By Robert Kenchington
Recently voted The Greatest Conductor in History by a well-established music magazine in one of their utterly pointless surveys of famous musical figures, Carlos Kleiber has both during his lifetime and especially in the 20 odd years since his death, acquired the now ubiquitous ‘cult following’.
Kleiber (1930-2004) was one of the last of three generations of conductors who bestrode the world of Classical music for virtually the whole of the 20th century, taking the place of the Composer as the dominant force in the performance and presentation of orchestral music both in the concert hall and on record. From the arrival of Arturo Toscanini in 1890 until the death of Leonard Bernstein in 1990, The Maestro was the omnipotent, unassailable cultural figure who, via the advent and development of mass media and marketing, became a potent, iconic force of unimpeachable authority.
And I among many other Classical concertgoers and record collectors, was for many years quite happy to buy into that aesthetic. Let’s face it, many of these great figures with their huge personalities, vast musical knowledge and sheer charisma, had their character and their music-making forged against the backdrop of social, economic and political strife. By the time many of them came to fame, they were already mature, battle-hardened men brought up in the performing traditions of their time, numbering many great composers among their friends. Many were pioneers in their field, producing timeless, benchmark recordings that continue to enthrall listeners both old and young today.
As the 20th century progressed Toscanini and Stokowski, both of whom had gone to America to develop their careers, harnessed the hype of Hollywood to promote themselves via radio, recordings and later on film and television to spread the word of Classical music to the masses – and in doing so, became that now overused word, ‘Legendary’. Toscanini’s temper, Stokowski’s fake European accent, were nectar to an American publicity machine that thrived on ‘Personality’. The concept of the ‘Legend’ sold tickets, sold the recordings and sold the public in the process, a social phenomenon which continued and expanded to an even greater degree with Bernstein, whose colourful personality and silver screen magnetism was manna from Heaven for the style hungry consumerism of the Drive-in Generation.
Back in post-war Europe, these mass media activities in America were watched, imitated and then avariciously – some would say egregiously – adapted by Herbert von Karajan, the most famous conductor of them all. Spotting the early potential of the Classical record industry, Karajan not so much jumped on the bandwagon as created his own industry. Conducting, producing and marketing his own image via hundreds of glossy sounding, glossy looking and self-consciously life-style orientated recordings, Karajan tapped into a strange Germanic aesthetic that fused brutality with glamour and in so doing, filled that special Teutonic need to follow an omnipotent, paternal leader…
Other European conductors, aided by their respective record companies and marketing staff, saw the huge cultural and economic success of Karajan’s methods and demanded parity. Very soon, just about every famous conductor became ‘legendary’. Many, like Sir Georg Solti, couldn’t get enough of it, while more self-effacing Maestri like Bernard Haitink or Rudolf Kempe became ‘iconic’ whether they liked it or not.
All of the above, as mentioned, many listeners and collectors were happy to indulge, provided the conductorial talent on offer justified the hype. What has become less acceptable however is when ‘the next big thing’ receives a level of hagiography which is vastly disproportionate to their actual talent. And I would argue that in the world of Classical music – and in the now long-established ‘Cult of the Conductor’ – this chronic case of The Emperor’s new Clothes, began with Carlos Kleiber.
Following in the footsteps of his illustrious father, the conductor Erich Kleiber, Carlos began his training via the accepted and traditional way of the Kapellmeister, namely gaining experience and artistic development as conductor of various provincial opera houses. From posts in Dusseldorf, Duisburg and Zurich, Kleiber eventually became First Kapellmeister in Stuttgart with regular guest conducting engagements at the Bavarian State Opera in Munich, acquiring a wide operatic repertoire in the process. So far, so reliable.
Then something somehow went wrong. After resigning from Stuttgart in 1973, Kleiber decided to pursue a freelance career – even without ever holding a permanent orchestral post beforehand. This may yet have proved viable if Kleiber’s diary had been a full one but instead, he decided to limit his appearances to just a few select occasions each season and became, by either accident or design, an increasingly reclusive figure.
In complete contrast to the ever-present Bernstein or Karajan, Carlos Kleiber became a kind of conductorial Greta Garbo, rationing his appearances to a handful of concerts each year and a catalogue of commercial recordings that comes to only 10 discs.
All of which would still be fine were it not for the fact that – at least to my ears, which have nearly half a century’s listening experience in a wide variety of classical recordings, not least those of conductors both past and present – Carlos Kleiber’s performances both in concert and on record strike me as decidedly mediocre.
Take for example, the much-lauded, much-hyped Deutsche Grammophon recording he made with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra of Beethoven’s 5th symphony. This, Kleiber’s first symphonic recording, was originally released exactly 50 years ago in the summer of 1975 on vinyl and cassette and even before the disc appeared in the record shops, normally reticent and respected critics including Gramophone grandee Richard Osborne were practically genuflecting on the spot. Moreover, the recording was suddenly regarded as the Greatest Version of Beethoven’s 5th ever recorded.
What rubbish. Among the various recordings of the work made with the Vienna Philharmonic alone, Kleiber’s is at best a non-event by comparison. The famous opening for example, sounds rushed and erratic, with the score’s many sharp accents smoothed over and distorted by Kleiber’s obsession with rhythmic emphasis on every second beat of the bar. Moreover, there is no clear tempo for the movement as Kleiber’s fussy, phrase-oriented method makes the movement drift erratically with no clear sense of structure or cumulative tension. The same goes for the remaining movements. Some passages are rushed and frenetic while in others Kleiber sounds both vague and indifferent. It’s almost as if there were two recording sessions – one bored, one over-excited – which have been unconvincingly edited together. It really is, to use modern parlance, a mash-up and countless remasterings by DG have if anything highlighted the performance’s weaknesses over whatever passing strengths may have made initial impact on vinyl.
The same goes pretty much for Kleiber’s DG/Vienna Philharmonic recordings of Beethoven’s 7th symphony along with the 3 & 8th symphonies of Schubert and the equally over-adored disc of Brahms’ 4th – the latter replete with glassy early digital recording and eccentric drifting phrasing that distort the whole character of the piece.
Then there are the video recordings. Those visually tiring Unitel productions of Kleiber conducting the Concertgebouworkest in Beethoven’s 4th and 7th symphonies and the Vienna Philharmonic again in those ‘legendary’ New Year’s Concerts of 1989 and 1992. Here, Kleiber’s famous ‘stick technique’ can be seen – namely a series of wild, over-elaborate gestures, bizarre facial expressions and obvious podium exhibitionism which makes even Bernstein seem restrained by comparison. All very alluring for a television audience but these crazed, balletic motions on Kleiber’s part bear little if any relation to the music being played. While a degree of quaint mannerism may lend momentary allure to a Strauss polka on New Year’s Day, it does little for a Beethoven symphony which, in these Concertgebouworkest videos, show a disgruntled orchestra playing Haitink’s performances regardless of the histrionic display Kleiber creates on rostrum.
As Kleiber grew older he became notorious for cancelling concerts as opposed to conducting them. Inexplicable walkouts mid-rehearsal (he even walked out of his recording of Tristan and Isolde, leaving the producers to piece the set together with out takes) tantrums, excuses and eccentric demands (like the custom-made Audi he required as payment for a so-called benefit concert in Ingolstadt) all contributed to the Kleiber ‘legend’. The fact that he had caused considerable financial cost to orchestras, promoters, record companies and – this to me is the worst thing he did – disappointment to expectant audiences, seems to have passed the modern mythmakers by.
Refusing readily available treatment for prostate cancer, Kleiber, aged 74, died in solitude at his home in Slovenia on July 13th 2004; his son found him sitting in a deck chair on the balcony.
And so the legend continued, this time with a tragi-historic spin – the mileage in it endless. And now, every so often, DG repackage the miserly, mediocre discs with deadening predictability, accompanied now by over-reverential YouTube videos and audio commentaries by the ever-unctuous Jon Tolansky.
But I for one see through Carlos Kleiber for the mixed-up clown that he was. Obsessed with bettering his father, both in repertoire and on record, Kleiber junior may well have loved the ceremony and spectacle of performance but was clearly unsuited to the hard graft and down-to-earth practicality that the necessity of rehearsal demands.
The ‘tragedy’ of Carlos Kleiber is that never in the field of conducting has one Maestro given so little to so many. His cult will continue but it’s only the record companies trying to make another buck when the purse strings tighten yet again. Don’t be fooled. There have been and — despite the many failings of the classical industry in recent years -will be conductors far greater than Kleiber.
In essence, the whole ‘CK’ industry was a trick and sets a potentially bad example to young and upcoming baton-wielders who may well be taken in by this overcooked example of podium mastery. It’s time to open their ears and open their eyes to this fake figure of the past for a Maestro far greater is already with us who, despite his relative youth, is already worth 10 of Kleiber – the most overrated conductor in history.
Robert Kenchington 27.05.2025
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