, not because he copies his style, but because both proceed from the conviction that the tragedy is already in the notes.
The Fourth Symphony impresses with its enormous inner tension: the first movement possesses an almost feverish energy, but Rodziński never loses sight of the architecture, and the long silence just before the end thereby gains a special power, because the tension does not arise from effect but from anticipation. The Fifth begins remarkably restrained – the famous clarinet melody does not sound like a heavy fateful symbol, but as a moment of doubt and searching – and from that restraint Rodziński slowly builds the symphony toward a finale in which triumph and uncertainty continually exist side by side. But perhaps the Sixth Symphony, the Pathétique, is even more impressive: in scarcely forty-five minutes the complete drama of the work unfolds. The final measures thereby do not sound like a theatrical death scene, but as the slow fading away of a life.
A special place in this edition is given to the Fifth Symphony (CD 16) by Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975). Rodziński, together with Leopold Stokowski, was among the first Western conductors to take this composer seriously, at a time when Shostakovich did not yet occupy the central place in the repertoire outside the Soviet Union that he holds today, and from a historical perspective alone this recording is therefore remarkable. But it also remains musically fascinating: from the opening measures, the enormous commitment is striking, with tempi that remain remarkably high even today, without the score ever losing in clarity. The scherzo possesses a delightfully biting sharpness, the slow movement is performed with great seriousness, deeply felt but without sentimental exaggeration. Yet it is especially the finale that raises interesting questions: whereas later conductors such as Kurt Sanderling and Kurt Masur emphasize the ambiguity of the conclusion more strongly – a victory that also has something tragic and forced about it – Rodziński opts for a more direct, impulsive approach, whereby this finale perhaps lacks something of the wry undertone that later generations have revealed more strongly. The recording thus shows a conductor who defended this music with rare conviction, at a time when courage and vision were still required for that.
Sound and technical care
Technically, this edition is exceptionally well cared for. The mono and early stereo recordings have been remastered with great care and retain a natural transparency that suits Rodziński's manner of music-making excellently. Despite their age of approximately seventy years, these recordings rarely sound dated, and especially in complex orchestral passages it is striking how well the different instrumental groups have been preserved: the clarity of the restoration makes the relationships within the orchestra excellently audible. The added rehearsal fragments form an important added value: not a historical curiosity, but each time a window onto how he actually worked – critical, precise, and surprisingly often with humor.
Conclusion
Twenty-five CDs form an impressive amount of music, and of course not every recording reaches the same level – the Straussiana (CD 17) remains the most striking exception in this regard. But the great value of this box lies not only in the individual highlights, but especially in the overall picture that emerges. Whoever listens to these recordings and lets the stories surrounding Rodziński fade into the background for a moment will discover a conductor in whom precision and expression go hand in hand, where analysis never displaces spontaneity, and where a strong musical discipline ultimately always serves the music.
What comes to the fore across twenty-five CDs, then, is not the caricature of the impossible tyrant, but the memory of a musician who made orchestras sound for whom every note mattered.
