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Tag: Sergiu Celibidache

February 21, 2012

Anton Bruckner’s Symphony no 7‏

this is what it’ll sound like, I believe, when you enter
the gates of heaven, should you actually watch this
video you’ll be forthwith, I’m sure, even transported
there, I always am

Anton Bruckner‘s Symphony no 7 is the high mass of
all concertos, this is where Bruckner, patriarch and
prophet, gives us his, our, musical description of
grace

Celibidache makes the occasion august, and utterly
transcendental

no need to genuflect, of course, only to partake and
enjoy

Richard

psst: I believe it was Herbert Blomstedt among
conductors who said that Bruckner for him was
proof of God

though I wouldn’t completely agree I think he is a
very strong incentive, but I’d needed something
much more intimate and personalized, for me it
took Beethoven

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December 11, 2011

Brahms Piano Concerto no 2 in B flat major, opus 83‏

though I’d no intention of presenting a piano concerto
quite yet I’d been trolling Celibidaches on the Internet,
after marvelling at his wondrous “Boléro”, and couldn’t
hold back this gem I found of his, Brahms’ Piano 
 
same venue, same Münchner Philharmoniker, same
starched ceremonial ruffles, I thought, same even age
of the conductor, to the very minute, it appeared, in 
his unchanged eye and perspective, wise, serene,
omnipotent, perhaps the very same concert as in the
illustrious Ravel, I said to myself, though later I couldn’t
especially recognize individual instrumentalists
 
Daniel Barenboim, who conducted earlier the speedy
“Boléro”, wears another hat here, he’s the pianist, but
in this incarnation he is transcendental, carried aloft,
I think, notably, by the Olympian Celibidache, who
cedes his fire and glory to the younger Barenboim
throughout, who supremely is up for the challenge,
a ready and rearing Apollo, taking on the treacherous
musical task, defying obstreperous planets, perilous
astrological constellations in nefarious conjunctions, 
stray or fleeting stars, to foster safely home to its
final hearth his solar chariot, in a towering sunset,
a finale of apocalyptic proportions, each purveyor
casting unutterable light, god and mere immortal, 
from his own particular perch, upon our beholden
world
  
Celibidache, as would Zeus, cedes serenely to his 
younger avatar his bow, his deserved adulation,
safe in his own unquestionable omnipotence
 
 
this concerto has four movements incidentally, greater
length always suggests more gravitas, more substance 
 
is it warranted
 
you be the judge 
 
 
Richard
 
psst: in another mythological context, note the hand of
         Celibidache resting on air, intermittently fluttering,
         at the beginning of the slowest movement, the
         andante, the third, the hand of God ministering, 
         according to Michelangelo, in the “Creation of 
         Adam”, should you not yet be convinced of the 
         maestro’s august and unequivocal stature
   
 
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December 7, 2011

Celibidache‏’s Ravel’s “Boléro”

Sergiu Celibidache is the granddaddy of conductors, 
a Methuselah, a patriarch, a high priest, a cardinal, 
a very ayatollah, Olympian, no less imposing on
Olympos than Zeus, god of everything, in his
majesty 
 
here he delivers the “Boléro” of Ravel, I think,
definitively, at a pace that would have made the
composer, I’m sure, exultant, proud, at an imposing
longer than 22 minutes, the most extended I’ve ever
heard, it is nevertheless the most imperious, mighty,
authoritative, a wall of adamant and ritualistic sound 
put in mesmerizing motion, indeed ignited, by the 
lascivious demands of the luxurious, undulating  
bolero
 
the slower pace seems to suggest a further distance,
an incidence, by the noteworthy by, of the expression
of spatial dimension through the manipulation of sound, 
fashioned precisely here by the measured increase in
volume throughout, becoming louder as it nears, settling
in your very face at its conclusion, like an apotheosis,
massive, unflinching, remarkable
 
 
it is not uninstructive to compare for metre the two
previous “Boléro”s I mentioned, the moderate Dudamel,
the galloping Barenboim, to gauge the impact of their
choice of tempo on your preference, the one you like is
the one you’ll want to return to, leaving the other two
in the evanescent dust, no fuss, no muss, just instinct 
 
it is also instructive then to wonder why, which’ll say
much more about who you are, you’ll be surprised to
note, who you still aspire to be, than anything you
might ever have imagined
 
 
Richard
  
psst: every advance in taste, quality, comfort, could
         only have taken place ever through comparison,
         the sum of two is greater always than its meager,
         even arid, parts
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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