DSCH 20 Shostakovich CD Reviews - Piano Concertos Nos. 1 and 2

Piano Concerto No. 1 in C minor, op. 35[a]; Piano Concerto No. 2 in F major, op. 102; Ustvolskaya: Concerto for Piano, Timpani and Strings.
Charles Mackerras, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Ingrid Jacoby (piano), Crispian Steele-Perkins (trumpet)[a].
Dutton Laboratories CDSA 4804. Direct Stream Digital hybrid 4-channel/stereo SACD/CD. TT 57:36.
Recorded Watford Town Hall, Hertfordshire, UK, 21-23 January 2002.

Piano Concerto No. 1 in C minor, op. 35[a]; Piano Concerto No. 2 in F major, op. 102[b]; Twenty-four Preludes, op. 34.
Hannu Lintu[a,b], Helsingborg Symphony Orchestra[a,b], Oleg Marshev (piano), Jan Karlsson (trumpet)[a].
Danacord DACOCD 601. DDD. TT 76:52.
Recorded Konserthuset, Helsingborg, Sweden, 29 July - 2 August 2002.

Piano Concerto No. 1 in C minor, op. 35; Piano Concerto No. 2 in F major, op. 102; Shchedrin: Piano Concerto No. 2.
Andrew Litton, BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, Marc-André Hamelin (piano), Mark O'Keeffe (trumpet)[a].
Hyperion SACDA67425. DDD Stereo hybrid SACD/CD. TT 63:13.
Recorded Caird Hall, Dundee, Scotland, 31 March and 1 April 2003.

A windfall season of Shostakovich piano concerti is marked by three contrasting and colourful new versions, each paired with an equally colourful programme filler: the op. 34 Preludes on one disc, and another piano concerto each on the remaining two, one by Rodion Shchedrin, one by Galina Ustvolskaya.

Of the two Shostakovich piano concerti, the Second is the one that can claim greater structural clarity and expressive focus. It is arguably the better piece of music. But it is the youthful First Concerto, with its mischievous departures from concerto protocol that offers pianists far more interpretive possibilities - a fact that may explain its greater popularity over the years. The current set of performances reflects the wide range of interpretive possibilities available. It also demonstrates how the quality of the performance by the same artist with similar interpretive parameters can vary from one concerto to the next.

Ingrid Jacoby approaches the First Concerto almost as if it were a work from the 19th century. Rather than the rascal-on-the-run quality that many pianists bring to its playful pages, Jacoby tends toward the grand gesture, placing emphasis on the work's classical foundations. Her keyboard style is of the high Romantic sort, noble and imposing, heavier in the touch and rather formal in execution - features that one might call Germanic. She manages to knit together the various episodes of the outer movements with a Teutonic discipline that is both elegant and good-humoured. While this can harness in some of the work's devil daring, Jacoby's performance shines with strength and intelligence. The inherent humour is not only preserved, but is cast in fresh, dignified tones. The seasoned listener may be caught pleasantly off guard. Note, for example in the last movement, the ceremonious pauses that start each phrase of the Rage Over a Lost Penny quote; and the honky-tonk insert in the concerto's last page, which comes off sounding as if it were one of Brahms' Hungarian Dances. In the slow movement, the sweeping gestures of the climax also acquire a Brahmsian grandeur. My only disappointment is with the weak presence of the trumpeter, who, whether by conductor's, audio engineer's, or soloist's doing, should be heard more prominently. Even in the spotlight of his Ach du Lieber Augustine solo in the final movement, he sounds as if he'd rather be someplace else.

Jacoby carries herself with similar aplomb in the Second Concerto. If the exposition of the opening movement is not as airborne as it could be, its themes are presented with a stately and jovial elegance. Throughout the movement Jacoby and Mackerras maintain buoyancy and purposefulness, steering the music toward its climactic destination with an infallible sense of proportion. Jacoby may have a heavy hand, as no doubt one will hear in the first movement's cadenza and elsewhere; but what a wonderfully solid grip she has on the keys! In the slow movement she favours poise and forward motion to the almost total exclusion of sentimentality. The finale is impeccably paced and yields rousing results. Though it may lack some of the wildfire that other pianists have brought to the work, it is one of the most pleasingly balanced renditions of the Second Concerto I have heard. Jacoby and Mackerras make a harmonious musical partnership in a set of performances in which energy, vigour, and solidity abound.

In complete contrast to Ingrid Jacoby's classical demeanour at the keyboard, we have the daring impetuousness of Oleg Marshev. He gives the kind of take-no-hostages performance of the First Concerto that perks ears and raises eyebrows. If Jacoby tends to consolidate the work's contradictory sections, Marshev relishes every opportunity to accentuate their differences. With a flair bordering on the flamboyant, he reacts exuberantly to each shifting episode, imparting colour and character with effortless virtuosity. It is Marshev's sheer physicality and spontaneity that drive his performance forward. In the slow movement, he caresses the keys and is generously expressive. The climactic section ascends with broadly lunging gestures to splendid effect. The final movement provides just the sort of pianistic playground that Marshev seems to cherish. His enthusiasm for the work is infectious.

Marshev exhibits the same robust virtuosity in the Second Concerto, yet with some shortcomings. He is especially good in bringing out the lyrical innocence of the opening themes and articulating the details of the passage work with model clarity and virtuosity. He is also eloquent in the final movement as he casts the spring-loaded themes, including the Hannon exercises, into splendid relief against the orchestra. What I found lacking in his performance is the sense of direction that would have added impact to the peak moments. I found the climactic section in the first movement less than effective; and likewise, a lack of cumulative gaiety in the finale. The shortfall is partially due to conductor Lintu, whose pacing is not always optimal. For example, rather than picking up on the momentum built by Marshev in the cadenza of the first movement, Lintu instead resumes at a slower pace, thus taking the elevated spirits down a notch. Conductor and pianist also seem to be at odds in the slow movement. Here Marshev plays with a dreamy reverence, yet to the point of detachment. For a pianist who seems to thrive on the spontaneity of the moment as much as he does, perhaps the classical poise of the Second Concerto does not provide the best showcase for his considerable talents. This is a performance whose individual parts impress more than its entirety.

Marshev's colourful personality seems to excel with music that invites greater interpretive liberties and that allows more wandering room for his imagination. The op. 34 Preludes provide him with just those opportunities. In these miniatures, his pianism is imaginative throughout, and descriptive of physical motion. It is also infused with a sensuality and spur-of-the-moment impulsiveness that further lends to these preludes an engaging dance-like quality. Listen to the gestural grace and rhythmic freedom he elicits from the first two Preludes; the tiptoe agility of the shifting patterns in No. 8; the dreamy swaying in No. 17; even the fugal No. 4 is brought to its crest with broadly flowing gesture. In No. 16, marked by dotted Schubertian rhythms, Marshev emphasizes lyrical delicacy. The sombre No. 14 may have lost some of its weight in his hands, but he does imbue a graceful, arc-like fluidity to its funereal tones. In the final prelude, the alternating scurrying and halting tempi lend an appealing conversational quality.

These are by far the most choreographic interpretations I have heard of these Preludes. In Marshev's version, they are turned into what one might call Shostakovich's Scenes de Ballet.

The third recording of the Shostakovich piano concerti is another distinguished performance of these well-worn favourites, especially for those who like them played on the fast side. Marc-Andre Hamelin is a pianist with a vibrant, fresh presence. From the opening bars of Shostakovich's Second Concerto, he projects a coiled energy and edgy exuberance. The notes of the expository melodies bounce off his fingers with as much staccato lightness as one could ask for. In the moments before the development section - when the ferocious quadruple octave vamp jumps to the fore - Hamelin softens the tone to a crouching, anticlimactic hush, then lets loose with all force. In the final movement, he gives distinction to the other fiery quadruple-octave outburst by placing particularly heavy emphasis on the downbeats of the figure. This is a performance with real character. The path of ascent to the all-important climax of the first movement is well steered and leads to a satisfying crest.

Hamelin and conductor Litton also seem to have a good collaborative rapport, especially with regard to matters of rhythm. In the fast passages there is a distinct, accented quality inherent in Hamelin's playing with which Litton's baton style seems in complete accord. Unlike the other pianists mentioned in this review, Hamelin is not afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve in the Andante. As a result, he gives a most touching rendition. The timpani's cadential punctuations of the many metric changes in the finale are heard good and strong in this performance, adding to the excitement. Though the cumulative effect of Hamelin's breakneck speed here is genuinely exhilarating, some of the lyrical and textural details - such as the Hannon exercise passages - are a bit blurred in the dispatch. In all, though, a very satisfying performance.

Hamelin also works up considerable speed in the First Piano Concerto where he generates a good deal of high spirits and fast flying merriment. Yet there can be too much of a good thing. His fast tempi work well in the more unified fabric of the Second Concerto. However, the varied episodes of the First Concerto's outer movements at times sound crowded together when played at such dizzying velocities. A little more individual attention to these passages would have been welcome. As in the Second Concerto, he excels in the slow movement where he is touchingly sensitive to mood and splendidly effusive in the climax.

One of the standout features of the performance is the way in which the hurried tempo of the finale suddenly brakes to a casual walking pace for the duration of the trumpet's humorously derisive solo, after which it resumes its winged flight. It's a nice, twisty touch. And it's gratifying to at last find in this concerto a trumpeter with personality. Mark O'Keeffe takes subtle but spirited liberties with his solos so that he becomes part of the merrymaking rather than just a background accessory to it. He is a definite asset to this very lively, if fidgety, performance.

Galina Ustvolskaya's music has been receiving increasing recognition over the past decade, the early Piano Concerto being one of her most frequently recorded works. The musical and personal connection between her and Shostakovich, as student and teacher, as colleagues, even as possible lovers, has also received a fair amount of attention. Shostakovich admired Ustvolskaya's music; he even claimed to have been influenced by it. His well-documented quotation of one of her themes in his Fifth Quartet and again in his Michelangelo Suite testifies to the teacher's lifelong admiration for his former student. If Ustvolskaya's youthful works bear the influence of Shostakovich, her mature works could not be more removed from it. She became a musical renegade of the first order, adopting a style that shuns almost every tradition of Western classical music. In the astringent, often forbidding manifestations of religious ardour her music came to embrace, listeners may find a disturbing yet fascinating universe.

Ustvolskaya's Piano Concerto (1946) was written around the time of her post-graduate studies with Shostakovich. The influence of the teacher, as one might imagine, is virtually unavoidable. Immediately apparent are the similarities in scoring and textural treatment to Shostakovich's First Piano Concerto. And to some, the work's principal motif, a heavily accented, two-note figure, may recall the jagged notes that open Shostakovich's Fifth and Eighth Symphonies. Despite these parallels, Ustvolskaya's one-movement concerto still manages to hold its own ground. It is a serious bravura work that shuns the playful shenanigans of its purported model. Alternating dramatic gestures and reflective passages, its seriousness of purpose reaches beyond its quarter of an hour length. After a pensive central section, the return of the two-note figure in the final section provides an overall sense of symmetry. In the finale, the obsessive repetition of the figure with hammering rhythms looks ahead to the severe aesthetic that Ustvolskaya would eventually adopt in her maturity. Those interested in exploring her music further are recommended the authoritative and comprehensive survey by Oleg Malov on a series of Megadisc CDs from the 1990s.

The premiere recording of the concerto, with soloist Pavel Serebryakov and Yuri Serebryakov leading the Leningrad Philharmonic CO (paired with Shostakovich's First Concerto on Melodiya SM 02439-40, rerelreased on BMG/Melodyia Musica Non Grata 74321 49956 2; deleted) is memorable. With percussive attacks and accentuated tempo shifts, Serebryakov drives a tense, sharp edged performance wherein urgency borders on desperation.

Taking the extreme point of view, however, is not the last word in interpretation. Ingrid Jacoby and Sir Charles Mackerras offer up a version that penetrates the work's depths without being nearly so high strung. Jacoby brings out the concerto's bold statements with menace and majesty, but with a greater sense of expanse. She also fleshes out the reflective moments with a lyrical warmth missing in the rather icy Serebryakov reading. Mackerras directs his string players sympathetically, savoring the slower sections and sparing no fury in the climactic sections. In the final pages, though the timpani strokes are thunderous, I still found myself missing the apocalyptic fury captured by the Serebryakovs. Yet throughout, Jacoby and Mackerras convey solidity and sensitivity - qualities that are spot on for this music.

Rodion Shchedrin, born 1932, emerged as one of the principle figures of the modernist movement, along with Edison Denisov and Alfred Schnittke, during Russia's cultural "thaw" of the 1960s. With a spectacular flair for orchestration, he became the leading colourist of his generation, melding Russian folk music and elements of jazz into a contemporary musical language that was both widely appealing and academically daring. A number of orchestral tours de force, such as his Carmen Variations and Naughty Limericks, established an international reputation, as did his formidable piano works, which to date include six piano concerti.

Shchedrin's Second Piano Concerto dates from 1966 and falls into three movements entitled Dialogues, Improvisations, and Contrasts. Like his other works in that form, it poses no small virtuosic challenge. The material tends to be gestural, freely incorporating tone rows and clusters within a rhythmically lively lyrical framework. It is never cerebral music but rather communicates a broad array of moods and emotions, mostly of a playful sort. The third movement, for example, incorporates a jazzy accompaniment with pizzicato bass line, marimba, brushed cymbals, and plenty of syncopated riffs. Fans of Naughty Limericks, written the same decade, will recognize the stylistic fingerprints. On listening to the concerto again, I was struck by a number of similarities between it and one of Shostakovich's early pianistic forays into modernism, the ten-part Aphorisms of 1927. Not only are there textural similarities in the opening piano solo, but the entire second movement of the concerto is based on a theme very similar to that of the seventh section, Dance of Death, of the Aphorisms cycle. Even if one considers the movement a kind of "variation on a theme by Shostakovich", the rest is pure Shchedrin: defiantly virtuosic, gesturally audacious, with brilliant colouristic effects.

Some readers may be familiar with the CD of Shchedrin's first three piano concerti with the composer, himself, as soloist, and Yevgeny Svetlanov conducting the USSR SO (Melodiya 74321 36907 2, issued in 1996 from Melodiya LPs dating from the 1970s; deleted). Compared to Hamelin, Shchedrin sports a more hard-edged, steely tone at the piano. There is something mischievous in the way he engages the roaming filigrees of the first movement, almost as if he is daring to ponder forbidden realms. Hamelin is just as earnestly engaged, but takes less of a predatory and more of a gracefully athletic approach. Sensitive to the ever-shifting course of moods and textures, he is as crisp in the dark and rugged pages of the first two movements as he is in the overtly jazz inflected tones in the third. His ability to effortlessly switch back and forth between the jagged and the jazzy in the finale again shows his complete mastery of the idiom. In the conducting department, while Svetlanov stands in a class by himself, Litton leads an astute and lively rendition that captures every nuance.

Sound quality on the three discs is excellent. Piano and orchestra have a close, up-front presence on the Dutton CD. Both the Dutton and Hyperion discs are encoded with the Super Audio/DSD technology for those with the equipment to enjoy it. The choices are brimming with variety.

Louis Blois
Top