Recording the Tchaikovsky Symphonies|Part Six

Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6 in B minor, op. 74 “Pathetique”

By this time, it was clear to all of us in the organization that we had two symphonies left to record. Symphonies 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 had been recorded (the Second and Third had not yet been released). The only two left were the “Pathetique” and “Manfred”, with the possibility of re-recording the Op. 45, “Capriccio Italien” as a filler for the recording of the Second Symphony. Once the Third Symphony was on tape and safely on its way to Colchester for editing, it was time to be for the powers that be to decide which of the works would be recorded next. The decision process this time around did not take much time, as the orchestra had a scheduled short tour to the Edinburgh Festival scheduled for August of 1986, and it was decided to make the “Pathetique” the main work on the concert program and record it just before leaving for Edinburgh. Accordingly, sessions were arranged for August 11 through the 13th of 1986.

Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 6

The Sixth Symphony is perhaps my favorite of all of the Tchaikovsky symphonies. This is in part because it is the very first of the symphonies that I came to know and love. My first exposure to the work came through listening to a recording owned by my older brother, who was a also a lover of classical music. This was an RCA Victor recording on LP, with Pierre Monteux conducting the Boston Symphony. The work utterly beguiled me, and I practically wore out the grooves listening to it. My brother evidently didn’t mind, as he told me it was his favorite, too!
That recording, by the way is still available on CD and on I-Tunes, and upon listening to it again, I was amazed at how good it was, and still is.
The Sixth was Tchaikovsky’s last symphony, and perhaps his most personal. He wrote his heart our in this work, and the fact that he died a few days after conducting the premiere is most poignant.
While consisting of the usual four movements, Tchaikovsky breaks away from the usual tradition of having a triumphant finale by making the fourth and final movement an “Adagio Lamentoso”, which essentially became his “requiem” or epitaph. The triumphant, outgoing movement he placed third, and even at this remove it is still disconcerting enough for audiences who, moved by its vigor and manic energy, applaud spontaneously, only to be a bit taken aback to realize that there is a final movement to be played.
I first played the work under Julius Hegyi with the Albany Symphony in 1977, and was amazed at his knowledge of the work. I played it again in Oslo during my trial period in December of 1982 under Jansons, and as well as I thought our Albany Symphony performances had gone, this was a whole new experience. Jansons learned his Tchaikovsky from his father and from his mentor, Yevgeny Mravinsky, whose performances of the Tchaikovsky symphonies are considered definitive.
The nuances he added to the music, while seeming strange to me at the time, came to make a lot of sense. He had a saying – “You don’t add sugar to honey”, and he went out of his way not to make the music sound syrupy and sappy. Having become a convert to his version of Tchaikovsky, I was very much looking forward to the recording.

Preparation…. First Attempt…Doubts

As I mentioned earlier, the orchestra was going to take the symphony on tour to Edinburgh for a performance at the Edinburgh Festival. We would rehearse for the tour just after returning from the orchestra’s annual six-week holiday, then record it just before going on tour. The orchestra usually recorded a work after having played it in concert in Oslo. However, we were not averse to new ways of doing things, so we agreed and the schedule was locked in.
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For timpani, I chose to use the three larger Hingers, with the 24 inch Light Metropolitan B for the top e in the first entries of the first movement. The intial tuning is A, e flat and e, and rather than pedal the e and e-flat for the recording, I had the e on the Light 24 inch, and the e-flat on the Hinger 25 inch.
Mallets were still a combination of Hingers – the aluminum shafted generals and medium hards and the Feldman blues.
The recording team was exactly the same as for the Third Symphony – Brian and Ralph Couzens and NRK engineer Dag Kristofferson.
All in all, it should have made for a straightforward recording experience. And yet, for some reason, whether it was the fact that we were coming off a six week vacation or the fact that Mariss noticed that there was some energy, some special frission missing, we felt that though the sessions wen t well enough technically, we’d be revisiting this work again in the not so distant future.

Re-recording

As it turned out, we were right. After recording “Manfred” in October (look for the next post), it was decided that the Couzens would return in November to ostensibly re-record some of the sections that Mariss felt could have been better.
With the same crew and the same setup, we wound up re-recording the whole symphony over the course of a couple of sessions. This time the orchestra (which played well enough in August and on tour), played with even more energy than they were capable of, and it was my belief then, and still is to this day that most of the present recording is taken from those sessions. I have no doubt that some of the best stretches from the August sessions found there way into the final result, but most of it is November 1986.

Reflections

I loved the way Mariss had me nuance the low F sharp pedal in the first movement instead of playing triple forte throughout the entire passage. He had me literally breathe that passage with the strings and crescendo and decrescendo with them, finally climaxing at the end of the passage with a huge fortissimo. For those who are curious, this is the section from Rehearsal letter P until just after Rehearsal letter R. I still play it that way, and most conductors with whom I have worked generally agreed that it is a most effective device.
The third movement is a tour de force for orchestra, and in concert, Mariss treated it that way, letting the orchestra play without conducting at certain points, yet keeping it from getting out of hand, and still having superabundance of energy. By the way, I double the tuba by adding an e the second, fourth, sixth and eight bar after Rehearsal G.
After all was said and done, I felt then and after hearing it several times, that this is perhaps the best of the performances, and that Mariss was right to re-visit it and insist that we re-record it. The critics apparently thought the performance was excellent, and that was good enough for me!