Dutilleux: Métaboles - Sibelius: Violin Concerto - Prokofiev: Symphony nr. 5

A second live concert in merely three days. And again on invitation by a generous friend. How lucky can you be?! This time we had the Concertgebouw Orchestra on the Bozar stage, led by Valery Gergiev. I was under the impression that we were only going to hear the Sibelius and Prokofiev and so I was surprised when just before the concert the full orchestra was seated with scarcely any room for a soloist. Once Gergiev, with his characteristically fluttering downbeat had put proceedings in motion, I had to guess for a minute or two what composer we were listening to. However, Dutilleux' orchestral palette is so distinctive that it didn't take long to find out that we were hearing his Métaboles. I love this work and Gergiev and the orchestra did it proud with a very precise, lively and atmospheric performance. Bravo! Next was the Sibelius concerto with Leonidas Kavakos as a soloist. I may have one or two recordings of his in my collection but that's pretty much it. So I didn't have a clear picture of what kind of violonist Kavakos is. I was surprised by his rather light, silvery and almost feminine tone. His playing has an appealing purity and unaffectedness and his stage presence radiates a calm that is readily taken up by the orchestra. So we had an almost intimate Sibelius produced by an orchestra-soloist combo that really seemed to listen to one another. No pyrotechnics, no overcooked pathos, but plain music-making at a very high level. One doesn't ask for more. I was pretty elated by this performance. Kavakos offered an interesting, 20th century encore that I couldn't place but I'd love to be able to identify.

After the break we were treated to Prokofiev's magnificent Fifth. Sadly Gergiev's reading did not convince me. Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise as I disliked his Prokofiev recordings with the London SO so much that I gave them away. I found these readings to sound disjointed, an impression that was reinforced by the highly artificial, collage-like recording. Also tonight the symphony didn't gel. Of course, my immutable reference in this particular work is the truly heartwrenching 1979 recording with Bernstein and the Israel PO. I relistened to it a while ago. As far as I can say, the problem with Gergiev's approach is the choice of tempi, and their interrelationships. In the first movement, exposition and development section were taken at roughly the same tempo with the coda coming in with a slight accelerando. Bernstein takes the exposition (very) slow, but speeds up the development section to tremendous effect. In the coda the tempo slackens again which gives appropriate emotional pause. In addition to the tempo I had the impression that the orchestra was not going full throttle. For me, this introductory Andante has to be cataclysmic and with Bernstein and the Israelis it absolutely is. The performance tonight was rather too straight-laced, the percussion session holding back a lot of their firepower.  

Gergiev's second movement, Allegro marcato, was very well done. Very sprightly, with razor sharp strings. The Adagio then was the real disappointment. Instead of an extatic love song we had a prosaic, rather brisk romp. The finale, then, was ok but by then it was too late to save the performance. All in all sadly not convincing. But, hey, you can't win them all. I was grateful for a very engaging first half of the evening. Thanks to CB for the treat. 

Prokofiev: Scythian Suite - Szymanovski: Symphony nr. 4 - Shostakovich: Symphony nr. 5

Yesterday I had the opportunity to sit in at the rehearsals and attend a very special concert. The I, Culture Orchestra is a youth orchestra that has been put together as a flagship cultural project for the Polish Presidency of the EU. It assembles young musicians from the 'Eastern Partnership' (Georgia, Armenia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan, Moldova and Belorussia) and from Poland. Many of them are having their first experiences at playing in an orchestra. The project is the brainchild of two conductors: Pawel Kotla and Neville Marriner. I happened to meet the Pawel's spouse many years ago at a remote airfield in the Gabonese jungle. Recently she re-established contact and yesterday we had an enjoyable lunch in the company of her husband. Afterwards I was allowed to sit in at the rehearsals and later on I attended the concert. I,Culture brought a long and adventurous programme: the rarely heard Scythian Suite (aka Ala and Lolly), Prokofiev's op. 20, followed by Szymanovski's equally unfamiliar Fourth Symphony, op. 60 (Sinfonia Concertante). Shostakovich's popular Symphony nr. 5 completed the programme. 

This was the orchestra's seventh concert, ever. The ensemble was established last August and spent the month in residence at Gdansk. Then there were a few more weeks through September and October in preparation of their European tour which started in Krakow. Then Stockholm last week. Transit to Berlin, where they played at the Philharmonie. Today Brussels and then onwards to London, Madrid and Warsaw. Unfortunately in Brussels they were offered the Conservatoire and not the Bozar as a venue. It's not a bad hall, but it has seen much better days and it is rather small for a 110-strong symphony orchestra. Pawel worked hard during the rehearsals to recalibrate the sound to the venue.

The rehearsals were promising. Pawel worked his way sequentially through the three pieces, selecting bits and pieces, spending most time on matters of ensemble and dynamics. In my opinion the first violins seemed the Achilles heel of the orchestra. I found them a little lacklustre during rehearsal and would have like them to dig a bit deeper in the strings. But otherwise the orchestra seemed to be doing fine. Brass and winds seemed to be in great form. I was very impressed by the first flute, a young lady that produced an impressively authoritative and silken tone.

Attending the rehearsals did not prepare me, however, for the concert itself. What I heard there was very much in another league. Of course, in one way or another you can tell that this ensemble has not had a lot of time to really gel. That being said, it is astonishing at what level these young musicians were playing. Clearly the whole ensemble, including the strings, gave themselves wholeheartedly to the task. There were a few blemishes with intonation problems in the first violins and one or two hickups with the first horn, but they were few and far between.

The Prokofiev Suite came off very well, suitably agressive and with a richly layered sound. I have always had the Abbado/LSO version in my ears and this performance certainly didn't pale in comparison. Here is a nice audio excerpt.

It was a long time since I have last heard the Szymanovski symphony. It is a very special work that combines a folksy, propulsive kind of energy and an angular neoclassicism with a rich impressionist vein. Debussy and Roussel come to mind more than once, particularly in the slow movement. The symphony-concerto was composed in 1932, roughly contemporaneous with Bartok's Pianoconcerto nr. 2. By that time Szymanovski was already wrestling with financial difficulties. Compounded with health problems they would lead to his untimely death just a few years later, in 1937. The music doesn't reveal anything about the challenging circumstances in which it was composed. It is vigorously animated and combines a collage-like structure with a genuinely symphonic undercurrent. Pawel Kotla quite successfully was able to align these different forces into a convincing whole. The rapport between orchestra and soloist Peter Jablonski seemed excellent to me (apparently that hadn't been the case in earlier performances). This is a work that I would like to relisten too soon.

As I didn't look too keenly forward to the Shostakovich, I assumed that the Szymanovski for me would be the 'pièce the resistance' of the evening. It's just that I'm out of the mood for symphonic Shostakovich for the time being. The early pages of the symphony confirmed this sentiment. Now that I'm so deeply into Debussy, the symphonic music of Shostakovich strikes me as simple, even primitive (I had the same impression when I returned to Shostakovich after an extended period of listening to Bach). But soon the performance started to grip me and I must say that by the end of the first movement I was captivated. The scherzo came off wonderfully, mixing a fairy-tale, Nutcracker kind of atmosphere with violent sarcasm. It was the first time I heard it this way. The Largo was taken slowly but very soberly, without bathos. The clean lines reminded me more of plainchant than Mahler. I think it was a considerable challenge for the orchestra but Kotla didn't compromise. In the finale then the spirit of 'thou shalt rejoice' was very convincingly summoned. All in all it was a very convincing performance that spoke to the heart without drawing undue attention to itself and without sacrificing the overall architecture. I think that is a pretty impressive feat for any orchestra. It's good that in times of financial austerity money continues to be available for these kinds of worthwhile projects. I wish Pawel all the very best with his project.

Prokofiev: String Quartet nr. 2

Back for a moment to where our string quartet journey started, with Prokofiev's Second Quartet, 'On Kabardinian Themes'. Previously I had listened to a recording with the Aurora String Quartet (on Naxos, not so good) and with the St Petersburg Quartet (on Delos, much beter). And now the amazing Pavel Haas Quartet. It's as if I hear the work for the very first time. Everything these guys touch seems to turn into gold. As in the Janacek what strikes is a supreme musicality that illuminates the contrapuntal fabric in the most moving way. There's a plasticity in the playing that keeps one as a listener enthralled.  These are musicians who put the work squarely at the centre. Whilst the technical mastery is abundantly in evidence, this is not about showing off a vapid kind of virtuosity. To the contrary I discern a deep modesty and respect for the music. This is very special.

In their hands, the Prokofiev quartet appears as a great, not merely a good work. The central adagio breathes a deeply felt thankfulness (Mira Mendelssohn!) and the finale bubbles with an exotic, fiery passion. The sound effects are very striking.

It seems to me that with the Haas, Belcea, Artemis and Mosaïques quartet ensembles we have the best of the contemporary crop in this genre. A confirmation of how deeply rooted in Central European culture this way of music making is. All of these ensembles basically hail from a 800 km wide band between Berlin and Bucharest (the Belcea technically is based in the UK, but with Corinna Belcea and Krzystof Chorzelski clearly has Central European roots).

Prokofiev - String Quartet nr. 2

Prokofiev's Second String Quartet, op. 92, was composed in the fall of 1941, the Soviet Union's nadir in the Second World War. But for Prokofiev it was not a bad time at all. He was shipped out of Moscow with some of his fellow composers and accompanied by his new partner, Mira Mendelssohn, half his age. His wife, Lina, and children stayed behind in besieged Moscow. They travelled to Nalchik in the foothills of the Caucasus, then to Tbilisi and onwards to Alma Ata in Kazachstan. Whilst they sometimes had to make do with precarious material circumstances, the living was generally good and the exotic locales stimulating. For Prokofiev it was a period of amazing creative impetus in which he wrote, amongst other things, the first version of his War and Peace and the film music to Ivan The Terrible. He also finished the Seventh Sonata. The Second Quartet was written during the first stage of their nomadic existence, in Nalchik. In it, Prokofiev relies heavily on lokal folk music (hence it has been labeled 'On Kabardinian Themes').

I hadn't heard this work before. Whilst the First Quartet has the reputation of being more 'abstract' and polyphonic, I find the Second to be skillfully evading the trap of cheap exoticism. I don't have the impression that Prokofiev was reaching in his second drawer here. At least in the performance of the St Peterburg Quartet the music has genuine fiber. The second movement is a carefree and sweet but also deeply felt Adagio, almost with the character of a serenade, a Ständchen in which the mature composer revels in his newfound love. But there is also something of the eery silence that seems to pervade these foreign territories. I also like the motoric drive of the final Allegro and its weird cadenza-like sections for the lead violin and the cello. I am definitely interested in listening to an alternative version (as the Auroras on Naxos do not really come into play), preferably of the Haas.

Prokofiev - String Quartet nr. 1

Prokofiev's String Quartet nr. 1, op. 50, hails from 1930, very much the same period of the Fourth Symphony which I listened to earlier. Stylistically it's a transitional period between the expressionistic excesses of the Twenties and the New Simplicity he would further develop in the Soviet Union. The Quartet was composed in response to a commission of the US Library of Congress. Prokofiev has not made a big contribution to the quartet repertoire. There are only two. Which is a pity. I can't see why he wouldn't have been able to write a more substantial body of work, even when it was dramatic instinct and melodic invention rather than architectural profundity that governed most of his output. But maybe that territory was already claimed by Shostakovich (although he started late).

In preparing for the First Quartet Prokofiev closely studied Beethoven's examples. And that is reflected in the classically poised construction and the clear contours of the work. In a way Prokofiev returns to the pungy kind of neo-classicism that made his First Symphony such a success. If it sounds Beethovenian, then it's more akin to the op. 18 than the middle or late quartets. So maybe its better to call it Haydnesque. The fast tempos that dominate the first two movements reinforce the impression of youthfulness. All in all it's a pleasant work to listen to: not very challenging but breezy and spicy. Clearly not in the Bartok class, but then that would likely be an unfair comparison.

I have two versions in my collection. First a 1994 recording by the Aurora String Quartet on Naxos. These are members of the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. This version didn't appeal to me on account of its limited sonic qualities (annoyingly resonant acoustics, glassy highs, lack of space). The playing seems at times a little scrawny to me as well. The reading by the St Petersburg Quartet on Delos (recorded 1999) is a good deal more successful, both as an interpretation and as a recording. I particularly liked the athletic Andante molto here. Still, I have the impression that none of these quartets realises the full potential of this work. I'm now going to try to find the more recent recording of the young Pavel Haas Quartet, which was released to considerable acclaim.

Prokofiev - Symphony nr. 6

Today Prokofiev's biggest symphony was on the menu. His Sixth (op. 111, from 1947) is a work that has been inexplicably neglected. It's a grand work that, for Prokofiev, sounds uncommonly confessional. With the Eighth Sonata it represents the composer at the very peak of his capabilities. For me it belongs to the category of Shostakovich's Fourth and Schnittke's Fifth: tough, tragic and abrasive works conceived on the grand scale (Shosta's Tenth is a case apart, IMHO one of the very best symphonies ever written). The Sixth is extraordinary: 3 massive, tightly knit movements in the weird key of E flat minor, a combination of marvelous songfulness and anguished chromaticism (those Parsifal references!), the extreme contrasts in orchestration (soaring violins and trumpets battling growling percussion and brooding, low brass). The effect is one of overpowering monumentality and doom. The finale is jaunty as Shostakovich's finales are jaunty ("your business is rejoicing, your business is rejoicing"). However apolitial and egocentric Prokofiev might have been, he must have been psychologically affected by the Stalinist Terror of the Thirties and the carnage of the war. This was, after all, suffering on a scale unseen. I scarcely can believe that Prokofiev's sullen mood was inspired by only his health problems (he suffered a concussion during a fall in 1945 as a result of persistent high blood pressure). One never knows. Shostakovich thought Prokofiev had 'the soul of a goose', meaning that he always wanted to make sure he was favoured by the establishment.

Anyway, I have always cherished the Järvi recording of this work (on Chandos). In line with his readings of the other symphonies, it is a volatile and strident reading with the SNO pushed to the limit. Tonight I listened to the more recent Kitajenko version, part of his complete cycle with the Gürzenich Orchestra. It's a live recording (Kölner Philharmonie) dating from 2007. Predictably, Kitajenko is significantly slower than Järvi (all in all he takes 4 minutes longer). But, as in the Fourth, the tempo is well judged and he manages to keep the pulse. Also the Gürzenich produces a much richer, luxuriant sound that shows off the impressionistic splendour of Prokofiev's pallette (I was reminded of Liadov's Enchanted Lake, something I haven't heard for thirty years). The recording is demonstration quality, with fantastic microdetail across the whole spectrum and impressive depth. The climaxes are shattering without, however, being aggressive as with the Chandos recording.

Compared to Järvi, the character of the music changes. As it has more opportunity to breathe, the melos and richness of orchestration are more in evidence. As a result the overall impression of doom is a little less overpowering. But Kitajenko presents a splendid edifice in glowing colours. Upbeat or victorious it certainly does not sound. I wouldn't like to miss the Järvi but the Kitajenko is a very valuable addition to the collection to which I will eagerly return.

Prokofiev - Violin Concerto nr. 2

Musically (as meteorologically) it is a rather dry period. Well, dry in the sense that I'm having the feeling to be loitering whilst the backlog of unlistened CDs keeps swelling. Sometimes I get annoyed with myself because it seems I have conditioned myself (and continue to do so) to come by with little music. I have precious little time to listen to begin with. And there are periods I just don't feel like listening a lot. I'm quickly overfed. Often a 30 minutes' session is enough to satisfy my appetite. And when I listen it seems to take me ever longer to get beyond a certain piece. So the past week I have limited myself largely to Prokofiev's Second Violin Concerto, op. 63, written in 1935. It' s a piece I have 'known' for a long while. Curiously, I have some strong reminiscences of reading Harlow Robinson's biography of Prokofiev many years ago. There are certain works of his which are associated in my mind with rather bright images related to the circumstances of composition: the Third Piano Concerto composed during a sun-drenched and windswept holiday on the Brittany coast, the First Violin Concerto written during the long train ride across Siberia when he left Russia in 1917. The Second Violin Concerto is in my mind associated with a sojourn of Prokofiev in Voronezh, 'black earth city', which I'm picturing as a forlorn enclave in the midst of vast agricultural fields in the Don basin. I've checked this in Robinson's book and it is indeed the case that Prokofiev stayed a little while in Voronezh in the late summer of 1935 when he was touring the USSR in preparation of establishing a permanent base there. Apparently the main theme of the Concerto's movement was composed there. However, his passage through the city is only mentioned in passing so I wonder where that strong visual association with the music comes from. It is possible that I'm mixing up Prokofiev here with the poet Osip Mandelstam who indeed spent a while in exile in Voronezh, and was living in the city at the exact point when Prokofiev passed through it. I doubt that they ever met. But Voronezh was the endgame for Mandelstam who would die in transit to a forced labour camp late in 1938. And so rereading some of the harrowing but also delirious poems from those days ("Oh the horizon steals my breath and takes it nowhere - I'm choked with space!") I have to come to the conclusion that it is with Mandelstam, not Prokofiev, that the association in my mind with Voronezh must have existed. However, the strange, trivial fact remains that Prokofiev was there, at that very same moment.

The Concerto was the last piece Prokofiev wrote in response to a non-Russian commission. It was the French violinist Robert Soetens (from Belgian descent) who was its dedicatee. Soetens appears to have been a very colourful figure, an itinerant virtuoso who would continue to play in the most unlikely places until well in old age. The concerto is a stellar example of Prokofiev's new simplicity. It's melodious to a fault, harmonically accessible and transparently scored. And yet, what strikes is that the music at times tilts in almost a rudimentary kind of non-music. Witness the strange, repetitive passage work in the slow movement and in the development section of the introductory Allegro. It reminds me of similar features in the Eighth Sonata and Fifth Symphony. Prokofiev's music, however accessible it may sound, is never straightforward but reveals a subtle emotional layering where the surreal, the ominous, the tongue-in-cheeck and the effusively lyrical meet.

I have only version in my collection, which is a 1983 CD with Shlomo Mintz as a soloist and the Chicago SO led by Abbado (on DGG). Technically, it's an eminently satisfying recording, despite it being an early digital capturing in a difficult location (Chicago's Orchestra Hall). But soloist and orchestra are very well placed in a pleasingly spacious acoustic. Mintz' luminous, cultivated, sweet yet masculine tone is very well captured. The orchestra is discreetly but glowingly present. Interpretatively it is a superb rendering, one of the reasons, likely, why I have never been tempted to seek out rival recordings. Mintz and Abbado seem to have an excellent rapport. Soloist and orchestra seamlessly blend in a performance of great intensity and humility. There's a naturalness and levelheadedness to this music making which is most convincing.

So over the past week I have been carrying this Concerto around in my mind. A reviewer in the 2010 Gramophone Classical Music Guide writes in relation to this work about the "giddy beauty and wondrous fantasy of Prokofiev's stunningly inventive inspiration". I can go along with that.

Prokofiev - Piano Sonata nr. 8

I'm continuing the Prokofiev excursion with the wonderful Eighth Sonata. It's the most impressive of the War Sonata trilogy and hence of Prokofiev's piano output as a whole. Now that I hear it in conjunction with the Fifth Symphony, I discern a formal and spiritual connection between the two works. As in the Fifth, op. 84 opens with a massive sonata form and closes with an elaborate, kaleidoscopic rondo (which, in both cases, has a toccata-like character and re-integrates material from the respective first movements). Both works have the remarkable characteristic of being lyrical and songful from start to end but that doesn't keep them from coming across as magnificently epic and granitic. Partly responsible for that are those passages, evident in both works, where a kind of wilful primitivism takes over by means of violent, ostinato-like material (as in the Allegro ben marcato middle section of the finale).

The recording I'm intimitaly familiar with is the 1989 Bronfman debut recording on CBS. I've always felt that Bronfman is a very persuasive advocate of this very subtle and ambiguous work. Masterfully he exposes the darker harmonic shadings in the opening, almost Schubertian material and lets it unfold most convincingly. The development kicks in ominously with relentless, etudelike running passages. Soon this gives way to an impressive climax with the pianist pounding the lower octaves, not unlike a similar passage in the Fifth Symphony's first movement. And then, when the music dies down, again those mysterious, mournful pealing bells as we heard them also in the Seventh Sonata's middle movement. The opening themes return only to be pushed aside once more by the fast, dissonant music from the development. The movement ends most quizzically with a set of disjointed, dissonant notes, transporting us momentarily to the bleak landscapes of Listz's very last works.

The Andante sognando is very well played. Once more Bronfman brings the uneasy, almost surreal character of this deceptively simple music to expression. Nothing is what is seems in this short, quirky movement that breathes nostalgia and menace at the same time. The delicate bell-like figurations that appear towards the middle of the movement are beautifully evoked.

The finale is an exquisite rondo that starts with a fast tarantella-like theme. Bronfman is careful not to take it too quick so that it doesn't sound breathlessly (as it does, slightly, with Ashkenazy, for example; Richter is also a tad on the fast side to my taste but it's arguably splendid playing). The Allegro ben marcato section is just grand, splendidly weighty! Reminds me of Mussorgsky's Great Gate of Kiev in a way. There's a reprise of some material from the first movement. The remainder is a partly menacing, partly festive rush to the end, not dissimilar in spirit to some of Shostakovich's ambiguous finales.

Another recording I have in my collection is a live recital with Grigory Sokolov, taped in St Petersburg in 1984. I have heard some superb Sokolov recordings but this is not one of them. The piano sounds badly tuned, Sokolov continuously hisses and sputters and the playing is erratic. After the first movement I had enough. Bronfman's noble and monumental heroism hails from a altogether different world.

Prokofiev - Symphony nr. 5

I couldn't resist to move on to Prokofiev's Fifth Symphony. It's a stalwart of the symphonic repertoire, of course, and I used to like it a lot. I remember my father having it on loan from the library, 30 years ago: an Erato LP with a recording conducted by Armin Jordan if I remember well (I may be mistaken as I can't find anything on this back) But it was definitely a French(-speaking) conductor. There are only a few of these early musical discoveries which come with very strong visual memories and the Fifth is one of them.

I still like the work but haven't listened to it for a very long time. For me, THE reference recording is an almost forgotten CBS album. A very early digital recording (1979!) with the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Leonard Bernstein. The performance was taped in the Herkulessaal in Munich, while the orchestra was on tour. Bernstein is a conductor I'm not naturally leaning towards. Neither is the IPO my orchestra of choice. But here they work magic. The relationship between Bernstein, the IPO and Prokofiev's Fifth goes back to the orchestra's first US sojourn, in 1951 when they spent the winter months on tour visiting 40 cities coast-to-coast. The concerts were conducted by Sergei Koussevitsky (who died just a few months later) and Bernstein. They played Prokofiev's Op. 100 too on that occasion.

This recording came almost 20 years after that memorable tour. It looks like it has disappeared completely from the catalogue. Edward Seckerson in Gramophone thought it was not a very successful recording: too thick and heavy. Indeed, Bernstein's timings for the first and third movements are rather extreme, each going over 15 minutes (whilst 12 minutes would agree with a normal tempo). It's a matter of taste, as it is with some of the controversial recordings Bernstein made later in life (the Enigma Variations, an interminable but marvelous Pathétique). I happened to like what Seckerson found wearisome. This is really a grand reading, fantastically epic, panoramic in scope and in glorious, moody technicolor. Socialist realism at its very best! The recording is stellar, surprisingly so for such an early digital effort. It's spacious and weighty, lacking the usual harshness but emphasising the lower end of the spectrum. The first movement is grandiose and completely in tune with the spirit of the times, I find. This is really the Russian steam roller, skies aflame, pushing the Nazis back to the Oder. Despite the slow tempo, Bernstein avoids any longueurs and keeps the movement admirably together. It is in a masterly sonata form after all. The climax in the development section is spellbinding with brass and percussion making a fantastic din. Bernstein does not make the error of also taking the scherzo slow. It comes in at 8 minutes. Quite a standard time, but compared to the solemnity of the introductory movement it feels very brisk. The Adagio is beautiful. It's almost a night music, so dark is the palette. The finale is again fairly brisk and bitingly ironic.

As I've always loved this recording so much, I've never felt the urge to collect many other versions. I have a couple of them, in some of the complete sets of symphonies. But it's the only one in the Järvi series I'm missing. I do have the Karajan, but despite the critical acclaim I can't say I like it very much. II remember it as much more nimble and transparent. For me the Bernstein/IPO version sounds like final. It's a treat to be consumed with moderation and exhilaration.

Prokofiev - Symphony nr. 4 (1930 version)

I've always been aware of the link between Prokofiev's Fourth Symphony and his Prodigal Son ballet. But when hearing the piano transcription I was struck by how closely related they are. So I wanted to listen once more to the Fourth. There are two versions: the original, op. 47, dating from 1930 (closely following the composition of the ballet, or having been composed alongside it), and then a substantial revision from 1947 (op. 112). I listened to the original version which is, I think, the lesser played. Some reputedly complete surveys of his symphonies do not even include the work (as, for example, the Ozawa set on DGG). There's an interesting contribution on wikipedia which gives quite a bit of background (an interesting factoid being that the European premiere of the work took place in Brussels, under Pierre Monteux). 

I started with an Erato (now Warner) recording by Rostropovich and the Orchestre Nationale de France (from the mid-1980s), part of a complete cycle. Good sound and surprisingly idiomatic playing but Rostropovich's very slow tempi make this a less interesting proposition. Järvi, in an early Chandos recording (also early 80s), steers a very different course. Reading and recording lack refinement but they make for good fun anyway. It's a brash, agressive affair that connects more to the chromatic excesses of the Third. There's some terrific, raucous playing of the brass. The most compelling interpretation comes from Dmitri Kitajenko and the Cologne Gürzenich Orchestra. I've been struck before (notably in Conlon's recording of Hartmann's Second and Fourth Symphony) by the qualities of this second tier orchestra. It's not one of the top drawer ensembles in Germany, but I find it plays with remarkable body and finesse. Also this Prokofiev Fourth is sumptuously presented. Kitajenko is closer to Rostropovich in spirit than Järvi. His reading looks forward to the more sedate style of the composer's Soviet years. But his tempos are better judged than those of his countryman. And so the two-faced, ambivalent character of this work - as a hinge between Prokofiev's Western and Russian period - is very well epitomised in the contrast between the Järvi and Kitajenko recordings.

The Fourth is not a great work, however. Prokofiev may have squeezed the first movement and finale into a sonata form, that doesn't make it a true symphony. To me it continues to sound episodic. But I am very happy to concede that the episodes, on the whole, are marvelously entertaining and charming to listen to. Prokofiev's melodic gift is very much on display and it is nicely counterbalanced by the piquancy of the machine-like ostinati of the Allegro eroico and the toccata-like material from the finale.

It seems to me that only Prokofiev's three last symphonies can be considered truly great. The earlier works lack authenticity and substance and seem to be more about assuming a symphonic pose ("look how naughty or clever I can be!"). I'm curious now to listen to the revised version of the Fourth as well. I'm tempted to play out Kitajenko vs Järvi again.

Prokofiev - Ballet Piano Transcriptions

Meanwhile I've listened to the Eighth Sonata, the final part of Prokofiev's War trilogy. But first a word on another recording which I have been listening to over the last few days. It's not exactly mainstream Prokofiev fare: piano transcriptions, made by the composer himself, of two of his least known ballets: L'enfant prodigue and Sur le Borysthène (also known as On the Dnieper). I picked this up out of curiosity from CPO for less than two euros if I remember correctly. Well, it's a very interesting disc that has offers considerable listening pleasure. Both pieces date from the late 1920s, when Prokofiev was getting increasingly disenchanted with life in the West and started to contemplate a return to Russia (the Soviet Union, meanwhile). There is rather caustic note in the CD booklet by Eckhardt van den Hoogen about Prokofiev's self-centered motives for his return ("Might it not be that Prokofiev was simply burned out? Had the Roaring Twenties, with their insatiable appetite for new, and newer taste-bud treats, brought him to the limits of his powers of invention? Did he perhaps come to assume that the music that he was still capable of producing perhaps continued to suffice only for a state in which a diminished seventh chord was enough to spark heated party-political debate? and so on ...).

The Prodigal Son we know quite well from Prokofiev's Fourth Symphony. In fact I knew it better than I assumed as the symphony follows the ballet's music quite closely. Clearly, Prokofiev didn't overstretch himself for the commission from the Boston SO on the occasion of their 50th anniversary! Which didn't keep him from haggling about the fee. Anyway, the music is a very attractive mix of lyricism and extravert, accessible brand of expressionism. And it really shines in Ivanova's earthy, no-nonsense piano rendering. As if the percussive energy and the wistful, song-like quality of much of the music shimmer more intensely within the relative constraints of the piano sound (at least in this piece). The quality of the CPO recording is, once more, a pleasant surprise. The engineers have been able to capture a very lifelike, natural but burnished sound from an ideally placed instrument. A genuine pleasure to listen to. The finale ('Le retour') is a touching piece in which Prokofiev almost casually throws in one of his most beautiful melodic inventions (very conspicuous in the second movement of the Fourth Symphony).

On the Dnieper is a strange work, but interesting in its sombre, muted colours and relative lack of great tunes. Also dramatically it was a bizarre experiment with Prokofiev composing the music in utter absence of a plot, which he and Serge Lifar (Diaghilev's ballet master who took over the Ballets Russes after the latter's death) concocted once the score and choreography were quite finished.
I love the Prelude (here in marvelous orchestral garb) which starts in medias res and exudes such a poignant longing. One can hear Romeo and Juliet lurking around the corner. But it also harks back to the weird harmonic adventures of The Fiery Angel/Third Symphony. It seems that the peculiar melos and long, flowing lines are perhaps better captured by an orchestra rather than the piano. Anyway, I have been listening with increasing admiration to what counts as one of Prokofiev's least attractive ballet scores. Interesting what one sometimes picks up in the bargain bin ...

Prokofiev - Piano Sonata nr. 7

Not a lot of time for listening these days. Late last week I followed up with another version of Prokofiev's Seventh Sonata. A Naxos recording with pianist Bernd Glemser, unbeknownst to me. That must be my fault as apparently he has won 17 consecutive (?) piano competitions since 1981. He was also the first Western musician to perform live on Chinese television. Strange track record ... Anyway, his reading of the Prokofiev didn't really convince me. Technically it seems to be well played, which is a feat in itself of course. It's clear and clean, frighteningly so even. But for me it lacks colour and commitment. Give me the Bronfman any day.

Prokofiev - Piano Sonata nr. 7

Let's continue with the Prokofiev War Sonatas. First the legendary Pollini, on vinyl. I must admit not being a particular fan of this pianist. I mean, I don't dislike Pollini, but neither do I have a special relationship with him. I've never come across a recording which really bowled me over, as artists such as, for example, Kissin, Gilels or Benedetti Michelangeli have been able to. Maybe, as with singers, I just don't have the aural sensitivity to distinguish the very good from the stratospherically grand. So probably it's a heresy, but honestly I couldn't find much to like in this recording of the Seventh. It's fast, it's bone hard and left me completely cold. The dry LP sound just makes matters worse.

Over to the version I am most familiar with and which I really like: Yefim ('Fima') Bronfman's debut recital with the Seventh and Eighth sonatas, taped in 1990 for CBS. It's marginally slower without however losing its edge. The piano sound has more body and grain, which makes it just a much more cogent affair. The first movement is at times percussive and harsh, but its corners are rounded by its quizzicalness. The second movement starts dreamily but morphs into a solemn and mournful tocsin. Then the final, raucous toccata. Bronfman's reading strikes me as a layered, ambiguous but monumental statement, totally in the spirit of the times in which it was written. His reading of the Eighth Sonata is very successful too and really won me for this work. Arguably it's the greatest sonata of the trilogy.

Prokofiev - Piano Sonata nr. 6

Spurred by the percussive firestorm unleashed by Helffer in his Bartok recital, I turned for a moment to one of my favourite sonatas, the Prokofiev Sixth. It's interesting to turn to this music after a rather prolonged diet of Bartok. Whilst the Prokofiev in its vehemence and occasional dissonance is not exactly easy listening, it struck me as quite digestible fare. I had a similar, stronger feeling when, a few years ago, I switched from Bach's keyboard works to Shostakovich symphonies. Suddenly these sounded like child's play!

It's obvious that Bartok put higher demands on the listener than Prokofiev. Bartok's music is so dense and absolute that it requires full attention to grasp it. And one cannot. Which is why it takes me so long to explore this body of work. And why I have the impression of a deepening mystery the more I listen. It's almost paradoxical how Bartok's folk-based inspiration meshes with an aura of almost jewel-like precision and absoluteness. Whilst Prokofiev's indulgence with an abstract form such as the sonata merely seems to disguise a musical temperament that is quintessentially dramatic and most convincingly flowered in film music, ballets and operas.

That being said, the three War Sonatas are a splendid body of work and I marvel at the amazing bout of inspiration that brought him to write these sonatas all at the same time in these stormy days of 1939. The reference to war, however, is not totally justified as Russia at that point was still not in conflict. But it was a tumultuous period, for sure, with Stalin's iron brooms causing untold suffering. Meyerhold was arrested in the very days when Prokofiev was working on the sonatas, and was shot a few months later, in 1940. However, as with Shostakovich it is impossible to tell to what extent the sonatas reflect Prokofiev's despair with the dramatic situation in Soviet society in those days.

The Sixth Sonata doesn't strike me as a particularly tragic work. The two middle movements - Allegretto and Tempo di valzer lentissimo - remind me of Lt. Kije and Romeo & Juliette, respectively. The first movement is, admittedly, martial, but the finale is mischievous rather than rebellious. At least that's how it strikes me when listening to two of the versions in my collection. The Pogorelich is a justly famous recording, and I have always loved it for its panther-like leanness, its brittleness and uncompromising clarity. But the early digital sound is dated and a little monochrome on the ears. Maybe the remastered version in the The Originals is better. Another great interpretation comes on the debut-disc of the Macedonian pianist Simon Trpceski (taped in 2001). It's very different from the Pogorelich. Maybe because Trpceski included it in a recital with other ballet scores - a transcription of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker and Stravinsky's Petrouchka - the Sixth sounds here a good deal lusher and more colourful. The impression is reinforced by the wonderful, rich sound of his instrument recorded in Potton Hall (which we have come to appreciate from the Belcea Quartet's recordings). But the reading is about more than only colour. Trpceski certainly has the measure of the larger structure.

The Sixth also featured on another debut recording, from the late 1960s, by the Brazilian pianist Roberto Szidon. (What happened to him? Judging from a few thumbnail pictures floating around on the web, he has put on a lot of weight). I only listened to the finale, which sounded Richter-like in its clenched-teeth concentration. But the record is in dire need of a KM treatment, so I'll revisit when I have it back from cleaning.

What is missing of course is a genuine Richter Sixth. There are some amazing tapes on the internet, but I wouldn't know where to find them in the record catalogues. Maybe JD will be able to help out here?