The
prospect of Prokofiev’s Symphonies conducted
by Gergiev is an enticing one. And there is
a certain frisson about this conductor’s
concerts that adds to the general excitement
- one never knows whether he will ‘deliver’.
Certainly
to hear the first three of Prokofiev’s symphonies
in one evening is a remarkable experience.
The First Symphony (the so-called Classical,
1917) was, in Gergiev’s hands, no mere extended
overture – the fast and furious tempo of the
first movement ensured maximum effect for
the opening gesture, enabling him to drop
the temperature effectively for the more playful,
skittish side of Prokofiev’s character. Grace
notes over large intervals were suavely flicked
– and yet Gergiev’s speed left room for some
heaviness in the equation, too. More determined
than smiling, the first movement merely ensured
that the second and third movements, delightful
both, shone. The speed of the Larghetto seemed
exactly right (and what a first bassoon solo!);
the Gavotte was full of wit so that the Haydnesque
finale, here a helter-skelter ride, followed
on logically. One could only sit in wonder
at the flute’s facility in tonguing, and remark
once more on how any orchestra can follow
Gergiev’s juddering hands. Good though the
Philharmonia's
account under
Dohnányi was at the RFH in early April,
Gergiev seemed closer to Prokofiev.
The
much larger orchestra required by the Second
Symphony ensured maximum contrast. This is
very angry music (the barrage of trumpets
that opens the work acts as testimony to that,
as does the militaristic side-drum part).
The development rises ominously from the depths
(cellos, double-basses, double-bassoon and
tuba making a formidable combination); aggregates
can be ear-shatteringly loud, and any attempt
the music makes towards playfulness is immediately
quashed. Written in 1924-5, Prokofiev was
intent on dazzling his Paris audiences. The
Symphony is in only two movements, the second
of which is a theme and variations. From innocent
enough beginnings (and yet even here the mobile
texture is definitely mysterious), a panoply
of mood-shifts ensues, including a Petrushka-like
fairground evocation as well as significant
returns to the savageries of the first movement.
This movement is a tour-de-force for
any orchestra, and the LSO on form (as it
was here), under inspired leadership (again,
as here) seems the match for any orchestra
on the planet today. If only the Second Symphony
was performed more often - it is a truly remarkable
piece. Yet it is hard work to listen to, and
really quiet exhausting to experience (the
interval was welcome).
Koussevitsky
called Prokofiev’s Third, ‘the best symphony
since Tchaikovsky’s Sixth’. The work came
out of the composer’s work on his opera, The
Fiery Angel. Gergiev’s performance of
the Third at the Festival Hall with the LPO
in February 2003 impressed me greatly (see
the review for a précis of its dramatic
background). The LSO was, if anything, even
more focussed than their South Bank rivals,
possibly because this is part of a symphonic
cycle, or possibly because it acted as the
climax of the evening (in 2003 it acted as
the opener to a concert entitled, ‘Magic’,
the final work being Stravinsky’s Firebird).
Here no blow was cushioned, the violent, thumping
opening giving way to an arching melody. The
violins played with real warmth, however.
There was an underlying lyric current underlying
the surface violence.
The
pictorial/dramatic element of the score was
much in evidence in the delicate Andante (which
included some marvellous solo violin work
from Gordon Nikolitch), contrasting with the
seething mass of energy that is the scherzo.
But it is the finale that is the most impressive
movement (as Gergiev seemed at pains to point
out), with its great blocks of sound and a
climax like Romanticism gone wild. The bleak
close came as no surprise. It would be difficult
to imagine a more impressive way to begin
a Prokofiev symphony cycle.
Prokofiev’s
immediately post-war Sixth Symphony (1945-47,
heard on Wednesday May 5) is a stark tale
of suffering. Hints of bitter-sweet Prokofiev
in the second movement are subsidiary to the
overall picture, and are quickly quashed by
their surroundings. The first movement speaks
of discomfort, something Prokofiev projects
through his scoring - dark, low trumpets naturally
project an awkwardness coupled with a bleak
outlook that, in this performance, seemed
entirely apt. Pungent oboes and lamenting
brass all contributed towards an atmosphere
that dripped with futility. Gergiev did manage
to find something magisterial in the Largo
and also evoked a sort of hyper-Romanticism
at the very end, all leading to a circus-music,
vamp-till-ready, comic-strip finale, culminating
in more High Romanticism. Forty minutes of
Prokofiev at his most disturbing, even if
there was a slightly under-powered feel to
parts of the finale that came as a surprise.
The
Seventh exists with two endings, and on May
5th Gergiev gave us Prokofiev’s
first thoughts (i.e. minus the ‘happy ending’).
This indeed seemed the natural conclusion
to a work that presents a varied yet intensely
worked argument. The opening Moderato exemplified
this work’s wide emotional range perfectly,
the chilliness of the beginning opening out
beautifully. Gergiev highlighted the Prokofiev
of Cinderella that is present (interestingly
– and correctly, for the allusion is stronger
here - David Nice’s booklet notes made this
connection in respect of the second movement,
here full of contrasts).
Of all
the music in the Sixth and Seventh Symphonies,
it was the Andante espressivo of the Seventh
that found Gergiev and the LSO on finest form,
with strings in particular at their tenderest.
The delicious galop that constitutes the Seventh’s
finale was full of acidic woodwind and comic-strip
antics, throwing into relief the ‘snow-covered’,
lush melody towards the end. The very close
itself seemed entirely natural and left a
deep and lasting impression.
The
final instalment in ‘my’ Prokofiev cycle comprised
the Fourth and Fifth (May 6th).
The Fourth was presented in its revised 1947
version (Op. 112: the earlier 1930 one being
Op. 47). As is characteristic of Gergiev,
his refusal to dawdle meant that he sat (albeit
rather precariously) on the fence that lies
between an admirable refusal to indulge needlessly
and pure rushing (alas the latter for most
of the first movement’s contrastive flute
melody). But other, more positive hallmarks
are also there: the seething, granitic climax,
and the visceral, abrasive textures.
Like
the Third Symphony, the material of the Fourth
derives from a stage work, in this case the
ballet, The Prodigal Son. David Nice
neatly refers to the concept of ‘wine in new
bottles’ when it comes to this sort of recycling
of material. The flute melody of the second
movement (Andante tranquillo) represents the
Son’s final state of grace in the ballet -
alas it was under-projected, with the accompanying
strings too loud (not the first occurrence
of this trait in this cycle). At least the
Moderato, quasi allegretto (in the ballet,
the Dance of the Siren) was debonair and the
near-comedic gestures came off well.
The
Fourth Symphony is not an ‘easy’ work to listen
to, as the battering trumpets and the generally
relentless finale attested. Once more, interpretatively,
Gergiev often sat on the surface of the music,
a trait that was to be writ large in the Fifth
Symphony.
And
so to the most famous of them all (possibly
excepting the ‘Classical’ symphony). Although
better than the Fourth in that Gergiev seemed
generally closer to Prokofiev, the final impression
left by the Fifth was still that of an incomplete
realisation. A more gutsy approach was evident
from the raw woodwind of the opening – at
least the music had a real sting in its tail,
and a darkness of intent also seemed to have
descended. The comparatively tough first movement
evinced a feeling of organic growth, while
unashamed Romanticism reared up in the Adagio.
A rugged determination formed the underlay
of the finale, including some unabashedly
silly (and very loud) moments. Still, however,
the feeling that a series of impressive moments
not adding up to a rounded musical statement
was left hanging in the air. It was a pity
that a niggling sense of dissatisfaction seemed
to be the end result.
A mixed
cycle, I think, the highlights of which were
Nos. 2, 3 and 7 (with No. 6 very nearly making
it).
Colin
Clarke
Further
listening
1:
Abbado/COE
on DG Panorama 469 172-2, or Ancerl
with the Czech Philharmonic on Supraphon Gold
(excellent coupling of Piano Concertos 1 &
2 with Richter and Bologhová, SU3670-2).
Historically, Koussevitsky has much to offer
- GEMMCD9487.
2:
Polyansky
on Chandos CHAN9989, c/s Sinfonia concertante
(Ivashkin). There appears to be a recording
by Gergiev with the USSR Large Radio/TV Orchestra
(1988) on Audiophile Classics APL101.517.
3&4:
Rostropovich/Orchestre
National de France, (No. 4, Op. 112) Elatus
2564 60020-2.
1-4
+ Hamlet: Moscow Large Radio & TV Orchestra/Rozhdestvensky
Melodiya 74321 66979-2
5:
Karajan/BPO
DG The Originals 163 613-2, c/w Rite of
Spring (Stravinsky).
6:
Mravinsky
on Praga.
7:
Malko
on EMI (1955). There is a 1957 recording (if
you can find it) conducted by Samosud (who
gave the première) on Melodiya, cat
no D 01476 (LP only), or a 1953 recording
by the same conductor with the All-Union Radio
Orchestra, on (CD) Arlecchino ARL135. For
modern sound and a solid recommendation, try
Järvi on Chandos, CHAN8442.
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