Word: toscaninis
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...would make his way to the podium without attracting notice, Arturo Toscanini hurried on to Manhattan's Carnegie Hall stage last week to begin his eleventh season as conductor of the Philharmonic-Symphony. One glimpse of the trim, greying little Italian and every player in the orchestra, every member of the audience, rose respectfully. After one grave little bow Toscanini turned his back, rapped sharply for attention, commanded his men to play, his audience to listen...
...reporter has yet succeeded in fully describing a Toscanini concert. The players suddenly become amazingly alert. The Maestro flicks his baton, establishes the pace. His left hand may rest easily on his hip at first. Soon it pleads for eloquence, stands out like a policeman's warning when he wants a pianissimo, quivers over his heart when he begs for special feeling. Front row subscribers in last week's audience occasionally heard a husky croaking sound. Toscanini was singing as he always sings when his orchestra plays to please...
...elegance that it was accepted as important. Most surprising was the Saint-Saens Danse Macabre which sounded extraordinarily vital, not a measure of it hackneyed or cheaply melodramatic. After the Rhine Journey from Wagner's Götterdammerung, the audience would have stayed long to cheer. But Toscanini was through. He bowed briefly, tugged at the concert master's sleeve, his own private sign that he wants the players to leave the stage...
...great good humor Conductor Arturo Toscanini of the New York Philharmonic-Symphony Society was promenading the deck of the S.S. Lafayette as she steamed up New York harbor, when reporters clambered aboard to ask: 1) whether he was going to retire and 2) whether he had given his wedding ring to Mussolini. The Maestro, furious at both rumors, trembled, wheeled, bolted...
...considered before she gave them their seething, transfigured quality. As Tosca she was so tigerish that every Scarpia who sang with her dreaded the moment when she would spring on him, brandishing the knife. Her Isolde had a nobility so flamingly tense that when it was matched once with Toscanini's conducting a halt had to be called in rehearsal for the other singers to regain their repose. Critics still hold up the Fremstad Kundry as a model for that scraggly, wild-haired creature of the woods, who turns seductress for the second act. As the Walkure...