Symphony No. 11 in G minor, Op. 103, "The Year 1905".
Yevgeny Mravinsky, Leningrad Philharmonic Orchestra.
Revelation RV 10091. ADD mono. TT 60:08.

NOTE: Since this review was written, the Praga release discussed below (PR 254 018) has been identified as being a reproduction of the Russian recording appearing on Revelation, with audience noises added to the original studio recording. For reference purposes, my review is reproduced below unedited, but many of my comments have been invalidated by this discovery. The details about recording date and venue listed by Praga for this symphony are erroneous. Full details are contained in my report in DSCH No. 15 on misattributed recordings on the Praga label. WMR.

Three recordings are currently available of Mravinsky and the Leningrad Phil in this material. Revelation's mono studio recording from November 1959 has its shortcomings, especially tape swish that varies greatly in loudness throughout the work but never disappears, and occasional fade-outs. The sound is slightly better than in Russian Disc's live recording of the first Leningrad performance on November 3, 1957, just four days after the world première in Moscow (RD CD 11 157). That CD presents the audience's bronchial afflictions as clearly as it does the music, but it's thrilling to listen to such a momentous performance. Last, but by no means least, Czech Radio made a tape of a 1967 Prague performance (live, judging by the rare cough), which is available on Praga (PR 254 018). Despite its late date, and the absence of any note that it is not in stereo, listening tests reveal that it is mono too.

The Palace Square is icy in the Revelation performance, with more precise and forcefully articulated bowing than at the Leningrad première. The brass are truer of tone, without the live performance's fractured notes, though one should forgive those in light of the occasion. The playing on the Czech disc is as fine as on Revelation, but Mravinsky's interpretation is substantially different, with the strings more reticent than on either of the earlier performances. The first movement as a whole is softer and almost dreamlike in the Praga issue. The two Russian performances set the stage; the Prague performance paints the scene.

The milling crowd at the opening of Revelation's second movement fidgets impatiently on terse, truncated phrases. The movement moves rapidly onward, as if shoved by the crowds in the rear. The Russian Disc version begins similarly, but the turmoil of the first climax is even more panic-stricken, stunning the audience into relative silence. Overall, the interpretation on Praga is more fluid. The brass overload the recording at the height of the massacre on both Revelation and Praga, but one can still make out the details of Mravinsky's direction. That second climax is actually less distorted on Russian Disc. Curiously, the Praga recording breaks between the second and third movements, inserting a few seconds of much louder hall noise than we hear on either side; how this came to be is a mystery to me.

Deceptively, the third movement lasts exactly as long in all three accounts, but it differs detectably within that duration. For all this symphony's cinematic potential, Mravinsky was ever sensible of strictly musical logic. His 1959 interpretation of In memoriam transcends its pictorial allusions, elevating it to an unsentimental lyricism that one rarely hears, thanks largely to special care paid to the balance between the string sections. The première performance is more episodic, with less fluent phrasing, but there's an almost naïve wistfulness about it that I find most winning. The Czech version is the least subtle, underlining the various quotations far more than in the Revelation recording.

The last movement on both Revelation and Praga ramps up incrementally, and explores a greater range of moods in its added breadth than it does on Russian Disc, the shortest version of the three by over a minute. Of the first two, Revelation nudges out Praga as the more gripping. This movement in the Leningrad première is fully as impetuous as was the second movement, but it is interrupted by a truly heart-rending English horn soliloquy. This solo (Bare your heads) is played more expertly on Revelation and Praga but somehow does not provoke the same emotional response. On all three discs, although the string figurations leading up to the tocsin calls generate goosebumps, the brass are too loud for the recording equipment; paradoxically, the Russian Disc version is the least harsh on one's speakers.

All three performances are thrilling statements, and differ enough that if money and shelf-space are not issues, you won't be duplicating meaninglessly if you buy all three. If you need a basis on which to choose, be warned that if you were turned off the Russian Disc account because of its poor acoustics, you will definitely be disappointed with the Revelation release as well. It conveys more internal detail, but because of the limitations of the original source, I found it impossible to play comfortably at one volume setting. The main sonic advantage it has over the Russian Disc CD is the absence of audience noise. Praga's acoustics are nothing to write home about either, with quite high levels of analogue hiss. So, pick the Revelation CD as the most symphonically formulated and best-played, the Praga account as the most conventionally filmic, or the Russian Disc performance for its emotional immediacy and its historic value.

W. Mark Roberts
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