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DSCH No. 23 CD Reviews
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Shostakovich: Complete Songs, Volume 5 - 1948-1974: Famous Vocal
Cycles
From Jewish Folk Poetry, op. 79[a]; Suite
on Verses of Michelangelo Buonarroti, op. 145[b].
Svetlana Sumatchova (soprano)[a], Marianna Tarassova (mezzo-soprano)[a],
Konstantin Pluzhnikov (tenor)[a], Fyodor Kuznetsov (bass)[b], Yuri Serov
(piano).
Delos DE 3317. DDD. TT 63:09.
Recorded in St. Catherine Lutheran Church, St. Petersburg, 19 and 20 March
1995[a], 26 and 27 February 2003[b].
All good things must come to an end, even as good a thing as Delos' landmark survey of the complete songs of Shostakovich. This fifth and final release brings their much-acclaimed project - the first of its kind in recording history - to a close with two fitting capstones: the mighty From Jewish Folk Poetry and Suite on Verses of Michelangelo. How good it is to finally have in one comprehensive series the composer's art songs of every period, from Krylov Fables of the student years to his penultimate opus, the Captain Lebyadkin verses, and everything in between. Well, almost everything; for example, missing are Dundee's Romance from the incidental music to the comedy The Gunshot, op. 24, previously recorded only once for a 1995 BBC broadcast, and the never-recorded Rosita's Song from Salute to Spain, op. 44. However, one can hardly fault Delos for leaving out such obscurities in their claim to completeness. They have spared no effort in assembling a production of extraordinarily high calibre. Performances, recording, packaging, annotation, and texts have been superb throughout.
If Delos can be faulted at all it is only for failing to take promotional advantage of their own recording milestones. World premiere recordings of works in original or alternate versions appear throughout the series without a word of notice; a little advertising savvy in this regard would be a very good thing. With characteristic modesty, Delos fail to mention a worthy selling point of the current album: the orchestral versions of the Jewish Poetry and Michelangelo cycles have grown so popular over the past decade that it has been at least as long since their versions with piano accompaniment have been recorded. Their restoration is long overdue.
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One would think that the chamber-like quality of the piano versions might have made them more popular over the decades. Yet of the sixteen previous recordings of FJFP and the eight complete versions of the Michelangelo Suite listed in the Third Edition of the Hulme catalogue, only four of the former and three of the latter appear with piano accompaniment. The premiere recording of FJFP, which has been re-released numerous times (most recently on Eclectra ECCD-2067; reviewed below) lays claim to authoritative status by virtue of the composer being the accompanist and the vocalists those who premiered the work. It remains a vital rendition that touches a raw nerve with its immediacy, compromised only by its mono, mid-1950s sound quality. The next piano version came out of Germany in 1984 and was sung in the German language (Thorofon Capella LP MTH 267; deleted). It lacks the vocal quality, both individually and collectively, of its competitors. A better German language rendition, recorded at the 1980 Aspen Music Festival yet only released in 1995 (Bridge BCD 9048), features an all-star cast consisting of Benita Valente, Jan DeGaetani, and Jon Humphrey, with accompanist Samuel Lipman. They offer a strong, outwardly projected performance marked by good ensemble work. A fourth piano version sung in Yiddish and released in 1985 by B'nai Brith on cassette only (BB 001), has so far eluded me.
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In the mid-1990s there emerged a succession of new recordings of the orchestral version of FJFP, as if the recordings of Sanderling, Svetlanov and Haitink, issued at least a decade earlier, had suddenly found sympathetic ears, stimulating freshly imagined interpretations focusing on less exploited shades of expression. Some conductors went to melodramatic extremes in their attempts to extract an operatic dimension from the work, as in the version by Polyansky (Chandos CHAN 9600; reviewed in DSCH No. 10) and the rather uneven performance by Rozhdestvensky (RCA 09026 68434-2; deleted). But a few pearls emerged from the harvest by way of the more balanced renditions of Spivakov (Music Masters 01612 67189-2; deleted; reviewed in DSCH No. 9), Yurovsky (rendered "Jurowski" on Capriccio 10 778; reviewed in DSCH No. 12), and a particularly fine interpretation by Järvi (Deutsche Grammophon 439 860-2; deleted).
This brings us to the current performance of FJFP where, for no specified reason, Delos abandon the cast of vocalists who have been featured in each of their previous four albums. Here, three new vocalists are introduced and make their first and only appearance in the series. The Delos team was perhaps well advised in adopting the trio in toto rather than in part since the voices blend particularly well together. This is evident in the various pairings throughout and especially in the songs that feature all three singing together (Winter and the final Happiness).
Marianna Tarassova is a real find, a mezzo-soprano with a rich authoritative tone that rises from the depths of her Russia bosom. She furnishes a genuine anchoring point to the ensemble. Her duets with soprano Sumatchova in the first two songs, Lament for a Dead Baby and Caring for Mum and Auntie (The solicitous mother and aunt), reveal a very pleasing blending of vocal tones. Her moment in the spotlight, the haunting Lullaby (No. 3), is delivered with heartfelt eloquence and made especially moving by the ritardandi she takes at the end of each phrase. Hers compares favourably to other notable renditions of this song: the evocative, world-weary version provided by Nathalie Stutzman in the Järvi edition; or the broadly flowing versions of Ludmila Kuznetsova (Polyansky) and Elena Svechnikova (Spivakov).
The husky tenor of Konstantin Pluzhnikov lends support with a firm tone and dramatic vibrancy. Listen to his stirring climactic interchange with Ms. Tarassova in No. 6, The Abandoned Father. He also shines in his featured solos, shifting with agility between the jaunty outer sections and central cantilena of No. 7, the Poverty Song (Song of want). He also comes across well in the pastoral strains of The Good Life (No. 9). A tenor of similar charismatic vitality, Arkadi Mischenkin, can be found in the Yurovsky release.
Svetlana Sumatchova is a soprano of buoyant energy who provides a compatible counterweight to the more earthy hues of her cohorts. Her wiry tone can at times sound a bit pinched, yet she brings off an admirable rendition of the soprano's principal spotlight in this cycle, the beautiful Girl's Song (No. 10). Compare the breadth and nobility that Luba Orgonosova brings to this number in the Järvi version; or the supple, full-bodied rendition by Nina Fomina in the Yurovsky. In the premiere recording, Nina Dorliak's virtuosic ability to keep apace with Shostakovich's brisk tempo warrants notice. Sumatchova is also effective in her other solo in No. 5, Warning.
The present performance shines with a lustre all its own. The combination of voices, clarity of enunciation, colourful nuances and detailed focus on the texts suggests that FJFP is something of a specialty of this particular trio. Praise is due to both performers and sound engineers for taking full advantage of the intimacy afforded by the long-neglected piano version. In contrast to the outwardly projected Aspen performance, close microphone placement and a tight ambient space make this very much a chamber interpretation of FJFP, the first of its kind in the digital era.
Shostakovich once commented to his son Maxim that the Michelangelo Suite could very well stand as his Sixteenth Symphony. Written in 1974, this vocal setting of eleven poems parallels the format, seriousness of purpose, and number of movements found in his Fourteenth Symphony, save the details of instrumentation and the inclusion of a soprano in the latter work. However, Shostakovich's ultimate choice of the term 'suite' is appropriate given that the work lacks the inexorable forward drive that defines the symphonic form. If the songs collectively lack the cumulative tension of his final two vocal symphonies, the Thirteenth and Fourteenth, they offer pithy contemplations on a broad but no less lofty set of subjects that he took up in these symphonies and his other late-period cycles, Seven Romances on Poems of Alexander Blok and Six Songs on Poems of Marina Tsvetayeva. The universality and timelessness of the themes - art, love, death, immortality, morality - are reinforced by Shostakovich's choice of verses written half a millennium before in a tradition way outside Russian culture. The anticipated celebration of Michelangelo's 500th birthday in 1975 no doubt drew Shostakovich's attention to these verses. The idea may also have been inspired by the 1940 settings of Michelangelo sonnets by Benjamin Britten, to whom Shostakovich's Fourteenth Symphony is dedicated.
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Musically the Michelangelo Suite is almost completely devoid of the dance forms, nervous rhythms, and catchy lyrical turns that we associate with Shostakovich. Its gestural lyricism may not be the most memorable, yet it represents word painting of the most deeply moving kind - one might call it Musorgskian, given its Russian language-based inflections. But as Fischer-Dieskau's piano version (Teldec 4509 97460-2; deleted) uniquely demonstrates, the Suite is just as effective when sung in the Italian language. The sombre, hymn-like progressions that appear throughout have also inspired an arrangement for organ and bass (Le Chant du Monde LDC778 1124; reviewed in DSCH No. 14). While the idea works quite well for a number of the sections, the arrangement's total lack of percussive edges has the effect of blunting its overall effectiveness.
There are three previous complete performances of the piano version: the solid and classical tones of Yevgeny Nesterenko accompanied by Yevgeny Shenderovich (Melodiya LP C10 06161-2; deleted); the richly blanketed, vibrato-laden voice of Fischer-Dieskau, in Italian, accompanied by Aribert Reimann; and one that I haven't heard, John Shirley-Quirk with Vladimir Ashkenazy on piano (Decca LP SXL 6849; deleted). The first two are strong performances, as is the one on the current disc, the differences among them amounting to mere nuances.
Fyodor Kuznetsov is no stranger to the Shostakovich repertoire and appears in all settings that call for bass soloist in Delos' five-volume series. His resonant bass is tinged with a metallic quality that imparts a nervous edge, well suited to the restless strains of the Michelangelo Suite. He captures the yearning tones of the opening song, Truth, as if reflecting the exasperation of unanswered prayers. He brings great expression to the soaring cantilena in the sixth song, Dante, in particular at the climactic utterance of the poet's name. He also effectively brings out the vulnerable moods in songs such as Love and Separation. In the sadly beautiful Night, Shostakovich's reflection on lost love that quotes Ustvolskaya's Clarinet Trio, Kuznetsov imparts sensitivity, though here Fischer-Dieskau manages to capture more of the dark melancholy embedded within. So does Nesterenko, who begins and ends this song in hushed tones and in between only sparingly raises his voice. Fischer-Dieskau takes noticeably broader tempi in the latter half of the cycle and as a result illuminates more of the dark corners that inhabit the songs To The Exiled, Night, and Death. If Kuznetsov lacks some of the expansive probity of Fischer-Dieskau or the solid footing of Nesterenko, he excels in holding a taut line and building fiercely ascending arcs. Listen to the explosive vehemence he musters in Wrath and his fiery penetration of the To The Exiled. It is this fire in the belly above all that makes his rendition of the Michelangelo Suite worth seeking out.
Pianist Yuri Serov again proves himself to be the ideal accompanist, providing keen reflexes and just enough personality to arouse interest without overshadowing the vocalists.
So concludes a historic set of releases, one that deserves the widest circulation and the most enduring shelf life. For most listeners, the Delos set is highly recommended. For Shostakovich devotees, it is a must.
Louis Blois
Index
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Shostakovich plays Shostakovich, Volume 2
Piano Quintet in G minor, op. 57[a]; Four Preludes (Nos. 10,
15, 16, 24) from Twenty-four Preludes, op. 34, arranged for violin and
piano by Dmitri Tsyganov[b]; From Jewish Folk Poetry (Poems),
op. 79[c]; Guitars from The Gadfly, op. 97, arranged for
piano by the composer[d].
Dmitri Shostakovich (piano); Beethoven String Quartet[b]: Dmitri
Tsyganov (violin 1), Vasili Shirinsky (violin 2), Vadim Borisovsky (viola),
Sergei Shirinsky (cello); Leonid Kogan (violin)[b]; Nina Dorliak (soprano)[c],
Zara Dolukhanova (mezzo-soprano)[c], Aleksei Maslennikov (tenor)[c].
Eclectra ECCD-2067. A_D mono. TT 59:42.
Recorded on 29 March 1955[a], 2 February 1956[b], 16 January 1956[c],
28 May 1955[d].
One of the finest documents of Shostakovich's skills as a pianist and the only example we have of him accompanying a vocal work, the premiere recording of From Jewish Folk Poetry makes its welcome return to the catalogue. This 1956 recital is of exceptional historical importance, featuring the cast who gave the public premiere a year and a day earlier, among them the soprano who first performed these songs seven years before in the necessary privacy of the composer's home.
In Testimony, Volkov quotes Shostakovich as saying, "Jewish folk music has made a most powerful impression on me. I never tire of delighting in it; it's multifaceted, it can appear to be happy while it is tragic. It's almost always laughter through tears. This quality of Jewish folk music is close to my ideas of what music should be. There should always be two layers in music. Jews were tormented for so long that they learned to hide their despair." This recording supplies an unparalleled revelation of these themes.
An obvious example is Song of Want, in which complaints of poverty ricochet off Shostakovich's light and cocky piano work. Flipping to the other side of the coin, his reluctant, morose playing and Nina Dorliak's wistful tone in Song of the Young Girl belie this happy tale of life on a collective farm. The sarcasm thickens throughout this song, and Shostakovich answers Dorliak's final encouragement, "Sing it out, my pipe, give it more joy," by facetiously dashing off the closing notes without a trace of cheer.
In Before a Long Separation Aleksei Maslennikov knowingly humours Dorliak's tender sentiments with his own chaste recollections of moments with his beloved. His primary goal, however, is betrayed by the urgency of his entreaties for a kiss (the original Yiddish text revealed a more carnal intent).
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Matching his manner to the material at hand, Maslennikov's high, almost effeminate tenor in The Abandoned Father lends an ineffectually desperate quality to his commands to his daughter not to go off with the police officer, making him a far more sympathetic character than the stentorian Konstantin Pluzhnikov on the new Delos recording of From Jewish Folk Poetry (DE 3317; reviewed above). The listener thus feels more keenly the humiliation of this father, impotent in the face of state authority as his daughter contemptuously rejects him and her heritage, calling on her policeman to "throw this old Jew out."
Dorliak recalled that Shostakovich could not abide emotional exaggeration in performances, and in the songs of mourning the singers stifle their grief, leaving much of the expressive burden to fall on the piano. Shostakovich's powerfully accented delivery of the opening bars of Lament for a Dead Infant immediately establishes an atmosphere of dread, but Dorliak and Dolukhanova convey quiet resignation and abjure self-pity.
Listen too to Dolukhanova's gorgeously steady enunciation in Lullaby. Ever mindful to keep a soothing tone in her voice for her dozing son's benefit and thus unable to indulge her sorrow over her husband's imprisonment in Siberia, she delivers an even more gut-wrenching experience than the less reserved Marianna Tarassova on the Delos disc.
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The quality of the original recording was good for its age, but Eclectra have transferred it to CD approximately a quarter-tone flat. Most listeners will not detect a discrepancy this small but those with perfect pitch could find it disorienting. The 1998 release of this recording on Revelation (RV 70007; deleted) and the 1994 Russian Disc issue (RD CD 15 015; deleted) were both at the correct pitch.
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Fortunately, transfer pitch is on target for the other major work on this disc, the Piano Quintet. Annotator Guy Marchand is justified in stating that this is "without a doubt the most remarkable" of the composer's recordings. Unsurprisingly, it has been released on CD a half-dozen times, most recently on Doremi (DHR-7787; reviewed in DSCH No. 18). The performance is far superior to the same team's uncharacteristically slow 1940 account, which is not currently available (Dante Lys 369-370; deleted).
The 1955 version was recorded more than 14 years after Shostakovich premiered the Piano Quintet with the Beethoven Quartet, and in this interval he played it in concert numerous times with various string quartets. The Glazunov Quartet's cellist recalled, "We, the string players, wanted to 'sing', to play with more emotion. Shostakovich accentuated the structural, motor elements and achieved his effect through rhythmic precision. The emotional restraint of his playing led to a certain contradiction with the nature of the strings."
That dialectic is preserved in this recording, Shostakovich's obsessively percussive pianism contrasting with the vibrato-laden strings. This creates a sense of desperation in the hard-driven first movement. The following Fugue opens with patient, consoling interweaving of the strings, and the composer's sharp-edged attack heightens the anguish of the central crisis, which is followed by an extended lament.
The sawing shrieks of the violins and Shostakovich's wild exuberance paint a macabre scene in the third movement. It is almost a relief to move into the Intermezzo, its steady pulse creating the sensation of suspended time. However this movement is also fraught with emotion, as if bearing sorrowful witness to a great loss. The radiant, life-affirming entry to the finale rescues the listener and carries through without pessimism to a peaceful conclusion.
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A fittingly light interlude between the Piano Quintet and From Jewish Folk Poetry is provided by four Preludes from opus 34 arranged for violin and piano by the Beethoven Quartet's first violinist Dmitri Tsyganov. Shostakovich's staccato mannerisms suit these quirky nuggets well, and Leonid Kogan dazzles. As on the previous CD issue (Revelation RV 70002; deleted; reviewed in DSCH No. 9) two semiquavers are missing from the third to last bar of Prelude No. 24, suggesting that they were omitted from the performance itself rather than being an editing glitch.
Wrapping up the programme is a movement from The Gadfly, representing the sole recording we have of the former cinema accompanist performing any of his film music. Unfortunately, Shostakovich's emphatic style is ill suited to this lyrical piece and also overloads the microphone. Since the fault lies with the original recording, Eclectra have not been able to clean up the distorted acoustics any more than could Revelation (on the afore-mentioned RV 70002).
The interesting booklet notes draw together an impressive range of information and are generally accurate. Two minor quibbles: the Quintet is given an incorrect opus number in the notes but not on the CD cover or in the track listing, and the song cycle is given the opus number 79a, which applies to the orchestrated version, not this original configuration with piano accompaniment. Revelation did not provide the libretto in their release of From Jewish Folk Poetry, and it is a pity that Eclectra followed their example instead of that of Russian Disc, who included transliterated Russian texts and English translations of the songs.
W. Mark Roberts
Index
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Chamber Symphony, arrangement of String Quartet No. 8 in C minor by
Rudolf Barshai, op. 110a[a]; Antiformalist Rayok, sans op. X[b],
in chamber arrangement by Vladimir Spivakov and Vladimir Milman; Prelude
and Scherzo, op. 11[c]; Schnittke: Praeludium in Memoriam Dmitri
(Prelude in memory of Dmitry) Shostakovich[d].
Vladimir Spivakov (conductor)[a-c]/(violin)[d], Moscow Virtuosi[a-c],
Alexei Mochalov (bass)[b], The Moscow Choir Theatre[b] (listed as Choir
of the Academy of Choral Art, Victor Popov (chorus master)).
Capriccio 67 115. DDD. TT 57:43.
Recorded in the Great Hall, Moscow Conservatory, 15-17 May 2003[a,c,d];
venue and date unknown[b].
"From February 1st, this open restaurant will be closed. A closed restaurant will open here." This witty lampoon, recounted by Maxim Shostakovich in Mikhail Ardov's Dalekoe blizkoe, Kniga o Sostakovice (A Book About Shostakovich), typifies Shostakovich's unique sense of humour. Dry and terse, with a delight for word-play and a distinctly political edge, it is a constant undercurrent in the composer's works, but nowhere more abundant than in his infamous satire Antiformalist Rayok.
Rayok has long been a thorn in the side for Western experts who prefer to view the composer as a mild-mannered, soft-spoken, servile Communist loyalist. While the Testimony wars have brought this once-samizdat work into the limelight, Rayok's reputation has suffered as a result, it being regarded as more of a musical-political curiosity than a work with real merit (the present recording's notes are a good case in point - more of this later).
As musicological battles run out of steam, it is perhaps time to appreciate Rayok on its own terms. I can think of no other composition by Shostakovich that is so spontaneously funny; from the oafish opening bars to the many musical jokes and the final can-can, it is the sort of work that only Shostakovich could have pulled off with such polish and high standards.
Written originally for bass soloist and piano, the work eventually grew in scope to include four basses and a mixed chorus, though for practical reasons a single bass soloist may sing the parts of the Chairman, Yedinitsin (Stalin), Dvoikin (Zhdanov) and Troikin (Shepilov).
The mixed chorus take the role of the musical functionaries witnessing the proceedings - they supply the mechanical laughter and applause, and provide some truly hilarious send-ups of Boris Godunov's coronation scene ("Slava! Slava!") and Shostakovich's own Lady Macbeth's wedding scene ("Thank you, Comrade Yedinitsin, thank you for your fatherly concern!"). Shostakovich hides himself amongst the functionaries in the form of his "DSCH" signature, laughing bitterly at the circus show around him.
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Conductor Anatoly Levin and bass soloist Alexei Mochalov recorded an orchestral version of Rayok for Russian Disc in 1995 (RDCD 17008; deleted); the unnamed arranger is identified as Boris Tishchenko in Allan Ho/Dmitry Feofanov's Shostakovich Reconsidered. Vladimir Spivakov and Vladimir Milman prepared their own orchestration, which was premiered in 1997 (Music Masters 67189-2; deleted) with Mochalov again as the soloist (both releases were reviewed in DSCH No. 9).
Of the two orchestrations, Tishchenko's better depicts Shostakovich's darker colours. He preserves the very low Cs that make the opening of the work so funny, reinforcing with the contrabassoon the grotesque effect of this recurring leitmotif of stupidity. The following bars plunge us into the sinister world of Babi Yar by scoring the sinewy bass obligato in legato. Spivakov's orchestration is lighter, more comical and his liberal use of percussion gives his version an air of theatrical slapstick. To put it simply, Tishchenko's version is more authentic, but Spivakov's is plenty of fun as well!
The new Capriccio release reissues this very same Spivakov recording, but curiously dates the recording as 2003 and credits a different chorus from the earlier issue. When contacted, Capriccio expressed surprise at my discovery, but were unable to provide an explanation since their director was not contactable as this issue of DSCH Journal went to print.
Intrigue aside, the disc is handsomely packaged and although the Chamber Symphony, op. 110a, is the main work in the programme, Rayok deserves to be the highlight. Spivakov gets into the spirit of a good spoof, taking some liberties such as throwing the melody of Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers into Dvoikin's rant "Let us welcome what is pretty, beautiful and graceful" (although the blame might go to Shostakovich for instigating matters with his insistent repetition of Tchaikovsky's introductory vamp).
The woodwinds join in the fun with their own embellishments in Troikin's "Glinka, Tchaikovsky" and the violins chime in with a reprise of Waltz of the Flowers, additions not found on the Russian Disc and piano versions, but which nevertheless are entirely in spirit with the proceedings.
As the soloist on both Levin and Spivakov's recordings, Alexei Mochalov demonstrates sheer delight in the part, refining the little subtleties in comic timing and various vocal mannerisms, and digging deeper into the mimicry to serve up a hilarious account for Spivakov's session. His mispronunciations of the composers' names, the vocal warm-ups by Zhdanov (Dvoikin) and the mock-seriousness of the Chairman and Yedinitsin's addresses are delightful from start to finish.
Spivakov's chorus is not as spectacularly over-the-top as Levin's, and being somewhat leaner and more forward in sound, they miss out on the wonderfully ironic grand tutti achieved by Levin's forces. The latter is aided by Tishchenko's uproarious vocal climaxes beefed up with timpani and trumpets to create that grand Coronation Scene tutti for maximum impact.
Levin also scores in the Finale ("Look out, look out, and eliminate our enemies") with his Tchaikovskian fake ending a la Pathétique Symphony, the chorus' stunning climax ("Yes, yes, in jail, and send him to a camp") bringing home the bitter irony of mass celebration while "enemies of the people" are denounced by their peers and condemned to their deaths.
Even if Spivakov's version is not as sumptuous as Levin's, and at his more leisurely pace takes two minutes longer, it is all held together by Mochalov's inspiring presence; and if the Finale's tune sounds even sillier than the Leningrad Symphony's march, then full credit goes to the imaginative drummer for making a success of this closing can-can.
The CD notes are interesting if a little careless: the writer credits the libretto's authorship to Lebedinsky (a claim challenged by Yakubov) but in the following sentence says that the composer performed the first version to friends in 1948 (which contradicts Lebedinsky's claim). The writer's remark, "There is nothing musically sophisticated in the work; it was private entertainment" is also callous, unenlightened, and surely unwarranted. The good news is that Capriccio include the libretto, which will allow you to appreciate fully the multi-layered irony of the work.
Spivakov delivers a sober performance of the Chamber Symphony, which succeeds particularly in the quieter outer movements. With a good feel for the overall structure of the work, the Moscow Virtuosi present a taut reading steeped in nervous fear, their poised reserve refreshingly free from overt dramatic gestures and symphonic breadth, conveying instead an intimacy that is rarely heard.
The Fifth Symphony quotation in the first movement is a fine example - bleached and terrified, it hardly breaks above a starved whisper. The solos are particularly moving - they practically shiver in their hushed tones as if breathless from the cold and wary of interrupting the oppressive silence. This makes the fifth movement fugue, and the choked sobs of the "Seryozha, my love" section in the fourth movement, especially heartbreaking.
The Moscow Virtuosi's lean edge also brings a nervous Fourth-Symphony tension to the Octet, op. 11, where the almost baroque execution of the Prelude contrasts well with the claustrophobic Scherzo. The latter, reeling with terrifying sequences that gather like a whirlwind into a furious shower of rising glissandi, is truly stunning in their hands.
Schnittke's Prelude in Memory of Dmitri Shostakovich completes the programme. Sounding uncannily as if time is slowing to a standstill, the violin plays around with distorted "DSCH" and "BACH" motifs suspended in the stilted tick-tock of the taped pizzicato, vividly capturing the spirit of the dedicatee in a musical equivalent of a pen-sketched caricature. This finally crystallises in the closing bars with "DSCH" whispered repeatedly sul-ponticello, returning the programme full circle to where it began. A brilliant stroke worthy of Shostakovich himself, this compact memorial provides a wonderful conclusion to an indispensable issue.
CH Loh
Index
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Piano Sonata No. 2 in B minor, op. 61[a]; Prokofiev: Piano Sonata
No. 2 in D minor, op. 14[b]; Medtner: Sonata Reminiscenza in A
minor, op. 38, No. 1[c].
Tatjana Rankovich (piano).
Phoenix USA PHCD158. DDD. TT 62:36.
Recorded in the Patrych Sound Studios, the Bronx, New York, 9 and 18 December
2003[a], 3 and 18 November 2002[b], 15 and 29 September 2002[c].
Tatjana Rankovich, born in Belgrade in the former Yugoslavia and currently on the faculty of the Mannes College of Music in New York, has made a speciality of American music, particularly the works of the neo-Romantic Nicholas Flagello. This interesting collection represents her first recorded essay in Russian music, and it comes with the added bonus of enlightening programme notes from DSCH Journal contributor Louis Blois.
As reported by Sofia Moshevich in Dmitri Shostakovich: Pianist, Shostakovich considered his Second Piano Sonata to be his finest work for the instrument. Written while the composer was in evacuation in Kuibyshev in 1943, it can perhaps be heard as the first of the composer's 'symphonic' chamber works. It would be followed over the next three years by the Piano Trio No. 2 and the Second and Third String Quartets, all similarly ambitious in terms of length, range of expression and seriousness of purpose, and together irreversibly expanding the scope of Russian chamber music. In contrast to many of his works from the 1940s, however, the Second Piano Sonata does not seem to comment directly on the War. It lacks the violence present in so many of the wartime compositions, and seems less obviously to invite narrative interpretation. Rather, it is warmly reflective and intimate, less sharp-tongued than much of the composer's work. One clue to its character may lie in its dedication; it was written as a memorial to the composer's much-loved former piano teacher, Leonid Nikolayev, who had recently died of typhus.
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Sadly, there are no recordings of the Second Sonata by the composer. Two comparative recordings that have received generally favourable reviews are a 1998 recording by Raymond Clarke (Athene ATH CD 18; reviewed in DSCH No. 11) and a classic 1986 recording by Boris Berman (reissued in 2000 on Ottavo OTR C38616).
All three artists offer fine first movements, opening with impetuous cascades of semiquavers and building convincingly to dramatic peaks at the end of the first-subject section. Although Rankovich's transition to the march-like opening of the second subject is somewhat awkward, she soon finds a delicious percussive acerbity (sounding very much like the composer's own style), which she then gentles momentarily before moving into the closing and developmental material. As the movement progresses, her shadings, like Boris Berman's, are richly varied and convincing, and she maintains her listeners' interest through the development and lengthy coda where Clarke's less nuanced playing at times seems to stagnate.
The Sonata's slow movement is wonderfully unsettled. In its fragmented first section, there is only the fleeting wisp of a melody, which disappears almost before it has established itself. The challenge for the performer is to hold the listener's attention through the music's harmonic digressions, despite the lack of a sustained melody in the movement's outer sections and any significant dynamic contrast or culmination in the movement as a whole. Boris Berman's Largo sets a high standard, creating an extraordinary stillness that casts a spell over the rest of the sonata, drawing his listeners into a most intimate and tender exploration. He remains in its thrall throughout the finale's theme and variations. Here his shadings periodically seem to refer back to the second movement's exploratory questioning, giving the entire sonata an architectural and emotional coherence that is lacking in the other performances. Thus, for example, Berman's statement of the finale's long-limbed theme seems gentler, more questioning and less declamatory than that of the other performers, dwelling on the implications of each chromatic inflection. Transitions are never abrupt or harsh, even when the music becomes more percussive and rhythmic, and these sections seem only mildly mischievous under Berman's hands. The final French-overture-style variation seems magisterial, and just when one expects it to build the sonata's grand culmination, the music softens to a magical major-mode radiance that Berman holds, examines and cherishes fleetingly before its disappearance in the minor-mode coda.
Neither Rankovich nor Clarke is able to find comparable riches in the Sonata. Clarke, in particular, seems particularly weak in the slow movement, which he plays quite loudly and rapidly. In comparison, Rankovich's hushed tone reflects the composer's dynamic markings, but her rendering is also quite fast, moving quickly through moments where the music needs to breathe a little.
In the beginning of the finale, she emerges gradually, respecting the mood she has created in the Largo, but by the third variation her colouration has shifted to the jazzy percussive sound that is one of the most attractive features of her playing. She fills the ensuing variations with contrast, creating a persuasive montage. Although perhaps not as exquisitely prepared as Berman's, her B-major arrival point is nonetheless grand. Overall, this is a fine and interesting interpretation, full of sensitive shading and imagination, although not able to achieve Berman's intelligence and spellbinding power.
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Rankovich's CD will, however, be especially attractive to listeners who wish to sample the music of Prokofiev and Medtner, two other Russian master composers for piano. Although Prokofiev's Second Sonata was written in 1912 while the composer was still at the Conservatory in St. Petersburg, it bristles with originality and imagination. While both Sviatoslav Richter (Praga PR 50015) and Boris Berman (Chandos CHAN 9119) are more compelling than Rankovich, particularly in the Sonata's fine finale, Rankovich's performance is nonetheless engaging. Her inclusion of Nicolas Medtner's Sonata in A minor gives listeners a glimpse of the music of this early twentieth-century Russian composer-émigré, who sounds more restrainedly classical than modern, his harmonies fitting comfortably in the style of the early nineteenth century. The single-movement Reminiscenza is a subtle, appealing and finely crafted series of thematically connected episodes, autumnal in colouring as befits its subtitle. Its inclusion certainly adds to the appeal of this disc.
Judy Kuhn
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Twenty-four Preludes and Fugues, op. 87.
Tatiana Nikolaeva (piano).
Nos. 1-24: Regis RRC 3005. DDD. 3-CD set TT 168:23.
Nos. 1-10: Moscow Studio Archives MOS19065. DDD. TT 59:56.
Nos. 11-16: Moscow Studio Archives MOS19066. DDD. TT 47:00.
Nos. 17-24: Moscow Studio Archives MOS19067. DDD. TT 61:35.
Recorded in Moscow, 1987.
There is no doubt that Tatiana Nikolaeva's name will always be associated with the genesis and performance tradition of Dmitri Shostakovich's Preludes and Fugues, op. 87. As a witness to their compositional process, she was often the first to hear them played by the composer and she had a unique opportunity to collaborate with Shostakovich during the preparation of her public premiere of the entire cycle in 1952, as well as on many other occasions. In addition, her editorial commentary to Volume 40 of Shostakovich's Collected Works, which was published in 1980, includes a number of interesting comments by Shostakovich.
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The Preludes and Fugues were a part of Nikolaeva's life for more than forty years and she recorded them three times: in Moscow in 1962 and 1987, then in London in 1990, not long before her untimely death in 1992. Unfortunately, the London recording, made for Hyperion (CDA66441/3), is the least successful of the three. It is also unfortunate that her first Moscow recording, which is undoubtedly the best, has never been released in the West (Melodiya LP CM 02377-84; deleted). Luckily, the second Moscow recording from 1987 has been reissued on two labels: Regis, marketed worldwide, and Moscow Studio Archives, available only from vendors within North America.
According to Nikolaeva herself, she made the second recording of the Preludes and Fugues because by 1987 she considered her 1962 recording "outdated in some respects." The 63-year-old veteran of the concert stage wished to capture on record her (then) current, and different, vision of the cycle. Her reconsideration of various interpretive details includes some noticeable tempo modifications. For example: the 1987 version of the C#-minor Prelude has a more moderate tempo (crotchet = 130) than the dazzling speed of her first recording (crotchet = 137). The opposite is true of the second subject of the E-minor Fugue, which she plays at a faster tempo (circa crotchet = 122) right from the beginning (bar 47); in the 1962 recording she establishes the new tempo gradually. Compared to the first recorded variant, the voicing in the fast part of the E-minor Fugue is much clearer. However, in the 1987 recording of the E-minor Prelude and the slow section of the Fugue the tone loses its warmth and the multi-coloured palette of sonorities disappears.
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In the 1987 recording of the G-sharp-minor Prelude, the ritenutos are not as extreme and the tempo (crotchet = 77) is not as slow as that of 1962 version (crotchet = 74). We read in Nikolaeva's commentary on this Prelude that in the autograph Shostakovich had originally marked this Prelude p and crotchet = 104, but after a concert performance, changed the markings to mf and increased the tempo to crotchet = 138. From this, we can guess that Shostakovich was not happy with Nikolaeva's tempo, but evidently he failed to convince her: in the 1990 Hyperion version the tempo is even slower (crotchet = 74). Despite this, both of the Moscow recordings are exemplary as far as voicing is concerned and both have plenty of colour and fresh harmonic "discovery." I like these versions no less than Ashkenazy's (Decca 466 066-2; reviewed in DSCH No. 11) or Scherbakov's (Naxos 8.554745-46; reviewed in DSCH No. 15) renditions of the same Prelude.
Nikolaeva's 1987 recording of the D-minor Prelude is very romantic, though at times her rubati and forced tone seem exaggerated. Yet, as a prologue to the final monumental Fugue, it convinces me as much as Ashkenazy's more understated version. In the slow part of the D-minor Fugue, Nikolaeva's exceedingly slow tempo (crotchet = 73) is close to that of Shostakovich's own recording (crotchet = 72; EMI 7243 5 62646 2 5 or Angel 7243 5 62648 2 3; reviewed in DSCH No. 20). However, while the composer is able to balance one extreme with the other by intensifying the dynamics and speeding up relentlessly throughout the next sections of the Fugue, Nikolaeva is not. Her frequent piano subito, over-careful accelerandos, and often dry pedalling (bars 262-267) interrupt the continuity and diminish the force of ever growing musical 'lava'. Ashkenazy's version is much stronger in building up and balancing the symphonic proportions of this Fugue. Still, Nikolaeva's 1987 recording is more successful than her Hyperion take of the same piece.
Generally speaking, in technically demanding sections, particularly in octave passages (for example in the G-major and Db-major Preludes or the D-minor and G-sharp minor Fugues) Nikolaeva appears much weaker than Ashkenazy. However, when chordal or octave technique is not involved, her fingerwork is accurate and brilliant: listen for instance to the A-minor Prelude and Fugue, the E-major Fugue, or the Bb-major Prelude.
Ironically, Nikolaeva's physical "shortcoming" - smaller hands - leads her to more interesting solutions in text distribution and voicing and actually makes her playing bolder and clearer than that of many pianists blessed with larger hands; take, for example, the C-sharp-minor Fugue or bars 79-87 of the C-major Fugue. Her way of handling the often-uncomfortable textures of the Preludes and Fugues can help hundreds of pianists to deal with similar problems. Thus, Nikolaeva continues to be not only a respected master-pianist but also an amazing teacher.
As long as Nikolaeva's 1962 recording remains unavailable, the 1987 set is your best chance to become acquainted with her idiosyncratic style and to hear what kind of musician she was. While there is no difference in the sound quality between the two labels here, I definitely prefer the three different essays that accompany the Moscow Studio Archives CDs, which provide more information on both Shostakovich and Nikolaeva than the superficial notes in the Regis set. Moscow Studio Archives' essays are well researched and beautifully written by Lawrence Cosentino, who lovingly calls Nikolaeva a "kindly keyboard knight". I could not agree more.
Sofia Moshevich
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Symphony No. 4, arranged by the composer for two pianos, op. 43a.
Rustem Hayroudinoff, Colin Stone (pianos).
Chandos CHAN 10296. DDD. TT 59:00
Recorded in Henry Wood Hall, Glasgow, 12-14 May 2004.
World premiere recording of two-piano version.
Until its dramatic revival in Moscow in December 1961, Shostakovich's Fourth Symphony was known only to a select group of Soviet musicians. Of that select group, no more than a handful had heard the full orchestral version twenty-five years earlier. A few of the composer's friends had attended the ill-fated rehearsals in the autumn of 1936, but it can probably be assumed from the negative reports of those rehearsals that no-one, not even Shostakovich, had ever heard a satisfactory complete performance. Despite the symphony's wide circulation in piano reduction prior to its planned premiere, once it had been withdrawn it seemed almost at once to fade into oblivion. Shostakovich immediately began work on the Fifth Symphony, and the Fourth was, to all intents and purposes, forgotten.
Notwithstanding the dramatic success of the Fifth Symphony, Shostakovich did not forsake its rejected predecessor. In a letter to Boleslav Yavorsky dated June 1938, Shostakovich insisted that it was impossible to understand his creative work as a whole without knowing the Fourth Symphony, all but demanding that his friend should sit through a personal performance during his next visit. When Shostakovich's post-war fame was at its height in 1945, he and Mieczyslaw Weinberg (Moisei Vainberg) performed the Fourth Symphony at a closed meeting of the Composers' Union, and the duet score was published the following year in a limited print-run of 300 copies. Though the idea of resurrecting it as the Ninth Symphony was briefly mooted, all hopes of having it performed were quickly dashed by the events of 1948. During the many attacks on Shostakovich and his colleagues at this time, Khrennikov singled out the modest circulation of this 'formalistic' work as evidence of negligence within the ranks of the Union.
Thereafter, Shostakovich seemed to give up on his lost symphony. In a bland, diffident autobiographical article for Sovetskaya muzika in 1956, he dismissed it altogether: 'formally imperfect and overly drawn out and suffers, I would say, from "mania grandiosa".' Had Shostakovich really changed his mind about the Fourth Symphony? It seems not. Only two years later, writing to Isaak Glikman from hospital, he confessed: 'I should so like to hear both of these works [Lady Macbeth and the Fourth Symphony] performed. I cannot say that I would expect much joy from the opera.... But the Fourth could perhaps be done.' Only three years later he was granted the long-overdue satisfaction of hearing both works revived. While Lady Macbeth was subjected to scrupulous revision, the Fourth Symphony remained exactly as it was. Shostakovich found he did not want to change a single note of the score.
As the Fourth Symphony became a well-established feature of orchestral programmes, Shostakovich's old duet version promptly fell into obscurity. It was only ever intended for the practical purpose of disseminating a work that was costly and difficult to perform in an age where large-scale orchestral works were routinely learned through the medium of piano reduction. Long after his younger colleagues had abandoned the practice of teaching repertoire this way in favour of using the gramophone, Shostakovich continued to insist that his students make piano reductions of scores and perform them in class. He clearly believed that such a 'hands-on' approach had a unique value that could not be replicated by listening to records. And it is true that playing orchestral music on the piano can be revelatory, especially in the case of mainstream 'tonal' 20th-century composers like Shostakovich. What sounds deceptively 'normal' played by an orchestra sounds very different on the piano. Stripped of the familiar cloak of instrumental sounds, the off-colour sharpness typical of his skewed diatonicism is often disconcertingly accentuated. In fact, this is so true of the Fourth Symphony's piano duet reduction that it is possible to understand the negative reactions of Shostakovich's contemporaries who had never heard the work in its full orchestral version. The menacing tread of the first movement becomes dryly percussive, while the haunting Mahlerian landler character of the second movement is lost altogether. It isn't hard to imagine a Composers' Union audience totally at sea in the finale, which can be baffling enough at first hearing even in a fine orchestral performance.
The piano duet arrangement on this CD is Shostakovich's own of c.1936 (published 1946), re-published in 2000 as Volume 19 of the New Shostakovich Edition (DSCH, Moscow). Colin Stone and Rustem Hayroudinoff are worthy champions, with a phenomenal technique powerfully matched by musical insight. Still, Eric Roseberry's suggestion (in his fine liner notes) that the arrangement is successful enough to make a 'notable addition to the two piano concert hall repertoire' may be overly optimistic. The duet version remains what it has always been: an arrangement for practical purposes. In the concert hall, it is a fascinating curiosity, not a viable addition to duet repertoire any more than duet versions of Mahler or Beethoven symphonies would be.
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| Hayroudinoff and Stone in studio (Photo - Arthur Cook) |
One could, however, add to that its value as a virtuosic exercise in sensitive duet playing; its demands on the performers are immense. One of the most impressive aspects of Stone's and Hayroudinoff's playing is that, while effortlessly coping with the technical difficulties of the score, they never allow themselves to be intimidated by their obvious knowledge of the orchestral score. They reproduce certain effects perfectly (such as the delicate harp interjections in the first movement's second subject) and lovingly echo the timbral qualities of instrumental solos wherever possible. All melodic lines are exquisitely shaped with fantastic attention to detail; not an accent is misplaced or ignored, nor a single phrase spoiled by lumpy piano voicing. But equally, it is no surprise to find that the symphony's massive climaxes sound pretty bare - two pianos cannot come close to capturing the excitement or the sheer force of such deliberately overwhelming music, and Stone and Hayroudinoff deserve full credit for not trying to. Still, the central climax of the first movement development is masterfully done, as is the resounding 'Gloria' first coda of the finale.
In short, given the pared-down nature of any duet version of a symphony, Stone and Hayroudinoff's performance is as close to perfection as it is possible to get. Passages that most conductors have difficulty bringing off, such as the long breakdown of the first movement climax and the merciless Allegro section of the finale - effectively an extended crescendo to the D major peroration over 200 bars later - are managed with astounding success. Though many orchestras sag in these places, Stone and Hayroudinoff sustain a ferocious, unflagging momentum that is deeply impressive.
It's inevitable that the pounding, often deliberately crude character of the first movement is better suited to the piano duet sound than is the elusive, ghostly second movement. However, the success of the finale is a more complex issue. Parts of it, such as the whirlwind Allegro and the first coda, are truly gripping in this performance. But there are depths in this movement that no piano duet could ever reach. The ending teeters on the brink of blandness in this performance, though a slower tempo might enable some of its haunting, desolate quality to be salvaged. And, rather perversely, the central divertimento episode doesn't quite work either, though again, it's possible to see how it could. The loss of that nostalgic Viennese string sound could only be compensated for by truly idiomatic piano playing. Stone and Hayroudinoff don't quite capture its magic, and their rubato feels rather forced. But it seems unfair to pick on these perhaps inevitable failings when there is so much to admire overall. The very fact that this duet version succeeds where some orchestras have failed is a resounding testament to the musicality and intelligence of the Stone/Hayroudinoff partnership.
Whether Shostakovich's Fourth Symphony continues to be performed in this piano reduction beyond the initial flurry of excitement surrounding its revival remains to be seen. Certainly, were it to secure a lasting place in the duet repertoire (which seems highly unlikely), it would become a rather bizarre anachronism. But as the premiere recording of an arrangement that was, after all, the sole means by which the Fourth Symphony was known to most Soviet musicians for over two decades, this CD offers a fascinating step back in time.
Pauline Fairclough
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Only two instrumental reductions of Shostakovich symphonies have previously come our way on disc, arousing enduring curiosity. The Derevianko arrangement of the Fifteenth Symphony for piano trio and percussion seems more popular now than when originally released a decade ago (Deutsche Grammophon 449 966-2; deleted; reviewed in DSCH No. 7), with the arrival earlier this year of both its Carnegie Hall debut concert and its reissue by Deutsche Grammophon (4775442; reviewed below). The four-hands piano reduction of the Tenth Symphony in the performance by the composer and Mieczyslaw Weinberg has become a classic, reissued many times (reviewed in DSCH No. 9 on Revelation RV 70002; deleted; currently available on Yedang Classics YCC-0164). The latter work was also taken up by Gräsbeck and Zelyakov in 1992 with a superb stereo recording (Bluebell ABCD 049; deleted).
A similar labour of love has now been provided by pianists Rustem Hayroudinoff and Colin Stone to what may seem the most unlikely Shostakovich symphony to fall to two keyboards. This unruly canvas of passions in wild flight is the embodiment of genius on the edge. No other Shostakovich symphony compares with the extremes of its emotionally charged episodes or its sheer abundance of musical ideas. Yet the animated lyricism and rich counterpoint that pervade the Fourth Symphony make it an especially attractive candidate for piano transcription. The same cannot be said for all Shostakovich symphonies; for instance, would the broader lines and thinner textures of the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies' slow movements translate as successfully? Never mind that the Fourth's emotional palette exceeds anything that a piano duo would ever encounter in the standard repertoire; or that this hour-long behemoth pushes classical form - and the performers' endurance - to their absolute limits. In the hands of Hayroudinoff and Stone, the symphony acquires an unexpected gracefulness, even in its most barbaric moments.
Hayroudinoff and Stone are meticulous in following the tempo and dynamic markings of the score, every sforzando, tremolo and trill falling immaculately into place. Thematic layers and cross-rhythms are rendered with admirable precision. This is a performance aimed at accuracy and authenticity, casting into relief virtually every detail of the work's rhythmic and harmonic complexities.
The ability of these pianists to capture the sonority and the spirit of the Fourth Symphony is remarkable. The opening flourishes, with their lashing double grace notes, pierce the air as sharply as we might ever have heard them. The gargantuan march theme that follows imposes its authority thanks to the duo's uncompromisingly sharp accents. Throughout the first movement, where volatile eruptions alternate with moments of recoil and reflection, Hayroudinoff and Stone manoeuvre with passion and purpose. Listen to the throbbing pressure they build as the irregular filigrees beginning at Fig. 24 (5:20) culminate in a series of pounding quasi-timpani two-strokes; or to the hair-raising anxiety they bring to the climbing chromatic scale at Fig. 47 (11:44) and again at Fig. 92 (19:47). The power and coordination of their playing come to the fore when divergent rhythms pile on, such as in the section that leads to the strutting goose-steps of major second dissonances at Fig. 21 + 6 (4:47), and at the polyrhythmic high point of the central climax.
I was also impressed with the firm grip this duo has on the work's rhythmic architecture. Pianists less attuned to the idiom might have been tempted to 'stylise' their performance with a more casual approach to rhythm. Not here. In the first movement, where major sections are propelled by ostinati - echoes, as it were, of the stomping marcatissimo of the opening theme - the pianists establish connection by adhering to a steady, determined pulse as well as gaining expressive strength. There is similar solidity to their handling of the second movement's obsessive rhythmic characteristics.
I cannot imagine a moment more miraculous in any Shostakovich transcription than the piano version of this first movement's mighty fugue. Was there ever a more fleeting or mercurial fugue subject? Or one whose tachyonic existence so resists capture or comprehension (aside from the fact that we know it to be a freakishly diminished version of the opening march)? While some of the elastic snap that only strings can deliver is lost on the keyboard, the meticulous articulation and coordination that the pianists bring to bear on its layers of streaming 16th notes in presto tempo is truly astounding. Listeners will note that the repeated notes of the fugue subject are transcribed as alternating neighbouring tones. Its furies still run just as wild. We hear the fugue's four voices successively pile on with remarkable resolution. And still, the fully unfolded texture swarms with unfathomable complexity.
Hayroudinoff and Stone are just as effective in penetrating the first movement's quieter yet equally disturbing psychological terrain. Listen to the stinging intensity they bring to the triple-forte outburst at Fig. 30 (7:01) and how quickly they become immersed in the dreamily tormented lyricism that follows. The broad, eloquent line introduced at Fig. 32 (7:54), originally for strings and taken by the first pianist, soars with passion and is brought to an intoxicating crest. The moments when harp and celesta drift phantom-like in and out of the spotlight lose none of their chilling effect.
The pianists display the same sensitivity to mood and motion in the second movement with its Bruckner-like obsession with short, repetitive figures. The movement may serve as a point of rhythmic equilibrium between the more turbulent outer movements, yet its pensive surface seethes with anxiety. This sense of urgency is well captured thanks to the duo's detailed attention to the subtle yet constant undulation of dynamic levels. The movement's dramatic punctuations stand out well. Listen to the vivid handling of the maniacal reiteration of the four-note phrase at Fig. 138 +1 (5:59), which escalates in volume and then suddenly drops to an anticlimactic whisper. The climactic utterance of the main theme here has a grandeur all its own, save the fact that a single piano note doesn't quite capture the majesty of the four horns that play it in the original.
The third movement's episodes are broader and less anxiety-reactive than those in the first, yet they cannot be any less challenging. Here the sections take us from funeral march to triumphant pageant to ecstatic march to deranged waltz to final peroration. They constitute one of the most labyrinthine journeys in all of Shostakovich. The duo pianists perform a remarkable feat in knitting together these confounding contrasts into a continuous, organic narrative. I was particularly impressed with the manner in which they handle the brief but pivotal junctures that separate different thematic areas. We find one just before the section that begins with the bassoon's gleeful march tune (Fig. 201 + 5; 12:14); and another at the brink of the final climactic section (around Fig. 238; 18:50). These moments not only act as curtain raisers, signalling a turn in direction, but clarify the movement's formal layout. I have heard orchestral performances of this movement that lose lustre for not having placed sufficient emphasis on these transitions and the new expressive spaces they open up. Here both aspects are handled with brilliant forethought and execution.
The extended allegro passage in the third movement beginning at Fig. 167 (5:51) after the funeral march bears special mention. This section consists of a prolonged succession of trailing and interlocking two-note figures that clamour their way toward a triumphant peak. The mechanical obsessiveness of this passage can wear thin in certain orchestral recordings. Here it takes on an invigorating life of its own. The piano textures not only bring fresh detail; they carry the uncanny sense that the passage belongs on the keyboard.
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While the timing of each movement falls on the tidy end of recorded orchestral performances, coming closest to Previn's in the first two movements (EMI 7243 5 72658 2 9), the last movement clocks in at 24:16, even tighter than those of Järvi (24:44; Chandos CHAN 8640) and Kondrashin (25:53; Aulos AMC2-043-1-10). The shortfall is concentrated at the outer ends of the movement, the opening funeral march and the closing pedal, where the leaner textures evidently invite the pianists' faster than usual tempi. Both turn out effectively, however, especially the coda, whose registral extremes - low pedal set against trumpet and celesta entries - are fully preserved and exploited. Here the duo admirably conveys the poignancy and unearthly beauty of the work's final pages.
There are invariably moments that call out for the original instrumentation. I miss those seven bars of brassy frulato that appear just before the first movement fugue (Fig. 61+1; 14:30), though it was Shostakovich who decided not to represent them in his transcription. One also discovers how much the timbre of the solo trombone lends in mediating the disintegration of line and mental state in the shifting winds of the last movement. The series of eight growling, ever more dissonant sonorities in the latter half of the first movement (starting at Fig. 90, 19:02) could have been dealt out with a bit more animal energy. And I'd again like to complain directly to Shostakovich for providing no representation for the cymbal crash two bars before Fig. 93 of the first movement (20:03); or for the percussive ticking in the final 22 bars of the second movement, though here the duo's tactile sensibilities are wonderfully suggestive. And the final, tumultuous climax, powerful as it is here, nonetheless misses the percussion battery heard in the original score.
These minor reservations aside, this is a release destined to achieve a very special place in recording history. Rarely does a performance come along that is so readily recognisable as a masterpiece or that so quickly finds a place of distinction in one's collection. It is certainly not for all tastes, and indeed, neither is the Fourth Symphony. But for anyone who has been intrigued by this work and wants to hear a brilliantly inspired performance in a thrilling transcription, this is your chance.
Louis Blois
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Mischa Maisky and Martha Argerich in Concert
Sonata for Cello and Piano in D minor, op. 40; Stravinsky:
Suite italienne from Pulcinella, arranged for cello and
piano by the composer and Gregor Piatigorsky; Prokofiev: Sonata for cello
and piano in C major, op. 119; Waltz from The Stone Flower,
op. 118, arranged for cello and piano by Gregor Piatigorsky and Sviatoslav
Knushevitsky (printed Kiushevitsky).
Mischa Maisky (cello), Martha Argerich (piano).
Deutsche Grammophon 00289 477 5323. DDD. TT 72:22.
Recorded live in Studio 4, Flagey Hall, Brussels, 6 April 2003.
Being an admirer of the artistry of both Maisky and Argerich but having been unable to recommend in DSCH No. 13 their wayward recital of Shostakovich's Second Piano Trio with Gidon Kremer (Deutsche Grammophon 289 459 326-2), I am relieved to offer a far more positive assessment of their latest release, recorded at a charity concert.
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The first movement of the Shostakovich sonata overflows with rubato, and though its opening is not as serene as the fine version from Petr Prause and Yakov Kasman (Calliope CAL 9326; reviewed in DSCH No. 21) it maintains a winning geniality. Argerich half-stumbles on one beat shortly before the first movement repeat, but that is as close as either musician comes to an error throughout the performance.
Maisky and Argerich's second movement is more tempestuous than Prause and Kasman's, but never loses its sense of humour. A highlight is the audaciously industrial sound of Maisky's glissando passages using natural harmonics.
In keeping with the good-natured tone set thus far, the third movement is less troubled than in Rostropovich and the composer's 1957 recording (EMI CZS 5 72295 2), and much less intense than the superb account from Pieter Wispelwey and Dejan Lazic (Channel Classics CCS SA 20003; reviewed in DSCH No. 21). It nevertheless convinces with its atmosphere of dense concentration, aided by Argerich's touchingly tentative handling.
The mathematically minded may wish to know that Maisky and Argerich cross the finish line of the fourth movement in 3:53, around 10 seconds quicker than the average for other recordings, but not as breathless as such familiar teams as Lynn Harrell and Vladimir Ashkenazy (3:48; Decca 473 807-2; reviewed in DSCH No. 21) and Rostropovich with the composer (3:33).
But forget the statistics; what sets this performance apart from all others is that the fourth movement is blatantly inebriated, and not just tipsy but pickled to the gills! Its many abrupt ritardandi and accelerandi do not represent arbitrary attempts to be different. Pauline Fairclough's insightful booklet notes report that Maisky's former teacher Rostropovich heard from Shostakovich himself that the middle section of the finale depicts a wild Russian party from which the guests stagger home. Only the dourest of listeners could suppress a chuckle at Fig. 57/1:47 when, in Maisky's words, "the cello comes in with the [solo reprise of the movement's first] theme and it's like it's four in the morning and he's completely drunk!" Those with imagination can prolong this alcoholic scenario, as the cello creeps sheepishly upstairs while the piano broods darkly inside (Fig. 58/2:03). The drunkard is confronted as soon as he enters (Fig. 59/2:10), the piano laying into him with a torrent of semiquavers. After trying in vain to defend himself with feeble interjections, the flagellated cello surrenders with a flageolet whimper.
Notwithstanding the hint passed from the composer through Rostropovich to Maisky, it is unclear how authentic this interpretation of the finale really is. Certainly, neither Rostropovich nor the only other cellist with whom Shostakovich recorded this sonata, Daniil Shafran (Eclectra ECCD-2046; reviewed in DSCH No. 14), exhibited anything like Maisky's intoxicated arrhythmia. Still, it is a delight to hear such an amusing and novel take on this familiar opus.
Two other Russian works precede the Shostakovich in this programme, opening with a suite from Pulcinella that Stravinsky arranged for another of Maisky's illustrious teachers, Gregor Piatigorsky. The highly syncopated reading here impresses for the range of timbres that Argerich coaxes from her piano. The waterfall of notes in the Tarantella fourth movement is especially invigorating.
Prokofiev's Cello Sonata is a frequent discmate for Shostakovich's, appearing on the above-mentioned releases from Harrell-Ashkenazy and Wispelwey-Lazic, the latter being a stunningly intelligent and brilliantly executed rendition, the former rather disappointing. In Maisky and Argerich's hands Prokofiev's spiky offspring is more affectionate than usual. Rapt introspection pervades the first movement, expanded to 11:08 versus 10:30 with the hot-blooded Wispelwey and Lazic and a mere 9:32 with Harrell and Ashkenazy. Maisky and Argerich insert open spaces to create an airy second movement, and offer up an ebullient, lyrical third where the wit is conspiratorial and inclusive rather than sardonic and remote.
A short Waltz from Prokofiev's last ballet, The Stone Flower, serves as an attractive encore. Enthusiastic applause follows each work, but Deutsche Grammophon have thoughtfully quarantined each ovation within its own CD track, so listeners may skip them if they feel that audience participation contaminates the musical experience. The acoustics are intimate and clear.
Although I would prescribe Wispelwey and Lazic's darker performances for those who want only a single dose of the two sonatas, to all others I warmly recommend Maisky and Argerich's uplifting concert for the brilliance, freshness and optimism of its music-making.
W. Mark Roberts
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Piano Trio No. 2 in E minor, op. 67; Rachmaninov: Piano Trio in
D minor, Trio élégiaque, op. 9.
Dmitri Makhtin (violin), Boris Berezovsky (piano), Alexander Kniazev
(cello).
Warner Classics 2564 61937-2. DDD. TT 79:28.
Recorded in the Singelkerk, Amsterdam, 12-14 October 2004.
The three musicians on this CD are nowhere on the cover or in the notes labelled as a practicing trio; indeed, they do not play as one - there are differences and difficulties of balance, tempo and phrasing throughout, spoiling the reading of both works. This is most evident in the Scherzo of the Shostakovich Trio, where the interpretation is never settled - the players sound undecided whether the music here is charm or sarcasm or something else.
Each musician seems strong enough individually, but even here there are problems. The Trio's treacherous opening cello harmonics, posed high above the violin, are played with non-deliberate uncertainty and there are other intonation issues for each of the players, notably at the beginning of the Largo, with a clunker in the piano's declamatory chords and several unsure notes from the violin.
After the opening, the Andante is treated as little of consequence. The Largo's passacaglia is played softly, without strength of meaning or an indication of the intense sorrow Shostakovich felt at the loss of his friend Sollertinsky. The Jewish themes are well emphasised in the finale, but even here the playing is much too tentative. The climactic build-up to the release in the piano's flowing runs is underplayed and there is little continuity between the various sections of the Allegretto-Adagio.
Overall, this recording gives the impression that this was a run-through
or rehearsal for a later performance. With so many finer versions of this
popular work available, this is not one to turn to.
The quality of the playing in the Rachmaninov is similar to the Shostakovich.
At least the very brief notes by Jeremy Siepmann are nicely done, and
the recorded sound has appropriate ambiance.
Richard Pleak
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String Q