Berliner

Between 1961 and 1986, Herbert von Karajan made three recordings of the Mozart Requiem for Deutsche Grammophon, with little change in his conception of the piece over the years. This recording, from 1975, is, on balance, the best of them. The approach is Romantic, broad, and sustained, marked by a thoroughly homogenized blend of chorus and orchestra, a remarkable richness of tone, striking power, and an almost marmoreal polish. Karajan viewed the Requiem as idealized church music rather than a confessional statement awash in operatic expressiveness. In this account, the orchestra is paramount, followed in importance by the chorus, then the soloists. Not surprisingly, the singing of the solo quartet sounds somewhat reined-in, especially considering these singers' pedigrees. By contrast, the Vienna Singverein, always Karajan's favorite chorus, sings with a huge dynamic range and great intensity, though with an emotional detachment nonetheless. Perfection, if not passion or poignancy, is the watchword. The Berlin orchestra plays majestically, and the sound is pleasingly vivid.

Every generation creates its own forms of expression. Often, this happens in abrupt rejection of what has gone before. And not infrequently, the provocative gestures in which a new attitude to life is articulated disappear again just as quickly as they appeared. Such thoughts may also have moved Johann Sebastian Bach when, in the early 1740s, his two eldest sons took up the genre of the symphony, which had come from Italy and was accompanied by a novel treatment of the orchestra and compositional technique. Together with their generational peers, they created an independent line of tradition that was later referred to by music historians as the "symphony of the North German school." The fact that the symphony did not remain a short-lived fashion, favored by a handful of young savages, but advanced to become a genre that was soon considered the "acknowledged paramount form of instrumental music", was one of the most significant and momentous musical achievements of the 18th century.

Gilels had immense physical power and impeccable control, but he was also capable of exquisitely refined poetry and had an acute perception of the lyrical impulse lying behind even the most assertive of Brahms's writing. The firmness of attack and the depth of sound that make his (and the Berlin Philharmonic's) playing so thrillingly dynamic can be offset by the most poignant of delicate gestures. There is undeniable grandeur to these readings, but with those additional qualities of wise thinking, generous expression and artistry of great subtlety, these performances are in a class of their own.

The music of Unsuk Chin is a magical realm in which new perspectives are constantly unfolding. Labyrinths of novel sounds and complex structures can be followed by moments of transcendental beauty. For us as an orchestra, this world poses certain challenges — indeed, it is part of Unsuk Chin’s style to test the limits of performing techniques. Or, to put it another way, she lets us show off our strengths. Her inventiveness exemplifies the inexhaustible vitality of today’s music. These qualities have made Unsuk Chin one of few composers with whom we’ve collaborated so frequently and productively.

Shostakovich is not a composer the Berlin Philharmonic has regularly recorded, so this new album of Symphonies Nos 8, 9 and 10 is warmly welcome. Taped with a limited audience during the Covid pandemic, the Philharmonic’s chief conductor Kirill Petrenko combines a riveting precision with expressive intensity in his interpretation of the expansive Eighth Symphony. The succinct Ninth has plenty of crisply sardonic woodwind commentary, as in the brilliantly played third movement while the Tenth packs a formidably powerful punch, especially in a highly charged account of the second movement “Allegro.” In truth, it’s doubtful if there are better played performances of any of these symphonies on record, and Petrenko’s consistently cogent view of the music compels attention.

The world’s great conductors are not the only important artistic companions of the Berliner Philharmoniker. It is also always exceptional soloists who perform regularly with the orchestra, providing individual inspiration in their collaboration and opening up stimulating perspectives on the music. The Berliner Philharmoniker enjoy a productive partnership with many of these esteemed companions – with some, even a friendship.

The Berlin Philharmonic is consistently ranked as one of the greatest orchestras in the world. As is fitting such an eminent orchestra, they consistently work with the world's most renowned conductors and soloists, and this collection shows these great musicians coming together in eight classic recordings.

Innerhalb kurzer Zeit entschied sich Claudio Abbado zweimal, zusammen mit seinen Berlinern die gesamten Beethoven Sinfonien aufzunehmen. Die vorliegende zweite Aufnahme muss sich also zurecht der Frage stellen: War das wirklich nötig? Die Antwort ist simpel: Es war nötig, denn Abbado nahm zahlreiche Schönheitskorrekturen vor, wodurch ein Zyklus entstand, der mit Abstand das Beste ist, was in den letzten Jahren auf diesem Gebiet vorgestellt wurde, allerdings mit einigen kleinen Schönheitsfehlern.

In light of the "chill-out" trend of the 1990s, major labels released many albums of slow, meditative pieces to appeal to listeners who wanted relaxing or reflective background music. Deutsche Grammophon's vaults are full of exceptional recordings of classical orchestral music, and the performances by Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic are prominent in the label's catalog. The slow selections on Karajan: Adagio are in most cases drawn from larger compositions, though these movements are frequently anthologized as if they were free-standing works. Indeed, many have come to think of the Adagietto from Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 5 as a separate piece in its own right, largely because of its evocative use in the film Death in Venice. Furthermore, the famous Canon by Johann Pachelbel is seldom played with its original companion piece, the Gigue in D major, let alone in its original version for three violins and continuo; it most often appears in an arrangement for strings.