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DSCH No. 18 CD Reviews
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Romances
& Monologues
Preface to the Complete Collection of my Works and a Brief Reflection
upon this Preface, op. 123; Five Romances on Texts from Krokodil
Magazine No. 24, 30 August 1965, op. 121; Five Romances on Verses of Yevgeny
Dolmatovsky, op. 98; Six Romances on Verses by British Poets, op. 62;
Four Monologues on Verses by Pushkin, op. 91.
Semyon
Skigin (piano), Sergei Leiferkus (bass).
Koch
Schwann 3-1095-2. DDD. TT 50:58.
Recorded
Saal 3, SFB (Sender Freies Berlin), Berlin, May 2000.
Shostakovich:
Complete Songs, Volume One - 1950-1956: Vocal Cycles of the 'Fifties
Two
Romances on Verses by Lermontov, op. 84[a]; Four Songs to Words by Dolmatovsky,
op. 86[b]; Four Monologues on Verses by Pushkin, op. 91[c]; Greek Songs,
sans. op. R[d]; Five Romances on Verses of Yevgeny Dolmatovsky, op. 98[e];
Spanish Songs, op. 100[f].
Yuri
Serov (piano), Natalia Biryukova (mezzo-soprano)[a], Victoria Evtodieva
(soprano)[b], Fyodor Kuznetsov (bass)[c,e], Mikhail Lukonin (baritone)[d,f].
Delos
DE 3304. DDD. TT 71:00.
Listed
as recorded St. Petersburg, May 2001.
[a,d]World
premiere recordings.
Shostakovich:
Complete Songs, Volume Two - 1965-1974: The Last Years
A Foreword to My Complete Works and a Brief Contemplation with Respect
to this Foreword, op. 123[a]; Five Romances on Words from Krokodil
Magazine, op. 121[b]; Seven Poems by Alexander Blok, op. 127[c]; Six Poems
by Marina Tsvetayeva, op. 143[d]; Four Poems of Captain Lebyadkin, op.
146[e].
Yuri Serov (piano), Victoria Evtodieva (soprano)[c], Lyubov Sokolova (mezzo-soprano)[d],
Fyodor Kuznetsov (bass)[a,b,e], Lidia Kovalenko (violin)[c], Irina Molokina
(cello)[c].
Delos DE 3307. DDD. TT 69:40.
Listed as recorded St. Catherine Lutheran Church, St. Petersburg, 2 April
1998[b], 4 May 1998[c], 15 April 2000[d], 18 June 2001[a,e].
Delos hereby command the attention of Shostakovich devotees everywhere by announcing plans to record the complete songs for voice and piano. Yes, we’ve heard the claim before, but not from a firm as large as Delos, with the resources to carry such a project to completion. Also under review is a disc of selected Romances and Monologues from Koch Schwann featuring bass Sergei Leiferkus.
The first two volumes of Delos’ projected series are handsome productions, each providing a full set of English and Russian texts, all packaged in bold, distinctive graphics. The plan is to present the songs in chronological groupings. Cycles within each volume also follow each other chronologically, presenting the listener with an evolving creativity.
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Those who are familiar with the Shostakovich song discography of recent years may recognise some of the performers’ names among those listed in the above headers. In 1998, the independent label René Gailly issued what was announced to be the first, but alas turned out to be the only, volume of a projected survey of the complete songs, which I reviewed in DSCH No. 11 (René Gailly/Vox Temporis VTP CD92 041; deleted). A simultaneous A/B comparison reveals that four of the five recordings contained therein have been incorporated into the current releases (the remaining cycle lies outside the chronological boundaries of both Delos volumes). As a consequence of this and other past entries in the discography, a few of Delos’ claims of "first CD appearance" and "world premiere recording" must be amended. However, the duplication does give wider circulation to these fine performances, remastered with slightly longer pauses between songs. They join other recitals by the same musicians.
Delos’ first volume demonstrates that during the 1950s Shostakovich was still writing art songs in a comparatively conservative style. Moreover, his choice of texts at the time - from folklore, from 19th century Russian classics Lermontov and Pushkin, from the perfunctory pen of his contemporary Yevgeny Dolmatovsky - could elicit only the most reactionary lyrical gestures. With the exception of the Lermontov and Pushkin songs, they seem to arise from an alternate Shostakovich, appeasement oriented, sarcasm muted, cleansed of contradictions, stylistically retrograde. One might weigh external against internal necessities coming to bear on Shostakovich throughout the decade, producing parallel shifts toward simplification that can be noted in his work in other genres. Yet beneath the inoffensive musical surfaces of these songs, one should not be too surprised to find occasional textual evidence of defiance and controversial sympathies, at once plausibly deniable yet immediately recognisable to the attuned ear. Nor should one be surprised to find songs that are free of hidden agenda. If Shostakovich’s stylistic fingerprints seem nearly wiped clean in most of the song cycles of this period, these works also boast a number of inspired moments.
The cycles based on the Lermontov and Pushkin poems, from 1950 and 1952, respectively, are easily the most substantial of the decade. They exude, among other things, profound integrity. Both share a gloomy, introspective lyricism that has points of comparison with the near contemporaneous First Violin Concerto and Tenth Symphony, works reflecting the oppressiveness of the final Stalin years.
The two-part Lermontov cycle is a verifiable world premiere recording that fills a long-standing gap in the discography. One may wonder how such a compelling pair of songs managed to remain so long neglected. Lermontov’s verses are nature-inspired, love-tinged, and darkened by suggestions of death. The musical settings hearken back to the traditions of the Russian art song. They share, uncharacteristically for Shostakovich, a weaving, smoky cantilena, pungently gloomy and heartfelt, supported by an accompaniment of searching arpeggiations.
Here, mezzo Natalia Biryukova makes a hauntingly eloquent case for them. The first song is low-keyed, but its incipient passions are carried over and lead to two moving crests in the second song. I frankly cannot think of anything else in the Shostakovich canon that comes close to evoking this foreboding mood. Together these two songs comprise a surprising discovery.
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The contemplative Pushkin Monologues are cut from the same dark cloth, but offer a greater degree of lyrical and dramatic contrast. Gennady Rozhdestvensky’s imaginative yet faithfully idiomatic orchestral version with bass Anatoli Safiulin makes a revealing case for the work (BMG/Melodiya 74321 63461 2; reviewed in DSCH No. 11; deleted). Not only does the orchestration bring out its ever-shifting dark hues, but in this form one can almost hear it as a mini-symphonic conception, with its brooding opening song, followed by a melancholic waltz-scherzo, an impassioned slow song, and a resolute finale. The ominous depiction of impoverished Jewish peasant life in the first song, Fragment, and the anti-Czarist lines ("the heavy chains will drop", etc.) in the third song, In the Depth of Siberian Mines, carry political currency that evoke comparison with another recently completed cycle, From Jewish Folk Poetry.
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It should be noted that although Delos claim the CD premiere of the op. 91 Pushkin cycle, this recording is in fact reissued from the René Gailly disc. Moreover, both releases were preceded by two other recordings: the aforementioned Rozhdestvensky orchestral version, first released on CD in 1994, and, a year later, the CD premiere of the original piano version on Saison Russe (RUS 288 089; deleted) with the rather drab Piotr Gluboky accompanied by Natalia Rassudova.
The Pushkin Monologues’ current appearances on CD feature noted soloists: Fyodor Kuznetsov on Delos and Sergei Leiferkus on Koch Schwann. Leiferkus is no stranger to Shostakovich’s music. He has been the soloist in recordings of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Symphonies, the Michelangelo Suite, and the Six Romances on English Poets. Noted for his roles in Russian opera, Kuznetsov also includes the Fourteenth Symphony in his repertoire and is featured prominently in Volume 2 of the current Delos series.
Kuznetsov’s bass has enormous presence and is remarkably rich and resonant. Leiferkus’ baritone is more tensely assertive, also possessing much character. Kuznetsov, with his warmer, earthy tones, emphasizes the dark atmospheric quality of these Pushkin settings, while the dramatic element is more pronounced in Leiferkus’ reading. This is especially true in the opening song, whose grimly expansive lyricism is wonderfully invoked by Kuznetsov, but whose cantorial associations with Jewish music are better suggested by Leiferkus. Both have a natural feel for the work’s pervasive gloominess. In particular, they excel in capturing the rising wave of passion in the third song.
Contrasting with the depths of the Lermontov and Pushkin cycles is the straightforwardness of the Four Songs to Lyrics by Evgeny Dolmatovsky, op. 86, originally intended to accompany one of the author’s plays. Each of these graceful songs catches the ear with tunes that are evidently tailored for popular appeal. The first, Motherland Hears, was for many years the theme song for Moscow Radio. It also bears the distinction of being the first song sung in outer space. With few secrets to surrender, the comely charms of the four songs are well captured by the pearly tones of Viktoria Evtodieva, whose talents are heard to even better advantage in the Blok cycle on the second Delos volume.
The second of the two Dolmatovsky settings, op. 98, is represented by the same performance as on the René Gailly issue, its true first appearance on CD. The work is a sunny bouquet of five love songs, the title of each beginning with the words "Day of" (Day of Meeting, Day of Declaration, etc.). Songs of joyful expression that have a less precious, more developmental character than those of the earlier Dolmatovsky cycle surround a more serious central song. The accompaniment to the first song, Day of Meeting, alludes to the famous love aria from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde as a melodic outgrowth of the opening vamp. Both Leiferkus and Kuznetsov again give fine performances in this work, though the latter’s warmer, mellower tone makes a more appealing case for these amorous inspirations.
Each of the four Greek Songs, here in their world premiere recording, is heroic in character and is derived from pre-existing musical material related to one or another episode of Greek history. One is based on a guerrilla battle hymn, another on the Hymn of ELAS, the most popular song of the Greek resistance movement. The unsuspecting ear would never guess that Shostakovich was the composer. In fact, three of the four songs, written in march tempo, sound as though they belong in the repertoire of the Red Army Chorus. The brightness and heartiness of Mikhail Lukonin’s baritone are well suited to these robust settings, whose extroverted, nicely turned melodies immediately catch the ear and raise the spirits.
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The Spanish Songs, op. 100, present Shostakovich’s impersonation of Isaac Albeniz, with their five settings of pre-existing folk material in the Spanish style. Delos’ claim that their recording is the first appearance of the work on CD is surprising since the cycle has previously appeared in digital format no fewer than five times. Two recent recordings are noteworthy, one featuring mezzo-soprano Olga Borodina (Philips 289 446 708-2) and another featuring a lively performance by bass Paul Plishka (Dinemec DCCD 016).
The graceful flair of Mikhail Lukonin’s baritone, naturally bright and clear, fits this work well. His fine articulation and an appealingly energetic presence suit these primarily faster songs of lighter content.
It was only after 1960 that Shostakovich’s song cycles began to take on greater emotional complexity, greater depth. The cycles of this later period fall into two very different categories: the satirical, as in Satires, the Preface, the Krokodil Romances, and the Captain Lebyadkin Songs; and the serious, as in the cycles after Blok, Tsvetayeva, and Michelangelo. Volume 2 of the Delos releases contains all of the above except the Satires and the Michelangelo Sonnets.
Among the serious, I have always felt that the op. 127 Blok Romances represent Shostakovich’s unequalled masterpiece. I elaborated on this judgement in DSCH No. 11, and am more convinced of it with each hearing. The work is remarkable for its elevated lyrical flow, its various levels of organic unity (in particular, its interlocking scheme of instrumentation), and its cohesive dramatic structure in which songs of innocent yearning and morbid agitation are set against one another, leading, in the last two songs, to a deeply moving resolution. It is no exaggeration to call its scope symphonic.
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The work, in its subtleties and extremes, demands almost too much of its soloist and invites a wide variation of interpretation. A performance that satisfactorily meets its many stringent requirements is hard to come by. The early recording by soprano Elizabeth Soderstrom and pianist Vladimir Ashkenazy (Decca CD 411 940-2DH; deleted) was a sturdy classic that, in its intensity, emotional grasp, and concentration, set a high standard. Another notable offering from the LP era was the 1977 Melodiya release (C10-06875-76) that featured soprano Galina Pisarenko, whose slender tone, blessed with tensile strength, focused on the sheer immediacy of the work. Brigita Sulcová sang the work in Czech with gripping intensity, though her decidedly extroverted manner overlooked some of the more tender moments in the score (Praga PR 250 009; deleted). A BMG/Melodiya release (74321 53237 2; deleted) featured a live performance by Galina Vishnevskaya with Mstislav Rostropovich accompanying on cello. Vishnevskaya’s operatic, at times shrill, approach didn’t quite get under the music’s skin. Of more recent vintage is a remarkable 1993 performance by Natalia Gerassimova, accompanied by the Moscow Trio (Saison Russe RUS 288 088; reviewed in DSCH No. 14). Gerassimova plumbs the work’s depths with the kind of penetrating drama and verbal engagement that, for me, rank her among the work’s most profound interpreters.
In the current Delos release, Victoria Evtodieva brings her own admirable gifts to the work. As I wrote in my previous review of the René Gailly disc, I find in Ms. Evtodieva’s voice a "well-matched combination of timbral purity and the ability to meet the extraordinary dynamic challenges of the work." It is essential that in the agitated passages of the final two songs the betrayal of the innocence of the earlier songs is signalled by outcries of heartfelt despair. Evtodieva, with her impressive dynamic range, makes good on these climactic moments, delivering a solidly moving realisation of the work.
In contrast to the head-on emotional collision of the Blok songs, the Tsvetayeva Suite weaves a complex yet richly expressive tapestry of autumnal reflections. The musical ideas are strong. In contrast to the shorter motifs in the Blok cycle, they take the form of longer phrases, a number of them constituting tone rows. The tone rows, the oscillating fourths, the sparse piano textures, and the kaleidoscopic shifts between irony and grief, mockery and pathos represent Shostakovich’s late period traits at their most expressive. The six poems deal in turn with subjects that preoccupied Shostakovich in his later song cycles: creativity, past love, unrequited love, the conflict between ruler and poet. There is also a tribute to Anna Akhmatova.
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A number of orchestral versions of the Tsvetayeva cycle have appeared in recent years; particularly recommended are those by Michail Jurowski with soprano Nina Fomina (Capriccio 10 778; reviewed in DSCH No. 12) and Neeme Järvi with soprano Elena Zaremba (Deutsche Grammophon 447 085-2; deleted). I still listen with pleasure to the performances of Irina Bogacheva, who in the 1970s was the first to record the work, once in the original piano version and again in its orchestral setting.
Delos’ Lyubov Sokolova may not have Bogacheva’s limpid, silvery tone, but her darker, huskier mezzo is very much appropriate to the character of these songs. She responds to their constantly shifting attitudes with admirable agility, drawing in the listener with the kind of moment-to-moment involvement that the music demands. Listen to her expressiveness as she reaches the surprising peak of intensity ("their time will come") at the end of the first song, My Verses. Listen to the softness she is capable of in Whence Such Tenderness. Sokolova also has a fine sense of drama, as evidenced in the false pomposity she assumes in Poet and Czar whose final, triple-sforzando ending she takes with gusto, even if a tad forced. She also engages the work’s psychological dimension, grasping the dignity and pathos of the final To Anna Akhmatova in full measure, bringing the work to its dramatic, unsettling conclusion.
The remaining three cycles on Delos’ "final years" volume are those of the satirical sort, each written for bass voice and each performed here by Fyodor Kuznetsov. They comprise a quirky, colourful collection, indispensable in forming a complete picture of a composer for whom contradiction and the unexpected were more than just an artistic path. The three works demonstrate Shostakovich’s taste for the ludicrous in no uncertain terms. Each is in one form or another an exercise in nonsense laced with more than a touch of the grotesque.
The variously translated Preface to the Complete Collection of my Works and Brief Reflection on this Preface has, contrary to Delos’ claim, appeared twice previously on CD. Most notable of these is a reissue of the classic Nesterenko/Shenderovich performance. The self-mocking text includes a rote recitation of Shostakovich’s honours and awards. The song brings to mind one or two of Musorgsky’s satirical songs, in particular the dutifully reciting Seminarist.
Leiferkus brings out more of the light-hearted spontaneity of these satirical settings than does Kuznetsov. In the Preface, Kuznetsov’s poker-faced manner is just a bit too sober. His dirge-like intonations of the composer’s name to the climactic notes of "D-S-C-H" don’t quite have the satirical bite they should. Leiferkus, on the other hand, better projects the put-on puffery that was evidently intended as he proudly struts out the list of Shostakovich’s honours and awards.
A pity that this Preface is the leading track on the second Delos album, as Kuznetsov fares better in the Krokodil Romances. The Krokodil Romances (1965), written a year before the Preface, take their text directly from the whimsical letters-to-the-editor page of a single issue of the satirical magazine of the same name. The songs form an experiment in text setting, which, like the Preface, breaks away from the musical and literary conventions that characterised Shostakovich’s previous song writing. The first song is almost twice as long as the remaining four, snippets lasting around a minute that are ultimately all too short to make any claims of artistic completeness. The old Melodiya recording with Nesterenko and Shenderovich makes a bit of an aesthetic rescue effort by rearranging the order of the songs so that they follow a more conventional dramatic arc. Either way, the settings do make an amusing impression, however brief. The longest song reaches its peak when the text, describing a punch in the nose, is punctuated with a thunderous tone cluster on the piano.
In the Krokodil Romances Kuznetsov projects a good amount of buoyancy and reactive drama, but still does not match the impromptu, tongue-in-cheek inflections that have the listener smirking right along with Leiferkus in his more personalised interpretation. Listen to the playful way Leiferkus intones the love-struck lines in the fourth song, Irinka and the Shepherd, which he concludes with a hysterical, improvised hoot; or the campy overzealousness he brings to the final song, Exaggerated delight, a verse about the pleasures of freshly harvested bread that is, to the eater’s horror, tainted with the odour of kerosene.
For Shostakovich’s last song cycle, the penultimate work in his catalogue, he chose the verses of one of Russian literature’s more obnoxious blokes, Captain Lebyadkin, from Dostoyevsky’s The Possessed. Shostakovich’s farewell may more likely lie in his haunting Viola Sonata, but this valedictory vocal work gushes with hysterical abandon. It is also laced with a dark, uneasy madness. Both Captain and composer jointly celebrate the delights of alcohol consumption. The drunken Lebyadkin rambles on in each of the four songs in true saloon fashion. The topics covered are, in turn, improbable courtly pursuits, a disturbingly intrusive cockroach, the pompous ways of the rich, and finally, a rebellion against the Czar with a final swipe against the institutions of the church, marriage, and family. The work has a patently operatic character with its exaggerated drama, spoken asides, and, more fundamentally, since the songs are sung by an evident dramatis persona.
Kuznetsov’s theatrical gifts seem tailor-made for the work as he instinctively steps into character with an aplomb missing from his performance of the Preface and Krokodil Romances. He has a jolly good time with the weaving, tipsy arioso and sudden declamatory announcements in The Love of Captain Lebyadkin. Sparks fly in The Cockroach with its interruptive melodramatic aside that prompts the restarting of the song from the top. Kuznetsov makes a superb case for these songs as he seizes the part with gusto and a sense of freedom that rival, and I might even say exceed, the earlier performances of the work by Yevgeny Nesterenko and Alexei Molchanov. Molchanov’s lively rendition, incidentally, features the work in its orchestral version as part of a programme of lighter song cycles by Shostakovich. Mention also should be made of a very colourful performance of the Lebyadkin Romances by Fischer-Dieskau with Vladimir Ashkenazy as accompanist (Decca/London 433 319-2; deleted).
Leiferkus’ programme also includes the Six Verses of English Poets, one of the most frequently recorded Shostakovich cycles. The work is a charming grab-bag of verses whose diverse moods provide a variegated showcase for the featured bass soloist. Leiferkus excels at projecting the various moods of each song. He is sensitive in the gentle arioso of Burns’ Jenny, particularly expressive in the reverential tones of Burns’ O, Wert Thou, and duly regal in the mock pomposity of MacPherson's Farewell (the tune of which reappears in the Humour movement of the Thirteenth Symphony). And he gives a reading of the work’s emotional core, Shakespeare’s Sonnet 66, that is stately and moving.
A word is due the accompanists on each of these albums. Semyon Skigin, the pianist on the Leiferkus CD, came to my attention as a Shostakovich interpreter on the aforementioned Spanish Songbook album featuring mezzo-soprano Olga Borodina. On that disc, Skigin gives the most sparkling accompaniment to Shostakovich’s Spanish Songs that I have ever heard. I am delighted to see his name again attached to this repertoire. His distinctively springy, kinetic touch likewise adds character to Leiferkus’ programme, both in the lighter songs as well as the songs of more serious content.
Yuri Serov, the accompanist in both Delos volumes, proves himself to be in full command of every aspect of Shostakovich’s idiom. Through the serious and the satiric songs, he lends character and edge without being at all intrusive. He offers depth and concentration in the demanding Blok cycle. Listeners will also note the cunning rubati and pregnant pauses in the lighter Krokodil and Lebyadkin romances. His consistently fine performances, combined with those of the other artists, signal the listener that the current Delos project is not just a contractual exercise in repertoire expansion, but a deeply committed artistic mission undertaken by those who are fully steeped in the music.
In sum, these are handsome releases with much, very much to recommend them.
Louis Blois
Index
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Songs
of Glinka, Dargomyzhsky, Musorgsky, Rachmaninov, Schumann, Prokofiev,
J.S. Bach, Mozart, Schubert, Liszt, Weckerlin, Debussy, Anonymous.
Nina
Dorliak (soprano), Sviatoslav Richter (piano), Alexandre Guédike
(organ).
Cascavelle
VEL 3041. A_D. 3-CD set TT 206:07.
Recorded
Moscow, 1943.
Produced
in association with Association Internationale Dimitri Chostakovitch.
A page in the life of the Moscow concert scene of the forties and fifties and a portrait of two outstanding Russian artists - soprano Nina Dorliak and her not-yet-world-famous accompanist Sviatoslav Richter - is for you to enjoy on this three-disc set, courtesy of the Shostakovich Centre. The generous programme offers almost four hours of music and features three song cycles (Schumann’s A Poet's Love, Musorgsky’s The Nursery, and Prokofiev’s The Ugly Duckling) and various vocal compositions and songs by Bach (nine works, two of which, including an aria from Cantata No. 68, are accompanied by the organ), Mozart (two), Schubert (six), Schumann (two), Liszt (one), Weckerlin (five), Debussy (one), Glinka (thirteen), Dargomyzhsky (three), Rachmaninov (two), Prokofiev (six) as well as French songs (three).
Although Dorliak sings only the French works in French and everything else in Russian (in accordance with the Russian custom of the time), one cannot help but be enchanted by the sheer poetry and expressiveness of her performances. She inherited her musical taste and virtuoso technique from her mother, Kseniya Dorliak, who was also a famous Russian singer and Nina’s vocal teacher. On these discs, her stylistically impeccable interpretations have one trait in common: their warmth. Dorliak’s subtle nuances in Schumann, gracious phrasing in Glinka and Weckerlin, and noble evenness of line in Bach and Mozart have as much emotional power - maybe even more - than a bigger voice may have produced. She effortlessly renders any Dargomyzhsky, Mozart or Schubert trifle into a masterpiece. And, of course, her interpretations of the Musorgsky and Prokofiev song cycles have long been known as classics.
Dorliak’s singing is not only artfully supported but also lovingly enhanced by Richter. Theirs is an amazing ensemble, where Richter’s piano breathes, sings, mourns and laughs together with Dorliak’s voice, following each agogic subtlety and keeping the dynamic balance in beautiful proportion. The young Richter’s playing is much more emotionally open and colourful than in his late years, yet technically brilliant and precise. The breathtaking transparency of his Schumann, lightness of Schubert, and sharp characterisations of Prokofiev and Musorgsky are unforgettable.
It is probably no coincidence that, besides the three song cycles, there are more of Glinka’s romances in this set than any other composer’s works. Dorliak is at her best in these elegant miniatures. I enjoyed the variety of moods and dynamics in her singing as well as her exemplary diction in the fast songs.
My favourite performance in this set is, however, that of Schumann’s songs. Grieg once wrote, "To be able to sing Schumann is a special faculty which many excellent singers do not have." The same is true of the pianists who must accompany these songs. In the case of the Dorliak/Richter ensemble, we are fortunate to have two superbly equipped artists. Take, for example, the introductory bars of the very first song. Richter’s natural flow and delicate touch are so telling that it seems nothing could be more moving. Yet Dorliak joins the song with equal mastery, reaching the culmination in bar 23 (the G and F# notes) with enchantingly beautiful pianissimo. Richter continues this magic with his rubato and ritardando in the last four bars. As everywhere throughout these performances, it is such subtle details that give their art greatness. The variety of colouring in each dynamic nuance, especially in the piano-pianissimo range, is stunning.
The set’s booklet, containing over 70 pages of the French transliteration and translation of the Russian texts is useful, though it would have been even more so had other languages been provided. Also, while the booklet says that the Dorliak/Richter ensemble’s premiere was in 1945, the set’s cover gives a recording date of 1943.
Whether one is a professional musician or a connoisseur, this set will be a marvellous listening experience despite the far from perfect quality of the recordings’ restoration. If anything, the presence of the audience and the old records’ surface noise, clearly audible throughout, contribute to the documentary aura of these discs. This set is a treasure for any collector.
Sofia Moshevich
Index
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Lady
Macbeth of Mtsensk, op. 29.
Mstislav
Rostropovich, London Philharmonic Orchestra, John McCarthy (chorus master),
Ambrosian Opera Chorus, Galina Vishnevskaya (Katerina Ismailova), Nicolai
Gedda (Sergey), Dimiter Petkov (Boris Ismailov), Werner Krenn (Zinovy
Ismailov), Robert Tear (Shabby Peasant), Taru Valjakka (Aksinya), Birgit
Finnilä (Sonyetka), Aage Haugland (Sergeant), Martyn Hill (Teacher),
Leonard Mróz (Priest), Alexander Malta (Old convict, Mill-hand), Leslie
Fyson (Officer), Steven Emmerson (Porter), John Noble (Steward, Coachman),
Colin Appleton (First foreman), Alan Byers (Second foreman), James Lewington
(Third foreman), Oliver Broome (Policeman), Edgar Fleet (Drunken guest),
David Beavan (Sentry), Lynda Richardson (Woman convict).
EMI
Classics 7243 567776 2 or Angel Records 7243 567779 2 7 (Americas &
East Asia). DDD. 2-CD Set TT 77:50 + 77:03.
Recorded
No. 1 Studio, Abbey Road, London, 1, 3, 5-7, 10, 11, 16, 19-22 April 1978.
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It may be Shostakovich’s most famous, or more accurately, infamous composition. Yet this opera has had a meagre recording history. Mstislav Rostropovich was responsible for committing the original score to LP in 1979, a recording released on CD only in 1990 (EMI CDS 7499552 8; deleted). Myung Whun Chung put up a worthy fight in his 1993 recording in full digital sound (Deutsche Grammophon 437 511-2). The revised Katerina Ismailova, op. 114, has fared even worse, existing only in a 1989 recording featuring the Kiev Opera led by Stepan Turchak (Le Chant du Monde LDC 278 1021/23; deleted). That makes just three recordings of two versions of the opera in three decades.
Surely a work of such magnitude - a real masterpiece and true work of genius - deserves better than this. However, when one considers the towering achievement of Rostropovich’s pioneering effort, with the white hot London Symphony Orchestra and Galina Vishnevskaya indomitable as Katerina, one might be tempted to ask: do we really need another?
The London Symphony Orchestra, sounding very Russian with their earthy colouring and Shostakovian ruggedness, convey the brutally comic satire created by the young composer to counterbalance the heroine’s tragic circumstances. Rostropovich succeeds in playing the flippancy of such outrageous elements as the gallop and the waltz against the unfolding drama so that the listener can appreciate the irony of Katerina’s earnest quest for love, and watch her approach her downfall like a lamb to the slaughter.
Note, for example, how Shostakovich plays out Aksinya’s rape scene to music from Hypothetically Murdered, taken at murderous pace like a film in fast-forward while the cast sings in stylised Sprechtgesang reminiscent of the mob scenes in The Nose. It is telling that Sergei’s conquest of Katerina draws from this scene in subtle ways, throwing light on circumstances that Katerina is blind to but of which we, as observers, are fully aware. Rostropovich makes these connections, weaving a masterly conception of the whole by seamlessly diving from aria to gallop and back, maintaining a feverish momentum and a feeling of impending doom that is released only when Katerina takes her own life.
Chung’s power-packed reading is aided by the superb Paris Opéra-Bastille Orchestra, who manoeuvre the intricacies of the score marvellously, all their delightful detail brought into clear focus by Deutsche Grammophon’s sparkling engineering. Chung’s interludes are terrifying, especially Katerina’s seduction sequence, although his detumescent trombone glissandi are not as wickedly vulgar as Rostropovich’s! Another orchestral challenge better mastered by Rostropovich is Aksinya’s rape scene, which is diabolically difficult and which starts messily in Chung’s hands.
Vishnevskaya makes the title role her own, untouchable in her portrayal of a woman trapped by the oppressive boredom of her existence and whose parched soul screams for human touch. From the very start Vishnevskaya weaves her magic, conveying the bleakness that permeates the score with her rich, expressive voice and her remarkable power both in the upper and lowermost registers. She draws you into her horrible world, and elicits your sympathy from her very first notes.
Chung’s weakest link is Maria Ewing’s Katerina. Although she brings fresh aspects to the character, she is no match for Vishnevskaya in sustaining a consistent portrayal, nor in handling the extremes of register. Vishnevskaya is unrivalled in her moments of urgent breathlessness where Ewing tends to be weak; the former’s impressive power in the lower registers gives her the edge.
Ewing’s Katerina is a youthful, trapped animal beside Vishnevskaya’s weary, hardened victim. Take the final line of Act 2, Scene 5 - "Ah, Seryozha" - where Vishnevskaya’s voice soars like the complicit figure of Faustian indulgence she is, as opposed to Ewing’s spine-tingling ppp crescendo, suggesting her Katerina’s more sensuous, even innocent partaking of the kiss. Here Rostropovich responds with bleached tenderness, whereas Chung’s more voluptuous sheen, though effective for the moment, contributes to the disjointed feel of his overall structure.
To Ewing’s credit, her dramatisation, well suited to a live stage performance, is delicious even where it does not contribute meaningfully to the development of Katerina’s character. For example, her "Seryozha my love" sounds as if she is still snuggled at home in bed rather than in Siberia in weary search of comfort, yet even here Ewing’s sense of betrayal, if naive, is still touching.
In the end, though, Vishnevskaya begs sympathy for Katerina’s unwavering strength and inevitable descent into hell for the choices she makes, while Ewing’s Katerina, it is fair to say, is a silly, silly little girl.
Nicolai Gedda makes a cockier Sergei than does Chung’s Sergei Larin; just listen to Gedda’s Sergei taunting Katerina as she reproaches him for abusing Aksinya. Gedda sounds every bit the transparent scoundrel to Larin’s more sensual, magnetic character. While Larin displays the sort of animal attraction that one might expect would draw in Katerina, Gedda supports Rostropovich’s conception of the irony of her Faustian bargain, because with him it is obvious that Katerina’s love is a farce, and the opera is all the more poignant for that.
Dimiter Petkov is an unshakeable Boris, his solid performance of controlled drama giving Rostropovich’s satire the dark edge it demands. Interestingly, Rostropovich’s Police Inspector, Aage Haugland, also plays Chung’s Boris, and while he is delightfully comic, this suits the role of the Inspector better than that of Boris, diluting rather than adding to the latter’s sinister presence. For example, Haugland’s over-sexed "Nyet Muzhika" is worthy of the best moments in operatic comic relief, except this is neither the place nor the time for it; after all, Katerina’s father-in-law is stalking her! In the hands of Petkov and Rostropovich, however, this aria, with its complex pastiche of styles, becomes a tightly woven piece that builds tension. With Haugland and Chung, the seams show.
Chung has a tendency to overplay the obvious. This might work on stage, but it gives Chung’s conception a jagged, uneven finish. Compare the way the two conductors handle Boris’ discovery of the illicit affair: Chung maximises the sudden appearance of a waltz to the detriment of the flow, while Rostropovich keeps a tight rein on the irony to keep tension building. Again, though Chung elicits a thrilling response from the orchestra in the first Chorus, "Why are you leaving us, Master?" it is too much, too early. His chorus is a little too earnest and eager to see Zinovy go. By holding back, Rostropovich lets the sinister undercurrent brew while his band of servants serve up a more insolent swagger - hear how they handle the phrase "Zachem?" in mockingly melodramatic response to Boris’ demands.
Similarly, in the fugue at the beginning of the Wedding scene, Chung manages to build to a frightening climax, but his opening is more sparkling champagne than tainted vodka, whereas Rostropovich introduces the kind of grotesque terror found in the Fourth Symphony, reeking of disaster, into the piling timbres of strings and voices. Also, Chung’s Shabby Peasant scene delights in its comic relief, but I prefer Rostropovich’s measured satire. His is a brutal, terror-frozen humour, and his Shabby Peasant is no fool but a dangerous individual. Rostropovich shifts the comic centre to the Police Station, significantly heightening the humour there.
Perhaps this sums up the main differences between the two conductors’ visions for the opera: Chung is colourful and dramatic, and not without terrifying moments, but it is Rostropovich who pulls everything together in a tautly woven work of satire, painted in the bleak, grey shades of his sound world. The tension is unrelenting; the sinister undercurrent festers throughout. Occasionally Chung outshines Rostropovich, as in his final Act which supplies moments of fearsome power and suicidal screams that are marginally less farcical than Rostropovich’s. However, the sum of the parts do not make the whole, and it is Rostropovich who secures a satisfying broad picture, well measured and gripping from first note to last.
Chung offers the only digital version of the original Lady Macbeth, with crystal-clear sound that illuminates many of the intricate details of Shostakovich’s scoring. However, the rebirth of Rostropovich’s recording is part of EMI’s Great Recordings of the Century series, which employs their new Prism SNS system with 20-bit Analogue-to-Digital Conversion to reproduce the original tape masters more faithfully than in the previous CD issue. In fact, critics have noted that of all the recordings in the series, this one stands out in terms of sound quality. I, too, was instantly struck by the natural acoustics of the new issue, and could hardly believe that this was the same recording that I had enjoyed for so many years despite the rather harsh sound of its previous CD release. The new disc produces a warm, smooth sound even through the most trying sections of the opera - and with the score’s high tessitura and relentlessly loud passages, there are many! Spectrum analysis confirms what my ears tell me; the dynamic range is wider in the reissue and the upper frequency spectrum is completely flat where the old remastering rolled off badly. Thus, the full range of high frequencies (the atmosphere and ambience, if you will) is now preserved.
The reissue also provides nearly twice as many track cues as either the original or Deutsche Grammophon’s set, which is extremely helpful for navigating around the opera. I will miss the original booklet notes by Solomon Volkov, which explore with great candour the psychology behind the opera (DG boast comprehensive annotation by David Fanning, a mini study in itself, complete with musical listings of the key motifs of the opera). Perhaps it was political expediency on EMI’s part that led the commissioning of a new set of notes by Richard Osborne, who concentrates more on the opera’s recording history than its controversial background. It includes a fascinating revelation, a claim by Rostropovich that one of the last things Shostakovich had told him was, "If you ever perform Lady Macbeth, please do the first one."
Listening again to the EMI recording is to relive the thrill of my first encounter with the opera. During the recording sessions, Rostropovich was described as a man "thrice possessed", and his authority at the baton in a Shostakovich score has never been more compelling. Now that Rostropovich’s classic session is back with a vengeance, Chung’s is likely to take a back seat for a long, long time.
CH Loh
Index
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Five
Preludes, op. 2; Three Fantastic Dances, op. 5; Ten Aphorisms,
op. 13; Panufnik: Twelve Miniature Studies§; Reflections§;
Pentasonata§.
Raymond
Clarke (piano).
Divine
Art 25018. DDD. TT 77:29.
Recorded
King’s Hall, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, U.K., 2 September
& 16 December 2001.
§World
premiere recordings.
Do we still think size matters, when it comes to the politically sour but musically rich 20th century? Raymond Clarke’s fine, enterprising and intelligently planned new recital begs the scale versus stature question, in offering thirty short, sharp films followed by two longer features from the studios of two well-known producers of tonal symphonies. Shostakovich and Panufnik were victims and survivors of their century’s long night, who retained dignity and promoted a sense of musical order in the decades after the terror, whether writing patiently of death in a still-frosty Soviet Union or, in Panufnik’s case, devising idealistic, symmetrical and symbolic musical structures in the unlikely, leafy-suburban surroundings of Twickenham, England, following his escape from Stalinist Poland in 1954.
Both were also, of course, talented pianists, right from the start. Clarke’s rigorous, strong, patient and thoughtful approach to the five surviving Preludes from the teenaged Shostakovich’s op. 2 brings Medtner to mind; the last Prelude, stylised as it night be, summons a world of feeling in a single breath. In the Three Fantastic Dances, though, Clarke’s performance, while perfectly valid and accurate, substitutes masculine strength and clarity for sensual fantasy.
By 1927 and the Ten Aphorisms, the voracious, butterfly-minded, hypersensitive and allusive young composer had combined the surreal incongruities of a Satie, a Duchamp or a Magritte with that youthful sensuality and fantasy. By the end of the Aphorisms’ thirteen minutes, in this vivid performance we feel we’ve enjoyed - rather than endured! - a far longer and more meaningful musical journey. I wonder what Richter or Paul Jacobs might have made of these pieces, but Clarke’s only serious competition remains imaginary, at present.
Quite different imaginings are suggested by Panufnik’s Twelve Miniature Studies in all the minor keys, written in Poland after the war but before the anti-formalist clampdown: thoughts of being hauled out of solitary confinement without warning to be suspended over a cliff from a hurtling train - then back again; a recurring nightmare. I can also imagine a very different view of the work, with greater capricious abandon, more obvious virtuosity and local colour or character in the fast studies. By the end, however, Clarke makes us feel we have experienced something more akin to a major Beethoven Sonata, than a string of Miniatures. It is an authentic, unsettling masterpiece of mid-century piano writing.
The Reflections and Pentasonata, each lasting about a quarter of an hour, come from a distant future time of exile unimagined by the composer of the war-torn miniatures that precede them on the disc. Clarke’s solemn dedication and power here put me in mind of the Copland Variations, and bode well for his forthcoming all-Copland CD.
Clarke fully exploits all the sustained power his Steinway "D" can offer, and the recording gives a reasonable impression of the instrument’s mighty sound. Shostakovich devotees will have to decide whether full price is justified for the sake of a fine op. 13, and a good op. 2, or whether they want to wait for the ultimate Aphorisms. But all admirers of Panufnik, or indeed of tonal piano music from the era in general, should hear this disc. I wouldn’t want to see concerns over tuning, voiced elsewhere regarding this CD, deter lovers of 20th century piano music from investigating Clarke’s latest, and very welcome release.
Paul Ingram
Index
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Preludes
and Fugues Nos. 1 - 12 from Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues, op. 87, arranged
for organ by Elger Niels and Michiel Ras§.
Michiel Ras (organ).
STS
Digital 611130. Direct Stream Digital hybrid stereo/5-channel SACD/CD.
TT 77:17.
Recorded
RC Bartholomeus Church, Zevenbergen, Netherlands, 1 & 2 October 2001.
§World
premiere recording of arrangements.
Available
for US$20 (P&P included) from STS Digital: info@sts-digital.nl;
online information/order form http://www.sts-digital.nl;
Tel. 00 31 33 4551551; Fax. 00 31 44 4570597; Poortersdreef 55, 3824 DL
Amersfoort, Netherlands.
The polyphonic dialogue of Shostakovich’s Preludes and Fugues seems tailor-made for translation to the organ, with its Babel of tongues. No easy feat, as Dutch pianist, conductor and Rachmaninov scholar Elger Niels explains: "By far the most challenging aspect is finding the right timbres, or in a sense, the ’orchestration’ for the organ." The instrument used here has 36 ranks of pipes, each set having its own unique tonal quality. Church organist Michiel Ras elaborates, "We searched together for the right sound, atmosphere and balance. Elger came up with some really good ideas but he is not an organist, so then I ’translated’ his notions into registrations for the organ."
Niels and Ras have given birth to music that often differs strikingly in character from the original opus. The scampering scale runs of Prelude No. 2 now seem otherworldly - and less heavenly than science-fictitious. But the organ’s religious associations are impossible to shake, and the pipes transmute the A major Prelude and Fugue, No. 7, into hymns of devotional optimism.
The organ heightens rather than changes the moods that other pieces have in their original garb. Its sustained tones inflate the nursery-time innocence of the opening C major Prelude into a sweetly cloying lullaby, while sprightly Preludes Nos. 8 and 11 become wry circus clown dances. Prelude No. 4 is now a quantum level more mournful, with soul-shaking bass fundamentals from the 16’ sub bourdon pipes. As for the obsessively repetitious F# minor Fugue, No. 8, this seems much more oppressive in its gloomy mixture of flute, string and hybrid stops, to the point of being rather difficult to sit through.
Naturally, the blown organ is less nimble than the percussive piano, so fast music like the D major Prelude and Fugue, No. 5, loses some of its original lightness. This is more than compensated for in other departments, though; no other single instrument could match the multi-voiced organ’s facility for rendering distinctly the polyphony of Shostakovich’s Fugues. Nor, in Prelude No. 3, could any grand piano obey the pesante marking in Shostakovich’s score with as tremendously fearsome a mass of sound as overwhelms here.
This pink-gold disc has technical tricks hidden up its sleeve to maximally deliver the organ’s stratospheric highs and window-rattling lows. It is no ordinary CD, but rather a product of late 20th century genetic engineering: a standard CD layer cloned onto an underlying Super Audio compact disc (SACD) layer that contains both stereo and 5-channel surround-sound versions of the same recording. The SACD layer is invisible to one’s faithful CD player, which will play the stereo CD information without complaint. However, the still-small clique of classical music lovers who have invested in the new format will reap SACD’s significantly increased dynamic range, frequency response, and density of musical information (64 times the sampling rate of a standard CD, to be precise).
Most impressive this sounds, too, as I discovered when I sampled the disc in 5-channel SACD, courtesy of Donald Blouin, Manager of the downtown Montreal Sony Store. At times the engulfing, bottomless organ sound was almost too intense an experience, but I was left in no doubt that, were price of the hardware not an issue, a multi-channel SACD installation would be most welcome in my living room.
But CD is not dead yet, and this disc remains a sonic spectacle in conventional mode. Not, however, that it is a synthetic, sterile showpiece. The acoustics are intimately natural, reporting all the physiological processes of this recital: the creaking of the pedal keyboard, whooshing of air in the pipes, the pneumatic breathing of the organ pump.
The notes give full details of the musical conception, the recording process, and even the vital statistics of the organ and its settings at the start of each of the twenty-four pieces. I was pleased to see Michiel Ras’ assistant, Maarten Boonstra, acknowledged for his expert drawing of the stop tabs, which select the different ranks of pipes.
Overall, this is a highly worthwhile endeavour, and I encourage the team who produced it to turn quickly to the remaining twelve Preludes and Fugues. In the meantime, this remarkable release earns an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
W. Mark Roberts
Index
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The
Heart of the Andes
Five
Preludes from Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues, op. 87 (No. 8 in F# minor,
No. 3 in G major, No. 1 in C major, No. 17 in Ab major, No. 15
in Db major), arranged for accordion by Guy Klucevsek§; Guy
Klucevsek: Festina Tarde; Portables; Bits and Pieces
of Hard Coal; Return of the Microids; The Gift; The
Heart of the Andes Suite; Dave Douglas: Variety; Phillip Johnston:
Birds.
Guy
Klucevsek (accordion).
Winter
& Winter WTR 910 074-2. DDD. TT 68:54.
Recorded
Sint-Pietersabdij, Gent (Ghent), Belgium, 3 & 4 September 2001.
§World
premiere recording of arrangements.
This album by Guy Klucevsek, playing mostly his own compositions for solo accordion, includes transcriptions of five Shostakovich Preludes (without the Fugues) from op. 87 of 1950-52. I was not particularly impressed by the overall sound nor the material included on the disc. At least the Shostakovich pieces added some rhythmic interest to an otherwise very conservative, uninspired and timbrally uninteresting hour-and-nine-minutes of music.
The CD is rather obscurely entitled Heart of the Andes, the last three tracks comprising a suite with this name composed by Klucevsek for an eponymous theatre production. Most of the music on this album apparently derives from similar productions, and the Shostakovich Preludes are the odd men out, possibly added to fill up the CD, or possibly as an indicator of the composition styles that might have inspired Klucevsek’s own music. If the latter is the case, I suggest a much longer course of study and analysis of Shostakovich’s clearly much greater and more interesting music. In any event, Klucevsek’s music has no references that I can hear to anything South American, much less Andean; the interesting rhythmic complexity of that region’s dances is nowhere in evidence.
Transcribing isolated Preludes does a disservice to Shostakovich’s careful and thoughtful structuring of each Prelude and Fugue as a compositional unit. Some Preludes, such as the G major, don’t end on the tonic, so there are tonal problems to consider also. Isolated Preludes presented as isolated tracks on a CD do, however, allow one to savour the flavours of the varied styles, harmonic-contrapuntal textures, rhythmic ingenuity and formal architecture, in small (or short) doses. Yet the solo accordion, at least to my ears, does very little to enhance this experience. Its lack of a sustain pedal detracts especially from long-held bass notes such as the ending of the just-mentioned G major Prelude.
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It is enlightening in this regard to compare these transcriptions to a different set by the group Excelsior, who released arrangements of ten op. 87 Preludes on their Declassified album in 1996 (Mark Set Go MSG 101 CD; reviewed in DSCH No. 11). Four of the same Preludes are found on both CDs. With Excelsior the varied instrumentation - electric violin, electric guitar, percussion, as well as an accordion - makes each cut much more delightful. The F# minor Prelude is too short on its own, as the Klucevsek version demonstrates, but Excelsior make it into a delightful, varied polka, with percussion, varied orchestration, and quite a few bars of added and repeated material not found in the original score.
The Db major Prelude is sparkling and cheeky as played by Excelsior, with the addition of a tuba and a long solo percussion section added in the middle. With Klucevsek, this Prelude contains all the original notes only, and the sparkle is absent. Shorn of piano and a pianist with a light touch, this piece needs percussive sounds like Excelsior’s electric guitar.
In the Ab major Prelude, No. 17, Excelsior include an electric guitar improvisation, which pulls strings often. Klucevsek again includes most of the notes, and the rhythm and speed are correct, but the melody that moves from register to register does not stand out - much less the counterpoint! - anywhere near as well as it does with the varied orchestration of Excelsior.
Lastly, the C Major Prelude, No. 1, is not particularly successful on either album. Neither of the arrangers improvises anything here. The opening diatonicism, then the flats, then the sharps (but always with at least one C Major diatonic note in every harmony) prepare for the tour de force, completely diatonic fugue which unfortunately doesn’t follow on either CD. With this Prelude and Fugue I can almost see Shostakovich’s small, tight, sardonic smile; my vision fades when the Fugue is not played. A pity.
Although both transcriptions of Shostakovich’s Preludes demonstrate the performers’ own musical skills, as a by-product it becomes clear that Klucevsek is more interested in this demonstration, whereas Excelsior reveal that Shostakovich’s music can be lots of fun if you pay attention to re-creating it while making it your own.
In short, this Klucevsek CD throws as little light on Shostakovich as it does on South American music. The sound quality is the same throughout, and sounds to me as though a touch of artificial reverb and stereo enhancement have been added, with the bass turned down.
JD Drury
Index
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Sonata for Cello and Piano,
op. 40; Schnittke: Sonata for Cello and Piano No. 1; Prokofiev: Sonata
for Cello and Piano, op. 119.
Yegor Dyachkov (cello), Jean
Saulnier (piano).
Disques
Pelleas CD-0109. DDD. TT 76:00.
Recorded
Salle Françoys-Bernier, Domaine Forget, St-Irénée,
Quebec, Nov. 1998.
This attractive Canadian CD presents three frequently recorded Soviet-era Cello Sonatas. The young Quebec artists are recorded in generally fine sound, although audible breathing and excessive string raspiness of the cellist indicates too-close placement of the microphones. Their approach to all three sonatas is earnest and compelling, without overstatement or dullness. Dyachkov’s vibrato is sometimes too wide and his tone can be a bit steely, but on the whole his playing is clean and precise.
The Shostakovich Sonata begins innocently and becomes more mysterious as the Allegro non troppo goes on, making for an effective contrast with the duo’s forceful beginning of the Allegro. The harmonic glissandi are nicely done - these brief snippets are a true highlight of the entire work for me and for most players, so I pay close heed to them. Dyachkov’s slides sound well, without strain or thinness. His strummed, guitar-like pizzicati shortly after are also effectively played. The Largo is the heart of the work, and here is played with a simple honesty and without exaggeration. For some, this will be insufficiently deep, but I find it refreshing, and it opens the work up to listen anew. However, this interpretation does become overly lean in the final part of this movement. The Allegro finale is spirited and segues into just the right amount of hysterical agitation before the calm returns, ending with the final surprise jolt.
Schnittke’s Sonata is played with similar earnestness while retaining its enigmatic properties. Both Dyachkov and Saulnier play with clear textures where murkiness abounds in many other recordings. The pounding piano passages in the Presto are less harsh than most versions, yet Saulnier can get nasty too - neither musician is reticent to let the music shout and screech when needed. The plaintive wails of the high cello after these poundings have just the right pleading edginess to them. The double and triple-stops in the Largo are arpeggiated so all the components are heard (I’m not sure how this is notated in the score, but many cellists play more of a full stop). This arpeggiation links the latter half more to the first movement with its rather brusque grace notes. Into the ending of the work, one suddenly realizes how far from a normal tonality we are, and the Sonata fades into mysterious despair.
The Sonata by Prokofiev is played with subtle wit and charm, absent of the sentimentalism and cuteness that can mar and even destroy the work. The waltz-like figure in the opening Andante grave is too frequently played with a syrupy nostalgia and gross over-emoting. Dyachkov and Saulnier are thankfully straightforward, and the music is much the better for it. The same holds true for the pianist’s opening of the Moderato - we get the effect of a tongue-in-cheek version of a children’s ballet class this way, with an evident bright-eyed glee. The approach is less successful in the quiet first part of the Allegro non troppo, where the lines drift and focus wanders. As the music grows more animated, the no-nonsense approach regains its applicability, and the ending is forthright without any fanfare.
All in all, this CD presents refreshing and unexaggerated readings of these three seminal Cello Sonatas. The brief programme notes by Barry Corber are helpful for the uninitiated.
Richard Pleak
Index
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Schnittke/Shostakovich:
works for cello & piano
Viola Sonata, op. 147, arranged for cello and piano by Daniil Shafran[a];
Moderato[b]; Adagio from The Limpid Stream, op. 39,
arranged for cello and piano by Atovmyan[c]; Schnittke: Cello Sonata
No. 1 (1978)[d]; Cello Sonata No. 2 (1993-4)[e].
Raphael
Wallfisch (cello), John York (piano).
Black
Box BBM1032. DDD. TT 77:59.
Recorded
Champs Hill, Pulborough, UK, 28 June 2000[a-c]/St. George’s, Brandon
Hill, Bristol, 22 April 1998[d,e].
British Cellist Raphael Wallfisch and pianist John York here present a CD almost entirely filled with disquietude, resignation, and blackness. Both of the Schnittke Sonatas are difficult works for listeners to come to grips with, less so the First Sonata with its Presto central structure, although it ends in mystery and despair. The Second Sonata is fragmentary and frustrated, hard for performers to pull into a coherent whole. Wallfisch and York succeed completely in both. The playing is remarkable: dead serious, intense, full of pondering and anger, yet with flashes of beauty and brilliance throughout. The crazed Presto in the First Sonata is delivered with flawless drive, and the sputtering ending of the piece, like the opening Largo, is world-weary and heavy-hearted. The tortuous Second Sonata, rarely performed, shines here as a strong yet stifled tour de force.
Shostakovich’s last opus, for viola and grand piano, has been arranged for cello by Daniil Shafran and also by Josef Feigelson. The two versions are somewhat different, but there is no recording made of the latter, so comparisons a