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Prélude
Twenty-four Preludes for piano, Op. 34; Three Fantastic Dances, Op. 5; §Iouli Galperine: Cahier Dominical (Sunday Notebook).
Mikhail Markov (piano).
Suoni e Colori SC 53009. DDD. TT 64:24.
§World première recording.

Dmitri Shostakovich: Piano Works
Piano Sonata No. 2, Op. 61; Twenty-four Preludes for piano, Op. 34.
Johan Schmidt (piano).
Cyprès CYP2622. DDD. TT 57:05.
Recorded Royal Conservatory of Liège, Belgium, 23-24 February 1998.

Pianist Mikhail Markov was born in 1951 and schooled in the Tchaikovsky Conservatory in Moscow. He now lives in the Netherlands, teaching and giving concerts. On the evidence of these Twenty-four Preludes, he is thoroughly immersed in the Shostakovian idiom, with a style that is deliberate and strongly articulated. In this he is assisted by a warm and intimate recording free of the cavernous reverberation that afflicts Tatiana Nikolayeva's well-known version on Hyperion (CDA66620).

Speaking of Nikolayeva, she could still turn her keyboard into a palette in 1992, and her C# minor Prelude, No. 10 is far more atmospheric than Markov's, painting a Nocturne in heady hues. To his credit, however, Markov seems more content than Nikolayeva to let the music speak for itself, and in the other twenty-three Preludes I greatly preferred his approach. His gait is sprightlier than hers, which pays off in greater excitement in the faster Preludes like the G# minor, No. 12 and the Db Major, No. 15. The wisdom of Markov's choice of tempi is even more apparent in the B minor and F# Major Preludes, Nos. 6 and 13, which sound downright bloated in Nikolayeva's ponderous readings. In side-by-side listening with Markov's of the same two pieces it took an effort to force myself to sit through hers.

A quite different approach to the Twenty-four Preludes can be heard in the new Cyprès disc featuring the multiple-award-winning Belgian pianist Johan Schmidt. This reading is, in the main, light and impressionistic. In the fast Preludes, Schmidt is more daring than Markov, coming in significantly sooner without sliding off the tracks. This difference feels most dramatic in the A minor Prelude, No. 2, which lasts 54 seconds in Markov's hands, but only 43 in Schmidt's [because track timings include varying amounts of dead space, all times in this review were measured by stopwatch]. Whether this greater speed is justified is open to debate. Certainly, in the case of the G# minor Prelude, the Allegro non troppo marking would tend to support Markov's time of 1:16 rather more than Schmidt's breathless 1:06 (Nikolayeva is even longer-winded, at 1:25).

Even in the slower pieces, Schmidt usually chooses brisker tempi, as can be illustrated by the G minor Prelude, No. 22, which takes Markov 2:21, but Schmidt only 1:59. Schmidt's speed is felicitously balanced by a correspondingly lighter touch than Markov's, so his pace in these slow Preludes does not seem excessive. Nevertheless, in the Eb minor (No. 14) and G minor Adagios, which plumb the deepest emotional depths of all the Preludes in this opus, Markov's firmer and more deliberate attack yields a much darker mood, with a greater sense of introspection.

Conversely, when Schmidt does invest more time in a Prelude than Markov, I find myself wishing that he hadn't, as in the Bb minor Andantino, No. 16, which sounds quite flaccid next to Markov's jaunty reading. The F Major Prelude, No. 23, however, gains almost Beethovenian grandeur from the extra time he invests in it (1:22 to Markov's 1:09).

One startling discrepancy in Schmidt's reading comes in the F# Major Prelude. He apparently misreads the ottava marking on the treble staff that extends from the second note of the thirty-second bar to the thirty-fourth bar, instead applying the octave up-shift only from the thirty-third bar. It is also possible that this is a conscious alteration, for the change assaults the ear like a knee to the groin and I don't see how a performer could miss it. If intentional, this departure from the score is ill-advised, disrupting the thematic symmetry of the Prelude's opening and closing melody.

For technical precision, neither Markov nor Schmidt is as impressive as Raymond Clarke in his new version of Opus 34 (Athene ATH CD 18; full review above). The intellectual rigour of Clarke's reading offers longer-term rewards than Schmidt's impressionism. For better exposing the full emotional range of these pieces, however, Markov's is the set to live with.

Markov is equally fine in the Three Fantastic Dances, those tasty and calorie-free Gallic bonbons penned by the 14-year-old composer. Nikolayeva supplies this coupling too, however, and I find her Dances to be more vividly coloured than Markov's. Her second Dance is delightful, redolent of Ravel. Perhaps I am wrong to prefer it over Markov's, which admits slightly less dynamic variety and significantly less atmosphere, for, strictly speaking, his does sound more Shostakovian. For whatever it's worth, Markov is closer than is Nikolayeva to Shostakovich in his handling of dynamics in any of his three recordings of Three Fantastic Dances (the 1946 and incorrectly-pitched 1956 transfers on Revelation RV 70008 and RV 70003 and the 1958 Paris recording on EMI CDC 7 54606 2 are no longer in the catalogue[since this review was written, the EMI release has returned to distribution]).

This Suoni e Colori release apparently marks the first recording of any work of Iouli Galperine, who was born in Kiev in 1945 and now resides in Paris. Sunday Notebook consists of eight impressionistic tableaux. The musical influences are diverse, with Shostakovich's ghost flitting in occasionally, but these pieces are by no means derivative. It is telling that the listener's interest is sustained without resort to pianistic special effects, and many of the scenes are economical to the point of austerity, in particular, the monomaniacal Méditation. This is clearly the product of a serious and talented mind, and makes a valuable addition to an already-attractive release.

Philippe Mercier's notes to Cyprès' release take pains to draw parallels between Schmidt's coupling, the Second Piano Sonata of 1943, and the style of Gabriel Fauré. A generic "Frenchness" is indeed audible in Schmidt's interpretation, which is phrased with admirable finesse. As accomplished as his performance is, one senses that the obsessive quality that permeates the work is foreign to Schmidt's constitution, for he tends to soften and round the corners of its repetitive themes.

A more rough-hewn Sonata No. 2 appears on Nikolayeva's Twenty-four Preludes/Three Fantastic Dances CD considered above. Nikolayeva is not loath to bang out her part jerkily when called for, and there is more of Shostakovich the satirist in her version. Unsurprisingly, Schmidt is significantly faster than Nikolayeva in the outer movements, which last only around eighty percent as long as in her recital. Neither he nor she, however, matches Clark for grasping the overall structure of the work - in particular its third movement, whose elements fall so neatly into place in his hands.

Cyprès' acoustics are, if anything, too revealing, for one makes out all of the mechanical noise of Schmidt's pedalling. This does not obscure the fact that his readings offer pianism of a very high order, and the non-specialist collector may well find that the Cyprès disc sits better with them than the alternative versions I've considered. Shostakovich-lovers will prefer Markov for the Preludes or Clarke for the Sonata.

W. Mark Roberts
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