Roughly half of this set is strongly recommendable—and even the half that isn't is still well worth hearing. Ferenc Fricsay was a pivotal figure in the rebuilding of German musical life after the war, primarily as conductor of the Berlin RIAS (Radio In the American Sector) Symphony Orchestra, which was founded in 1946, re-named the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra in 1956 and which is now known as the Deutsches Symphony Orchestra, Berlin. Fricsay's first international triumph was in 1947 when he took over from an indisposed Otto Klemperer for the world premiere of Gottfried von Einem's opera Dantons Tod. Other successes included the premieres of Frank Martin's Le vin herbe and Orff's Antigonae, as well as much-feted performances with the Berlin Philharmonic, DG's very first complete Verdi opera recording (Rigoletto) and the first concert to be broadcast in stereo on German radio (which included the Psalmus Hungaricus performance featured in this set). Further triumphs are far too numerous to catalogue in this context, save to mention that the last of them—the London premiere of Kodaly's Psalmus Hungaricus on December 7th, 1961—was also Fricsay's final concert. Shortly afterwards, the cancer that had already threatened his life on numerous occasions finally claimed him, and he died in Basle on February 20th, 1963, aged just 48.
Everything you need to know about Fricsay the interpreter is contained in the bonus disc that accompanies this set—not as a commentary or interview, but in the guise of an hour-long rehearsal, where this most fastidious of musicians guides the South German Radio Symphony Orchestra through a hugely involving re-creation of Smetana's ''Vltava''. Fricsay's comprehensive exegesis (in German) covers the river's entire course, from the two flutes that sing at its source (how he works to have them achieve a seamless exchange), to the singing main theme, the hunting horns (''I miss the sense of joy—not of the huntsmen, but of the hunting dogs''), the rumbustious Peasants' Wedding, Moonlight and the Rapids—all of it treated to vivid pictorial metaphor, patient and painstaking analysis and joyful interpretation. The disc ends with the fruits of the rehearsal, an inspired performance that rivals Fricsay's famous studio recording with the Berlin Philharmonic (8/88—nla).
As to the main body of ''Ferenc Fricsay: Portrait'', important works by Bartok and Kodaly—Fricsay's two most influential teachers—obviously take pride of place. The Bartok disc includes a vigorous German-language broadcast performance of the Cantata profana featuring distinctive vocal contributions from Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and an occasionally over-stretched Helmut Krebs. The Second Violin Concerto benefits from supple rhythms and useful transparency in the orchestral tuttis, but I suspect that some readers will find Tibor Varga's thin tone and over-insistent vibrato a trifle irksome, even though phrase articulation is clean and, taken as a whole, the interpretation has plenty to commend it. Best of all is a white-hot, tightly-sprung account of the Dance Suite, alertly played, with an unusually broad ''Commodo'' (track 8) leading to a hair-raising finale.
The Kodaly programme is crowned by a magnificent 1959 live performance of the Psalmus Hungaricus where (track 6—3'29'') Ernst Haefliger declaims the words ''Bitterer Tod strafe sie alle'' (''May bitter death strike them all down'') as if the betrayal were a personal experience. Fricsay adds his own vocal obbligato in the heat of the moment, while the St Hedwig's Cathedral Choir sing with the utmost conviction (again, in rhythmically unhelpful German). The Symphony was broadcast shortly after its premiere performance (also under Fricsay, 1961) and although hardly a masterpiece, surely deserves wider currency than it has so far received. True, the opening Allegro rather hangs fire, but the impressionistic Andante is couched in the style of Bartok's 'Night Music' (for example, the tensed clarinet and tremolo strings at 2'01''), while the finale is a breezy dance movement rather in the manner, say, of Balakirev. Fricsay's love for Kodaly's musical language is further illustrated in the racy Marosszek Dances, with their gipsy-style portamentos and rhapsodizing wind solos.
The Rite of Spring and Petrushka (1947 version) date from the early 1950s. Both are texturally bright and very well drilled, with The Rite's rugged fabric freshly scrubbed and Petrushka's neurotic Second and Third Tableaux sounding appropriately fretful. Chuckling woodwinds bring the Nursemaids to life (track 21), but I do wish that Fricsay hadn't opted for the cop-out concert ending. Movements are precisely played and vividly recorded, and it's indeed a great pity that a planned Oedipus Rex never materialized. The Stravinskian axis also extends to the twentieth-century German miscellany, especially in Werner Egk's engaging French Suite (which was dedicated to Fricsay) and the neo-classical bias of the two Einem works—with an extra smattering of Strauss in the appealing Ballade. Liebermann's Furioso (a favourite encore, apparently) sounds like movie car-chase music and Blacher's dazzling, occasionally jazzy and rather coarsely recorded Paganini Variations suggests a mini concerto for orchestra.
The Strauss CD opens with a live 1952 Don Juan which, vigorous and lean though it is, is no match for the superb Till Eulenspiegel that ends the disc: a BPO studio recording from 1950 and one of the most exciting recordings ever made of the work. The Duett-Concertino broadcast was relayed the day after the first Berlin performance (April 1953), and although typically musical, shows occasional signs of awkwardness. The Burleske, too, falls somewhere short of the front rank, although, again, the more lyrical passages come off best.
The most moving of Fricsay's Tchaikovsky recordings is a 1960 Pathetique with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra (Orfeo, 8/90), a well-engineered broadcast that was accidentally shorn of its opening notes but which included a devastatingly tragic account of the finale. The more famous 1953 studio recording featured in the present set is quite another matter, a feverish and excitable production, with a lightning-fast third movement that only just holds itself together. The surface is well and truly ruffled, but the depths remain disappointingly calm. Best to stick with the Orfeo disc (or at least invest in it for contrast), especially as Menuhin's heartfelt account of the Violin Concerto (a work that is otherwise unrepresented in the great violinist's discography) is not only heavily cut but also bears witness to some ungainly tone production and suspect intonation.
The Brahms disc is dominated by a boldly conceived, solidly structured and passionately played performance of the Second Symphony with the Vienna Philharmonic, taped at the 1961 Salzburg Festival. The accompanying Haydn Variations and Alto Rhapsody date from 1957 and reveal Fricsay both as a lyrical Brahmsian and an insightful accompanist to the superb Maureen Forrester, while the 1957-8 studio recording of Beethoven's Choral Symphony concludes with a particularly stalwart finale, beautifully sung by all concerned and refreshingly affirmative in spirit. The remaining movements are well considered but rather less memorable, although the opening Allegro unexpectedly recalls Furtwanglerian mists.
Fricsay's piously devotional accounts of major choral works (and of Verdi and Mozart in particular) make for edifying listening, and the 1951 Mozart Requiem included here is no exception, with its first-rate soloists (Grummer and Hotter being the most notable), a ''Recordare'' that is notably sensitive and a touchingly simple ''Lacrimosa''. A sturdy account of the Adagio and Fugue serves as an appropriately severe epilogue. And in total contrast to that, Rossini and Verdi overtures—sparkling, incisive, sometimes recklessly fast but always hugely enjoyable. I noted with much pleasure the way Fricsay pointed his woodwinds 6'00'' into the I vespri siciliani Overture, the sort of detail usually reserved exclusively for the best Toscanini recordings.
Summing up, the Kodaly disc is an out-and-out winner, with the Bartok (or at least the Dance Suite), the twentieth-century German miscellany, the Stravinsky coupling, the Brahms programme and the Smetana as representative of Fricsay at his best—although the last-named is only available to purchasers of the whole set. Documentation throughout is informative and well-written, production values are high (although it goes without saying that some recordings are better than others) and the booklet for the rehearsal includes a partial translation of Fricsay's analysis. Fans of quality vintage conducting should snap up this collection while they have the chance, and then hopefully DG will be encouraged to mine further into their own and Berlin Radio's archives for more recordings by this exceptional and much-missed master of the baton.'