A dismal record.(Maestros, Masterpieces and Madness)(Book review)

Maestros, Masterpieces and Madness, by Norman Lebrecht; Allen Lane, 2007, $49.95.

HERE IS AN IRRITATINGLY gossipy, titillating, anecdote-rich, smart-arse book that tells an unpleasing and unfortunate truth. Its cover not merely gives us its title, as above, but fills that out with two subtitles: The Secret Life and Shameful Death of the Classical Recording Industry and, as a kind of special reward for reading it, Includes the 100 Best Records Ever Made and the 20 Worst. Obviously such lists are intensely subjective, but Norman Lebrecht, who has long been a highly provocative author on matters musical (The Maestro Myth, When the Music Stops, and others) is persuasive.

One assumes Lebrecht employs a bodyguard to protect himself from the moguls of EMI, Decca ("democracy incarnate"), DGG, Philips, Sony and all the rest of the sometimes collusive though superficially competitive (he claims) recording aristocracy, experts in intrigue and all as interwoven as the Danish royal family. If they find his body in a recording studio (where he likes to play the part of a fly on the wall) or under the shelf containing several hundred versions of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, the number of suspects will be daunting.

Lebrecht tells us, somewhat sketchily, the history of recording, its zeniths and nadirs, its deeds and misdeeds. Eventually we learn that the classical recording industry committed suicide quite recently, led thereto partly by its own follies, by the revolutionary development of alternative technological options, and by over-production, monstrous cost patterns, and misreading of public demand. It wrote its own obituary on the covers of its products. The industry tried medications in the form of "crossover" music, a dominating array of compilations, and CD cover pictures of scantily clad teenage violinists, but their efficacy is unproven.

Into this mess entered new players like Naxos, undercutting the majors by initially using virtually unknown performers from the Balkans who were willing to play for a song; Hyperion, who went upmarket in repertoire choice and thus formed a valuable niche market, and "esoteric" Nonesuch.

The book has an introduction headed "Past Midnight" and is dedicated to conductor Klaus Tennstedt (1926-98) who was never a supernova in the recording firmament. Walter Legge, who features prominently, is dismissed as "an egotistical intriguer with a sadistic streak". Sir Thomas Beecham, says Lebrecht, called Legge "a mass of egregious fatuity"; Furtwangler accused him of "an outrageous breach of personal trust".

Lebrecht loves quotations. Otto Klemperer "sonorously proclaimed that listening to a recording [instead of a live performance] is like going to ...