Ballet Suites Nos. 1-3, Sans opus P, Suite from The Bolt, opus 27a, Suite from The Golden Age, opus 22a, Suite from Zoya, opus 64a[a], Suite from Pirogov, opus 76a.
Maxim Shostakovich, Chorus[a] and Orchestra of the Bolshoi Theatre, Moscow, Leon Zaks and Anatoly Levin (solo violins)[a].
BMG 74321 66981 2. 2 disc set. ADD. TT 76:42 + 67:03
Recorded in Moscow, 1966, 1967 and 1975.

BMG's releases of Melodiya material are proving incredibly valuable in restoring to the catalogue both major performances of standard repertoire and rarer pieces d'occasions. While Rozhdestvensky's symphony cycle (reviewed in DSCH No. 11) is certainly the former, the present set probably falls into the latter camp. It's strange to think that in the mid-1960s when Maxim and the Bolshoi's forces went into the studio they produced the first complete recordings of the suites from The Bolt and Pirogov, and it was the first time that anything from Zoya had been laid down. Now of course there are (sometimes several) rival versions for everything in the set.

While grouping the three ballet suites together might seem to make sense, I find them a bit indistinguishable, and can only usually manage one at a time. It might have been better to split them over the two discs interleaving the more pungent suites from The Bolt and The Golden Age (though the Waltz Scherzo from the First Ballet Suite actually derives from the industrial ballet). As with all light music, characterisation is everything, and Maxim and the Bolshoi Orchestra are certainly up for it, helped by the very forward recording with almost every solo highlighted. Having said that, for me those very qualities and the relentless jollity helped make each suite a solo dish.

The first disc is completed by the suite from The Bolt, a much more witty and varied collection and, apart from some blaring brass, much the most enjoyable piece so far, particularly with its quacking woodwind.

The second disc opens with The Golden Age, and an Introduction that is witty if slightly hard-driven. The following Adagio features weird sounding sax and clarinet but that doesn't detract too much from its enjoyability. The most famous movement is the Polka (this performance was previously released on CD coupled to Maxim's first account of the Fifth Symphony). Like the Introduction it's taken at a fair (though not extraordinary) lick. Moments that are usually reined in for comic effect are ruthlessly ridden over, which lessens the wit, but against that the wind solos often have a bizarre and hilarious motor-horn quality. Both here and in the final Dance the playing has an exhilarating edge-of-seat quality - a couple of times it feels as if it's going to go off the rails, but always somehow manages to cling on.

The Introduction to the suite from Zoya presents a problem; to be frank there is little that anyone can do with its opening. This nine-minute would-be tone poem starts with some of Shostakovich's least memorable music, though the later choral music is more effective, and the violin solos towards the end are touching (if here a little underplayed). Having collapsed large parts of the film's 35 music cues into a five-movement suite, it was inevitable that some structural joins would show.

Even in Prokofiev's expertly reworked Alexander Nevsky cantata not all conductors succeed in disguising the fact that The Battle on the Ice is built from several sections that are completely separate in the film. But from there on things improve; the militaristic Scene (reminiscent in parts of the near-contemporary Eighth Symphony) has a suitably frenzied side drum. In the Tchaikovskian opening of Prelude (actually an orchestration of Shostakovich's own Prelude, opus 34/14) the strings are a bit grainy but that could equally be the recording. They certainly lack the last ounce of passion necessary in such music, and the blaring brass in the middle section hardly helps matters. Frustrating, as the outer parts of this movement can be very effective. The brilliant March bursts in with brass fanfares though Shostakovich adds enough melodic and harmonic twists to make what could be a tiresomely overblown movement enjoyable. The Finale opens with an echo of what occasionally seems the mandatory You Fell as Victims as well as quoting Glinka's Ivan Susannin, but this multi-section movement also has some touching and effective scene-painting.

The suite from Pirogov is approaching the status of standard repertoire on disc, with recordings from Serebrier and Mnatsakanov (reviewed in the last journal) as well as some fragments from Chailly. There is some enjoyable music here, and the stitching of the music is much less obvious. The opening fanfares and some of the later, driving chase music set the military scene, though some of the keening themes presumably portray the eponymous surgeon's concern and the pain of his patients. I have to admit to a soft spot for the Finale simply because it's so daft - quite how it escaped the various ballet suites I don't know. There isn't much between the various performances - the couplings are more likely to affect your choice.

The recordings mostly date from the mid 1960s, with The Bolt, from 1975, the most modern. For this release BMG have dropped NoNoise remastering in favour of the more successful 24 Super Bit which does manage to curb some of the harsher aspects of the recordings. These are some of the most easily listened-to transfers of Soviet material, though, perhaps in an effort to suppress hiss, the ends of one or two movements fade out with unnatural rapidity.

As with the other releases in this series, there are a few bloopers in the notes, for example the recording dates are misreported, Kozintsev's first name was Grigori: in addition he did not direct Michurin, the full list of soloists as reported in Derek Hulme's catalogue is missing, and the front cover image, far from being as claimed Natalya Goncherova's Fresh Fallen Snow is a detail from Olga Rozanova's Fire in the City (Cityscape). Goncherova's painting can be seen on the Rozhdestvensky set that includes the tenth and eleventh symphonies.

No-one will ever claim that much of this music plumbs the depths of profundity (though to some degree I would except the Adagio from The Golden Age) but, in small doses it is certainly entertaining and the film scores are good examples of the work he was doing in the medium at that time. In such characterful performances this is certainly worth investing in.

Quite what the recently announced restructuring of BMG will mean is uncertain, but it is to be hoped that they manage to continue to release material from this treasure trove, as so many other sources have come and gone in recent years.

John Riley
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