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DSCH No. 21 CD Reviews
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Great
Artists of the 20th Century: Galina Vishnevskaya
Seven Romances on Verses by Alexander Blok, op. 127[a]; Satires
(Pictures of the Past), op. 109[b]; Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk,
Act I Scene III[c]; Musorgsky orch. Shostakovich: Songs and Dances
of Death[d].
Galina Vishnevskaya (mezzo-soprano), Mstislav Rostropovich (cello)[a],
(piano)[b], (cond.)[c, d], Nicolai Gedda (tenor)[c], Dimiter Petkov (bass)[c].
London Philharmonic Orchestra[c,d].
EMI
7243 5 62829 2 6 or Angel 7243 5 62830 2 2. ADD. TT 78:25.
Recorded
1976[a,b], 1977[d], 1978[c].
Magdalena
Kozená: Songs
Satires
(Pictures of the Past), op. 109[a]; Ravel: Chansons madécasses
(Madagascan songs)[b]; Respighi: Il tramonto (The Sunset)[c]; Erwin
Schulhoff: Drei Stimmungsbilder, op. 12[d]; Britten: A Charm
of Lullabies, op. 41[e].
Magdalena
Kozená (mezzo-soprano), Malcolm Martineau (piano)[a,d,e], Paul
Edmund-Davies (flute)[b], Christoph Henschel (violin)[d], Jirí Bárta
(cello)[b], Henschel Quartett[c]: Christoph Henschel (violin 1), Markus
Henschel (violin II), Monica Henschel-Schwind (viola), Matthias D. Beyer-Karlshøj
(cello).
Deutsche
Grammophon 471 581-2. DDD. TT 63:47.
Recorded
Max-Joseph-Saal, Residenz, Munich, March 2003[a, c-e], Studio 1, Abbey
Road Studios, London, June 2003[b].
EMI have at last collected on a single disc studio performances of Galina Vishnevskaya singing works by Shostakovich. The programme would seem to be one of necessity: three of the four works therein - the Blok Romances, the Satires and the arrangement of Musorgsky's Songs and Dances of Death - are personal dedications. For those who have yet to hear these classic renditions dating from the 1970s and once spread across as many individual albums, a rare treat is in store. No one can claim a more privileged vantage point for the interpretation of this music than Vishnevskaya herself. The many years of close friendship that she, along with her husband, Mstislav Rostropovich, enjoyed with Shostakovich, combined with their remarkable musical gifts, allowed both a unique and authoritative perspective on the man and his music. The current disc offers a tribute to Ms. Vishnevskaya's artistry, with accompaniment in various forms by Rostropovich, in an all-Shostakovich vocal programme that is part of EMI's Great Artists of the Century series.
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Readers may recall a BMG/Melodiya CD (74321 53237-2; deleted) with nearly the same programme, with Prokofiev's Akhmatova cycle replacing the Lady Macbeth selections, issued a decade ago, featuring Vishnevskaya in series of live concerts dating from the 1960s. That recording has historical value in documenting the world premiere of the Blok Romances with an all-star cast of performers: cellist Rostropovich, violinist David Oistrakh, and composer Mieczyslaw Weinberg on piano. While the excitement of those live performances is hard to match, the studio sessions with EMI find Vishnevskaya in superior technical control and her musical insights more fully sharpened.
Vishnevskaya is at her most impressive in Musorgsky's Songs and Dances of Death. Shostakovich's celebrated orchestration of 1962, used here, considerably broadens their expressive range while remaining idiomatically faithful to the original piano score. In their new garb they are all the more conducive to an operatic style of interpretation and, appropriately enough, to Vishnevskaya's dramatic instincts. That combination works ideally in these four mini-dramas, which are given as operatic a treatment as one will find anywhere. In the opening Lullaby listen to Vishnevskaya's agility in taking on the quickly shifting roles in the dialogue between Death and the mother, or her menacing edge as she brings Death's message to an exhausted wanderer in the following Trepak. There is a disquieting radiance to the soaring lines in Death's Serenade. Vishnevskaya is again fierce in the final Field Marshal, where the broad tones of Death's final conquest are uttered with chilling intensity. Some listeners may find Vishnevskaya's brand of vodka a bit too strong for their taste. But rarely will one find an interpretation of this deeply Russian work that shines with as much dramatic vitality. She is well supported by Rostropovich leading the LPO in a recording that gives her favourable prominence, even if the orchestral image is a bit vague. Listeners may be interested in another fine, richly expressive, if not as extreme performance of this music that is given by Brigitte Fassbaender, whose commanding presence and immaculate tones are found on the Järvi/Gothenberg survey of Shostakovich's vocal music (Deutsche Grammophon 437 785-2GH; deleted). The details of Shostakovich's orchestration are registered with exemplary clarity in this version.
Another classic performance follows with the Satires cycle. These black humoured verses of Sasha Chorny take aim at a number of favourite targets of Shostakovich and the Rostropoviches: art critics, Philistinism, and the new Soviet idealism as represented in the liberalizing cultural climate of 1960. Here, the music's offbeat modulations and accented dance rhythms find Shostakovich at his most wryly irreverent. If sung with too much classical poise, as even a distinguished a singer as Irina Bogacheva demonstrates in the orchestral version under Rozhdestvensky (Melodiya C10 22267 009; deleted), the humour can be fatally leaden. Vishnevskaya had it right when she said that the work is ideally suited to "a music hall singer with an operatic voice" (this is exactly the quality of her great voice). Here she brilliantly straddles both worlds, the straight lace of art song and the swagger of cabaret, and to wonderful effect. Without batting an eyelash, Vishnevskaya moves from cantilena to enunciated verse to flying waltz rhythms with a kind of stoic reserve of mockery that is characteristically Russian. The style may be a bit heavy handed; yet it's suitably supported by Rostropovich's nimble but hard-knuckled accompaniment. The sense of parody is very much alive without being excessive, and everywhere present. Vishnevskaya lays out the schmaltzy and climactic episodes of Spring's Awakening and Misunderstanding on a grand silver platter; and she keeps the racing waltz of Descendants on a high emotional plane to the very last yelp.
The soft edged, Franco-Slavic sensibilities of Magdalena Kozená's mezzo-soprano (she is Czech by birth) bring a quite different set of values to these Satires. Kozená's freely taken tempo shifts make for a lively performance, where pronounced accelerandi - as in the giddy finales of the third and last songs - and liberally applied rubati emphasize the contrasting sections in these settings with good results. Her segues, especially across the odd juxtaposition, are effortless, and lend what one might call a foxy elegance to her performance. Note the magisterial tempo with which she takes the Red Army-style march in the fourth song, Misunderstanding, whose syrupy cantilena section she sings with eloquent sincerity. The tones of derision are nicely spun. If some of the Russian weight of these Satires is lifted in this rendition, Kozená misses no detail of their intended whimsy. Neither does pianist Malcolm Martineau, whose crisp, cabaret sensibilities provide a perfect foil.
The Blok Romances occupy a unique place in Shostakovich's oeuvre, in part for their piano trio accompaniment, used piecemeal, with an unrepeated instrumental combination in each song; and in part for the uncommon poignancy and eloquence with which they take up issues of morality and artistry - ongoing themes in Shostakovich's music. A further level of integrative unity is achieved by the expressive layout of the songs that, by alternating moods, attain progressively deeper emotional states as the cycle unfolds. The childlike vulnerability of the first and third songs, for example, is offset by songs of anger, outrage, and lamentation. The contrasts are at last gathered together, like the collapse of galactic arms toward a common centre in the last three songs, leading to the final song's dramatic crux, providing the shattering and inevitable moment of epiphany. The cycle is a work of unparalleled unity and cumulative power among Shostakovich's cycles and for that reason deserves to be called his masterpiece in the genre.
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Perhaps more than any other Shostakovich cycle, the interpretive demands made by these Romances have resulted in very few totally satisfying performances. One of outstanding merit of recent years is given by soprano Natalia Gerassimova (Saison Russe RUS 7288088; reviewed in DSCH No. 14) whose exquisite pacing is as memorable as her unmatched tenderness and power. Gerassimova also receives particularly strong support from the Moscow Trio. Vishnevskaya's interpretation succeeds more on its visceral than psychological penetration of the Blok verses. The mournful quality of the opening Ophelia's Song and the sensitivity of We Were Together are superb. Her deep feeling for the cantilena in The City Sleeps leaves a lasting impression; likewise her robust tones in the heightened drama of Gamayun and The Storm. As the last two songs move into that crux, so does Vishnevskaya with fervent intensity. The climactic summary in the final Music, especially as delivered by the artist to whom the work is dedicated, has an arresting effect. How could it not? Technically and emotionally, it is far more seasoned than the live version on Melodiya previously mentioned.
The last offering on the EMI disc is Act One, Scene III from Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, surely one of Vishnevskaya's landmark operatic roles. She once again shows herself to be a soprano of impressively broad range, at first with a touching rendition of Katerina's lament over her joyless life. This is followed by an incomparably lusty version of the infamous seduction scene. Heard in all of its splendour is the opera world's first "pornophonic" episode, from the initial rapping on Katerina's door, through a lot of thrilling rhythmic activity, to the detumescent trombone slides and the orchestral postlude. Vishnevskaya and the appropriately virile tenor Nicolai Gedda as Sergei are in top form in a sequence that is guaranteed to bring a smile and accelerate the pulse.
For its direct connection to Shostakovich's inner circle and moreover, its set of infallibly idiomatic performances of essential repertoire, this Vishnevskaya recital disc is one that cannot be passed up.
I would be remiss if I did not mention the remaining pieces on Magdalena Kozená's recital disc by Ravel, Respighi, Britten, and Schulhoff. Each is sung in its original language - French, Italian, English, and German. The linguistically gifted Kozená has a particular affinity for songs from the lesser-known corners of the catalogue, and with the exception of the Shostakovich Satires (which is sung in Russian) to songs of a moody and sensuous nature. Her colourful programme is well tailored to her gifts. Case in point is Ravel's now seductive, now barbaric Madagascan Songs for voice, flute, cello, and piano. She shows particular versatility conveying the idiosyncratic moods of Britten's Charm of Lullabies; and much sympathy in Respighi's intimately expressive Sunset with string quartet accompaniment; and again with the melancholic and inward looking Three Atmospheric Portraits by fellow Czech, Erwin Schulhoff.
Louis
Blois
Index
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Shostakovich:
Piano Works
Piano
Sonata No. 2 in B minor, op. 61; Three Fantastic Dances, op. 5;
Five Preludes, sans op. B; Lyric Waltz from Dances of the Dolls,
sans op. S; Guitars (listed as Short Piece) and Spanish
Dance from The Gadfly, op. 97; Nocturne from The
Limpid Stream, op. 39; Aphorisms, op. 13; Polka from
The Age of Gold, op. 22.
Vladimir
Ashkenazy (piano).
Decca
470 649-2 DSA. Hybrid multichannel/stereo SACD/stereo CD. TT 68:14.
Recorded
Lyndhurst Hall, Air Studios, London, March and April 2003.
Ashkenazy's return to the piano stool has been welcome, not least because one of the composers he is concentrating on is Shostakovich. His traversal of the Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues, op. 87 is an obvious front-runner, so what of this collection: the Second Sonata and a constellation of smaller pieces?
Shostakovich dedicated this sonata to the memory of his piano teacher Leonid Nikolaev, but it is an enigmatic piece, not as demonstrative as the Piano Trio he would dedicate to Sollertinsky the next year. Commentators have tended to be respectful rather than enthusiastic, but it's a work that grows with acquaintance, and even without making an apparent mark on the repertoire has notched up over two dozen recordings.
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Despite a relatively long first movement (7:30) Ashkenazy opens with a fairly quick tempo, smoothing out the downward spiral and turning it into a simpler (and slightly headlong) rush. Among the other contenders, Gilels (BMG 09026 63587) bounces down each of the steps, leading more naturally into the re-echoing first subject, while both Stone (Brilliant 6137-5) and Yudina (Arlecchino ARL 13; deleted) take a more tiptoe approach. Overall in this movement Ashkenazy lacks the ferocity of Gilels but emphasises the architecture.
The second movement (and especially the opening) needs a strange, halting quality, while still keeping up the momentum. The 'modernist' fourths-based harmony and combination of erratically rhythmic counterpoint and simple melody-plus-block-chords can make it reminiscent of early Shostakovich, and (perhaps influenced by the other repertoire on the disc) this is Ashkenazy's view, carrying it through into the more overtly melodic section and the following jerky waltz. But where Gilels makes this, the least immediately attractive of the three movements, thoughtful and contemplative, Ashkenazy sometimes drifts off into mere aimlessness.
The finale is a magisterial set of variations; perhaps a tribute to Nikolaev's own set which Shostakovich performed as a young man. Starting with a monophonic unravelling of the thirty bar theme, it shifts through many moods though quickly turns away from some of the most heartfelt moments as if they are too painful to bear, before going back to accept death, with the return of the opening material bringing final closure. This kaleidoscope of moods, and especially the desolate penultimate section, is where Ashkenazy scores over Gilels who, in the more withdrawn parts, projects mournfulness rather than being mournful.
After the seriousness of the sonata there are several shorter pieces, beginning with the early Three Fantastic Dances and Five Preludes. The former are traversed rather deliberately but the Preludes work better; the bell effects of the second piece almost make you forget its melodic paucity, while the silvery textures of the last (with its pre-echo of the Eleventh Symphony) work beautifully.
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Next up: four transcriptions. But, in the maze of reworkings and retitlings, Decca get confused, claiming the source as the Dances of the Dolls. Only the Lyric Waltz comes from that set (via the Ballet Suite No. 2 to The Limpid Stream). The next two are from The Gadfly (post-dating the alleged source); what is unimaginatively called Short Piece is Guitars (also the first part of the film suite's No. 7, Prelude), while Spanish Dance is better known as People's Holiday or Folk Feast. The Nocturne is, as claimed, from The Limpid Stream. So where are these versions from? Various publishers' transcriptions have been recorded: volume 42 of the old Collected Works contains Guitars, and Shostakovich himself recorded it in 1955 (Revelation 70002, deleted, under the bogus title Main Theme; reviewed in DSCH No. 9). Inger Wikstrom introduced me to it as Melodic Moment on her 1981 LP (Bluebell Bell 126). Whatever the attribution, none would make the list of Shostakovich's profoundest utterances but all are enjoyable. I did miss the orchestra occasionally, especially in the Spanish Dance, perhaps because there is no feeling of the danger of careering off the road; but they all come off well enough.
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After these individual bagatelles, the thirteen and a half minutes of the Aphorisms constitute the other major part of the disc. These (in Ronald Stevenson's opinion 'unpleasant') pieces have caused no end of trouble and not just for the composer. Both Weichert (Accord 202812; deleted) and Varvarova (LDC 278 1012; deleted) mangle most of them, symptomatically missing the point of the fanfares in the Marche Funebre. But it hasn't all been bad news for the cycle; Raymond Clarke (Divine Art 25018; reviewed in DSCH No. 18) does a fine job. Ashkenazy brings out the desperate trying on of masks; his rendition of the Canon makes me wonder what he would make of real Webern. One problem seems to be that people regard this as Avant Garde music with a capital A and G, and therefore to be played completely without humour. Ashkenazy can't be accused of that; his Marche Funebre features fanfares of over the top violence, but he brings a slyer wit to the opening of the Recitative, as if he can't quite believe what he's reading, while the Dance of Death (the title of which Shostakovich used for a scatological pun), with its perfunctory Dies Irae has an appropriately madcap quality. Yet the cycle has some tolling bass lines and fractured melodies that hint at something deeper than brittle humour, and it finishes with a genuinely affecting Lullaby. However, the bell sounds again drift away, leaving us slightly disconcerted.
Finally, with a complete change, the much arranged Polka from the Age of Gold, a frequent encore piece. There are many recordings of this, even in its solo piano incarnation, perhaps the least satisfying as it is shorn of the comic glissandi. Ashkenazy doesn't pull it around too much, letting the melody and harmony do the work, making us momentarily forget the orchestral version. It is a great way to finish the disc.
Collections of Shostakovich's piano music are not uncommon and the buyer's choice will depend to a degree on the repertoire. Ashkenazy's disc would make an almost ideal introduction, representing the whole of the composer's career outside op. 87, and a wide range of styles from the weird Aphorisms to the intensely serious Sonata, with a sprinkling of charming lighter pieces to leaven it all. Their rapidly shifting moods are sketched with lightning rapidity and accuracy (ironically, rather like the finale of the Sonata). But if that was the idea, the ordering doesn't quite work. Perhaps listeners would like to experiment with programming their CD players to give a more satisfying sequence because, with the weighty Sonata (almost half the disc's length) at the start, the rest can seem like a winding down or a series of encores of Kissin-ian length. But don't let that put you off the disc as a whole.
John
Riley
Index
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Piano
Music for Children
Children's
Notebook, op. 69; Murzilka, sans op. S [not separately listed];
Bartók: Ten Easy Pieces, Sz. 39 (Nos. 4, 5, 8, 7); Mikrokosmos,
Vol. 6, Sz. 107 (Nos. 142, 143, 146, 147); Stravinsky: Les cinq doigts;
Prokofiev: Music for Children, op. 65; Khachaturian: Pictures
from Childhood; Copland: Piano Album (selections)[a]; Webern: Kinderstück.
Raymond
Clarke (piano).
The
Divine Art 25022. DDD. TT 77:18.
Recorded
King's Hall, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, 1 September 2001 [a],
16 December 2001[all others].
Raymond Clarke's commitment to 20th century music is in no doubt and here he ranges over a variety of 'mainstream moderns' in music for children (and less experienced older pianists). The opening Bartók selection is a wistful group and An Evening at the Village, one of his most evocative mini tone poems comes off particularly well though without the composer's extreme rubato. The album ends with some of Bartók's more turbulent pieces, rounding the disc off with a deliberately clumsy march.
One or two of Stravinsky's Cinq doigts have a slightly mechanistic quality but that's at least partly down to the composer. Prokofiev too had his motoric side, but in these pieces it's played down (little hands are hardly ready for something akin to the Toccata!), which isn't to say that there aren't some lively moments. The important thing is to set the mood almost immediately and Clarke mostly succeeds though there's a hint of defiance in Regrets.
There is also a rare chance to hear some piano music by Khachaturian. Pictures from Childhood from 1947 includes My Friend is Unwell, strikingly evocative of a child's experience of grief, and the gently withdrawn A Glimpse of the Ballet, a two-part transcription of the adagio from Gayaneh, while underneath all the activity the Study has some Spartacus-like harmony, as does the following Legend. The pieces themselves are variable, sometimes a little anonymous, but on this showing Khachaturian's piano music could bear some more investigation. He wrote sixteen other pieces for children and a spattering of other piano works.
In the CD's most striking contrast this is followed by Copland's Young Pioneers, a sign of solidarity with the Soviets, but ironically it takes only a few notes to identify it as the work of an American musician and then to home in on Copland. The semi-hymning In Evening Air, one of Copland's last pieces, is equally typical. Wrenching us back across the Atlantic is Webern's Kinderstück. Though not intended as an introduction to analysis, the serial technique is elementary but the usual Webernian minefield of performing instructions would merely bewilder many children. Clarke of course has the experience to make sense of the unperformable and while the work won't enter the slender body of Webern's regularly performed pieces it is interesting to hear how he thought the technique could be applied to children's music.
After its publication, Shostakovich had second thoughts about his Children's Notebook, and when he recorded it in 1946 he swapped the third and fifth pieces round and added the then unpublished Birthday. Op. 69 was a celebration for daughter Galina, despite her managing only to premiere the first piece before stumbling, at which point dad took over. Most pianists follow the published order, tagging Birthday onto the end but Clarke follows the composer's re-formed cycle of fifths, leading him to speculate that Shostakovich was planning a cycle of 24 but abandoned it when he realised that the later key signatures might prove too hard for the young. Reinforcing this theory, Clarke adds the little Murzilka that Shostakovich wrote around this time and which fits the new key scheme. It's a weird moto perpetuo that looks back to his earlier style of piano writing before coming to an abrupt halt. Whether Clarke's theory is proved right (perhaps there are more pieces awaiting discovery?) it certainly fits well and brings the newly enlarged cycle to a satisfying close.
The difficulty in discussing music for children is that technically and emotionally it can lack depth, though much of this disc proves that this is not invariably so. But what can be said about Shostakovich's March, just thirty seconds long and apparently of no musical interest? Obviously this isn't biting satire, but we can simply enjoy its brainlessness. Clockwork Doll reworks (again) the Scherzo, op. 1, compacting it down to less than a minute, while the fanfares that open Birthday would do service again in the Festive Overture. All this bespeaks works that were tossed off in a spare minute or two, but they're enjoyable enough to warrant an occasional return visit, especially in Clarke's hands.
Some of Divine Art's records have been marred by imperfect tuning; but not here, perhaps because the smaller, lighter pieces tested the piano less. The recording is slightly recessed. It is a mystery why it has taken over two years to be released. Clarke's own notes are a real bonus, discussing the pieces from the inside, and explaining some of the (relative) stumbling blocks. Obviously the Shostakovich is only a small part of the disc: just 6:29 out of 77:18, but few would make that their sole purchasing criterion. The range of styles on display ensures that the disc never outstays its welcome, although with 52 tracks, none even reaching four minutes, there's an occasional feeling of short-windedness. Perhaps dipping in is the way to enjoy it.
John
Riley
Index
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Violin
Sonata, op. 134; Viola Sonata, op. 147.
Levon
Ambartsumian (violin)[a]/(viola)[b], Anatoly Sheludyakov (piano).
Phoenix
USA PHCD 155. DDD. TT 59:48.
Recorded
Hugh Hodgson Hall, University of Georgia Performing Arts Centre, Athens,
Georgia, USA, April 2003.
Cello
Sonata, op. 40, arranged for viola and piano by Viktor Kubatsky; Suite
from The Gadfly, op. 97a, arranged for viola and piano by Vadim
Borisovksy[a]; Viola Sonata, op. 147.
Lars
Anders Tomter (viola), Håvard Gimse (piano).
Somm
SOMMCD 030. DDD. TT 71:11.
Recorded
Christ Church, Sutton, UK, 12 and 13 December 2003.
[a]World
premiere recording.
Viola
Sonata, op. 147; Cello Sonata, op. 40, arranged for viola by Annette Bartholdy[a].
Julius
Drake (viola), Annette Bartholdy (piano).
Naxos
8.557231. DDD. TT 63:07.
Recorded
Henry Wood Hall, London, 10-12 May 2001.
[a]World
premiere recording.
Here's an unusual assortment of recordings of the string sonatas - with the viola and violin sonatas played by the same musician, and 2 different versions of the Cello Sonata for viola.
Levon Ambartsumian plays both violin and viola well - for him the violin came first, at the age of 3, whereas the viola's appearance in his life is not specified in the CD's liner notes. The disc was recorded in Athens, Georgia (US) in April 2003, following an intense all-Shostakovich concert in the Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall on 23 February 2003. He played the opp. 134 and 147 as on the CD reviewed here, plus Five Preludes for Violin & Piano from op. 34 arranged by Dmitri Tsyganov, and the New York premiere of From Jewish Folk Poetry, op. 79, arranged for violin by Sergei Dreznin. In that concert, Ambartsumian did not impress favourably (I had not heard him before), appearing tenuous and shaky, perhaps ill. His performance of the Violin Sonata was marred by an overly pedantic approach, poor intonation especially on the G-string and an absence of the needed hushed mystery in the andante. The live Viola Sonata, after the intermission, was very wobbly; Ambartsumian played almost without vibrato, making his frequent lapses of intonation even more glaring, and played the allegretto much too fast for his technique. Best on the programme were the Five Preludes, back on the violin, and the Jewish Folk Poetry, a wonderful arrangement by composer Dreznin of six of the op. 79 songs, with a very slapstick ending for Happiness, full of dissonance and dark humour. Ambartsumian's playing was so rapt that he broke a string and had to start up again after a brief repair. Sad to say, neither this work nor the Five Preludes are on the CD - I'd much rather have them here than the Viola Sonata.
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Ambartsumian's CD performances are much better than the aforementioned New York concert - assured playing, much less of the pedantic carefulness and a more warm and measured approach especially in the Viola Sonata, although still generally faster than many. The Viola Sonata still comes off as the more secure performance. An unfortunate flub by the editor has virtually no break between the end of the Violin and start of the Viola Sonata. I remain forever loyal to the Oistrakh and Shostakovich version, despite its less-than-professional recording, Oistrakh's strained and even gasping playing, and Shostakovich's crippled right hand desperately trying to make the notes in the grand piano solo in the third movement (Eclectra ECCD-2046; reviewed in DSCH No. 14). This ferocity of music making was also evident in Ambartsumian's concert performance of the Jewish Folk Songs, and I wish this occurred more in the sonatas on the CD.
The title of the Somm CD as The Two Viola Sonatas is unfortunate and misleading. Shostakovich dedicated his op. 40 to cellist Viktor Kubatsky, who performed the premiere of the work and later made, "with the composer's encouragement and approval, an edition of the cello part for viola" (quote from Robert Matthew-Walker's good but brief liner notes). Lars Anders Tomter's recording is billed as the "first recording in the western world" and is, as far as I can find, the only recording of this arrangement since Yuri Yurov and Mikhail Muntyan's on Melodiya in 1975. The arrangement sits rather well on the viola, with little alteration of the cello part in adapting to the instrument. Even the much-loved harmonic glissandi in the second movement come across quite well, and certain passages emerge in a relief not otherwise heard. On the whole, however, the sound is rather constricted when played on viola, and the lack of the cello's lower register hurts the range of the piece, particularly in sections such as the beginning of the third and fourth movements. Tomter's playing is generally excellent, as is that of his pianist Håvard Gimse, with sharp colours, depth of intensity, and good sense of wit. The brief bumblebee passage in the fourth movement is especially good. Tomter's and Gimse's approach to the Viola Sonata is freer and rather more detached than Ambartsumian's and Sheludyakov's, certainly more relaxed in tempi in the second and third movements. Indeed, the allegretto comes across as too laid-back in parts and therefore too episodic - more removed from The Gamblers unfinished opera than it should be, although Tomter's strummed arpeggiated pizzicati do sound like the opera's balalaika.
This CD's gem is the Suite from The Gadfly, op. 97a, arranged by the Beethoven Quartet's violist Vadim Borisovsky "with the composer's full approval". The recorded Suite consists of Scene, Intermezzo, People's Holiday, and Romance, the latter so familiar on numerous violin recordings. For this world premiere recording, it is most unfortunate that the musicians did not include the other five parts of Borisovsky's arrangement: the Overture, Contredanse, Barrel Organ Waltz, Galop, and Nocturne. To add these, the Viola Sonata could have been kicked onto another disc. In the four brief pieces here, Tomter and Gimse play very well, and the People's Holiday (Folkfest) is fun: all-in-all, a good work with which to close a programme, but here inserted between the two sonatas.
Violist Annette Bartholdy made her own arrangement of op. 40 for viola - she is familiar with Kubatsky's arrangement as well as another by violist Yevgeny Strakhov, but chose to make a very similar one herself, in which she brings out a few sections more sharply. The score of her arrangement is now available from Boosey & Hawkes. Bartholdy's world premiere recording of her arrangement is technically very good but largely on the slow side, which is most glaring in a glacial end to both the moderato and the largo. Bartholdy's tone in the allegro is strident, and this stridency is not sufficiently overcome by Julius Drake, the pianist, due to his own terse phrasing. Bartholdy's harmonic glissandi in the second movement are less convincing than Tomter's, which can also be said for the entire performance.
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Slowness also rules Bartholdy's Viola Sonata, with her moderato being almost three minutes slower than Tomter's and two minutes more than Ambartsumian's (although her adagio is 1.5 minutes faster than the record slowness of Bashmet & Richter on Moscow Studio Archives MOS19064 or Regis RRC 1128; reviewed in DSCH No. 20). She adheres well to what Shostakovich desired in the first movement of his String Quartet No. 15 - for even flies in the room to drop dead out of the air from boredom - but the sonata's music is not served by this approach. The moderato loses focus and cohesion and I find myself drifting off each time I listen. Although her allegretto is a full minute slower than Ambartsumian's, Bartholdy manages to convey a nice vocal sense to the viola line, but fails to "channel" the balalaika with her too-dense pizzicati. Her adagio again is overly stretched out, and doesn't evoke for me the intense sadness and longing that the other versions - and Bashmet's even slower version - readily do. The recording's tone, from three days at Henry Wood Hall in London, is excessively dry and shallow in both works. David Nice's liner notes are superb, although given in very tiny print.
Richard
Pleak
Index
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Cello
Sonata, op. 40; Viola Sonata, op. 147, arranged for cello and piano by
Daniil Shafran.
Petr
Prause (cello), Yakov Kasman (piano).
Calliope
CAL 9326. DDD. TT 64:09.
Recorded
Studio Arco Diva, Prague, June 2002.
Russian
Cello Sonatas
Cello
Sonata in D minor, op. 40[a]; Moderato for cello and piano[b]; Two pieces
for string quartet[c]; Piano Quintet in G minor, op. 57[d]; Rachmaninov:
Cello Sonata in G minor, op. 19[e]; Five pieces for cello and piano[f];
Prokofiev: Cello Sonata in C major, op. 119[g].
Lynn
Harrell (cello), Vladimir Ashkenazy (piano), Fitzwilliam String Quartet[c,d].
Decca
472 807-2. DDD. 2 CD set TT 78:05+68:41.
Recorded
Orchestra Hall Chicago, May 1988[a,b,g]; Henry Wood Hall, London, December
1983[c]; Kingsway Hall, London, August 1983[d]; St. Barnabas' Church,
London, September 1984[e,f].
Cello
Sonata in D minor, op. 40; Prokofiev: Cello Sonata in C major, op.
119; Britten: Cello Sonata in C major, op.65.
Pieter
Wispelwey (cello), Dejan Lazic (piano).
Channel
Classics CCS SA 20003. DDD hybrid multichannel/stereo SACD/stereo CD.
TT 69:31.
Recorded
Doopsgezinde Kerk, Deventer, Netherlands, September 2002.
Shostakovich Cello Sonata is full of enigmas: why the muted Largo at the end of the first movement? Why the mechanistic repetition in the second movement, and the alternation of frenzied mania and slightly inebriated tiptoe music in the fourth? Is this a work of high tragedy or irrepressible puckish humour? Does this 1934 work represent the composer's turn to a new and simplified lyricism, or is it a slightly sardonic commentary on lyricism? Two new releases and Decca's re-issue of a 1988 Lynn Harrell/Vladimir Ashkenazy disc all present distinguished playing; a choice between them would depend in part upon how each listener prefers to resolve the puzzles posed by the work.
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Mstislav Rostropovich's reading with the composer presents a tough standard for new performers to meet (currently available as EMI Classics 5 72295 2 4). Rostropovich is at his warm-hearted best here, his sound open and free, but it is the composer's imagination that makes this recording special. The piano accompaniment stands determinedly apart from the cello's lyricism in Shostakovich's interpretation; it is astringent, imaginative, a bit kinky and thoroughly modern. When the cello veers toward melodrama at the largo ending of the first movement, the composer's staccato is anti-romantic, almost mischievous.
Shostakovich is especially wicked in the second-movement Scherzo; I have heard no other pianist who even comes close to his percussiveness. The finale is taken at an insanely fast and uneven tempo (initially about crotchet = 190, although the composer's tempo markings call for crotchet = 176) and it seems even dizzier because Shostakovich seems always to be pushing Rostropovich's tempo. This impetuosity makes the ending sound even more sudden and unexpected, underlining all the lovely incongruity of this work. Perhaps I am reading too much into all of these tempi however: Rostropovich reports in his booklet essay that "we took some passages rather on the brisk side; the weather was beautiful and Shostakovich was in a hurry to visit someone in the country".
The greatest contrast to this interpretation can be found in the Decca re-release with Harrell and Ashkenazy. Here the Shostakovich Sonata is coupled with a lush performance of the Rachmaninov Cello Sonata, a particular favourite of Harrell's, along with several Rachmaninov encores. But Harrell and Ashkenazy play Shostakovich as if they were playing Rachmaninov, and Harrell's portamenti are a bit cloying for my taste. The tempi for the Shostakovich Sonata are much slower than those taken by Rostropovich and the composer, increasing the sonata's total time by about 25 percent (33:20 vs. 25:37). Ashkenazy seems unaware of any humour in the work; he plays it all as high tragedy. Although both Ashkenazy and Harrell are fine players, this approach takes the edge off both the Shostakovich and Prokofiev Sonatas, and presents neither Harrell nor Ashkenazy at his best.
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However, listeners might want this CD for its super-romantic Rachmaninov, or for a recording of the Shostakovich's brief Moderato for Cello and Piano, which was stored with the autograph manuscript of the Cello Sonata and discovered only after the composer's death. Harrell and Ashkenazy made the first recording of the Moderato, but other performers have recorded it since, including Gary Hoffman and Philippe Bianconi on Le Chant du Monde (LDC 2781112; reviewed in DSCH No. 13), Raphael Wallfisch and John York on Black Box (BBM1032; reviewed in DSCH No. 18), and David Geringas (who premiered the work) and Tatyana Schatz on Es-Dur (ES 2021).
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Its title notwithstanding, Decca have filled their two-CD set with recordings of Shostakovich's Two Pieces for String Quartet (the Polka from the Age of Gold, and an Elegy from Lady Macbeth), and the Piano Quintet, played by Ashkenazy and the Fitzwilliam Quartet. The Quintet performance is probably the best part of this set, and merits a brief digression from this discussion of Cello Sonata performances. Ashkenazy and the Fitzwilliams present a carefully conceived reading, apparently modelled - judging from tempi - on the composer's own 1955 recording with the Beethoven Quartet (Doremi DHR-7787; reviewed in DSCH No. 18). The Ashkenazy/Fitzwilliam performance is cleaner and better controlled than the composer's recording, but it seems a bit studied, stagnating especially in the slow movements, perhaps because the performers were trying so carefully to reproduce the composer's own interpretation. While the Ashkenazy/Fitzwilliam performance is capable, there are persuasive and interesting alternatives available, and I would not recommend purchase of this set solely for its version of the Piano Quintet.
Petr Prause and Yakov Kasman's Calliope CD returns us to Cello Sonata performances. Prause, from the Czech Republic, is a member of the Talich Quartet, and Kasman was silver medallist in the 1997 Van Cliburn competition. Like Harrell and Ashkenazy, they hear no opposition between piano and cello. Although their tempi are not as sluggish as Harrell/Ashkenazy, Prause and Kasman still add several minutes to the Rostropovich/Shostakovich recording. Their approach is especially effective in slow sections of the Sonata, and the third movement's introductory recitative, meditative and still, is a real high point of this reading. The performers cannot, however, seem to let go of their wistfulness in the second and fourth movements, and as a consequence this interpretation seems a little monochromatic, losing some of the work's humour.
Nevertheless there is very fine playing on this CD, particularly in the Viola Sonata, op. 147, here in its arrangement for cello and piano made by Daniel Shafran. Although Prause, unlike Rafael Wallfisch (with John York, on the aforementioned Black Box disc), uses a full cello sound in this work, he still manages to capture some of the throatiness of the viola. The performers' ability to capture an extraordinary stillness creates a special sense of repose as the work reaches its final C-major resting place. Prause and Kasman hold their own in comparison with any performance of this version of the Viola Sonata I have heard.
The performances by Dutch cellist Pieter Wispelwey and Dejan Lazic, a 26-year old pianist-composer from Zagreb, are jewels. The cellist's imaginative approach to the Shostakovich, Prokofiev and Britten Sonatas is reflected in his booklet essay, itself almost worth the price of the CD. Here, for example, are some of his thoughts on the Shostakovich Sonata:
‘What all three [sonatas] possess, in my perception, is an element of alienation: in Shostakovich's case, it's the tension between romanticism and modernism, in Prokofiev's the balancing on the verge of parody and in Britten's it's the alchemistic way in which he makes the music undergo all kinds of metamorphoses.
‘… At the core [of the Shostakovich Sonata] lies the contrast between a wholeheartedly romantic sentiment (the cello) and the surroundings (the piano) in which that sentiment has to express itself. The counterpoint is often inflexible, compulsive and not harmony-oriented, while a melody searches for a way out. Characteristic is the opening of the sonata: for a moment we hear a traditional 19th-century accompaniment that then rapidly derails causing the initial sense of security to evaporate. Another example is the slow movement after the cellist has taken off his mute to start his grand song: his broad meandering is 'accompanied' by an obstinate and stoic voice in the piano's left hand that quasi-autistically goes its own way.’
Like the composer, Wispelwey seems to relish the enigmas in the Cello Sonata, and this interpretation leaves them all delightfully unresolved. Although the cello's sound is fat and gorgeous (but never cloying), the piano remains cool, disinterested. The Largo at the end of the first movement retains all of its strangeness because of the piano's sneaky-sounding staccato. Time seems to stop as the first movement closes, making the sudden opening of the Scherzo, taken at a mad clip (crotchet = about 200, much faster than the composer's crotchet = 176 marking), all the more effective. The finale is quite wacky and funny, although not taken at the off-the-charts tempo of Rostropovich/Shostakovich.
Wispelwey suggests in his essay that the Prokofiev Sonata could easily be a portrait of Rostropovich, and it is certainly designed to showcase a great, generous cello sound. Wispelwey and Lazic do it full justice, again contrasting the cello's warmth with a more distant piano accompaniment.
Do any of these three releases of the Shostakovich Cello Sonata warrant preference over the Rostropovich and the composer? The Rostropovich/Shostakovich recording comes as part of a two-CD set, including superb renditions of both Shostakovich cello concerti, and world premiere recordings of sonatas by Karen Khachaturian and Dmitry Kabalevsky, with each sonata accompanied by its composer. I still prefer this deliciously quirky version of the Shostakovich Cello Sonata, despite its poorer sound quality. But both the Prause/Kasman and Wispelwey/Lazic performances are fine, with interesting couplings, and each one would be a worthy addition to any collection.
Judy
Kuhn
Index
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Preludes
and Fugues Nos. 1-9, 12, 15-17 and 19 from Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues,
op. 87, arranged for reed quintet by Eduard Wesley.
Calefax
Reed Quintet: Oliver Boekhoorn (oboe), Ivar Berix (clarinet), Raaf Hekkema
(saxophone), Jelte Althuis (bass clarinet), Alban Wesly (bassoon).
Musikproduktion
Dabringhaus und Grimm MDG 619 1185-2. DDD. TT 73:53.
Recorded
Evangelische Kirche Lienen, Germany, 2-5 June 2003.
World
premiere recording of arrangement.
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The Preludes and Fugues should be no stranger to Shostakovich fans who have the luxury of a number of notable recordings in the current catalogue to choose from, including Hyperion's Nikolayeva (CDA66441/3), Decca's Ashkenazy (466 066-2; reviewed in DSCH No. 11) and Naxos' Scherbakov (8.554745-46; reviewed in DSCH No. 15). The chance to hear this Shostakovich opus in new light is always welcome, especially when it involves such consummate artists as the Calefax Reed Quintet.
The Calefax Quintet have previously recorded Bach, Debussy and Ravel; their impeccable playing, combined with sensitive phrasing and wonderful tonal blending, gives this performance a very suave finish. This Dutch ensemble differs from the traditional wind quintet by the absence of the flute and the horn. In their place: an alto saxophone and a bass clarinet, resulting in quite a different palette, lacking the bite provided by the brassy horn and softer textures of the flute. In their place the saxophone evokes a nostalgic 1920s Shostakovich sound. Remember that op. 87 is a child of Zhdanovshchina, the very dark years post-1948, when the composer appeared to have abandoned the instrument in his serious works. Nonetheless, the presence of the bass clarinet more than compensates for this timbral schizophrenia, adorning the arrangements with a distinctive Shostakovichian darkness. Indeed, clarinettist Jelte Althuis provides some of the most exciting and characteristic performances from within this band of outstanding musicians.
These wonderfully colourful and idiomatic transcriptions are credited to the former Calefax oboist Eduard Wesley, who illuminates the contrapuntal structures of the opus with imaginative instrumental shading. This disc presents fourteen of the Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues assembled largely in the original order (Nos. 1 to 9, 15 to 17, 19 and 12). No. 12 is a fitting Finale, while juxtaposing No. 9 with No. 15 brings out an interesting perspective, truly creating (as the arranger Wesley says) a "new landscape".
The programme opens with the wistful C major Prelude, taken with understated, distinctly Bachian poise. The accompanying Fugue in A minor is similarly genteel, the soloists easing into each entry with loving care. The Bachian atmosphere is hard to shake, and continues into the spectral yet witty Prelude No. 2, which showcases the saxophone's dexterity in a flurry of arpeggios in this surprisingly effective arrangement.
The prominent bass clarinet in the grimly bombastic Prelude No. 3 reminds us that this is Shostakovich, after all, but the other players are audibly reluctant to follow suit. Here the Calefax need to abandon their finesse and inject some bite into the repetitive staccatos and strident declamations. After this manicured affair the Fugue enjoys a bit more gusto, the technical agility of the players giving this complex piece the distinctive feel of a mad dance.
The saxophone leads the Calefax's warm, comforting timbre in Prelude No. 4, characteristic of nostalgic moments from Shostakovich's film scores. The closing bars are some of the more heartfelt in the programme - here a sense of the darkness and grief of the late 1940s surfaces. The Fugue continues the atmosphere of lament and inconsolable grief; but where sorrow should turn to defiance in the faster second half, the group lacks a degree of anger, merely scratching the surface of the intense emotions contained within. The closing bars are rousing in grandeur but leave raw nerves untouched. Prelude No. 5 aches with similarly poignant shades of twilight, spiced by deliciously delicate tonguing in the staccato phrases.
In No. 6 the composer identifies himself in a defiant "DSCH" figure, and perhaps recognising this drives the musicians to momentary madness. With the pinched high oboe screaming the theme to the blare of the reedy low bass clarinet and the gruff lower end of the saxophone exploited to good effect, they achieve an inspired moment of sympathy with the composer. The nocturnal Fugue, led by the marvellous bassoon and bass clarinet, re-creates the darkness of Lady Macbeth in one of the most authentically Shostakovichian instrumentations in the set - a triumph for Eduard Wesley and a compelling moment for the listener. After such intensity, the solitude of Prelude and Fugue No. 7 comes as welcome relief, and a whiff of Bach re-emerges, especially in the ambivalently major-key Fugue.
It’s hard to mistake the Jewishness of No. 8, which finds the oboe enjoying outbursts of irony in the high leaps and the sinuous descending seconds. Althuis' bass clarinet again underpins the performance (listen to the harrowing forte growl in the middle of the fury), confirming him as the most intuitive Shostakovich interpreter of the five.
Eduard Wesley's invocation of Shostakovich's theatrical dramatisation is best illustrated in Prelude No. 9. Here the 'question and answer' between the low and high registers of the piano is played out by the bassoon and the oboe, reminiscent of the "parroting" conversation between the same pair in the march of the Seventh Symphony's first movement. One might imagine this to be Shostakovich's portrayal of the infamous 1948 Conference, the two instruments playing the part of authority and artist engaged in a farcical discussion on Soviet music, with the following movements providing the composer's mocking answer. Unfortunately, the players do not make the most of the potential humour, although the upbeat Fugue hits a truly sour ending on the defiant clarinets.
Launching straight into the mocking jollity of Prelude and Fugue No. 15, the performers serve up a fair measure of sarcasm in the dance parody of the Db major Allegretto, one of their more brilliantly grotesque displays. The impeccably played Fugue, however, fails to unleash the sense of horror that we hear in Nikolayeva's flawed but compelling piano recording on Hyperion. The Calefax Quintet players concentrate too much on the complex fugal lines, softening one of op. 87's most terrifying moments.
After the furore, Prelude No. 16 in Bb minor is an oasis of contemplation that contrasts the lyrical reed choir against a diaphanous flurry of running notes. The extensive six and a half minute Fugue serves as a development section where fragments of earlier themes in the cycle make their appearance, their character heightened through Shostakovich's scoring. The players' delicacy throughout is a joy to behold, especially the moody saxophone which forms the heart of these two movements.
The wry No. 17 is delightfully characterised by the players, particularly the double reeds, evoking a conversation between Shostakovich and Bach, while the dark No. 19 set in Eb major contains some very piquant staccato playing as the clarinet, saxophone and oboe seem momentarily possessed by the spirit of Shostakovich in one of his 'meaner moods.'
The sorrowful nostalgia of Prelude No. 12 in G# minor acts as a perfect postlude to the shades of dark and light of the preceding movements, the Calefax delivering one of the most touching moments in the entire performance. The forceful Fugue intrudes on this heartfelt farewell with a display of brashness that again pitches Shostakovich against Bach. Shostakovich wins the day with one of the sourest chordal codas in the cycle. As the programme draws to a close, the Calefax players finally give some sense of the ugliness that inhabits the world of Shostakovich. Allowing some unrefined behaviour in their fugal entries, they come close to realising the dark world of 1951, when Russian life was slowly being consumed by a fresh wave of Terror.
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Though there are moments of fury, on the whole the harsh and grotesque are lacking from the Calefax palette. Their lovingly moulded phrases tend to play to their disadvantage; every so often there is a need for more grit and toughness and a good measure of anger. With the exception of the bass clarinettist, they are unfortunately reluctant to sound ugly, in terms of attack or timbre and fail to highlight some of the essential grating dissonances. Compare this performance with the Nederlands Blazers Ensemble's scathing execution of the Allegro from Dmitri Smirnov's wind transcription of the Eighth Quartet (Meladina Record MRCD0021; reviewed in DSCH No. 16) and you will find the Calefax a shade too well behaved.
This is however a small complaint for such an exquisite performance; it should pose no impediment to enjoying this disc, which has been recorded with excellent fidelity to produce a glowingly warm sound with exciting clarity in the busier passages.
CH
Loh
Index
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Russian
Wind Band Classics
March
of the Soviet Militia, op. 139; Glière: Solemn Overture
for the Twentieth Anniversary of the October Revolution, op. 72 (ed.
Robert Grechesky)[a]; Stravinsky: Circus Polka, composed for a young
elephant; Prokofiev: Marches for Military Band, op. 69[a];
Anthem for Military Band, op. 98 (ed. James Gourlay)[a]; Rimsky-Korsakov:
Concerto for Trombone[b]; Khachaturian: The Battle of Stalingrad,
Suite from the film by Vladimir Petrov, op. 74a (ed. Robert Peel)[a].