These two concerts marked the culmination of a stamina-sapping
weekend for Gergiev’s St. Petersburg forces after an epic Boris Godunov
the previous night. A complete afternoon concert dedicated to the Passion
and Resurrection of Jesus Christ according to St. John by Sofia
Gubaidulina amounted to well over two and a half hours of music, yet
with the prospect of Shostakovich’s shattering Fourth Symphony to come
in the evening, the Kirov seemed to show few, if any, signs of tiring.
Gubaidulina’s mammoth St. John was written in
two parts, the Passion to a commission from the International Bach Academy
in Stuttgart to celebrate the 250th anniversary of J. S.
Bach in September 2000, with the second part, St. John Easter,
following two years later at the request of North German Radio. The
response to such a commission must have been daunting yet I can think
of few composers who are capable of rising to the challenge as individually
and uncompromisingly as Gubaidulina. In the Passion we are plunged
immediately into her intensely Russian, deeply Orthodox sound-world,
with wonderfully sonorous sounds emanating from the chorus and in particular
amongst the soloists from bass Gennady Bezzubenkov, whose part acts
as a narrative thread guiding us through the story. The Prommers loved
him and I had the distinct impression that he loved the Prommers as
he later lapped up the applause. Baritone Fyodor Mozhaev was equally
rich although it was a shame that there were frequent passages where
the soloists were simply inaudible over the orchestra and chorus. Gergiev
steered his musicians through the awesome canvas with mesmerising authority,
from climaxes of cataclysmic power to moments of sheer beauty, allowing
the audience to fully appreciate the ingenuity and at times great delicacy
of Gubaidulina’s scoring.
After the darkly brooding power of St. John Passion,
St. John Easter comes as something of a relief, being deliberately
lighter in its language and celebratory in tone. At a little under one
hour the latter work is considerable shorter than the Passion
although of the two it is the Passion that leaves the more lasting
impression. The sounds once again are unmistakeably Russian, the joyous
Easter Hymn of the opening sung with great verve by the chorus and returning
to close the work in a magnificent paean of praise. It is difficult
to imagine this music receiving more intensely felt or characterful
performances than these and the relatively small but hugely appreciative
audience clearly felt the same way given the cheers as the composer
took the stage at the end.
The evening concert got off to a flying start with
a sparkling performance of Prokofiev’s familiar Third Piano Concerto
from a soloist who is possibly known more for his physical presence
than his profound delicacy. Yet it was the lyrical, dream like sequences
of the opening and central movements that I found most affecting here,
shaped with the utmost sensitivity by both soloist and a highly responsive
and supportive conductor and orchestra. True, the more percussive passages
had Toradze literally leaping off his stool, no mean achievement for
a man of his stature and I am sure that as a result some of the more
percussive sounds at the front of the arena would not just have come
from the piano. Yet the showmanship that was there in abundance was
rendered more than acceptable by an equally abundant display of musicianship.
Following in the wake of this, I have to confess to
a degree of disappointment at the opening of the Shostakovich. The initial
statement of the march did not quite terrify as I hoped it would but
that was soon to change as Gergiev wound the tension up with vice like
precision. The vicious string fugue leading into the climactic fulcrum
of the first movement was played with tornado like ferocity, simply
edge of the seat stuff, the climax itself at last crushing in its power.
It was the woodwind section that stole the show in the central Moderato
con moto, quite magical at times with the eerie ticking of the clock
at the close of the movement realised with telling atmosphere. Gergiev’s
masterful pacing of the final Largo-Allegro coupled with an unfailing
ability to bring to the surface the irony of Shostakovich’s message
left a lingering impression long after the performance, once again coupled
with unfailingly fine playing from individual members of the orchestra
(the principal trombonist was rightly cheered for his contribution).
Yet overall, it was the closing paragraphs of the symphony that will
live with me in this performance for a long time to come, the sense
of desolation and emptiness utterly chilling as the strings died away
to silence. The extension of that silence in the audience at the close,
by a margin the longest I have encountered for some time, said much
more than any of the comments of admiration I overheard as I walked
out of the hall.
Christopher Thomas.
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