The symphonic edifice
that is Shostakovich’s Eighth Symphony
seems to become more and more impressive
on every hearing – especially in as
dedicated an account as this one. The
Cologne orchestra’s recordings with
James Conlon on EMI of Zemlinsky have
in effect put them on the musical map
properly (their music director from
the 2003/4 season is Markus Stenz).
It is with the distinguished Russian
conductor Dmitri Kitaenko that they
are to record Shostakovich’s complete
symphonic cycle.
Capriccio’s recorded
sound is exemplary – this is a Super
Audio CD Hybrid Disc that plays on all
SACD and CD players. There is a terrific
space around the sound, yet all is crystal
clear – the engineers deserve only the
highest of praise.
The first movement
of the Eighth Symphony is a terrific
half-hour journey from darkness to –
well, a different shade of the same
darkness. The oppression of the opening
reveals that Kitaenko will show no mercy
in his reading – there will be no blurring
of edges. Yet along with this visceral
aspect is an awareness that this is
the beginning of a very long journey
(although the complete duration is only
70 minutes, periods of composed stasis
can in effect suspend time). Kitaenko
relishes the contrasts inherent in Shostakovich’s
world - harmonies can be piercing and
shrill, with vivid orchestration glaringly
highlighted. A particularly impressive
moment comes at around 10’53ff, where
violins become tremendously and, indeed,
scarily disembodied. A pity that at
18’10 there appears to be an edit (there
is a significant shift in acoustic space
and the immediately ensuing passage
loses the ‘live electricity’ that characterises
its surroundings: suddenly we are studio-bound).
The plaintive extended cor anglais solo
a little later almost makes up for this,
though. Expressive and the essence of
lonely desolation, it leads to the very
intense final moments (and there is
proof this is live as the trumpet
very nearly splits at 27’01 – not quite
a split, but certainly near the edge
of the note and very definitely not
dead-centre).
A grimly determined
Allegretto is not quite as luridly grotesque
as it could perhaps have been, but it
remains an impressive performance with
a perfectly-timed ending. If the third
movement is again not as visceral as
with some other conductors, it is fascinating
because it emerges as what I described
in my listening notes as a ‘Picasso-like
dance’, referring to the jerky, disjunctive
accents. The trumpet at 3’29 could certainly
have been more of the ‘clown’ – this
is surely a circus-interpolation here
(similarly the ‘oom-pah’ accompaniment
could have been a bit more bold, a bit
less ashamed of itself).
The final two movements
together provide the apex of this recording.
The opening of the Largo (the fourth)
will show any decent hi-fi off to great
advantage, but it is the musical qualities
that really impress. The disjointed
effects, the true pianissimi
and the concentrated, hallowed, even
hymnic lines are all mesmeric. The (excellent)
playful bassoon of the fifth movement’s
opening comes as something of a relief
(the effect is more cartoon than circus
now). Kitaenko’s way with this movement
is remarkable, as he maintains the intensity
throughout its quarter-hour span. Gestures
make their mark (try the scale at 8’14-8’20,
leading to percussion crescendi and
massive orchestral screams) while the
glassy ending leaves the listener feeling
the correct amount of disquiet.
Like so many great
works that encompass a wide emotive
range, it is well-nigh impossible to
find any one recording that one can
just say, ‘Buy this one’. Perhaps the
exception is the Mravinsky on BBC Legends
BBCL 40022, a two disc set which also
includes Mozart’s Thirty-third Symphony.
But there is no doubting that Kitaenko’s
strengths very definitely do outweigh
the weaknesses, and any slips due to
live performance are certainly swept
under the aural carpet because of the
‘live’ effect. Ideally one should own
both.
Colin Clarke
Paul
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