John Roos’ Blog

It happened while listening to Charles Dutoit’s Montreal Symphony recording of Bolero by Maurice Ravel. I have heard this music hundreds of times, and own dozens of recordings, yet always look forward to the listening experience. What, I wondered, made this music so unique? So appealing? There are many excellent recordings. But what makes a really outstanding recordings? And what made the difference between a good and great performance?

To answer these questions, I have been engaged in a mini-Bolero binge. Listening to recordings in my collection, and downloading some new ones. This is one of the few classical music compositions that really is well known to the general public. In fact, it is widely considered to be the most frequently performed music in all of classical music literature.

The special web site dedicated to Ravel (www.maurice-ravel.net ) reveals important insights into the background of this work. “Just before departing on his American Tour in 1928, Ravel received a commission from Ida Rubinstein for a ballet, to be called Fandango. His intention was to orchestrate some pieces from Iberia by Albéniz, but as he was beginning work on it in July, he discovered that the rights to the music were already assigned to the Spanish composer Enrique Arbós. Ravel was initially dismayed and at a loss how to fulfil his commission. However while continuing his holiday in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, he developed a Spanish-sounding theme.”

The re-named work “lasts approximately 15 minutes, and repeats each of the theme’s two parts 9 times in the same key, using different orchestrations to vary the texture and to create a gradual crescendo. (The pattern is AA BB repeated 4 times, and then a single repeat of AB, leading to the modulation which gives the piece its cataclysmic ending.)”

Over the years, this music has been played in many styles, with many interpretations. But Ravel provided clear directions for his own personal concept. He insisted “that the work should be played at a steady and unvarying tempo (as his own recording demonstrates).”

It has been conceived as a work of seduction (best demonstrated by its use in the movie “10”). However, Ravel seems to have conceived of the piece as “an outdoor scene in front of a factory whose machinery provides the inflexible rhythm; the factory workers would emerge to dance together, while a story of a bullfighter killed by a jealous rival was played out.” Nonetheless, the music itself makes possible multiple interpretations, clearly enhancing its appeal.

It is music that makes audiences rise to their feet. That causes even the most somnambulant listeners to pay attention. Although the work of a master of orchestration, its basic design is simple and easy to follow. Its melodies are memorable, even unforgettable.

This also is music of contrasts. These contrasts are central to its appeal. This is the music of a European classical master, yet it is tinged with American jazz. It is both seductive and calculating. Seasoned yet measured. It must be played tactfully, yet requires a kind of ecstatic abandon. It demands restraint and yet must be played without restraint. In moments it conveys ultimate relaxation and ease, yet rises to the depths of intensity.

Ravel played demands on the orchestra that require the utmost in virtuosity. As a trombonist, I have always been drawn to the famous trombone solo. Written in a jazz idiom, yet it must be played by a classical instrument, in the high range. It is a killer solo, in more ways than one, with many a soloist finding this the ticket to infamy, or exile.

As Ravel dictated, the tempo must be just right. But even the “right” tempo can sound and feel too slow, or too fast. It must feel natural. Not rushed but not dawdling either.

Yes, I enjoyed Dutoit’s Bolero. Yet, for my ears, it just lacked that extra level of virtuosity. That slightest degree of abandon. A little too “classical.” A little too much restraint. Not enough edge.

Of all the Bolero’s I listened to, perhaps I enjoyed most the recording Pierre Boulez made with the Berlin Philharmonic. Boulez is known for his obsession with clarity, with a kind of clinical precision. Yet here, as so often under his direction, the music is allowed to take its own course. To evolve effortlessly. To crescendo into its mammoth, overwhelming conclusion.

I have a fondness for Solti’s Chicago Symphony recording, and, listening to this performance against did not cause me to change my mind. I had hoped that the legendary volatility of this conductor-orchestra combination would sweep the board. They don’t achieve the overwhelming impact for which I hoped but it still is a performance of great energy. Great enjoyment.

The recording Barenboim made with this same orchestra is similar, with playing a little more refined than under Solti. This was a testament to the earlier years of Barenboim’s work with Chicago. I suspect that had they recorded this later in their partnership the performance would have had more intensity. More electricity. (You Tube has a video of a later performance by the combination, recorded in Carnegie Hall: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfjjacYsWx8.) A fine recording but a little short of the best.

Twice in recent weeks, I listened to Simon Rattle’s recording with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra (on a disk shared with Ravel’s Daphnis and Chloe.) After that first listen, I was so unhappy that I decided to eliminate the recording from my collection. Rattle’s tempo is among the slowest. It just seemed too slow. Too artificial. For example, a full two minutes longer than Haitink’s recording with the Concertgebouw for Philips. But, before discarding it, I listened again. My reaction was more positive.

The slowest of the recordings I sampled was that of Stanislaw Strowaczewski with the Minnesota Orchestra (17:20). At moments, this seemed ponderous, impossibly slow, almost static. But in some moments this approach made great sense, allowing the players to relax. To throw themselves into the music. To relish each note. In fact, the slower pace enables more personality to emerge. In particular, the saxophone soloist adds some extra sassy seduction. Knowing that the climax is coming, it still seemed to take forever to arrive. Yet, arrive in triumph it did. An approach I enjoyed as an interesting contrast.

Haitink’s recording (at 14:48) is quite a contrast to that of Strowacewski. While the tempos are brisk, Haitink allows the music to flows naturally. The music doesn’t feel rushed. The performance is filled with colorful touches, as Ravel the orchestrator emerges the star, not the conductor or his virtuoso orchestra. In the final minutes, Haitink really allows the powerful percussion to generate incredible energy, as the music buils to its triumphal climax. Here was a great ending. And a great recording.

Herbert van Karajan recorded Bolero several times. I sampled his EMI recording with the Berlin Philharmonic. It, too, is relatively slow (16:06). In Richard Osborne’s book, Herbert von Karajan: A Life in Music, flute player Gareth Morris describes playing Bolero under Karajan’s direction, in particular focuses on his stillness:

“He hardly moved. As you know. Bolero works by a simple additive process. With the eyes closes and the hands barely chest high, Karajan gave us the beat with a single finger, and even that barely moved. With each new addition, the hands moved fractionally higher. It was a form of hypnoses, I suppose. What we sensed was the power of the music within him, and that was bound to affect us. So with each slight lift of the hands the tension became even greater. By the end of the piece, the hands were above his head. And the power of that final climax was absolutely colossal.’”

One could say the same thing about this recording. Listening, one even can almost visualize Karajan’s effortless, hypnotic direction. Perhaps even more than Haitink, Karajan unleashes the percussion, driving this to the kind of colossal conclusion Morris described.

Ozawa’s recording with the Boston Symphony is slightly slower than Haitink’s, but still feels rushed. With playing at a very high level, I could be content if this were the only recording in my collection. But, after listening to so many other performances, it is hard to escape the conclusion that Ozawa could have done more, and brought this in at an even higher level.

Jesus Lopez-Cobos’s recording with the Cincinnati Symphony had marvelous touches. An excellent recording by a virtouoso ensemble.

In their recording, neither Loren Maazel nor the Vienna Philharmonic seem particularly comfortable, as if they are trying very hard to be at ease. Good, but not great.

Is there a definitive recommendation? Boulez, perhaps. Haitink. Karajan. Solti, in its own way. But best to keep listening, to these and other recordings. To let Ravel’s magic seduce our ears, and bring us the best of classical joy.

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