Hungarian Pictures

As its title suggests, Hungarian Pictures is an exhibition of authentic recordings made in the country itself by preeminent musicians. The majority date from the early 1960s, soon after the Hungarian Revolution yet a long time before its emergence from behind the Iron Curtain. The recordings are given welcome, much-needed remasters from Chris Bernauer, who balances the many orchestral shades of this rich, expressive music. Eloquence have carefully curated a selection drawn from all corners of the Universal archives, offering the chance for a wholly satisfying immersion in the country’s cultural heritage.

Many of the recordings fall under the batons of János Ferencsik and György Lehel, key figures of Hungarian orchestral music making after the Second World War. Ferencsik assisted Arturo Toscanini at Bayreuth in the early 1930s, then studied with Bruno Walter and Wilhelm Furtwängler before taking up the chief conductor position at the Hungarian National Philharmonic Orchestra, a tenure lasting from 1952 until his death in 1984. Lehel, meanwhile, cut his teeth as a busy radio conductor in the Hungarian capital, moving through the ranks to take become chief conductor at the Budapest Radio Orchestra in 1962.

The music of Franz Liszt occupies more than half of the collection. Still all too often misunderstood, Liszt is presented here as a dramatic scene-setter and emotive patriot, and with frequent reminders of his genius as a formal innovator, capable of writing music for large forces with striking originality.

The two unofficial symphonies are a case in point, neither of them regular works but both benefiting from fine performances. A Faust Symphony receives a fervent account under the baton of Ferencsik, the virile brass and wind of the Budapest State Orchestra complemented by urgent strings. They reveal the Mahlerian traits in the edgy, faster music, and while tense, fugal episodes fire off at tangents in the ‘Faust’ movement, ‘Gretchen’ enjoys affectionate woodwind solos and chamber-like reflections. The real spine-tingling moments, however, are saved until the Final Chorus, where a magical entry from the male voices of the Budapest Chorus rises to a heightened conclusion.

The Dante Symphony is a tougher interpretative nut to crack, on account of its lopsided form, but it fares similarly well. Ferencsik amplifies the drama and keeps the tension simmering, even in the extended slow episodes. The expansive first movement is tautly argued when the Inferno is raging, while the elegance of the Magnificat encourages beautifully restrained tones from soprano soloist Margit László and the Budapest Radio Chorus.

Ferencsik also takes charge of two large-scale sacred works. The Graner Messe was composed by Liszt in 1855 for the inauguration of the Cathedral of Gran, where he conducted in the presence of the Emperor. It is a high voltage setting, capturing in equal parts the ceremony and reverence expected for such an occasion. The Kyrie, with heightened roles for tenor (Alfonz Bartha) and soprano (Mária Werner), reaches a blazing finish, while the red-blooded Gloria is similarly powerful. Bartha in particular impresses with his distinctive, ringing tone.

Similarly the Hungarian Coronation Mass, completed for the induction of Francis Joseph I of Austria as King of Hungary in 1867, has lusty singing throughout. The four passionate vocal soloists are well matched, though tenor József Simándy stands out as the Agnus Dei begins with a flourish. The unison Credo is especially moving, while Ferencsik manages the build-up of the Benedictus with formidable power.

On a still larger scale is a rarity, Die Legende von der Heiligen Elisabeth. This 1855 oratorio is in six scenes, each responding to a fresco by Moritz von Schwind depicting key events in the life of St. Elisabeth, daughter of the Hungarian King András II. This recording, made with large forces under Siegfried Heinrich for Koch International in 1983, is commendably balanced, but is compromised on account of the work itself, which flickers frequently but rarely catches fire. There are however some beautiful, isolated moments, particularly from the contribution of Elisabeth herself, soprano Maria Szechowska, in Part 2. Here, in Liszt’s strongest music, the solemn ‘Chorus of the poor’ and Elisabeth’s burial are affecting, a solemn intonation from bass István Berczelly in the latter paving the way for an uplifting conclusion from the choir.

Liszt’s symphonic poems, shared between Ferencsik and Lehel, are much more satisfying. Ferencsik oversees a vibrant Hungaria which powers to its climax, the orchestral playing a little ragged but never short on feeling. Orpheus is ideally paced, while the Mephisto Waltz No. 1 has terrific drive. Under Lehel, Les Préludes is proudly delivered, a suitably ceremonial outing, while the Rhapsodie Espagnole is ebullient and winsome.

Ferencsik is joined by Sviatoslav Richter for a thrilling live account of the Fantasy on Hungarian Folk-Tunes from 1958. The pitch of the recording wobbles a little but it is a small price to pay given Richter’s musicality and virtuosity, the melodic lines proudly held. Ferencsik teases out Liszt’s imaginative orchestration, as indeed does Gerd Albrecht in the rarely heard Cantico del sol di Francesco d'Assisi. This scena for baritone, choir and orchestra is a valuable addition from the Koch stable.

The music of Béla Bartók is strongly represented on Hungarian Pictures, providing a complement to Liszt, whose value and influence he recognised while offering a very different interpretation of Hungary’s folksong heritage. Bartók often performed Liszt works when on tour as a soloist, and his ancestor’s influence is keenly felt in the two piano concertos here. Kornel Zempleni, a pupil of Dohnányi, is soloist in a fast yet atmospheric interpretation of the raw first concerto, his solos in the last movement especially showing the strongest understanding of Bartók’s personal and primal languages. The Piano Concerto No. 2 features terrific virtuosity from Tibor Wehner in its outer movements and a spellbinding second movement of night music. Here Ferencsik brings Bartók’s otherworldly sounds to vivid life, the muted strings chilling indeed.

Ferencsik also takes on The Miraculous Mandarin, the full ballet benefiting greatly from the restoration of its glorious colours through remastering. There are memorable clarinet characterisations of the Mandarin, whose scene in the doorway is brilliantly characterised through held brass notes and pizzicato strings.

Nor does the intensity let up for a white-hot account of the Cantata Profana under Lehel. The Choir of Hungarian Radio and Television throw themselves into the angular vocal lines, with heroic contributions from the soloists, tenor Jósef Réti and bass András Faragó. Lehel also presides over an enjoyably coarse Village Scenes and an expertly paced Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta. Here he builds the tension through the first movement as one big wave, heading inexorably for its climactic point. There is a genuine, cold shiver whenever the celeste is in the foreground, and while the speeds are on the slow side in the fast movements the phrasing is thoroughly convincing. Meanwhile a Dance Suite of latent expectancy explodes into life with wholly idiomatic accents and rhythms.

An early recording of Serly’s completion of the Bartók Viola Concerto is notable for the brilliant contribution of Pál Lukács, in a 1961 recording notable for its sympathetic reverberation, even in the pacy finale. Of equal interest is an intriguing outlier, the 1950 concerto from Gyula Dávid, a Hungarian violist who studied with Kódaly. This most enjoyable work has a notable slow movement, its modal language shifting towards Martinů or even Vaughan Williams, with brooding lower strings and extended solo passages. The bracing finale features a commanding cadenza, expertly handled by Lukács.

Dohnányi is represented by a thoroughly enjoyable disc conducted by Lehel, with Kornel Zempleni the excellent soloist in Variations on a Nursery Song, youthful at every turn. Lehel’s account of Ruralia Hungarica, made in Budapest in 1961, shows the composer at his colourful best, the orchestra effectively throwing open the studio windows to bask in the countryside.

Kodály fares well, too, with the Peacock Variations a riot of colour under the direction of Lehel, who secures soulful lower strings and memorable flute solos from the Hungarian Radio Orchestra. The brass tuning goes awry on occasion but again that is a small hindrance given the strength of feeling, particularly in the coda. Kodály himself makes a rare appearance conducting the Budapest Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra in two lesser-known pieces. Appropriately recorded in July 1960, the charming Summer Evening proves suitably humid, also surprisingly close to Vaughan Williams in its harmonic language. The flourishes of the Concerto for Orchestra play to the strengths of the orchestra, with instinctive and authentic phrasing.

Also worth mentioning is the strident account of Haydn’s Nelson Mass with which the collection begins, the Budapest Chorus and Hungarian National Philharmonic Orchestra under the direction of Ferencsik in June 1966. Here is an interpretation demanding the listener sit up and take notice. The choir throw themselves wholeheartedly into a jubilant Gloria, with a sonorous ‘Qui tollis peccata mundi’ from bass soloist Victor von Halem, and a notably dramatic Sanctus, initially hushed before cutting loose.

Finally, as a considerable bonus, we are given a phonographic record of the 1961 Bartók-Liszt competition in Budapest, recounted in Peter Quantrill’s absorbing booklet notes. It begins with the drama of Liszt’s Piano Sonata in B minor, where joint winner Gábor Gabos strives for maximum impact. The original recording suffers from an occasional wavering of pitch and fitful wrong notes as Gabos pushes himself, so while not an account for the purist it does nonetheless grab the attention. As does a heroic account of ‘Mazeppa’, fourth of Liszt’s twelve Transcendental Studies, from the competition’s other joint winner, 26-year-old David Wilde. Wrapping up the highlights are a pair of movements from Bartók’s descriptive Out of Doors suite, Dino Ciani throwing down the final gauntlet with a riotous ‘Chase’ scene.

Here, then, is a set delivering handsomely on the promise of its wonderful cover art, Lajos Deák Ebner’s image of ‘Harvesters Returning Home’. In an ideal scene to accompany your listening, Deák reflects the colour, personality and authenticity of the music, restored to a sonic glory the conductors could only have dreamed of at the time. Hungarian Pictures, safe to say, rewards repeated visits, revealing more colour and shade with every encounter.