I doubt that Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos would make anyone’s short list of the greatest conductors of the 20th century, and it’s not my intention to claim for him this distinction. If you have been following the reviews on Classicstoday.com, you may have noticed that he has recently appeared on BIS with the Berlin Radio Symphony in a program of Liszt tone poems. The excellence of that disc brought back memories of his quiet but distinguished career, and raised some issues I’d like to explore further about the way artists make their reputations, both locally and internationally, and what this means for our musical life.
From his beginnings in his native Spain to an impressive discography made as “house conductor” for EMI in the Spanish and choral music areas, Frühbeck has been a presence on the international music scene for several decades. A surprising number of his recordings have remained in print or have been regularly reissued over a long period, withstanding the test of time and the vagaries of the marketplace. These include, naturally, much of his Spanish repertoire, music by Falla, Rodrigo, and Albeniz, but also his Carmina Burana, Mendelssohn Elijah, Haydn Creation, Carmen — all of which are just the tip of a fairly large and impressive iceberg. I also vividly remember from my college days his tenure as Principal Guest Conductor of the National Symphony Orchestra of Washington, D.C. There he regularly led some sensationally exciting performances, including a spectacular La Mer and the best Brahms Third Symphony that I have ever heard.
Still, once he left London, he suffered the neglect typical of the provincial attitude of British-based EMI: if it’s not being done in the UK, it’s not worth recording. I don’t say this in order to indulge in a fit of Brit-bashing. Had it been Paris, or New York, the results would have been the same, and there were (are still are) perfectly reasonable logistical and financial reasons for taking this position. Nor can I say that Frühbeck’s departure hurt EMI or robbed music lovers of the many wonderful recordings he never made as a result. Nevertheless, provincial is as provincial does. There has always been tension between the theoretically international appeal of the classical music repertoire as embodied in virtually any label’s sales and marketing strategies, and the essentially (and in many respects necessarily) local nature of the corporate management and decision-making process.
All of the major labels built their catalogs in the 50s, 60s, and 70s using what was essentially local talent. That so many of these productions turned out to be “classics” speaks volumes for the prevailing high standards of performance and general abundance of what we call “greatness” in interpretation. EMI had the Philharmonia under Barbirolli, Giulini, and Klemperer (among others), as well as the London Philharmonic under Boult for English music and later the London Symphony Orchestra in their “golden age” with Previn, just as Columbia had Bernstein/New York, Ormandy/Philadelphia, and Cleveland/Szell. There was certainly no shortage of major conductors. And so for nearly two decades after his heyday with EMI, Frühbeck more or less vanished from the discography. There were exceptions: some early digital era Spanish repertoire for Decca, a couple of discs for Collins Classics, some Bizet for IMP. And of course it’s too early to say whether or not this latest effort for BIS, good as it is, will lead to a more extensive series of projects.
Still, the fact remains that here is a fine conductor obviously in top form, and recorded history is replete with artists only recognized and lauded in their later years: Klemperer and Wand being two especially famous examples. When I hear (as I do constantly) people complaining that “all of the great conductors are dead,” or wondering who the best artists of today are, I can’t help but ask if they are speaking from knowledge and experience, or simply voicing the standard dyspeptic criticisms of the chronically disappointed. More often than not, such people (and there are an unfortunately large number of them among both music journalists and fans) listen to music largely in order to have their worst fears confirmed, and thus wouldn’t recognize greatness in a contemporary artist if, to highjack a marvelously apt line from “Jaws,” it swam up and bit them on the ass. But then, classical music has always attracted a goodly number of what I can only call “miserable smart people” whose interest has less to do with love of music than with finding a crutch for their emotional insecurities.
For my own part, I have always maintained that great artists, truly great ones, are all around us. The process by which these artists are given the opportunity to nurture, reveal, and sustain their greatness, especially on disc, is bound to be random in nature, and this doesn’t trouble me at all. For decades now, Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos has pursued a steady and distinguished career as, among other things, Music Director of the Montréal Symphony before Dutoit, and he’s enjoyed the same position at the helm of the Berlin Radio Symphony since 1994. Given an extensive recording program of the music he does best, perhaps he could come to be regarded, in time, as “one of the greats.” It’s certainly possible.
Very few artists have enjoyed the privilege of having their entire careers documented on disc. For the vast majority, the lion’s share of their work remains a local phenomenon, lost forever to posterity. Should this fact bother us? Of course not. Nothing is more ridiculous than the idea that more resources should be expended to gratify the small classical music audience by following everyone who gives a concert around with a microphone, especially when the evidence before us today indicates clearly that few artists manage to make the most of this sort of constant scrutiny even when they are lucky enough to receive it. It may be that as the technology for digital transmission of live events evolves, people will be able actually to subscribe to concert series around the world, and enjoy musical events in their home on their televisions, in real time and in excellent quality sound. Now that would indeed be a revolution. It would also mean the death of the record industry as we know it, at least in its primary role as the means by which the merely local achieves international status.
Until then, however, I’m content to reflect on the fact that even if they aren’t always consistently recognized or promoted, the great artists are out there, working at the local level, gratifying local concert-goers, waiting for a chance to stake their claim on a larger, international stage. Some may be new talents and unfamiliar names. But there’s a particular satisfaction in being able to welcome the “coming of age” of a recognized if hitherto marginal artist — an old friend, as it were, who has been with us for decades, who communicates the wisdom that experience sometimes brings, and teaches us all a useful lesson merely by having remained at our sides, unacknowledged and taken for granted all along. Is Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos such an artist? I don’t know. But I hope so, and I wish him well.
David Hurwitz
