 |
DSCH No. 11 CD Reviews
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
 |
Twenty-four Preludes
and Fugues, Op. 87.
Vladimir Ashkenazy (piano).
Decca 466 066-2. 2 disc set. DDD. TT 62:21 + 79:22.
Recorded Berlin, Winterthur (Stadthaus) and London, May 1996 - April 1998.
In addition to thirteen CDs featuring Vladimir Ashkenazy conducting Shostakovich's music, Decca have issued recordings, all now deleted, in which he has taken part as a pianist in six of the composer's works (Cello Sonata, Moderato for Cello and Piano, Piano Quintet, Blok Romances, Captain Lebyadkin Verses and the piano version of the Michelangelo Suite, this last item issued only on LP but later rerecorded by Ashkenazy in its orchestral version). However, the present release is his first commercial recording of any of the solo piano music.
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
|
In 1991 I devoted many pages of the society's newsletter to a discussion of the outstanding recording of the Opus 87 cycle by Marios Papadopoulos (Kingdom KCLCD2023 & 2024/5). Caroline Weichert's set is also impressive (Accord 202032), but the widely-acclaimed Hyperion set by Tatiana Nikolayeva (CDA66441/3) is likely to be most listeners' point of reference in a comparative evaluation of this new Decca release. Nikolayeva first recorded the cycle in 1962, but this 4-LP set has had little circulation outside the USSR. The 1962 performance is a fine one, illustrating why many musicians, including Ashkenazy himself, have paid tribute to her artistry. These LPs have never appeared on CD and the Melodiya CDs currently available of Nikolayeva playing Opus 87 derive from a 1987 recording which shows a distressing deterioration in her playing (19849-2) [Recordings Editor's note: since this review was written, the BMG/Melodiya release has become unavailable, but the same recording has been reissued on Regis RRC 3005]. The 1987 set did not become available in the West until after Nikolayeva had recorded the cycle again in 1990 for Hyperion, a performance which shows an even greater decline, and a set which it would certainly not have been thought necessary to make had the better-engineered 1987 version been available at that time.
There is probably no parallel in the history of recording for any artist changing their interpretation as drastically as did Nikolayeva between her 1962 and 1990 recordings; indeed, it is difficult to conceive that the two sets are the work of the same artist. Reviewing the Hyperion set in 1991, I was as gullible as all other writers (with the exception of Ian MacDonald) in assuming the 1990 performance to be "authentic", a long-delayed setting down of her interpretation as it had stood when she had worked with the composer on the pieces in 1950-1. Nevertheless, I pointed out that the recording misrepresented Shostakovich's music, in that Nikolayeva, although aged only 66 at the time, was now having severe problems in getting her fingers around the notes (errors in the society's retyping of my review invalidated some of my references to her problems at specific places in the score). A further recording by her of Shostakovich piano works, issued by Hyperion in 1992, showed her playing at crisis point, being so inaccurate as to defy belief.
The frequently-quoted influence of Bach's Forty-eight Preludes and Fugues on Shostakovich's Opus 87 is minimal; the assumption that Shostakovich suddenly discovered Bach's music at the Leipzig Bach bicentennial celebrations in 1950 and then immediately set about writing fugues so as to introduce the German contrapuntal tradition to Russian culture is laughable, as Russian music has always had a strong polyphonic element (if one is seeking influences, one is more likely to find one by comparing Shostakovich's virtuoso Prelude and Fugue No.12 in G# minor with Taneyev's equally-virtuoso Prelude and Fugue in G# minor, Opus 29, of which Ashkenazy has made a memorable recording). By 1990, Nikolayeva seemed determined to entomb Shostakovich's pieces beneath a thick layer of pseudo-Bachian gloss, but "Bachian" in the anachronistic 1950s tradition of slow tempi and claustrophobic textures, with a uniform mood of seriousness and weight imposed on the music throughout.
By contrast, Ashkenazy allows each piece its own individual character, so his performance will have the effect of a breath of fresh air on listeners accustomed to Nikolayeva's unrelieved portentousness, a style of playing forced on her by loss of technique in her later years. Compare their performances of Fugue 15, for instance: here Ashkenazy achieves startling clarity at a genuine Allegro molto, yet Nikolayeva, even at her own impossibly-sluggish tempo, is struggling to play the piece at all, part of a bar even being omitted in the confusion. Fugue 17 provides one of the worst examples of her habit of simplifying the text when the going gets tough: here, at the passage written in two bass clefs, fragments of the lower voices are omitted, leaving scraps of incomplete lines which do not make thematic sense in isolation. With forty years' experience of playing this music, cheating of this sort should not be necessary; with Ashkenazy, every note is audible and he makes the piece even sound easy. After listening to his recording and taking his professional standards for granted it is a considerable shock to return to Nikolayeva's, where one finds elementary pianistic challenges such as the left hand octaves in Preludes 3 and 15 totally fouled up.
One of the most tiresome characteristics of the Hyperion set is the exaggerated emphasis of the fugue subjects. So monotonously are they highlighted in this way that when the appearance of a fugue subject passes without emphasis, the listener attributes this to an oversight by Nikolayeva, rather than conscious artistic intention on her part. In any genuinely polyphonic music, all of the individual lines are of interest, not just those featuring the subject, and there is little need to accentuate the main themes when they are heard repeatedly anyway. Moreover, overemphasis of these themes can mask interesting details in the subsidiary voices, details which may occur only once in the music. For much of the Hyperion set, the textures are debased to the level of "theme plus accompaniment" with the accompaniment heavily pedalled, resulting in a warm, superficially attractive sonority in the background, but with no focus or definition. Without the score, I doubt whether any skilled musician could identify the individual voices of Fugue 13 as Nikolayeva plays it: this is the only five-voiced fugue in the cycle, but as the piece is played with no sense of horizontal perspective, with memory lapses too, one's aural perception in places is of a series of homophonic block chords.
By contrast, Ashkenazy always shows discretion in his handling of fugal entries. His refined keyboard control allows him to bring elements of the texture into prominence without needing to shine a bright spotlight on them in order to do so; often he hints at the material on which he wants us to focus our attention by a slight intensification of dynamic on the relevant notes, a nuance so subtle as to amount to little more than a different shade of tonal colour, thus guiding our attention to the salient notes without distracting our awareness of the remainder of the texture.
|
|
|
Clarity of texture is inseparable from intelligent choice of fingering: Nikolayeva uses the sustaining pedal to cover gaps in her fingerwork, which is often alarmingly uneven (particularly in Fugue 2) but Ashkenazy is so secure of the physical connection from each note to the next that he needs only to employ it in the manner referred to by Claudio Arrau as "the inaudible pedal", reserving its more extensive use for passages where he requires a particular tone colour. Discriminating use of the pedal enables Ashkenazy to observe staccato markings even when they occur simultaneously with legato elsewhere in the texture. All of this may appear pedantic on paper, but when implemented in performance the effect is of a "three-dimensional" sound world. My only disappointment in this respect was Fugue 1; memories of the 1955 Emil Gilels recordings of Preludes and Fugues 1, 5 and 24 are not easily put aside here, despite the error-prone texts Gilels used, which in the case of Fugue 1 halved the metronome marking.
Polyphonic music can cause problems on the piano: in ensemble music, separate lines are easy to differentiate because of their contrasting instrumental colours, but when on the piano two or more separate lines converge to the same register of the keyboard, the listener is often unable to distinguish which notes belong to each line, because of the similarity of timbre. The problem is compounded when a sustained note in one voice diverts the listener's attention temporarily onto the others, because when the first voice resumes its activity, its return to the texture can create the aural illusion that these notes are part of the other voices. In a purely acoustical sense, one still hears all of the notes, but the music is not intelligible unless one can identify the individual shapes of the two or more independent (yet interdependent) lines which the composer intended. When two lines cross over each other, it may not be obvious what is happening, with the result that at the crossover point the ear may mentally join up the midway point of line "A" with the midway point of line "B" and vice versa.
Ashkenazy's judgments concerning the balance of voices and the relative weight of each illustrate the care which has been taken over his preparation. He almost always clarifies which notes belong to which lines (Fugue 4 at 2'10" and Fugue 20 at 3'39" being two examples out of countless which could be cited) and when he doesn't (Fugue 8 at 2'52") it is at points where the composer's choices of spacings and dynamics make the task unrealistic. In general, pianists tackling polyphonic repertoire often phrase the main voice well but neglect to give adequate shaping to the background ones, which are played without finesse, often unsteady in dynamics. If one chooses a random passage and tries to focus one's attention on one of the subsidiary voices, the chances are that on Hyperion the subsidiary voice chosen will be inaudible, swamped by pedal, whereas in this new Decca set one finds that subsidiary voices are usually clearly audible, and most likely to be well shaped too.
Textually, Ashkenazy's playing is accurate, whereas Nikolayeva's recordings of Opus 87 (and other works by Shostakovich) contain misreadings of the text which derive from faulty early editions, which gives one little confidence in the supposedly-definitive 1980 Muzyka edition of Opus 87 which she herself edited. Next to this, the occasional blemishes by Ashkenazy, such as playing the misprint in Fugue 16 at 5'58" (this variant of the figuration applies only to the left hand in the previous bar) or misreading prominent notes in Prelude 14 at 0'58" or Prelude 17 at 0'13" (the composer's own recorded performances confirm which notes he intended) or Fugue 21 at 2'05", are insignificant.
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
The inconsistencies between the composer's indicated metronome markings and those adopted in his own recordings are well known, and Ashkenazy has reached his own conclusions about tempi, which are always convincing. He ignores Shostakovich's instructions that the opening of Fugue 4 should be slower than Prelude 4, and although there is no precedent for this in either the composer's 1952 or 1958 recordings, it should be remembered that Sviatoslav Richter did the same (and to a much greater extent) in a recording which the composer is known to have admired. There is no element of imitation here though, as Ashkenazy keeps the later acceleration of tempo in Fugue 4 more in harness than Richter chooses to (Marios Papadopoulos is superb here, doggedly persisting in a slow tempo to the end, maintaining the tension until the last note). Sometimes Ashkenazy's rethinking of individual pieces is radical, such as introducing a considerable climax into Fugue 16, which Shostakovich intended to be played pp throughout and he rejects the markings of p and dolce in Fugue 17, changes which take one aback initially, but which one accepts as valid alternative views on subsequent hearings.
Elsewhere the playing is less controversial, achieving its individuality through subtle touches. In Prelude 14, the tremolo is controlled precisely so as to regulate the tension, producing a performance as memorable as Richter's but again without imitating it: Richter increases the tempo midway, but Ashkenazy does not. It's a pleasure to hear the voices of Fugue 7 articulated so clearly, as this piece is often presented as a blur of pedalled arpeggios. After an unaccountably unrhythmic statement of the opening theme, Fugue 8 continues with a well-sustained intensity which holds one's concentration throughout, and although I prefer Papadopolous in this piece, with the astonishing atmosphere of grim oppression which he creates, Ashkenazy's performance here is in keeping with his refusal to exaggerate. For example, Fugue 13 is rather faster and less introspective than one might have expected, yet, on its own terms, the performance is a fine one, with the five-voiced counterpoint clear. Note too, how a few detached notes in the accompaniment in Prelude 13 introduce a lightweight mood to that piece absent from previous recordings. I particularly liked the insight with which Prelude and Fugue 18 is handled, the hushed and eerie alternation between minor and major at the end of the prelude followed by a fugue played with a cool poise which avoids banishing the introverted mood previously established. In Prelude 20, Ashkenazy plays the sustained bass octaves as notated, without the alterations which Nikolayeva was keen to relate that Shostakovich had designed specifically for her performances (these modifications, like others she mentions, are adopted in the composer's own recordings, made almost a year before Nikolayeva first performed Opus 87 in public) and the prelude sounds particularly desolate in its original format, as here, with the bass notes allowed to decay. Despite the incisive virtuosity summoned in other pieces when required (the set is worth buying for the stunning accounts of Preludes and Fugues 12, 15 and 21 alone) listeners will find it equally rewarding to return to Ashkenazy's performances of the more withdrawn pieces such as this.
The sound quality is excellent. It is remarkably consistent too, considering that the recording was made in different locations over a period of two years, and the occasional change in ambience noticeable between pieces (such as between Nos. 7 and 8) is not obtrusive. Combining a pleasant ambience with a sharp focus which suggests that at least one of the microphones was placed closely to the instrument, it is a more intimate sound than on some of the recordings the pianist has made in the last few years in Switzerland at St Charles Hall, Meggen, where he recorded his two Prokofiev discs. Good booklet notes by David Gutman are included.
Vladimir Ashkenazy's new set is the product of a great deal of thought and painstaking preparation. I have listened to it five times in its entirety and am sure that it is likely to prove to be a recording of lasting value. It would be welcome news if Decca restored to the current catalogue the six deleted recordings mentioned at the start of this article, which would form an interesting 2-CD set. I hope too that Tatiana Nikolayeva's 1962 version of Opus 87 will be issued eventually on CD. Any artist deserves to be remembered for their best achievements, and it is unfortunate that the 1987 Melodiya and 1990 Hyperion versions, the latter the object of indiscriminate media hype, have both badly misrepresented the true qualities of a respected musician who did so much to promote Shostakovich's music.
Raymond Clarke
Index
 |
Declassified
Preludes Nos. 1, 2, 7, 8, 11, 14, 15[a], 17, 18 & 23 from Twenty-four
Preludes and Fugues, Op. 87; Barber: Excursions 1, 2 & 4 from
Excursions for Piano, Op. 20; Stravinsky: The Devil's Dance from L'Histoire
du Soldat; Poulenc: Mouvements Perpétuels, No. 1[b].
All works arr. for accordion, electric violin, electric guitar and
drums (and tuba[a]) by Evan Harlan, except Mimi Rabson[b].
Excelsior: Evan Harlan (accordion), Mimi Rabson (5- & 6-string electric
violins), Claudio Ragazzi (electric guitar), Grant Smith (drums); James
Gray (tuba)[a].
Mark Set Go MSG 101 CD. DDD. TT 49:19.
Recorded and mixed April & May 1995 and April 1996, PBS Studio, Westwood,
Massachusetts.
World Première Recordings!
After reading Raymond Clarke's review of Ashkenazy's new account of Shostakovich's Opus 87, many of you undoubtedly found yourselves asking, "All well and good … but does it rock?" So, without further ado, we now boldly go where no DSCH review has gone before and report on Boston group Excelsior's radical surgery on ten of the Preludes from the Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues.
Many readers will consider these treatments to be sacrilegious, but the adventurous can ally themselves with the Shostakovich who credited his friend Ivan Sollertinsky for overcoming his snobbish attitude towards light music, and who wrote in 1956, "Now I like music of all genres, provided it is good music." It is tempting to view the present grouping as a rock interpretation - and the promotional references to King Crimson support that impression - but the four musicians who comprise Excelsior draw on a more diverse range of genres in their highly virtuosic interpretations of these classical pieces, including klezmer, jazz, and folk music.
Evan Harlan (Excelsior is named after his accordion brand) says, "Maybe I'm being perverse, but everything seems to flow from the original compositions in a natural way." Excelsior's highly capable musicians are indeed most persuasive when they let the pieces suggest an appropriate response. Prelude No. 15, here labelled Fireman's Waltz, is a good example, beginning as a playful waltz with fine rhythmic integration of the players - and an "oompah" or two from James Gray on tuba - then disintegrating into a drum solo improvisation before reconstructing the classic waltz form. No. 11, as the painful subtitle Oy Gavotte suggests, is mined for its inherent klezmer potential, following the score fairly strictly until the last page, at which point the violin and accordion take off with a clever improvisation that remains firmly based on the original themes. Prelude No. 8, Stone Polka, also Jewish-inflected, has more improvisation, without the soloists going off entirely on their own, while Prelude No. 1, Sarabande, is a controlled and gentle handling of the dance form.
The Preludes given a more traditional rock treatment are the least successful. No. 17, or Mimi Goes Me(n)tal, is awkward and sluggish, descending into an excessively long violin solo which reminds one of the worst aspects of prog rock (progressive, as in Emerson, Lake and Palmer). The piece most likely to irritate is the last, Prelude No. 23 (Anthem), which falls quickly into a heavy-handed rock-lead mode - where IS my lighter? - in an attempt at a stirring anthem rendition. Here Excelsior sound like an unviable clone of the rock band Journey.
One piece of more mixed merit is Prelude No. 7 (Gigue á la Mode), which has a bad jazz feel at times, with the guitar's rather noodly (translation: pointless) and over-long improvisation, but very nice accordion work. Similarly, while Prelude 18, subtitled Hora (a Jewish folk dance), sounds authentically klezmerish, it's somewhat tedious, feeling as if it's not going anywhere in particular.
The clear standout piece on this album is the arrangement of Prelude No. 14, aptly named Gulag. This interpretation sticks quite closely to the score, with Mimi Rabson on electric violin reading the main melodic line, paying close attention to Shostakovich's dynamic markings. The raw power of the electrified instruments amplifies the foreboding in the original score, creating a sense of deep, uncontrollable grief, and imparting a siren-like wail to the violin that conjures up vivid prison images. The electric guitar is set on high reverb, and packs a heavy punch in its percussive supporting role. Even those readers interested exclusively in classical music will not fail to recognize the high quality of the playing in this piece or to appreciate Excelsior's good judgement as to instrumentation.
The mutant bits of Barber, Stravinsky and Poulenc are equally eclectic. Love Declassified or hate it, we guarantee you won't be bored!
Martha Hurley
and W. Mark Roberts
Index
|
|
 |
Twenty-four Preludes
for piano, Op. 34; Piano Sonata No. 1, Op. 12; Piano Sonata No. 2 in B
minor, Op. 61; Prelude and Fugue in D minor, No. 24, from Op. 87.
Raymond Clarke (piano).
Athene ATH CD18. DDD. TT 75:44.
Recorded Djanogly Recital Hall, Nottingham University, U.K., 6-7 January,
9-10 July & 7 September 1998.
Raymond Clarke may be best known to DSCH readers for his recording of Ronald Stevenson's Passacaglia on DSCH for piano (Marco Polo 8.223545, 1994). His reputation as a performer of the works of Shostakovich himself, however, is well-established in British music circles. The release of Clarke's new all-Shostakovich recording is the product of his long-term commitment to the promotion of these works in the piano repertoire.
These pieces on this CD span the years 1926 to 1951, the period during which Shostakovich composed his most important contributions to the solo piano repertoire. Whilst a single CD cannot provide a comprehensive survey of the Shostakovich output for the piano, this disc provides a very solid sample of the composer's best.
The disc commences with the Twenty-four Preludes. The absence of technical difficulty in the opening C Major Prelude leaves the performer entirely free to capture its pure and beautiful simplicity. Not such a simple task it would seem. Clarke's performance of this opening item does not entirely convince the listener. Further numbers in the set similarly disappoint. Why? In the pieces requiring greater technical facility, Clarke handles the difficulties with ease, yet throughout the set he too often pays insufficient attention to melodic and expressive detail. Indeed, it would seem he almost pointedly ignores the composer's liberal requests (present in fifteen of the twenty-four pieces!) for espressivo playing. A notable exception is his sensitive treatment of No.10 in C# minor. Generally Clarke seems much more at home in the quirkier pieces, particularly No.24. Overall, however, this is a very 'straight' interpretation of a set of pieces that provides plentiful opportunities for marked contrasts and characterisation. It is a very competent performance, but one that leaves the impression of a somewhat academic approach.
The First Sonata is the obvious showpiece of the disc. Clarke leaves no doubt that he possesses the dual requirements of a formidable technique and an attendant stamina to perform this work. Obvious adjectives to describe this work are: fast, loud, percussive and dissonant. All of these are demonstrated decisively in this performance, yet the contrasting ppp sections and the achievement of a sinister ghostliness are equally well-realised. Atmosphere is paramount in this work and Clarke's interpretation is completely successful. Throughout the piece, and despite the precariousness of its very nature, there is never any doubt that the performer is in command. Neither is there any doubt about the amount of thought that has gone into Clarke's interpretation. Tempo and its modifications are well-chosen throughout. Some of the accelerando passages are quite hair-raising in their intensity. This work should be experienced on the edge of your seat, a state usually only achieved in the presence of a live performance. It is no mean feat that Clarke has succeeded in making this possible for the home listener.
Ironically, Clarke's mastery of the First Sonata highlights the deficiencies of his Op.34. Is it possible to hear from this recording that the first two Preludes of Op.34 encompass the same dynamic range as the First Sonata? The answer is a most definite "no". To what extent this can be attributed to the recording process is a question for the technical expert. Purely from a listening point of view, however, it is very disappointing.
The Second Sonata perhaps provides the most pleasant surprise on the disc. Considered by many to be overshadowed by its flashy predecessor, this work has a history of being disregarded as a worthy performance item. Whilst not possessing the technical hurdles of the First Sonata, the work does present the performer with a considerable interpretational challenge, not the least of which is its length.
Clarke chooses a fast but well-controlled tempo for the opening of the first movement. The melody is immediately in evidence in contrast to the semiquaver figuration. A surprise comes in the second subject when Clarke maintains a similar tempo (rather than the standard più mosso), thus setting his interpretation apart from all known previous recordings. Musically this works well, though it is not known if this is what Shostakovich intended. Clarke pre-empts criticism on this point with the philosophical observation in his notes that whilst the pursuit of authenticity in performance is a worthy one, its achievement is always illusory. Whilst Clarke is disdainful in his notes about the musical worthiness of this section, the choice of a slower tempo reveals lyrical qualities which almost all previous recordings have failed to uncover. There are a few rough corners between sections in this movement - largely a result of Clarke disallowing himself any "time" during the transitional passages, but overall the movement is handled admirably.
Prelude No.17, Op.34, in which the second movement of the Second Sonata surely has its roots, should prepare the listener for the fact that expressive playing is not Clarke's strong point. As with the Preludes, performance of this movement is fairly square. Molto rubato is the opening instruction for this movement and additional tempo modifications of ritenuto and accelerando are scattered throughout. Unfortunately, these are largely disregarded; much opportunity for expressiveness is therefore lost. The ppp requirement of the central meno mosso section is not achieved in this recording, the accompanying chords unfortunately sounding more prominent than the melody. Clarke's interpretation of this movement is drier than that heard on earlier recordings, a choice that could have worked well if the other details had not been ignored.
Like so many of Shostakovich's large-scale works, the primary performance challenge of the Second Sonata is the divulgence of its overall dramatic form. In the third movement Clarke redeems any earlier shortcomings as he rises to this challenge. Careful consideration has obviously been given to each of the variations that comprise the long finale. This movement (in fact, the entire work) has no real climax. Rather, it waxes and wanes through its variations until it simply subsides sublimely into the key of B Major. Clarke sets himself apart from other performers in his appreciation of this important architectural fact. Central to this understanding are the tempo choices throughout. Clarke's interpretation differs most markedly from previous recordings in the very slow tempo he adopts for the dramatic Adagio variation. This is crucial to the success of both the movement and the overall work. It is difficult to comprehend why more performers have not appreciated this fact. Clarke's understanding is sustained right until the end of the mesmeric coda. So often the final bars are tossed off as though they constitute a mere afterthought. Clarke, however, accords the coda its rightful significance and the overall shape of the work is thus revealed as making perfect musical sense.
Quite a fast tempo is chosen for the Prelude of Op.87, No. 24. Not too fast, but maximally fast. Again, Clarke covers himself on this point with the comment in his notes that weighty tempi in this Prelude and Fugue should be reserved for when the piece is played at the end of a performance of the entire Op.87 cycle. This is a very personal opinion and definitely a point for debate. Does No. 24 not assume equal profundity as a concert finale, or, as in this case, the culmination of a 76 minute recording? Regardless of its performance context, it can never be ignored that these are the final significant notes and bars composed by Shostakovich for solo piano. Whilst this point seemingly has little relevance to discussion of this recording, perhaps it is relevant to the fact that this performance of No. 24 fails to arouse the emotions normally associated with this work. The exact reason is difficult to pinpoint. Clarke's energy never flags and the music builds inexorably toward its climactic ending. Furthermore, the recording is devoid of the split or wrong notes often heard in performance of this work. Clarke's performance, however, seems to be lacking in passion. Whereas in the Second Sonata control is a key factor in the successful realisation of the work, in this Prelude and Fugue there comes a point where control should be thrown to the wind and pure passion given its head. Perhaps relocation to the concert hall might bring this final vital dimension to Clarke's performance.
The notes written by Raymond Clarke which accompany this CD provide both interesting background for the newcomer to Shostakovich study and some original insights for the aficionado. In either case they reinforce what is already evident from the recording - that Clarke himself has a profound interest in Shostakovich and a highly developed understanding of his music. This CD is a worthy item for Shostakovich collectors and piano enthusiasts alike.
Rosemary Cordy
Index
|
No Longer Available |
 |
|
|
 |
Prélude
Twenty-four Preludes for piano, Op. 34; Three Fantastic Dances,
Op. 5; §Iouli Galperine: Cahier Dominical (Sunday Notebook).
Mikhail Markov (piano).
Suoni e Colori SC 53009. DDD. TT 64:24.
§World première recording.
Dmitri Shostakovich:
Piano Works
Piano Sonata No. 2, Op. 61; Twenty-four Preludes for piano, Op. 34.
Johan Schmidt (piano).
Cyprès CYP2622. DDD. TT 57:05.
Recorded Royal Conservatory of Liège, Belgium, 23-24 February 1998.
Pianist Mikhail Markov was born in 1951 and schooled in the Tchaikovsky Conservatory in Moscow. He now lives in the Netherlands, teaching and giving concerts. On the evidence of these Twenty-four Preludes, he is thoroughly immersed in the Shostakovian idiom, with a style that is deliberate and strongly articulated. In this he is assisted by a warm and intimate recording free of the cavernous reverberation that afflicts Tatiana Nikolayeva's well-known version on Hyperion (CDA66620).
|
|
 |
Speaking of Nikolayeva, she could still turn her keyboard into a palette in 1992, and her C# minor Prelude, No. 10 is far more atmospheric than Markov's, painting a Nocturne in heady hues. To his credit, however, Markov seems more content than Nikolayeva to let the music speak for itself, and in the other twenty-three Preludes I greatly preferred his approach. His gait is sprightlier than hers, which pays off in greater excitement in the faster Preludes like the G# minor, No. 12 and the Db Major, No. 15. The wisdom of Markov's choice of tempi is even more apparent in the B minor and F# Major Preludes, Nos. 6 and 13, which sound downright bloated in Nikolayeva's ponderous readings. In side-by-side listening with Markov's of the same two pieces it took an effort to force myself to sit through hers.
A quite different approach to the Twenty-four Preludes can be heard in the new Cyprès disc featuring the multiple-award-winning Belgian pianist Johan Schmidt. This reading is, in the main, light and impressionistic. In the fast Preludes, Schmidt is more daring than Markov, coming in significantly sooner without sliding off the tracks. This difference feels most dramatic in the A minor Prelude, No. 2, which lasts 54 seconds in Markov's hands, but only 43 in Schmidt's [because track timings include varying amounts of dead space, all times in this review were measured by stopwatch]. Whether this greater speed is justified is open to debate. Certainly, in the case of the G# minor Prelude, the Allegro non troppo marking would tend to support Markov's time of 1:16 rather more than Schmidt's breathless 1:06 (Nikolayeva is even longer-winded, at 1:25).
Even in the slower pieces, Schmidt usually chooses brisker tempi, as can be illustrated by the G minor Prelude, No. 22, which takes Markov 2:21, but Schmidt only 1:59. Schmidt's speed is felicitously balanced by a correspondingly lighter touch than Markov's, so his pace in these slow Preludes does not seem excessive. Nevertheless, in the Eb minor (No. 14) and G minor Adagios, which plumb the deepest emotional depths of all the Preludes in this opus, Markov's firmer and more deliberate attack yields a much darker mood, with a greater sense of introspection.
Conversely, when Schmidt does invest more time in a Prelude than Markov, I find myself wishing that he hadn't, as in the Bb minor Andantino, No. 16, which sounds quite flaccid next to Markov's jaunty reading. The F Major Prelude, No. 23, however, gains almost Beethovenian grandeur from the extra time he invests in it (1:22 to Markov's 1:09).
One startling discrepancy in Schmidt's reading comes in the F# Major Prelude. He apparently misreads the ottava marking on the treble staff that extends from the second note of the thirty-second bar to the thirty-fourth bar, instead applying the octave up-shift only from the thirty-third bar. It is also possible that this is a conscious alteration, for the change assaults the ear like a knee to the groin and I don't see how a performer could miss it. If intentional, this departure from the score is ill-advised, disrupting the thematic symmetry of the Prelude's opening and closing melody.
For technical precision, neither Markov nor Schmidt is as impressive as Raymond Clarke in his new version of Opus 34 (Athene ATH CD 18; full review above). The intellectual rigour of Clarke's reading offers longer-term rewards than Schmidt's impressionism. For better exposing the full emotional range of these pieces, however, Markov's is the set to live with.
|
|
|
Markov is equally fine in the Three Fantastic Dances, those tasty and calorie-free Gallic bonbons penned by the 14-year-old composer. Nikolayeva supplies this coupling too, however, and I find her Dances to be more vividly coloured than Markov's. Her second Dance is delightful, redolent of Ravel. Perhaps I am wrong to prefer it over Markov's, which admits slightly less dynamic variety and significantly less atmosphere, for, strictly speaking, his does sound more Shostakovian. For whatever it's worth, Markov is closer than is Nikolayeva to Shostakovich in his handling of dynamics in any of his three recordings of Three Fantastic Dances (the 1946 and incorrectly-pitched 1956 transfers on Revelation RV 70008 and RV 70003 and the 1958 Paris recording on EMI CDC 7 54606 2 are no longer in the catalogue[since this review was written, the EMI release has returned to distribution]).
This Suoni e Colori release apparently marks the first recording of any work of Iouli Galperine, who was born in Kiev in 1945 and now resides in Paris. Sunday Notebook consists of eight impressionistic tableaux. The musical influences are diverse, with Shostakovich's ghost flitting in occasionally, but these pieces are by no means derivative. It is telling that the listener's interest is sustained without resort to pianistic special effects, and many of the scenes are economical to the point of austerity, in particular, the monomaniacal Méditation. This is clearly the product of a serious and talented mind, and makes a valuable addition to an already-attractive release.
Philippe Mercier's notes to Cyprès' release take pains to draw parallels between Schmidt's coupling, the Second Piano Sonata of 1943, and the style of Gabriel Fauré. A generic "Frenchness" is indeed audible in Schmidt's interpretation, which is phrased with admirable finesse. As accomplished as his performance is, one senses that the obsessive quality that permeates the work is foreign to Schmidt's constitution, for he tends to soften and round the corners of its repetitive themes.
A more rough-hewn Sonata No. 2 appears on Nikolayeva's Twenty-four Preludes/Three Fantastic Dances CD considered above. Nikolayeva is not loath to bang out her part jerkily when called for, and there is more of Shostakovich the satirist in her version. Unsurprisingly, Schmidt is significantly faster than Nikolayeva in the outer movements, which last only around eighty percent as long as in her recital. Neither he nor she, however, matches Clark for grasping the overall structure of the work - in particular its third movement, whose elements fall so neatly into place in his hands.
Cyprès' acoustics are, if anything, too revealing, for one makes out all of the mechanical noise of Schmidt's pedalling. This does not obscure the fact that his readings offer pianism of a very high order, and the non-specialist collector may well find that the Cyprès disc sits better with them than the alternative versions I've considered. Shostakovich-lovers will prefer Markov for the Preludes or Clarke for the Sonata.
W. Mark Roberts
Index
|
|
 |
Miniatures
for Young Pianists
Berceuse[a], Dance[b], Contradance[c], Spanish
Dance[d], Nocturne[e] (from The Human Comedy, Op. 37[a],
Michurin, Op. 78[b], and The Gadfly, Op. 97[c,d,e], arr.
for piano by Lev Atovmyan); A Child's Exercise Book, Op. 69;
Tchaikovsky: Children's Album, Op. 39; Prokofiev: Music for
Children, Op. 65.
Rimma Bobritskaya (piano).
Saison Russe RUS 788034. DDD. TT 60:15.
Recorded Moscow Conservatory, February 1991.
Hats off to veteran Russian pianist Rimma Bobritskaya, graduate of the Moscow Conservatory and ex-Neuhaus student, for investing in these Russian miniatures, which, while being within the technical grasp of the young music student, brim over with the distinctive musical personalities of their authors.
The first five Shostakovich movements on this new release are straightforward piano arrangements of music from three stage and film scores. The Berceuse is a pretty transcription of a theme from incidental music he wrote in 1933-34 to an adaptation of Balzac's The Human Comedy. Shostakovich recycled the same music in 1952 as the Elegy of Ballet Suite No. 3. The irresistibly bouncy theme of the second piece, Dance, will be familiar as Dance 2 from the eight-movement Suite for Variety Orchestra, an arrangement of film and light music scores which is often misidentifed as the lost Jazz Suite No. 2 of 1938. The last three pieces come from The Gadfly, with Contradance and Nocturne from the movements with the same name in the suite (Op. 97a). The Spanish Dance is better known as Folk Festival or Fair. Bobritskaya is flexible with the beat, and derives a range of moods from these short works. Beginners should not expect to be able to emulate her bravura performance of the whirlwind Spanish Dance anytime soon!
A Child's Exercise Book, which Bobritskaya previously recorded for a 1983 Melodiya LP, is more obviously didactic. To encourage his daughter, Galina, in her piano studies, Shostakovich promised her a collection of piano pieces, with a new one to be given to her each time she had mastered the previous one. He completed the first six pieces in December 1944, and Galina premièred them soon afterwards at a concert of the Children's Music Section of the Moscow Union of Soviet Composers. The seventh piece, entitled Birthday, was written in time to present to Galina on her ninth birthday on 30 May 1945. It opens with a fanfare that Shostakovich elaborated in his Festive Overture of 1954.
Owing to the process of their creation, these miniatures increase in complexity - and in interest for the listener - from first to last. The March and Waltz that begin the set are quite bland, while the third piece, The Bear, is only weakly evocative of its namesake. Even in a pedagogical opus like this, however, Shostakovich couldn't suppress his wry sense of humour, submitting, as Nos. 4 and 5, a Merry Story in E minor and a Sad Story in G Major!
The composer was the first to record A Child's Exercise Book, in 1946, announcing the title of each piece in turn. That recording was reissued on the sixth entry of Revelation's Shostakovich Plays Shostakovich series (RV 70007), which saw very limited distribution before being withdrawn from the catalogue. As was typical for him, especially in light repertoire, Shostakovich tore through these pieces, taking most of the movements very nearly twice as fast as Bobritskaya on the current CD! Bobritskaya's performance is greatly to be preferred for its superior dynamic variety and expressive range. Still, Shostakovich's own reading of the sixth piece, Clockwork Doll (an adaptation of the first theme of his Opus 1 Scherzo), does indeed sound far more like a mechanical contrivance than hers, which she perhaps unwisely spins out over fifty percent longer. Still, in Clockwork Doll and the other pieces, by applying colour and texture Bobritskaya makes a persuasive case for the musical value of these miniatures, and I see little scope for improvement on her account. In any case, it is the only one currently in the catalogue, and would have been the CD première but for the brief appearance of the Revelation disc.
I can't sum up Tchaikovsky's Children's Album any better than annotator André Lischke, who writes that, "this music for children is by no means infantile. Its most striking feature is its sensitivity, the sensitivity of the adult who understands the world of childhood with a tenderness enhanced by a touch of nostalgia." Such understanding is evidenced by the delightful triptych of The Sick Doll, Burial of the Doll, and The New Doll. While the degree of difficulty of the twenty-four pieces in Children's Album varies, all offer scope for expressive adornment, which Bobritskaya applies with discretion.
Also here are the twelve miniatures of Prokofiev's Opus 65, sparkling with all of the wit and intricate inventiveness one would expect from this composer. On average, these call for a higher level of skill from the student than do Tchaikovsky's pieces, and Bobritskaya is able to inject even more of herself into them.
Closely and warmly recorded, the disc is self-recommending to Shostakovich completists, and would also make an excellent present for any young pianists on one's shopping list.
W. Mark Roberts
Index
|
|
 |
|
No Longer Available |
 |
Dmitri Shostakovich:
Complete Works for Piano Duo
Concertino in A minor, Op. 94; Suite in F# minor, Op. 6; Tarantella[a]
(from Tarantella and Prelude; incorrectly printed "from the
Filmmusic to 'The Gadfly'"); Waltz and Polka[b] (incorrectly
printed "from 'The Golden Age'"); Stravinsky: Concerto per
due pianoforte soli 1935; Prokofiev: Schubert Waltzes, Suite; Grigorasch
Dinicu: Hora staccatto (arr. for two pianos by Pantscho Vladigerov)[c].
Klavierduo Genova & Dimitrov: Aglika Genova, Liuben Dimitrov (pianos).
CPO 999 599-2. DDD. TT 70:16.
Recorded Hans Rosbaud Studio, Germany, 4-5 May 1998.
World Première Recordings[a,b,c].
DSCH - Hommage
à Dmitri Chostakovitch, Volume 2
Sonata for violin and piano, Op. 134[a]; Merry March [printed "La
Petite Marche Joyeuse"] for two pianos[b]; Suite for Two Pianos,
Op. 6[c] [incorrectly printed "Op. 61"]; Concertino in A minor,
Op. 94[d] [incorrectly printed "Op. 84"].
Alexandre Brussilovsky (violin)[a], Pascal Godart[a], Thérèse
Dussaut[b,c,d], Serge Polusmiak[b,c,d] (pianos).
Recorded Espace Fazioli, France, 1997.
Suoni e Colori SC 53008. DDD. TT 70:40.
World Première Recording[b].
As the presence of Merry March for two pianos on the Suoni e Colori disc demonstrates, CPO's title is inaccurate. Among other missing piano duet works are the composer's own arrangements for two pianos of both Piano Concerti, and The Chase from the film The Adventures of Korzinkina, Op. 59 (see film music reviews below).
Furthermore, the Tarantella on the CPO disc is not, as the track listing and notes claim, the Tarantella from The Gadfly. Shostakovich did indeed arrange a piano four hands Tarantella from The Gadfly's Folk Festival (a.k.a. Spanish Dance), and this would have been a world première recording and an appropriate addition to the current volume if it were here.
Instead, we are given the far more interesting world première recording of the Tarantella from Tarantella and Prelude, an opus-numberless piano duet for children from 1954. The Prelude was simply Elena Koven's four hands arrangement of the Prelude No. 15 from Op. 87, and Derek Hulme explains that the Tarantella is a reduction of Scherzo No. 4 in the suite from The Unforgettable Year 1919 film score. It is an impetuous frolic, lasting under a minute and a half. The main melody is strongly reminiscent of the Polka, Number 26 from Act II, Scene 4 of Shostakovich's operetta Moscow, Cheryomushki, which he began three years later, and it may well be the musical germ of that tune. The present performance by Bulgarian-born Aglika Genova and Liuben Dimitrov is effervescent and full of good cheer.
The Waltz and Polka are actually not the familiar movements from The Golden Age. The Waltz is the Waltz from Ballet Suite No. 4, originating in the film score to Song of the Great Rivers, Op. 95, while the Polka is the Polka from Jazz Suite No. 1, later used in Ballet Suite No. 2. This release would seem to present the world première recordings of these arrangements, and Genova and Dimitrov give characterful readings.
The Suoni e Colori release also contains a world première recording. I believe that Michel Le Naour must be thinking of the Fantasy for two pianos, one of the juvenilia the composer destroyed in 1926, when he writes in the notes that, "The Little Joyous March, which is little played, counts among the first works of the master." In fact, Shostakovich composed the Merry March as a children's piece for four hands at the ripe old age of 42, in May 1949, numbering the score Opus 81 but then removing this designation and applying it to his oratorio The Song of the Forests. It seems that he did not intend these four pages of music (one page's-worth is repeated during play) to be published. It is a cocky little piece, and Dussaut and Polusmiak play it with light-hearted alacrity.
The four-movement Suite in F# minor was the 16-year-old Shostakovich's most ambitious piece to date. He wrote it after the death of his father, and dedicated it to him. While its interval progressions have the predictability one would expect from an immature composer, it is uncanny how fully developed Shostakovich's personal style already was by this point - listening to the Suite, nobody would mistake the author. The work opens with a sombre Prelude, patently funereal, which is painted in emphatic oils by Genova and Dimitrov and pastel watercolours by Dussaut and Polusmiak. The Suite then moves into a highly attractive Fantastic Dance which the Bulgarians serve with a stronger Spanish flavour. The Nocturne begins as an impressionistic reverie, then is disturbed by the reappearance of the tragic opening theme. Consistent with their tactics elsewhere, the Suoni e Colori team invest almost twenty-five percent more time on it than do CPO's duo; both approaches sit well. The emotionally varied Finale mixes new themes with reworkings of material from the earlier movements, and the opening theme features prominently at the end. Genova and Dimitrov generally suggest the young pianist-composer more idiomatically than do Dussaut and Polusmiak, but the latter's tack is attractive as a light suite.
In the Concertino, both duos are equally fleet-footed in the faster passages, but Genova and Dimitrov devote much less time to the slow bars. This is a light work, and I'm not sure that it gains from investing as much contemplation into the slow outer pages as do Dussaut and Polusmiak. Though both duos take the whirlwind note runs at virtually identical gaits, the Bulgarians somehow give the impression of enjoying them more than do the Suoni e Colori team.
Of CPO's couplings, the most enjoyable is the arrangement of Hora staccato, an encore staple that Romanian violinist and composer Grigoras Dinicu wrote in 1906 for violin and piano. You probably won't identify it by name, but will recognise it right away when you hear it. The original scoring has appeared on disc before, but as far as I can determine, this appears to be the world première in the piano four hands arrangement of Bulgarian Pantcho Vladigerov.
The one truly weighty piece of music on these two new releases is the Sonata for Violin and Piano. Alexandre Brussilovsky and Pascal Godart are a strong partnership in this work, and give an impressive display of technical assurance and stamina in the demanding second movement. Particularly good is their matching of dynamic expressiveness to the ever-shifting tonalities of the Largo. This is also a very emotive reading. Shostakovich wrote the Sonata in 1968 during the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia, and you can tell how much is at stake from the shrill terror in Brussilovsky's double-stopped shrieks from Bar 273/5:10 of the second movement. This is a performance that stands up well to comparison with my first choice, the even more incorporeal reading from violinist Shlomo Mintz and pianist Viktoria Postnikova on Erato (2292-45804-2). Certainly, the acoustics of this new disc are less "ambient" and more clearly revealing of the instruments' original notes than were the Erato disc's, fine as they were.
I can recommend both releases without hesitation, but their documentation should have been handled with more care, especially in CPO's case.
W. Mark Roberts
Index
|
|
 |
Oleg Kagan
Edition, Vol. XVIII
Sonata for violin and piano, Op. 134; Brahms: Sonata for violin and
piano in G Major, Op. 78.
Oleg Kagan (violin), Sviatoslav Richter (piano).
Live Classics LCL 183. ADD. TT 56:47.
Recorded Tchaikovsky Conservatory, Moscow, 13 May 1988.
Were it the only documentation of the dream team of Oleg Kagan and Sviatoslav Richter in Shostakovich's neurotic Violin Sonata, this new release on Live Classics would be most welcome. Kagan and Richter were close friends and collaborators since the late Sixties, and the notes to the present release tell of Kagan's empathy with Richter's distaste for studio recordings and "almost religious devotion to the inspiration and spontaneity of open performance."
|
|
|
However, the same duo in the identical coupling, plus Haydn's Piano Sonata No. 39, remains available on Vol. 10 of Olympia's Sviatoslav Richter series (OCD 579). The performances on the DDD Olympia release were recorded live in Germany in 1985, and the Shostakovich Violin Sonata has that kind of white heat that is the best side-effect of a live recording. The German audience are virtually inaudible throughout, and the acoustics are very good indeed.
By contrast, the Muscovite concert-goers on the analogue Live Classics recording are themselves a recital of fidgeting and hacking coughs. The performance itself is first-rate, but not as flawless as the Olympia version, and anyway the audience is too distracting to allow one to concentrate fully on the notes. The choice is clear.
W. Mark Roberts
Index
|
|
 |
The Gamblers
(complete)[a]; The Nose, Op. 15 (complete)[b] .
Gennady Rozhdestvensky, Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra of the Moscow Chamber
Theatre.
[a]Vladimir Rybasenko (bass-Alexei), Vladimir Tarkhov (ten-Ikharov), Valeri
Belykh (bass-Gavryushka); Nikolai Kurpe (tenor-Krugel), Ashot Sarkisov
(bass-Shvokhnev), Yaroslav Radinovik (tenor- Uteshitelny); [b]Edvard Akimov
(bar-Kovalyov), Valeri Belykh (bass-Ivan Yakovlevich), Boris Tarkhov (ten-District
Inspector), Boris Druzhinin (ten-Ivan), Aleksandr Lomonosov (ten-The Nose),
Lyudmila Sapegina (mez-Pelagia Podtochina), Lyudmila Ukolova (sop-Podtochina's
Daughter), Nina Sasulova (sop-Barber's Wife).
BMG/Melodiya 74321 60319 2. 2 disc set. ADD [incorrectly printed "DDD"].
TT 72:59 + 76:56.
Recorded [a]live Grand Hall of Leningrad State Philharmony, 18 September
1978; [b]Moscow, 1975.
Reissues of World Première Recordings.
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
While the orchestral works of Shostakovich have been receiving healthy attention from record companies in recent years, his operas still remain largely neglected. There are but a handful of recordings readily available: two of Lady Macbeth (EMI 49955; DG 437 511-2), one each of The Gamblers fragment (Saison Russe RUS 788115) and Krzysztof Meyer's completion (Capriccio 60 062-2; both reviewed in DSCH No. 9), practically none of Katerina Ismailova. Not much of a handful, even if you include his completion of Fleischmann's Rothschild's Violin (RCA 68434). Which is a shame when we recall that Shostakovich was essentially a master of the theatre, and that one of his greatest passions had been opera.
This latest BMG reissue of two Melodiya recording premières is, then, nothing short of a landmark. Finally, listeners get to hear on CD the pivotal early Shostakovich work The Nose in its entirety (previously only available on Praga as a suite accompanying Serov's Shostakovich 15th Symphony; the Le Chant Du Monde's re-release of the 1979 complete recording is now no longer available). It is amazing that such a seminal work has been missing from the discography for as long as it has. The importance of this cannot be understated: once one experiences The Nose, the missing link to the creative genius of Shostakovich is finally restored. The opera throws light on much of his later work: for example, the tone and style of Lady Macbeth, or what otherwise seems a major philosophical upheaval in the sound-world of the 4th Symphony. In The Nose one also hears the roots of that mysterious percussion writing that has haunted listeners from the 4th Symphony to the 15th Symphony. Above all, The Nose puts into perspective the vigorous and remarkably mature mind of the young Shostakovich, the yurodivy in the making, already hinted at by the portentous 1st Symphony but otherwise masked by the deceptively lightweight ballet trilogy and the two sacrificial symphonies that had dominated his early output prior to Lady Macbeth.
The two works on this double-CD could not be more different, yet there is a consistency and a clear logic to their coupling. As the first and the last works in Shostakovich's operatic cycle, one gets to appreciate the way his style evolved while remaining essentially unchanged: it is quite clear that the young Shostakovich knew what he was doing from the very start of his career. Both are also heavily reliant on the male voice, which is one of the enduring timbres of his music. And as the very insightful CD notes point out, they are both operas about scoundrels. Put together, these two works present a veritable encyclopaedia of Shostakovichian humour and musical characterisation and satire.
The set begins with the live recording of the 1978 world première of The Gamblers performed in Leningrad. This recording is special because Rozhdestvensky cleverly concludes the unfinished opera with a reprise of the Gavryushka ballad spliced with a few bars from Scene 3. The music is on the whole glorious, and the cast of singers perform with a sharp sense of character and plenty of humour. Their style may elude some of the melodic shape of the vocal parts but you will not want to do without a truly gleeful recital of the oafish Gavryushka's balalaika song. And while Chistiakov on Saison Russe launches the opera with far greater excitement than does Rozhdestvensky's more deliberate curtain-raiser (whose music curiously recalls the opening of Stravinsky's L'Histoire du Soldat), the former loses out in terms of orchestral detail and momentum in the final scene. The highlight of the Saison Russe recording is the singing; Chistiakov's cast delivers a more melodic vocal style and are generally more full-bodied and emphatic than the Moscow singers. Unfortunately, the forward placing of the vocals in relation to the muddier orchestral soundstage obscures much of the delicious detail.
Rozhdestvensky, on the other hand, has the benefit of a superb recording and engineering (it doesn't sound at all like a 1970s recording!), so well balanced that every orchestral detail is vividly captured. I found myself hearing music that I had not noticed before, and the entire work resonates with new life. The performances are deliciously sharp, and the maestro picks up his pace as the action unfolds so that his last scene far outplays Chistiakov's. (In fact, so transparent is the sound that I suddenly notice a "DSCH" motif on the descending trombones at 1:40 of Track 18!) So, although I rather prefer the singing of the Bolshoi cast, Rozhdestvensky delivers an all-round winning performance. And, as icing on the cake, BMG provide a full index to the 20 tracks, which is a great relief to anyone who owns the Saison Russe disc, which contains an absurdly scant 4 indices.
Act 1 of The Nose takes up the rest of the first disc, and, as I mentioned, the two operas have so much in common that one seems to flow seamlessly into the other. But only just; once we get to the first of the opera's notorious moments of total hysteria (the barber's wife literally barks non-stop in her uppermost register upon discovery of the Nose at the breakfast table), we know for sure we are entering a whole new world. The Nose is groundbreaking on many counts, and its music is daring and undeniably brilliant. Shostakovich may be telling the truth when he commented that the opera was not a comedy but a horror story, but its satire is unmistakable. The underlying motive of this work is rightfully not funny at all, but you are forced to laugh at the horror all the same, and Shostakovich knows just how to do it.
Juxtaposing terrifying moments with the ridiculous and banal, and using all manner of orchestral and vocal devices, the score constantly assaults your senses. Sometimes you laugh with disbelief, but some moments are genuinely comic (for example, intensely unnerving interludes tend to cut sharply into music of unbelievable idiocy, and solo instruments run amok with mimicry). What may be horrifying is the audacity of this work set against a time when the country was experiencing social upheaval. The Nose may well be Shostakovich's most outspoken and unguarded commentary on Soviet life in the period preceding Lady Macbeth and "Muddle instead of Music". The swipes are obvious: the police inspector is given a ridiculously high voice (perhaps to insinuate impotency) and truly stupid vocal lines; the characters are prone to alternating moments of hysteria and pure inanity; whole scenes are dedicated to mocking the banality of everyday life and the people's tendency for hysteria; and the entire drama of the missing Nose is trivialised.
As madcap as it sounds - and in some places, like the scene outside the police station, the music is pure mayhem - the music never sinks into the banal. It is vintage Shostakovich of the highest order through and through. Do not expect to find cheap tuneful polkas and gallops, or popular melodies and dances like in Limpid Stream. The Nose is very serious music indeed. If Lady Macbeth's satire is hidden in the tragic, then The Nose's tragedy is hidden in the gaudy satire.
The performance by the Moscow Chamber Theatre is absolutely brilliant. Shostakovich personally oversaw this production, which makes this present recording practically definitive. The singers take on their roles with plenty of zest: the women scream hysterically, Kovalyov weeps pathetically, the police are superbly moronic, and, like in The Gamblers, the balalaika song by Ivan is priceless. The overtly sexual implications are delicious too, as in Kovalyov's wake-up yawns in his first scene, which, together with gurgling contrabassoon and detumescent trombone, unmistakably evoke the sort of vulgarity notorious in Lady Macbeth's sex scene. Rozhdestvensky, who was responsible for rescuing the score from the bowels of the Bolshoi Theatre, thus catalysing the revival of the opera, leads the forces through this complex work with amazing authority.
Do not pass over the opportunity to experience the brilliance of Shostakovich's writing, one-off music that would never be heard elsewhere in his genre, like the vocal double-canon octet at the newspaper office or the strange choral vocalises at the Kazan Cathedral. The scenes of complete mayhem will have to be tolerated (and these are taken with devilish abandon by the cast); mercifully they are not as recurrent as one is led to believe.
With such stunning performances, credentials and excellent sound, this set ought to be a priority addition to your collection. The Nose is truly an outstanding work, albeit a harshly challenging audio-sensory experience (the faint-hearted are hereby warned). The only downside is the absence of libretti, but Sigrid Neef's summaries and CD notes are extremely thought-provoking and perceptive - I daresay one of the best I have ever read. And do not believe Shostakovich when he told Nikolai Smolich in 1929 that the music "loses all meaning if it is seen just as a musical composition" divorced from the stage action - again I believe he was, in his usual style, saying just the reverse.
CH Loh
Index
|
|
|
Complete Songs
and Romances, Volume 1
Six Romances to Verses of Raleigh, Burns and Shakespeare, Op. 62 (1945);
§Four Songs to Dolmatovsky Lyrics, op 86 (1951); Spanish Songs,
op 100 (1956); Five Krokodil Romances, Op. 121 (1965); Seven Romances
to Verses by Blok, Op. 127 (1967).
Victoria Evtodieva (soprano), Mikhail Lukonin (baritone), Fyodor Kuznetsov
(bass), Yuri Serov (piano), Lidiya Kovalenko (violin), Irina Molokina
(cello).
René Gailly/Vox Temporis VTP CD92 041. DDD. TT 74:30.
Recorded St.-Catherine Lutheran Church, St. Petersburg, 23 March, 2, 7
& 24 April, 4 May 1998.
§World première recording.
With Shostakovich's major orchestral and chamber works having settled fairly well into the mainstream, the single most important source of repertoire enrichment remains the composer's song cycles. At last, a record company is taking the matter into their own hands with a project entitled "The Complete Songs and Romances of Shostakovich". The new series, launched by the independent label René Gailly, will make history, when and if completed, by being the first to offer an exhaustive survey of this chronically under-represented portion of the catalogue. This ambitious undertaking follows Neeme Järvi's superb three-volume survey of the composer's orchestral song settings on Deutsche Grammophon. By contrast, René Gailly is pursuing their survey on a smaller scale by focusing on the versions with piano accompaniment. As a result, their collection is sure to cover a lot more territory and include some long-awaited world premières - one of which appears on the first volume under review.
The panoramic overview that will eventually emerge will allow us to reassess the composer's work in a genre that I have always felt was not his most natural form of expression. Though Shostakovich was an unquestioned master of chamber and symphonic music, his relationship to the art song remained somewhat tentative throughout his career. Only with his increasing attention to vocal music in the final years did he at last carve out a highly individual language in that genre that was capable of the same depth of expression of his instrumental music. The belated ripening of his art song efforts was a result, in significant part, of the late period's fertile boundary crossings between chamber