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.

Brahms - Symphony nr. 1/Schumann - Overture Braut von Messina, Violinconcerto

Last Wednesday I was unexpectedly invited by CB to a concert at the Bozar. The Sächsische Staatskapelle Dresden (a mouthful) was passing through Brussels on their European tour (after Vienna, Luxemburg, Paris en before Cardiff and Birmingham). A great opportunity to hear this venerable ensemble. There's a nice photo series about their Brussels leg of the journey on their website. Apparently Barosso was in the hall, as was Kancheli, backstage.

I had heard the Staatskapelle only once, not so long ago, in the pit of the Semperoper for a Boris Godunov. I was not really impressed on that occasion. Refined playing, certainly, but a little lacklustre. Yesterday was different. Christoph Eschenbach was conducting a very traditional programme with a Brahms First and two lesser known pieces by Schumann: the Overture to Schiller's Braut of Messina and the controversial Violinconcerto. Soloist was Gidon Kremer. It was the first time I heard Eschenbach conducting (don't think I have many recordings of him in my collection either; as I believe I've said before I tend to be suspicious of pianists turned conductors; furthermore Eschenbach has been recording fairly standard repertoire on offbeat labels such as Hänssler, Ondine and Telarc: not something I have been seeking out). Kremer I've heard before but can't recall exactly where.  It's not a musician I particularly admire.

The Schumann part of the programme did not particularly captivate me. The Overture is an unusually lively and frivolous piece for this composer. Certainly listenable and a good warm-up. However, the concerto I found to a fairly uninspired and wooden affair. Although Kremer seems an ardent champion of it (he recorded it twice) I thought the performance didn't catch fire. The Brahms symphony was a very different matter, however. A glorious reading, no doubt. Monumental, granitic, very (northern) German, very architectural, but also amazingly colourful and exuding an almost mediterranean glow. The orchestra responded marvelously to this music. The string section projected spellbinding refinement and power. I have only few memories of a string tone that is so richly layered and luxuriously sensuous (the Philadelphia once, the St Petersburg Philharmonic, the Berlin Philharmonic, the Concertgebouw Orchestra). It's in a way a very old-fashioned way of playing. The Budapest Festival Orchestra, whilst in the same league, produces a leaner and more cosmopolitan sound. I was impressed by Eschenbach too, who seemed to have the whole musical edifice in an iron grasp, maintaining a very natural flow. I already look forward to diving into Brahms again. A good opportunity also to dust of my turntable ...

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 ...

Duruflé - Requiem

After all the percussive fury from the Bartok and Prokofiev piano works I felt like something very different. Recently I purchased a CD that I have known for ages. But I didn't have it in my collection. My father has it and I have been carrying it along on my Sony mp3 player. It's a 1984 recording of the Duruflé Requiem on the Telarc label. So it  hails from the very beginning of the CD era. But at that point Jack Renner and Robert Woods, two classically trained musicians who set up Telarc in 1977, had been recording digitally for several years. Renner was (likely still is) an adept of a minimal miking technique, using only 2, 3 or 4 mikes to record a symphony orchestra. Mercury Living Presence served as his reference point. Personally, I've always had mixed feelings about Telarc recordings. It's a weighty, nutty sound but often also a little dry and boxy, I find. It used to be the very opposite of the early Chandos sound, with its resonant acoustics and aggressive, rather hollow highs. However, there are some very successful Telarc albums and this one is certainly one of them. It's a case where the spirit of the recording, the nature of the work and its interpretation by the performers form a coherent whole.

The Duruflé Requiem is a wonderful composition, mellifluous to the extreme but never banal. One can sense a very high level of craftsmanship behind the music. There is nothing gratuitous. Everything is carefully considered, polished and poised. The musical language is an intriguing mix of Gregorian chant and Debussy-like impressionism. It is performed here by the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and Chorus led by the 'dean' of American chorales, Robert Shaw. These are very large forces. In an age of 'authentic' performances, it sounds awfully 'uncorrect'. But despite its apparent old-fashionedness, the performance stands like a rock. The singers and orchestra bring the music to life with genuine conviction. It speaks of devotional fervour but at the same time is pervaded by an uncanny sense of deep tranquillity which is very apposite in this work. Finally, the Telarc engineers have created a sound that breathes a startling impressionistic aura. This is as far as you can get from the close-miked, analytical recordings that have become the norm. Orchestra and chorus are merged into a single, pulsating whole. The dimensions of the soundscape are oceanic! It's sounds like its performed in open air, with a massive chorus receding into the distance. The music completely dissociates from the speakers. There is not a hard edge anywhere. Voices seems to hover in the air. And yet there is precision too. The solo contributions from the instruments can be clearly positioned. There are no vocal soloists here. Their parts are alloted to the chorus (apparently a version that was sanctioned by Duruflé), which is clearly understandable throughout. The music is almost always soft, apart from some very brief climaxes. These have been given fantastic weight in this recording. For example, the  short climax in the Sanctus is one of the most exciting crescendos ever taped. The music surges and bursts into a (literally) blinding apotheosis and dies down immediately afterwards. Magnificent. Also the organ is very well taped. The ability to get deeper into the lower end of the spectrum was one of the motivations for Renner and Woods to go digital at such an early stage. Here the instrument has a wonderful presence. All in all it's a very special, moving experience. This recording is a classic worth treasuring.

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.