Building a Collection #86: Bartók's Concerto for Orchestra

With recommended recordings

Building a Collection #86

Concerto for Orchestra, Sz. 116, BB 123

By Béla Bartók

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“Folk melodies are the embodiment of an artistic perfection of the highest order; in fact, they are models of the way in which a musical idea can be expressed with utmost perfection in terms of brevity of form and simplicity of means.”

-Béla Bartók

We are progressing through the list of the 250 greatest classical works of all-time in an effort to learn more about these pieces of music, to better understand the composers and their works, and to come away with some recommendations on which listening experiences in terms of recordings will help us best appreciate the music. I want to thank all of you again for joining me on this journey!

At #86 on the list is the Concerto for Orchestra by Hungarian composer Béla Bartók. His Concerto for Orchestra is a five-movement orchestral work that is perhaps Bartók’s most popular and well-known work. The piece was completed in 1943, and was premiered in 1944 by the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Serge Koussevitzky. The work has the contradictory title Concerto for Orchestra, but this is in contrast to a solo instrument with orchestral accompaniment. Bartók said he used the term “concerto” rather than “symphony” because of the way each section of instruments is treated in a soloistic and virtuosic way.

Béla Bartók (1881 - 1945)

Hungarian composer, pianist, and ethnomusicologist Béla Bartók is considered one of the most important composers of the 20th century, and along with Franz Liszt is at the top of the greatest Hungarian composers ever known. He was born in the Banatian town of Nagyszentmiklós in the Kingdom of Hungary (present day Romania), and his parents considered themselves to be Hungarian. The family had some heritage of lower nobility, and also had some German, Polish, and Slovak background.

Béla’s musical aptitude came to light quite early, as his mother remembered he could identify even complicated rhythms before he could speak. By the age of four, Béla could play at least 40 pieces on the piano His mother began to teach him, and by the age of four, Béla could play at least 40 pieces on the piano. When his father died when he was only seven, his mother moved the family to Nagyszőlős (in present day Ukraine), and then to Pressburg (what is modern day Bratislava, Slovakia). At the age of 11 the young man gave his first public recital in Nagyszőlős, which was very well received, and he even included his own early short composition called The Course of the Danube. Shortly thereafter, he began formal lessons with Erkel László, a man whose main claim to fame was that he taught Bartók.

The years 1899-1903 were formative for the young Bartók, as he studied piano and composition at the Royal Academy of Music in Budapest, but perhaps more importantly met fellow student Zoltán Kodály. The two would become fast friends, and they remained friends for life. Kodály would come to have a large influence on Bartók, as would his opportunity to meet Richard Strauss in 1902 after the premiere of the latter’s Also sprach Zarathustra. Bartók’s first major composition came in 1903 with his symphonic poem Kossuth, which honored the hero of the 1848 Hungarian revolution.

But in 1904 while on holiday, Bartók overheard a nanny singing folk songs to children in her care. The experience would have a profound impact on the young composer and thus began a lifelong devotion to folk music. From that point on, many of Bartók’s works would borrow from folk music themes and influences. His String Quartet no. 1 was the first major piece to use folk music elements, and many of his shorter piano pieces were even more obviously influenced. When Kodály brought back some of Debussy’s music from a trip to Paris, Bartók again used many of the ideas he found there as inspiration. As fortune would have it, he soon found a position teaching piano at the Liszt Academy of Music in Budapest, which freed him up a bit to also do some composing rather than having to make a living performing. Remarkably during his time there he would teach such future figures as Fritz Reiner, Georg Solti, and György Sándor.

In 1908, with Kodály in tow, Bartók began to travel the rural areas of the country collecting tunes and stories from the local Magyar peasants in an effort to document the rich folk music tradition. The “Magyar” melodies were formerly known as gypsy music, and were somewhat looked down upon. But that was changing, as there was a renewed interest in these authentic songs, and Liszt was an advocate of bringing this music to a greater public. Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies (which had Romani roots) for piano are a perfect example of how wonderful some of the music could be, and how it could be adapted for solo instruments or orchestra. This popularized these folk songs even more, and of course then we have these classical composers who put a more formalized structure on the tunes. This coincided with a greater interest in cultural studies and nationalism more generally in Europe and around the world.

Bartók and Kodály perhaps unwittingly became “ethnomusicologists” in studying the ethnic and cultural aspects of the historical roots of music. For his part Bartók also began using some of the music he found in his own piano pieces, sometimes even quoting music exactly. In his 80 plus short piano works For Children, he used many common folk melodies. He was most influenced by the folk music from Hungary, Romania, and Bulgaria, and later on he would also study the music of Wallachia, Moldova, and Algeria.

In 1911, Bartók completed what would be his only opera, Bluebeard’s Castle, with the general theme of the opera being the immovable power of fate and its hold over the characters’ motivations. The opera is known as a “symbolist” work, from a period of time when much of the artistic world was focused on a rejection of realism. The librettist was Hungarian Jewish writer, poet, and critic Béla Balázs, and given the rising antisemitism in Europe at the time the original version was rejected for the stage by the Hungarian Fine Arts Commission, Balázs was blacklisted and eventually fled to Vienna. The opera was rarely performed for many years, and even though Bartók was furious with the Hungarian authorities and the government, for the rest of his life he remained fiercely loyal to the Hungarian people and culture.

The disappointment surrounding his opera not being received lasted a long time, and for a few years he did not compose, but rather focused on collecting and documenting folk music. Around this time he teamed up with Kodály again, this time using a phonomotor to help them classify the folk songs they encountered. I had to look this up, but a phonomotor was invented by Thomas Edison in 1878 to measure the mechanical force of sound. It converted sound energy or sound power into rotary motion which could drive a machine such as a small saw or drill. It derived from his work on the telephone and phonograph. These trips of discovery had a profound impact on how Bartók thought about, and processed, music in general and how he shaped his compositions to include many of the same sounds, scales, and rhythms.

Bartók's work was interrupted by World War I, and during those years he composed the ballet The Wooden Prince, as well as his String Quartet no. 2. In 1918 he began composing another ballet, The Miraculous Mandarin, which would not actually be performed until 1926 due to some of its sexual content. In these works, we can hear Bartók being influenced by Debussy, Stravinsky, and Schoenberg, while still retaining his own voice. Between 1927 and 1939, Bartók would not compose a huge number of pieces but looking back this may be considered his mature period. During those years he composed String Quartets 3-6, his terrific Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta (which I personally prefer to the Concerto for Orchestra), and the Divertimento for String Orchestra.

In his final years between 1940 and 1945, Bartók strongly opposed the Nazis and fascism, and was appalled by Hungary’s alliance with the Axis powers during World War II. He refused to perform in Germany, and he came under fire in Hungary for being resistant to the government. Although he didn’t want to, he and his wife at the time emigrated to the United States in October 1940 where they settled in New York City. During his final years, there was apparently little interest in Bartók’s music in the United States. While Bartók did secure some royalties for his music, and received a research fellowship from Columbia University, he was by no means wealthy and living in the United States was not easy for him financially or otherwise. Meanwhile, he had supporters and benefactors that checked on him, but Bartók was too proud to accept much in the way of assistance.

In 1942, Bartók began having physical symptoms of what would eventually be diagnosed as leukemia, and that started a gradual downhill turn for the artist. During those last years, his friend and formal pupil Fritz Reiner and Serge Koussevitzky came to him with a commission for a new work which would eventually become the Concerto for Orchestra. The work was premiered in 1944 by the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Serge Koussevitzky, and was very warmly received immediately. It has gone on to become Bartók’s most popular work, although Bartók himself didn’t live long enough to enjoy its success. He passed away in September 1945.

In his personal life, Bartók first married at the age of 28 to Márta Ziegler, only 16 at the time. They had one son, Béla Bartók III, but they divorced after 15 years together. It is believed Bartók’s pursuit of another young woman, Klára Gombossy, he met while researching Slovakian folk songs in 1915 was what caused the strain that broke his first marriage. Gombossy was the daughter of a forester and she helped Bartók translate some of the songs. When Gombossy (aged 14 or 15 at the time) spurned Bartók’s advances, it seemed to spark a period of great creative output for Bartók, but also led to the end of his marriage. He married again only two months after his divorce to a young piano student of his named Ditta Pásztory, she was only 19 and by then he was 42. They also had one son together, Péter Bartók, and their marriage would last the rest of his life.

Although Bartók was raised Catholic, by early adulthood he had determined he was an atheist. But in 1916 he converted to become a Unitarian Universalist, and while not a very religious man, Bartók found inspiration in nature and had some form of spirituality. His son Béla eventually would become the president of the Hungarian Unitarian Church.

In terms of musical style, Bartók can be a difficult composer to define. His early efforts reflected his grammar school study of Brahms, Schumann, Wagner, and Bach. Subsequently in Budapest, he would turn more and more to Wagner, eventually learning all of Wagner’s works intimately. Bartók was deeply impressed by Strauss’ works, in particular Also Sprach Zarathustra and Ein Heldenleben. But thereafter we see a gradual increase in his use of folk elements, as well as some nationalistic leanings. Besides the aforementioned Magyars, Bartók also became fascinated with music from the Carpathian Basin, Slovaks, Romanians, Rusyns, Serbs and Croatians. Indeed, folk music themes became the central element in his compositions, and traces of classicism and romanticism faded away.

Bartók himself commented later in life:

“The question is, what are the ways in which peasant music is taken over and becomes transmuted into modern music? We may, for instance, take over a peasant melody unchanged or only slightly varied, write an accompaniment to it and possibly some opening and concluding phrases. This kind of work would show a certain analogy with Bach's treatment of chorales. ... Another method ... is the following: the composer does not make use of a real peasant melody but invents his own imitation of such melodies. There is no true difference between this method and the one described above. ... There is yet a third way ... Neither peasant melodies nor imitations of peasant melodies can be found in his music, but it is pervaded by the atmosphere of peasant music. In this case we may say, he has completely absorbed the idiom of peasant music which has become his musical mother tongue.”

I am not a musicologist by any means, but it seems that during his “mature” period Bartók composed music which was essentially tonal and therefore accessible for audiences, but he would approach tonality in a different way than was customary. In a given piece of music, Bartók would often focus things around several different tonal centers, but would also use some atonal methods as well. This leads to an ungrounded feeling for the listener as chords don’t necessarily go where you think they might or you feel they should. In short, Bartók turned harmony and what we normally think of as major and minor scales on their head. This is both exciting and disconcerting, and speaking for myself at times I have had a hard time enjoying Bartók’s music. It speaks of the 20th century itself, exciting yet brutal, violent yet revolutionary, and in the end unsettled.

Concerto for Orchestra

As mentioned already, Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra came about as a result of a commission from the Koussevitzky Foundation, via the conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Serge Koussevitzky. The work was completed in 1943, and premiered in 1944 by the BSO at Symphony Hall, Boston with Koussevitzky conducting. Bartók revised the final movement shortly before his death in 1945, lengthening it somewhat. It has been the revised version that is typically used for performances and recordings since then.

The Concerto for Orchestra is in five movements as follows:

1. Introduzione. Andante non troppo – Allegro vivace

2. Presentando le coppie. Allegro scherzando

3. Elegia. Andante non troppo

4. Intermezzo interrotto. Allegretto

5. Finale. Presto

Bartók uses some more classical structure in the first and last movements in that they follow a sonata format where a theme is introduced, developed, and then recapitulated at the end. While some of the themes in the piece are tonal, Bartók also departs from tonality in using non-traditional modes and unusual scales. While Bartók is influenced in this work by Hungarian folk themes, they are sometimes difficult to detect due to some atypical rhythmic structures, and the modern way Bartók integrates harmonies.

Hugh Macdonald in his program notes for the Boston Symphony Orchestra, describes the work:

“The first movement is conventional (like a Beethoven symphony) in offering a slow introduction leading into a vigorous Allegro. The bare fourths that make up most of the melodic intervals at the start retain their importance throughout the work. The Allegro, reached by an exhilarating acceleration, is very compact, with contrast from a gentler oboe theme circling on two adjacent notes and an explosive fugato for the brass in the middle, the subject of which prominently features the interval of a fourth, like an awkwardly stretched stride.

The second movement, “Game of Pairs,” isolates wind pairs in turn, each with its own interval. The two bassoons are in sixths, the two oboes in thirds, the two clarinets in sevenths, the two flutes in fifths, and the two trumpets, muted, in seconds. A brass chorale intervenes, while the side drum maintains the old rhythm, and the pairs return, each now supported and decorated by extra help. There are now three bassoons, for example, not two; two clarinets assist the two oboes, two flutes assist the two clarinets. The pattern is simple but very affecting, and at the end a serene dominant seventh permits each pair to come to rest on its “own” interval.

The Elegia takes us into Bartók’s private world, with memories of his favorite “night music.” Shimmers from the harp, flutters from the flute and clarinet, a background of softly rolling timpani—these create an atmosphere of mystery and expectation. Even so, the entry of the full orchestra in the central section is brutal and all too earthbound, recalling a theme heard in the first movement’s introduction. It takes a long time to restore the magical atmosphere with which the Elegia began, but serenity eventually returns, fading into the night with some soft piping from the piccolo and a few discreet notes from the timpani.

The “Interrupted Intermezzo” starts with a wistful folk-like melody on the oboe, and then offers a broader, haunting theme, first on the violas, richly supported by the harps, and the folksy tune returns. The interruption is an appalling piece of grotesquerie, with a quotation from Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony served up in cap and bells. Laughter and mockery are plain to all, and the return to Bartók’s noble theme carries something of the painful nostalgia with which he longed for his distant roots.

The finale is a spontaneous burst of energy, presented with all the blatant extroversion conveyed by the horns’ opening call. The first break in the scampering texture delivers up a little fugue on the horn-call theme, started by the second bassoon, and rapidly inverted. A folk tune breaks in on the oboe and the scampering resumes. The real fugue fills a complex stretch of the movement, equivalent perhaps to a development, and its subject returns as a resplendent brass statement at the end, while wind and strings rush from end to end of their range in a stampede of breathless brilliance.”

In his book The Life and Music of Bela Bartók, biographer Halsey Stevens provided a summary analysis of the appeal of this work - it combines diverse elements from Bach fugues to Schoenberg atonality that had touched Bartók throughout his creative years, while all the melodies, harmonies and rhythms are colored by the genuine ease of peasant music and unified by the power of Bartók's personality. The work has a spontaneity about it which goes beyond the purely intellectual, and a vitality which borders on the defiant.

Recommended Recordings

While the premiere concert itself of Concerto for Orchestra was not recorded, the Boston Symphony Orchestra and conductor Serge Koussevitzky recorded the work in concert just four weeks after the premiere in December 1944. The recording is available on the Naxos and Stradivarius (I would avoid the Stradivarius version) labels. Putting aside obvious issues with the boomy and constricted sound, this is a wonderful performance that has historical credibility. It has verve and that edge of your seat quality that I enjoy, and Koussevitzky clearly had great affection for the work Bartók created at his behest. It catches the freshness and dramatic bite of the work in a unique way. The playing is terrific, and there is rare unity and cohesion to the entire piece. You hear the shorter finale, as this recording was made prior to Bartók revising it. If you can handle the dated sound, this is very worthy of a recommendation.

As was mentioned, Fritz Reiner was a Bartók pupil and friend as well, and Reiner was also a key to encouraging Bartók to compose his final large scale work. Reiner’s 1955 recording with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on RCA Living Stereo has legendary status in many circles, and for me it is certainly one of the finest recordings that have been made of the work. Reiner knew this music intimately, and probably also had a great deal of pride in his fellow Hungarian’s masterpiece. I’ve said this in other posts, but most of the Living Stereo recordings from the 1950s still sound incredibly good and this one is no exception. Reiner brings out details aplenty, but also that edgy tension typical of Bartók’s music, and the Chicago woodwinds and brass shine through brilliantly. In terms of dynamics and tempos, Reiner feels just about right to me. Listen at 6’12” in the first movement, and then the strings with the brass fanfares at the end of the movement. This recording grips you in a way which is missing in other recordings. But Reiner also makes the most of the folk song opportunities in bringing out the most lyricism possible. The first few minutes of the Finale are exciting (and there is more than a little similarity to Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto no. 3’s opening). Anyway, the strings are simply amazing in how they swirl and build to a climax at about 1’50” in the movement. Recommended.

The Hungarian conductor Ferenc Fricsay recorded the Concerto for Orchestra in 1957 with the Radio-Symphonie-Orchester Berlin for Deutsche Grammophon. Fricsay was yet another student of Bartók, as well as Zoltán Kodály and Ernst von Dohnányi, and so this music was also in his blood. The sound is in mono and is less immediate and bright than with Reiner, the Jesus-Christus-Kirche in Berlin providing a more resonant, concert hall-like experience with somewhat more distanced sound. Details are there, but in a more dispersed sound stage. Performance wise, Fricsay is extremely animated in the first and last movements, pushing the tempos and energy to an intense level (see Bernstein). However, Fricsay is more lyrical and tender in the central movements, and he tends to draw out more contrast than Bernstein. There is a glow about the performance which is more about Fricsay’s approach than the sound quality. Fricsay takes care over every phrase, and a great deal of thought has gone into dynamic and tempos. So sonically this is not as epic, but as a performance it holds together extremely well.

Leonard Bernstein rarely did anything halfway, and in his 1959 recording with the New York Philharmonic on Columbia/Sony, we are taken on quite a journey that may leave you emotionally drained. Bernstein emphasizes the more dramatic aspects to be sure, and he conducts it the way he did Mahler: no holds barred. This is a legitimate viewpoint I believe, and the NYPO plays really well. The recording was made in St. George’s Hotel in Brooklyn, which perhaps provides slightly more spatial depth and detail than later NYPO recordings from Lincoln Center. It is an energetic reading, with little respite, but for me rings true to Bartók’s intent. The Intermezzo is particularly enjoyable, and Bernstein really makes the Elegia sound disturbing as it should. The Finale moves along at a good clip, building a wall of string sound with brass pulsing behind it, and then continuing that pace into a whirling dervish as effective as any recording I’ve heard. Accenting is sharp and rhythmically alert, the entire orchestra is brilliantly virtuosic toward the end, and the conclusion packs a swagger and a punch.

The 1962 recording from Antal Doráti (yep, another Hungarian born conductor), together with the London Symphony Orchestra for Mercury Living Presence (now Decca), is another winner for the Concerto for Orchestra. Like most of the Living Presence recordings, you have to adjust a bit to the detailed and bright top end of the sound and a certain lack of depth from the bass end. But beyond that, the performance is splendid, with personality and energy. Doráti takes a fairly severe approach to the opening movement, and the Elegia is dark and brooding. The Intermezzo bristles with nervous energy to start, and then relaxes into its main theme where it sounds like the LSO is having fun. The Finale is well done in a frenetic way that I quite like, and it certainly rivals Bernstein or Fricsay for sheer energy…I even found myself tapping my toes along the way. I should mention that while the sound is more than adequate from Wembley Town Hall in London, there is at least one place where the sound drops out momentarily which can be annoying. But overall this is strongly recommended, and is preferable to Doráti’s later Concertgebouw recording (which you will find in the honorable mention section).

Another fellow Hungarian and former Bartók pupil Sir Georg Solti seemed to intuitively “get” Bartók’s music in a most authoritative way. As recommendations I would point first to Solti’s 1965 recording with the London Symphony Orchestra on Decca. This recording from Kingsway Hall in London is direct and propulsive with good sound from Decca as we might expect from that time period. Solti finds the ability to shock us with this music, and I imagine Bartók must have been smiling at this performance which is dramatic, intense, and larger than life (as Solti himself tended to be). There is an even more fierce performance than Reiner, and this music seems tailor made for Solti’s extroverted approach. The Elegia is played for all its worth, but Solti doesn’t shortchange the more lyrical elements either. The more bucolic theme in the Intermezzo is just lovely, but not too sentimental, and the Finale is highly energetic and frenzied in the first section and the conclusion is rousing and satisfying. This is a triumphant performance. Solti’s 1981 recording with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra also on Decca has more warmth, depth and range in the sound, but I don’t think it improves on Solti’s London recording. They are remarkably similar, and both are recommended. The Chicago brass might hold a slight edge, but then again the LSO’s performance has more dramatic bite. Take your pick, but it is safe to say Solti had a great understanding of this music.

Yet another Hungarian conductor? Yes, this time George Szell leads the Cleveland Orchestra in a recording from 1965 on Columbia/Sony. This is one of the finest recordings of this work in superb sound, and of course it contains the ultra-disciplined Szell leading a precise and detailed performance which is completely satisfying. The one “fly in the ointment” for some will be the significant cut Szell makes in the Finale, where he removes bars 426 to 555 in the section prior to the coda. Allegedly Szell made the cut because he thought it improved the conclusion, and I suppose someone of Szell’s stature can get away with it. This may be a dealbreaker for some people, but it is not for me. The rest of the performance is so good, I am not bothered by what he removed. But I can see how others might be. In any case, I am still recommending it.

Czech conductor Rafael Kubelik recorded the Concerto for Orchestra several times, but it is his 1973 recording with the Boston Symphony Orchestra on Deutsche Grammophon that strikes a chord with me. The BSO of this era was top notch and produced several outstanding albums for DG, this being one of them. Kubelik had a good rapport with the orchestra, also recording one of the finest versions of Smetana’s Má vlast around the same time. But this Bartók recording has everything you want in a successful performance: lyrical strings and woodwinds, blaring brass, rhythmic incisiveness, a good balance between moods, dramatic pulse in tempos and dynamics, and a complete sense of what the composer was trying to do. This is strongly recommended. The sound is warm and detailed, and not as glaring as Solti or Bernstein.

I get it, Pierre Boulez’s analytical and ultra-modern approach to conducting is not everyone’s cup of tea. But I have to say his 1993 recording with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on Deutsche Grammophon is first rate. While there is not much flexibility in phrasing and while Boulez’s vision is rather clinical, he follows Bartok to the letter and when it is played this good and is afforded excellent sound, I must recommend it. In much of this work, Boulez’s angular, intellectual approach is quite effective. The details are brought out incredibly well, and if there is somewhat less charm than Fischer or Kocsis, Boulez is meticulous about dynamics and tempos, and he really makes it sound like the 20th century masterpiece it is. The CSO plays marvelously too.

While I probably should have made Iván Fischer’s recording with the Budapest Festival Orchestra “essential”, I decided I don’t know the music well enough to make that determination. But Fischer’s recording, released on Philips/Universal (now Decca) in 1998 is easily among the top recordings of this work. Once again we have a Hungarian conductor, a Hungarian orchestra, and an exceptionally well-engineered recording (again from the generous acoustic of the Italian Institute in Budapest). While there is a lot of energy where needed, Fischer is really good at bringing out the lyrical details and folk elements. Brass and woodwinds are well-detailed, and strings sound full and edgy. Rhythms are sprung at just the right tempos and speeds, accents are pointed and keen, and each movement takes on its own unique personality. Fischer’s recording has definitely helped me appreciate this piece more, and I will likely return to it more than any other recording.

Italian-born conductor Riccardo Chailly recorded a wonderfully colorful and sonically superior version of the Concerto for Orchestra in 2001 with the Concertgebouw Orchestra, Amsterdam for the Decca label. Chailly is not as driven as Szell, Bernstein, Fricsay, and Solti, but in his own way he has a vision which builds the tension more slowly. And Chailly pays more attention to string textures and sound colors than others, and the more lyrical sections are done better than almost any other version. While the opening movement begins more quietly and more mysteriously than others, Chailly eventually whips things up nicely, and the coda is memorable. The second movement Giuoco della coppie showcases the virtuosity of the Concertgebouw, revealing a ton of detail which at times gets glossed over. The strings, of course, are rich and full, and the brass are appropriately sonorous. The Elegia is carefully but beautifully crafted. In the Finale, Chailly doesn’t hit the listener with the big guns at the start, but rather lets things build. This works really well, and there are some unique touches Chailly emphasizes that I liked. The recorded sound is among the finest available for this work.

I guess I hadn’t realized that famed Hungarian pianist Zoltán Kocsis also conducted, but on the strength of his 2002 recording of the Concerto for Orchestra with the Hungarian National Philharmonic on the Hungaroton label, I should have been more aware. After all, he co-founded the Budapest Festival Orchestra as well. This is an outstanding account, played with vigor and commitment from the Hungarian orchestra, and for me Kocsis doesn’t make a wrong step. The sound from the Italian Institute in Budapest is rich and warm, but I am most impressed by the exciting playing and rhythmic accents from the orchestra. The brass and woodwinds are as good as they come, and the immediate sound is a plus. The final three movements have a palpable sense of a real event, you can tell this is not just routine but rather a performance of real stature. Highly recommended.

Finnish conductor Susanna Mälkki’s 2021 recording of the Concerto for Orchestra with the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra on the BIS label is just about as good as it gets. This performance sounds exceptionally good and the performance is bordering on essential in my estimation. Mälkki ideally judges the more modern tendencies with Bartok’s neoclassical structures, which means we hear the jarring rhythms and edgy phrasing as exactly that, but then Mälkki brings us back to the essentially tonal nature of the work in a way which gives us the full picture better than almost anyone. She is aided by the outstandingly clear and full BIS sound, and the absolutely precise and spirited playing of the Finnish orchestra. The brass are superb in the first two movements especially, the Elegia is dark and evocative, and the Intermezzo reveals the folksy, witty Bartok splendidly. The Finale takes off like a horse race, but Mälkki holds back the volume as long as possible. The strings, brass, and woodwinds play exceptionally well, and take us triumphantly to the conclusion of what is certainly a most fantastic recording.

The most recent recording on the recommended list is by French-born conductor Alexandre Bloch and the Orchestre National de Lille (France) recorded in 2022 for the Alpha label. This is a dynamic and fresh recording, light on its feet, poised and expressive. Phrasing is more flexible than you will hear with Szell, Boulez, or Reiner, but I find that it truly adds to the listening experience. Tempos and dynamics are also more flexible and while at times I would have liked a fuller or more robust sound from the brass and bass, the Lille orchestra is extraordinarily in tune with each other and are not afraid to take some risks. The Intermezzo in particular is witty and fun, and the agility from the orchestra in the Finale is impressive. The sound from Alpha is clean and clear, though recessed a tad, but no problems. If you want to hear a recording which presents the work in a new light, this is it. It was very enjoyable.

Honorable Mention Recordings

You might see some of your favorite recordings below as well. The Karajan recording from 1965 has many fans, but for me it is a bit too smooth and generic. I feel somewhat the same about the Ormandy recording, though others may like it more.

Houston Symphony / Stokowski (Everest 1960)

Boston Symphony Orchestra / Leinsdorf (RCA 1962)

The Philadelphia Orchestra / Ormandy (Sony 1963)

Czech Philharmonic Orchestra / Ančerl (Supraphon 1963)

Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra / Karajan (DG 1965)

Chicago Symphony Orchestra / Ozawa (Warner 1969)

New York Philharmonic / Boulez (Sony 1972)

Concertgebouw Orchestra / Antal Doráti (Universal 1983)

Chicago Symphony Orchestra / Levine (DG 1986)

Hungarian State Orchestra / Adam Fischer (Nimbus 1990)

Baltimore Symphony Orchestra / Alsop (Naxos 2009)

That’s it for Bartók’s masterpiece! I hope you have enjoyed this edition of Building a Collection. Join me next time when we explore #87, Franz Schubert’s delightful Trout Quintet. See you then!

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Notes:

Antokoletz, Elliott (21 August 2006). "Musical Symbolism in Bartók's Bluebeard: Trauma, Gender, and the Unfolding of the Unconscious". Studia Musicologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae. 47 (3–4): 281–282. doi:10.1556/smus.47.2006.3-4.5. ISSN 0039-3266.

Babbitt, Milton. 1949. "The String Quartets of Bartók". Musical Quarterly 35 (July): 377–85. Reprinted in The Collected Essays of Milton Babbitt, edited by Stephen Peles, with Stephen Dembski, Andrew Mead, and Joseph N. Straus, 1–9. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003. ISBN 978-0-691-08966-9.

Bartók, Béla. "Explanation to Concerto for Orchestra," for the Boston premiere at Symphony Hall.[full citation needed].

Chalmers, Kenneth. 1995. Béla Bartók. 20th-Century Composers. London: Phaidon Press. ISBN 978-0-7148-3164-0 (pbk).

Cooper, David (1996). Bartók: Concerto for Orchestra. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ISBN 978-0-521-48505-0.

de Toth, June (1999). "Béla Bartók: A Biography". Béla Bartók: Solo Piano Works (liner notes). Béla Bartók. Eroica Classical Recordings. OCLC 29737219. JDT 3136. Archived from the original on 8 April 2007. Retrieved 14 April 2007.

Dille, Denijs. 1990. Béla Bartók: Regard sur le Passé. (French, no English .

version available). Namur: Presses universitaires de Namur. ISBN 978-2-87037-168-8, 978-2-87037-168-8.

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