Karel Ancerl Gold Edition, Volume 23
Symphony No. 7 in C major, Leningrad, op. 60.
Karel Ancerl, Czech Philharmonic Orchestra.
Supraphon SU 3683-2. ADD Mono. TT 70:28.
Recorded Dvorák Hall, Rudolfinum, Prague, 2-4, 6, 17, 18 and 20 September 1957.

Supraphon's previous CD issue of Karel Ancerl's legendary Leningrad (11 1952-2), available until recently, has been supplanted by the present remastering, part of the company's projected 42-album series, launched to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary this year of the conductor's death.

This is the only recording of the Leningrad in Karel Ancerl's discography. A two-CD set issued in 1992 by the Praga label included a recording of the symphony supposedly taken from a 1967 concert by Ancerl and his Czech team (PR 254 002/03). However, like several other Praga releases of material licensed from Czech Radio, that recording turns out to have been not only mislabelled but doctored as well (see report in DSCH No. 15). Last year I compared it to Supraphon's previous release of the current recording, at the request of Peter Bromley, collaborator on Derek Hulme's Shostakovich catalogue (reviewed in DSCH No. 18). Testing revealed that Praga's "live" recording was in fact the very same 1957 Supraphon studio recording (regrettably, I was unable to render this diagnosis before the Hulme catalogue had to go to press).

The now-deleted Praga release has an overlaid audience track, and a fairly unconvincing one too, with electronically clipped coughs. Audience noises are particularly prominent between movements. This is most absurd in the case of the transition between the third and fourth movements, which should be played without pause. Whoever manipulated the recording didn't know this, inserting six seconds of dead space between the two movements, time that they filled with hall noises and rustling, giving a completely different acoustic from the rest of the recording.

Thankfully, no such blotches mar Supraphon's handsomely packaged gold disc. Well, truth be told, ambient noise dips out for a split second at the seam between tracks 3 and 4, whereas it did not (nor should it have) on Supraphon's previous release. This, though, is an exceedingly picky quibble. The new 24-bit digital remastering delivers marginally airier sound than on the earlier CD, transmitting higher frequencies without a significant change in the level of analogue hiss, which was minimal before too. There is little if any audible compression in loud passages, and excellent delineation of individual instruments for a mono recording. Of course, we miss the bass projection of more recent productions, but the sound here is more than acceptable and is unlikely to diminish one's appreciation of the disc's musical content.

Characteristically for Ancerl, this performance stands apart on account of its brisk and generally steady gait. Not for him the recent trend to wallow in the symphony's many occasions for self-indulgence. Anyone wedded to a more expansive treatment will find that Ancerl's approach both requires and facilitates a distinctly more active form of listening. The subtlest gesture is here shown capable of profoundly transforming the habitat, though one must pay close attention to notice. Fortunately, almost ever-present momentum allows scant opportunity for awareness to wander.

Two alterations to the printed page that Ancerl treats himself to are particularly ear-catching. The first is an unmarked diminuendo on the military drum at the end of the first movement, thus creating the downward slope of an arch begun 20 minutes earlier, and suggesting that the invading drummer hasn't stopped, merely moved out of earshot. The second conspicuous tweak is the removal of the cymbal clashes in the fourth- and third-to-last bars of the finale, thus emphasising the cymbal crescendo that closes the symphony. The victory is unambiguous and total.

Otherwise, Ancerl does not make more of the symphony than is in the score, wisely choosing not to overfeed what is already on paper, after all, the most obese of Shostakovich's children. Throughout, there is an indefinable yet unshakeable impression of rightness to his tempo choices, and his rubati are unpretentious.

Only in the third movement does Ancerl's refusal to aggrandise the proceedings invite debate. The emphasis here is on the central outburst, engaged with a steely glint. There is less sadness than one might ask for in what precedes and follows; this is, after all, undoubtedly a requiem to the fallen (though, as the new booklet notes point out, to whom these fallen fell is debatable). At the other extreme, Leonard Bernstein's 1989 performance with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (Deutsche Grammophon 427 632-2) elicits genuine grief by its sweeping, unabashedly heart-on-sleeve treatment of this Adagio. That said, the song on flutes in Ancerl's version of this movement is of ravishing purity.

Ancerl is at his most persuasive in the athletic final movement. This conflict is no less epic for being the highly mobile and precisely targeted assault of shock troops rather than the ponderous barrage of heavy artillery. The Czech musicians' scalpel-sharp precision is functional, preserving the membrane integrity of the cells comprising this movement despite the severe stresses imposed by the conductor's relentless pace.

Indeed, one would be hard-pressed to find superior orchestral execution of this symphony anywhere in the nearly half-century since this recording was set down. Combine this with Ancerl's unique perspective and we have a performance that belongs on the shelf of all who have any interest in Shostakovich. Those who already have the previous CD release will probably find the sonic improvement too slight to justify purchasing the Gold Edition reissue, but anyone else should not hesitate.

W. Mark Roberts
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