Aram KHACHATURIAN
(1903-1978)
CD 1:
Gayne - Ballet (1942)
†
1 Introduction and Russian Dance [4:39]
2 Dance of the Young Kurds [3:49]
3 Gathering of the Cotton [4:51]
4 Mountaineers' Dance [1:42]
5 Dance of Welcome [3:27]
6 Gayne's Adagio [4:23]
7 Noune's Variation [1:30]
8 Dance of the Old Men and Carpet Weavers
[3:49]
9 Lullaby (Berceuse) [5:49]
10 Ayshe's Awakening and Dance [6:48]
11 Embroidering of the Carpets [4:24]
12 Fire [5:08]
13 Lezghinka [2:34]
14 Lyrical Duet [5:06]
15 Gayne and Giko [8:40]
16 Armen's Variation [2:00]
17 Scene [1:57]
18 Gayne's Variation and Dance Finale
[4:52]
CD 2:
1 Introduction to Act IV [8:52]
2 Dance of the Rose Maidens [2:09]
3 Sabre Dance [2:22]
4 Introduction and Dance of the Elders
[5:39]
5 Gopak [3:04]
6 Final Scene [1:47]
Spartacus - Excerpts
(1954) *
7 Scene and Dance with Crotales [4:24]
8 Dance of the Gaditanian Maidens and
Victory of Spartacus [6:25]
9 Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia [9:53]
10 Aegina's Variation and Bacchanale
[3:16]
Masquerade Suite (1944)
*
11 Waltz [4:09]
12 Nocturne [4:07]
13 Mazurka [2:36]
14 Romance [3:56]
15 Galop [2:39]
Russian Fantasy (1944)
* [5'24]
National Philharmonic Orchestra (†),
London Symphony Orchestra (*)/Loris
Tjeknavorian
Rec. 27, 29 October 1976, West Ham Central
Mission, London (†), May 1981,
St. Barnabas Church, London
BMG-RCA Red Seal 82876-65836-2 [75'44
+ 71'19]
Preamble
When I was "nobbut
a slip of a lad", I was bowled
over by the brash vitality of the Sabre
Dance and the rollicking introductory
music of BBC TV’s Comedy Playhouse - a.k.a.
the Galop from Masquerade.
I eventually found a Capitol LP that
included both of these. The performances,
by the Hollywood Bowl orchestra under
Alfred Newman, were somewhat glossy
and the recording - shall
we say? - had more width than
depth or detail. Nonetheless, I happily
"made do" with it because,
like most folk, I was caught in the
cleft stick of callow youth - my
appetite for new experiences was in
constant conflict with severely limited
resources. Consequently, in any contest
between quantity and quality, quantity
always won hands down. So, although
I knew well enough that it was in every
way superior, Khachaturian’s own Decca
recording didn’t get a look in. Well,
it cost more and it contained less.
End of story.
Fifteen years down
the line, having become a family man,
I was a mite discomfited to discover
that, because responsibilities had kept
pace with income, the cleft stick had
stuck! Hence, when the original LP release
of this recording of Gayne tumbled
into my trembling lap, I was still governed
by the ascendancy of quantity over quality.
Never mind whether or not it was a "good"
recording, instead of one shortish side
here were two generously-filled LPs
of the music - oh, wow!
At over 30 years of age, to cadge a
phrase from Der Abschied, I "learnt
youth anew". As much of its 99
minutes as I could cram onto a C90 cassette
were duly crammed thereon, and before
long it had relieved the tedium of many
a mile of monotonous motorway!
Some Composer
Considerations
Even today, though,
I still have a sentimental attachment
to that well-worn Newman LP. When all’s
said and done, it did kindle my lasting
affection for Khachaturian. In those
days, that was no mean feat, because
pundits seemed to be queuing up on all
sides to dismiss his music wholesale,
as garish, empty-headed, noisy nonsense.
On the whole, I’m not sure that attitudes
have softened all that much since then,
either. Oh, it’s true enough that his
music is often "garish" - his
vivid, poster-paint orchestration practically
guarantees that impression. He can also
be "noisy" - when
he’s a mind to, he’s more than happy
to test the architectural integrity
of any concert hall. I put that down
to high spirits - if you know
how to, why not really let rip
every so often, just to clear the cobwebs
out of the rafters?
Seriously, though,
I have to put my foot down when it comes
to "empty-headed", because
here I think that it’s not Khachaturian
that’s at fault, but Western ears. His
musical roots are rather more remote
than Russia: he was born, of Armenian
parents, in Georgia which - along
with Armenia, Azerbaijan, Turkey and
the north of Iran - nestles
between the Black and the Caspian Seas.
His native folk-music culture was well-ingrained,
both by heredity and, prior to venturing
out into the wider world, long youthful
exposure. When Khachaturian projects
his "alien" folk-culture through
the arguably incompatible medium of
the Western symphony orchestra, what
happens? It’s like a square peg to a
round hole - those Western
ears automatically try to force it into
the expressive mould of such as Brahms,
Dvorak, or Tchaikovsky & Co. But,
because it’s out of context, we can
"miss the message", and falsely
conclude that the music must lack expressive
depth - or rather, what Western
culture recognises as expressive
depth.
I’m sure that this
has a lot to do with mugam, a
peculiarly oriental musical methodology.
As far as I understand it, instead of
building music from individual notes
in accordance with harmonic "rules",
a mugam operates through a vocabulary
of pre-defined phrases to create a musical
mosaic. This characteristic can be heard
at work through much of Gayne.
Many folk see nothing more than the
obsessive, maddening repetitions of
music made from Lego bricks, whilst
others are utterly mesmerised by it.
What makes the difference? I like to
fancy that the answer lies in the genes:
the music dredges a subconscious empathy
up from certain listeners’ cultural
instincts. Why? Well, it might explain
how, for me, certain parts of Gayne - such
as Gathering of the Cotton or
the Lullaby - evoke
a pervasive feeling of irretrievable
loss, of something I treasure that is
gone forever. Exactly what is
lost I cannot tell - it’s
somehow shrouded in the mists of time - but
I feel an ache in my heart and a tightness
in my throat. I am led to wonder: surely,
this reaction is not something
that anyone can get from "empty-headed"
music, is it?
In these days, increasing
numbers of Westerners are "embracing"
so-called World Music. Provided
that this reflects a genuine shift in
inter-cultural understanding, and is
not simply some passing fad of whatever
"in crowd" happens to be "in",
then Khachaturian might eventually be
recognised as a true pioneer. On the
other hand, he might just be condemned
as one who had wilfully corrupted his
native musical culture. We can only
wait and see what transpires.
The Printed Bits
Now, on with the motley!
The LP box said The Gayaneh Ballet,
and its liner notes claimed that this
was "the largest cross-section
of the complete score ever made available
on records". Throughout, the work’s
title is spelt "Gayaneh".
On the other hand, the CD booklet front
refers to Gayne (Complete Ballet),
but elsewhere to The Gayne Ballet
or simply Gayne. The English
bits use the spelling "Gayne",
whilst both the French and the German
translations spell it "Gayaneh".
The spelling variation is just a curiosity,
about which I’m not going to quibble - there
are at least two other alternative transliterations!
However, I can’t let
that "Complete Ballet" pass
without comment. As the CD notes are
more specific than the LP, stating that
this recording "represents about
75% of the ballet’s music", it
starts to look like a monstrous misapprehension
on the part of someone in BMG’s design/editorial
department. This might seem a small
point to thee and me, but it won’t be
to anyone who is looking for a complete
recording, and is rash enough to judge
this particular "book" by
its cover.
Whilst I’m on the subject
of "small points", let’s dispose
of the matter of the batting order.
The musical numbers are presented on
the CDs in exactly the same sequence
as they are on the LPs. In both cases
the notes indicate that this order does
not follow the action, but is intended
to provide a "more satisfying listening
experience" (Crumbs! Did we really
come out with phrases like that, thirty
years ago?). Of course, with the programming
capabilities of CD, you can easily reshuffle
the tracks back into the dramatic sequence,
can’t you? Well, no, not easily, because
the proper order isn’t actually given
and, for example, mentioning "the
last of the ballet’s three acts",
when CD2 track 1 is identified as Introduction
to Act IV, doesn’t exactly help,
either.
Richard Freed’s CD
booklet notes are very well written
and informative. Although they give
a decent account of the background and
somewhat convoluted genesis of Gayne,
they do so at the expense of a reasonably
detailed synopsis and any discussion
of the musical numbers. I’m sure that’s
not his fault - they should
have given him more room. In this respect
the original LP notes by Christopher
Palmer - who was given the
room! - are preferable, though
sadly even he doesn’t cross-refer the
numbers to their proper places in the
action!
The Conductor’s
Context
History shows us that,
as often than not and for one reason
or another, the man who knows the music
best - the composer -
will not necessarily be its best interpreter.
Similarly, just because a conductor
has similar background characteristics
to a composer does not of itself
guarantee the most empathetic or idiomatic
performance. Now, it just so happens
that Loris Tjeknavorian also had expatriate
Armenian parents, and throughout his
career has also consistently shown a
passionate loyalty to his homelands.
That makes him an ideal candidate on
which to prove the rule. However, not
being any sort of expert on the indigenous
music of Armenia and its neighbours,
I’m not exactly the ideal candidate
to carry out the proof! Hum. Well, unless
I’m dealing with electricity, chemicals,
explosives or ladies, my usual reaction
to such obstacles is to knuckle down
and do the best I can. So, here goes:
Adopting a mildly analytical
approach, we can divide Gayne’s
numbers into three broad categories.
For want of better terms, these are
out-and-out dances and flourishes,
extrovert dramatic scenes, and
introvert meditations, through
any of which the shadow of the mugam
may move. Let’s consider how Tjeknavorian
tackles them.
Gayne - "Dances
and Flourishes"
The Introduction
is definitely a "flourish",
a crunching, blaring fanfare that hoists
the Red Flag with a massive pomp matched
only by its sheer, crass vulgarity!
Yet, it contains significant motives - and
in purely practical terms it guarantees
a thoroughly wide-awake audience. It
works best, - if that’s the
right word - when everyone
scrapes, blows and bangs with all the
gusto that they can muster. Tjeknavorian
sees to it that they do exactly that.
All the other numbers require much more
careful attention. Even in the most
exhaustingly vigorous ones - the
Russian Dance, Dance of the
Young Kurds, Mountaineers’ Dance,
Lezghinka, Sabre Dance
and Gopak - which you
might think can simply be belted out
in the same way, Tjeknavorian clearly
takes a great deal of care. He moulds
the tempi and shades the dynamics to
optimise, as opposed to maximise, the
cumulative excitement. It works - these
numbers are all the better for it.
The Russian Dance,
as you would expect, starts very slowly
and then gets faster. However, Tjeknavorian
admits acceleration only at the starts
of sequences, and even then never with
a jerk, but thorough smooth control
of the musical clutch pedal. The rhythms
bounce like golf-balls on concrete,
and along the way he brings a coiled-spring
"boing, boing, boing" to the
"Kangaroo-hopping" of the
violins. At the other end of the recording,
the Gopak is given similar, but
not identical, treatment - dictated,
I suppose, by the particular nature
of this dance: each time "round"
the music sticks one boot up in the
air, before plunging on at a faster
tempo. Naturally, the start of the fastest
part is heralded by this gesture, exaggerated
into a huge "wait for it!"
By way of contrast,
the Dance of the Young Kurds
is imbued with flowing yet perky grace,
the brisk but even tempo propelled by
neat nudges from timpani and cymbals.
With consummate cunning, Tjeknavorian
takes the contrasting, weightier central
episode ever so slightly faster,
forestalling any possible suspicion
of leaden boots! In the volcanic Mountaineers’
Dance, good old Newman had a neat
trick up his sleeve: at the moment of
modulation he intensified the insistent
pulsing of the bass drum. Sadly Tjeknavorian
merely tweaks the decibels, but then
he leaves Newman standing as far as
the rest of the percussion are concerned,
most especially in the central - or
rather "off-central" - episode,
where the "volcano" positively
erupts!
Oddly enough, it’s
the most popular - or notorious! - item
of all that throws up a problem. The
Sabre (or "Saber" - the
booklet can’t make up its mind about
that spelling, either!) Dance
is taken at a gratifying prestissimo
ultimo. Overall, it’s projected
with explosive power and superlative
dynamism. Tjeknavorian points the central
tune, which is usually played fairly
fluidly, with commensurate incisiveness.
In fact, he actually accelerates through
this passage. However, this turns out
to be the one occasion when the players
are anything less than unanimous in
their response although, let me stress,
not by much. However, what does worry
me, just a bit, is that towards the
end he sheds momentum. I would have
preferred him to charge on, reckless,
right into the buffers. Maybe I’m missing
something?
Perhaps the most stunning
of all the bravura numbers is the Lezghinka.
Tjeknavorian takes it at a breakneck
speed which tests the considerable capabilities
of his band. They pass with flying colours.
Woodwind whip out the tricksy tune with
electrifying clarity of articulation,
and the central climax packs a tremendous
wallop, trumpets in particular crackling
with galvanic energy. Best of all, Tristram
"Frey" earns his mis-spelt
booklet credit in no uncertain terms.
His superbly sustained snare-drumming
has to be heard to be believed - especially
the hair-raising, firecracker rim-shots
as we hit the reprise of the first section.
There are also several
somewhat less unbuttoned - I
hesitate to say "more sedate" - dances.
After the opening numbers, Gathering
of the Cotton sounds quite refined,
delightfully piquant woodwind skipping
gracefully, haloed affectionately by
strings, horns and percussion. Tjeknavorian
brings a sudden surge of real emotional
intensity to the violins’ closing phrase.
Similarly, Noune’s Variation
is blessed with lots of perky playing,
pointed to perfection. The extrovert
Dance of Welcome jogs along as
jolly as you please, revelling in its
infectiously kinky rhythm. Actually,
for a dozen or more years I used this
as the closing music of a hospital
radio programme, though I suspect that
few appreciated the location of my tongue!
The Lyrical Duet is
could be described as "ungainly".
Introduced by pompous horns and trumpets,
the strings hold up, then slip gracefully
into a lilting waltz. The main tune
is none other than the one in the middle
of the Sabre Dance. However,
this waltz soon starts to sound more
like a Ländler, its slightly lolloping
gait underlined by a corny cornet descant.
Like the Dance of Welcome, Tjeknavorian
keeps it all rolling along merrily but
then, for the finish, hushes he music
and eases back a nadge on the gas - delicious!
The Dance of the
Old Men and Carpet Weavers is an
entirely different kettle of fish. It
is halting and also ungainly -
would that be the Old Men, or the Carpet
Weavers, I wonder? - punctuated
by the impressively hollow, wooden slapping
of an Armenian drum. There is some strikingly
"uncultured" playing from
the woodwind. I think this must be down
to Tjeknavorian’s injecting a touch
of "authenticity", because
orchestral musicians simply do not play
like this! Particularly interesting
are the apparently gratuitous "sour
lemon" discords on the phrase endings.
The way that Tjeknavorian stresses these,
it’s almost as if Khachaturian was trying
to capture the flavour of a note from
the melody’s original, almost certainly
justly-intoned scale, and which therefore
lies outside the diatonic armoury. The
climax turns these "sour lemons"
to dramatically diatonic advantage,
by transmuting them into proper, prepared
dissonances! This is absolutely brilliant
stuff.
Tjeknavorian forges
the percussion "continuo",
rock-steady Bolero-style rhythm and
coiling clarinet melody of Embroidering
of the Carpets into a sort of moto
perpetuo. Repetitiveness is, in
this case, entirely in keeping with
the nature of the job, though he minimises
any feeling of relentlessness through
his superb graduation and balancing
of the orchestral panoply. A very similar
rhythm underpins the Final Scene,
which also accumulates mass through
repetitions of its tune, a variant of
that of the preceding Gopak.
However, when it gets to the top, instead
of turning onto a counter-episode, it
just stops! This reminds me of
the "finale ultimo" of more
than one Gershwin musical - such
an imposing title leads you to expect
some extended, grand celebration, whilst
what you actually get is more of a brief
"final tableau", or perhaps
a "pre-booked" curtain-call.
This is exactly how Tjeknavorian treats
it: he gives it its measure, without
any inflation beyond its means or meaning.
Armen’s Variation
is commonly heard in the concert suite.
Resisting the temptation to let the
bass drum lead, Tjeknavorian nevertheless
gives it plenty of oomph, but still
giving its central section space to
relax and lilt. The rhythm and accompaniment
of the enchanting Dance of the Rose
Maidens are given lots of point
by bumping timpani and scintillating
strings and trumpets. Moreover, the
woodwind playing is as spry as one could
wish, the cornet and glockenspiel counterpoints
positively glisten, and the strings
almost swoon with delight before recovering
their composure and getting into the
"swing". So often this music
is made to sound too parlour-prim and
elegant - in Tjeknavorian’s
hands it is rudely and robustly bucolic.
A confection it may be, but he ensures
that it is a delightful one.
Khachaturian’s orchestra
includes a piano, used not as a solo
instrument, but for its sheer colour.
Its "xylophonic" upper register
is used in the Lyrical Duet,
and in the Introduction to the
Dance of the Elders it provides
an effective foundation for the driving,
expectant rhythm. The dance itself,
as befits its subject, is presented
with great gravity, the solemn melody
emerging in rich unison strings. From
the point where the rhythm is taken
up by the stout tolling of the Armenian
drum, Tjeknavorian builds an imposing
but far from over-cooked climax.
Gayne - "Extrovert
Dramatic Scenes"
The extrovert dramatic
scenes, being sequences of incidents,
require a different approach. Ayshe’s
Awakening and Dance is relatively
simple, comprising just two distinct
episodes, the second of which is of
course simply a dance. It starts with
an oppressive atmosphere of mounted
cymbal, tremolando violins, looming
basses and contrabassoon, over which
soar the lonesome flute and piccolo,
echoing the Lullaby. Secondly,
strings propose a delicate waltzing
accompaniment for the violins, who play
a fetching melody with some Furiant-like
footwork, against which is put a saxophone
counterpoint - presumably
to stop things getting unnecessarily
highbrow. In between? Nothing more than
a simple ascent of mildly staccato clarinets!
Tjeknavorian effects the transition
by careful choice of a single tempo,
then keeping that underlying pulse constant
so that the two run together as nice
as nine-pence, regardless of the change
of metre. The right tempo is
determined by the need for the dance
to be kept light and bouncing, and that
fixes the pacing of the "awakening"
It sounds obvious, doesn’t it? Yet,
I can imagine plenty of conductors choosing
two different tempi, each optimised
for the job in hand, and using the clarinet
run to fudge the join. Whether consciously
or instinctively, Tjeknavorian unifies
the number.
As a scene, Fire
is much more complex, but as music it
seems to present less of a problem.
Why? Because Khachaturian is in barnstorming
mode, chucking in lots of brash effects,
lots of noise. The number overflows
with brilliant orchestration - such
as his use of swirling strings and harp
to evoke the raging conflagration. However,
there’s rather more to it than that.
It’s virtually all constructed from
existing themes and motives, and it
proceeds in two big crescendi, the second
leading to an outbreak of bells. These
sound, not like the arrival of the local
fire service, but like light church
bells, and - sadly - on
the recording they also sound like they
have been post-edited in, occupying
an acoustic completely distinct from
the orchestra’s. Still, they make a
splendid noise, far more effective than
mere orchestral chimes. Khachaturian
cranks up the speed by degrees, adopting
an somewhat "Sibelian" approach.
By the time we get near the end, the
underlying pulse has almost doubled.
Set against an increasing preponderance
of long note-values, this gives the
unsettling impression of fire flourishing
unfettered whilst the efforts of the
panicking populous are bound by the
limitations of the human frame. Tjeknavorian
engineers this with even greater care
than he exercised in the Russian
Dance, although he dispatches this
riotous episode with such apparently
reckless - but dramatically
necessary - abandon that such
subtleties tend to be lost in the glare
of the flames.
The confrontation between
Gayne and her "worse half"
amounts to a domestic conflagration
mirroring his arsonistic plot. Hence,
Gayne and Giko starts out very
similarly to Fire and also draws
on several common motives. However,
unlike Fire, the musical action
is much more episodic, dangling before
the conductor the seductive carrot of
"free interpretation", the
licence to play fast and loose with
tempi and expression marks. Does Tjeknavorian
take the bait? No, not even a nibble!
He locates the proper basic tempo, then
sticks pretty close to it, and lets
the music do the talking. By any standards,
the sequence is superbly handled by
Tjeknavorian, who makes the most of
Khachaturian’s appropriately lurid palette.
Best of all is the huge, anguished outburst
towards the end where, to a descant
of lamenting horns, strings sorrow inconsolably.
After this, the solo bassoon and clarinet
almost limp off, propped by the hollow
sounds of the harp.
Gayne - "Introvert
Meditations"
Gayne’s Adagio
is by far the best-known of the "introvert
meditations". The sheer loneliness
of the music is what made it such apposite
accompaniment to the "daily grind"
of life aboard the spaceship Odyssey
in Stanley Kubrick’s film. However,
you don’t get "more loneliness"
by taking it "more slowly"!
It is an adagio, not a largo, and Tjeknavorian
does not allow the languorous cellos
to languish. He moves the music along
fluidly, teasing out its other-worldly
expressiveness through tiny inflections
and touches of rubato. Only in the closing
bars does he allow the music to dissipate
its mild momentum. Thus does this sound
more like a song shorn of its words
than it does in many a performance I
could mention.
In effect, the Lullaby
of course is a song without words - an
achingly wistful song introduced by
a solo oboe. It is played with the utmost
simplicity and tender, loving care,
is never allowed to wallow, and is all
the more moving for not being milked.
Simpler still, the brief Scene
brims with loneliness and yearning,
the former in a melancholy bassoon - tweaking
the Lullaby theme - the
latter, set over throbbing string chords,
a slender-sounding solo violin which
seems to be singing from some distant
mountainside. In Gayne’s Variation
and Dance Finale the Lullaby
theme turns up again, this time on a
soulful cor anglais. It forms part of
the link between a very long harp cadenza - full
of variety and given plenty of moody
shading by Marie Goossens - and
a brief reprise of Gathering of the
Cotton. It’s in moments like these
that Tjeknavorian surely proves beyond
any doubt that there is more to Khachaturian
than gaudy poster paint and noisy bombast.
That leaves the Introduction
to Act IV, which seems to round
off the storyline. I say "seems"
because of the lack of any decent synopsis
in either the CD booklet or the LP liner.
Heck, they don’t even agree on the outcome!
According to the LP, "[Giko]
is exiled and [Gayaneh] is free to marry
her rescuer, the young commander of
the patrol . . . the ballet ends with
general rejoicing at the opening of
the new cotton-house." On the
other hand, the CD states, "[Giko]
is arrested by a Red Army patrol, whose
idealistic young commander . . . becomes
Gayne’s personal saviour. The last of
the ballet’s three [sic] acts
is a celebration of the harvest and
confidence in the future, which Gayne
will share with Armen, the blinded hunter
whose sight has been restored."
This is about as confusing as the introduction
to an episode of "Soap"! I
hang on grimly to the common thread,
that Gayne is freed of Giko, gets herself
a better bloke, and everybody has a
good old knees-up. Given this, it’s
probably safe to assume that the Introduction
to Act IV encapsulates a "love
scene".
With one foot in "extrovert
dramatic scene" and the other in
"introvert meditation", and
being by a small margin the longest,
this music is perhaps the most involved
of all. Into a garden of fabulously-coloured
cadenzas wanders a duet of romancing
horn and violin. The dream-like mood
yields to progressively livelier activity.
After a climax, cellos, with full and
noble tone, wax lyrical. Cued by the
cellos, a clarinet sings a truly gorgeous
melody which is then lovingly caressed
by all. The movement ends on a note
of expectancy - which is resolved
perfectly by the subsequent Dance
of the Rose Maidens! Tjeknavorian
tends the "garden" with tender
care. Again, even though things get
"livelier", he refuses to
gild the lily by distorting his chosen
basic pulse, which is the agent that
binds the diversity of blooms. Instead,
he discloses the liveliness through
moulding of phrases and accents, attack
and instrumental balance. The whole
episode is thoroughly enchanting.
Gayne - The
"Mugam" Influence
But, what about that
"mugam" business? The
numbers in which, rightly or wrongly,
I most strongly sense the mugam at work
are: Dance of Young Kurds, Gathering
of the Cotton, Gayne’s Adagio,
Dance of the Old Men and Carpet Weavers,
Lullaby, Ayshe’s Awakening
and Dance, Embroidering of the
Carpets, Gayne and Giko,
Scene, Gayne’s Variation and
Dance Finale, Introduction to
Act IV, Dance of the Elders,
and Final Scene - which
is over half of the numbers in this
recording. How many of these generally
turn up in concert suites? In my experience,
one, or at a pinch maybe a couple! And,
did I notice this special quality when
all I knew were such concert suites?
No, Your Honour, I didn’t. What, then,
makes the music as presented on this
recording so especially endearing to
me? Clearly it cannot be this mugam
influence alone. Therefore it must also
be due to the way that Tjeknavorian
puts it across. So, it seems that I
have "proved the rule", and
have not just Aram Khachaturian, but
also Loris Tjeknavorian to thank for
the ache induced in my heart and the
tightness induced in my throat!
Gayne - The
Performance in General
Overall, there is a
lot of evidence that Tjeknavorian treats
Gayne very seriously indeed.
As I’ve implied, Khachaturian’s basic
style lays his music wide open to wildly
exaggerated interpretation. I can imagine
some performers muttering, "If
he’s written such brash and noisy music,
we may as well make plenty of din."
Refusing to be drawn into gratuitous
displays of surface spectacle and instead
looking within the music, treating it
with the same respect that would be
afforded - say - Brahms,
Tjeknavorian seems to mine a vein of
serious, thoughtful intent that is all
to easily hidden from Western ears by
the neon-lit façade of the orchestration.
He does not have to wait for Heaven
to reap his reward - it’s
as if the music was blossoming in response
to his sympathy. Oh, there’s spectacle
all right, bags of it, but it is in
the context of, rather than in ignorance
of, the balletic drama. Gayne
may be no match for Prokofiev’s Romeo
and Juliet (what is?), but under
Tjeknavorian’s understanding baton it’s
at least up there with the Tchaikovsky
ballets. My only real regret is that
they didn’t see fit to set down the
complete "Gayne Ballet (Complete)".
What about the actual
playing? The National Philharmonic is
one of those ephemeral scratch orchestras,
drawn together for specific occasions - like
recordings - and hand-picked
from freelance musicians and players
in orchestras around and about. What
we have here comprises the crème
de la crème of the London
area. The solo playing throughout is
a joy to behold, being exquisitely turned
and full of character. Judging by the
impressive roster of credits in the
booklet, I’m not alone in thinking that.
However, I do wonder why the fine cello
solo in the Introduction to Act IV,
for example, is not credited. That’s
the trouble with giving credits in works
with so many solos of widely varying
length and significance: just where
do you draw the line?
Of course, rounding
up the finest individual talent into
one corral is no guarantee of the sort
of ensemble that you get from good players
who work together day in, day out. But
if they are somehow inspired, all fired
up and playing their collective socks
off, then the sparks can really fly.
This must have been one such occasion.
Apart from a few almost imperceptible
lapses, like the one I mentioned in
the Sabre Dance, the ensemble
is slicker than a skid-pan. It seems
to matter not whether Khachaturian is
lifting the roof or smoothing down the
nap in the upholstery, the sound positively
shines.
Gayne - Recording
and Venue
But then, the "sound"
depends not just on the performers,
but also on the venue and the engineers.
The engineering, by Robert Auger, is
nigh on faultless. There is a modicum
of instrumental spotlighting, but it’s
all done with the best possible intentions,
and is unlikely to be noticed by anyone
but a headphones listener - provided
he’s listening out for it. The same
is true of Jon Samuels’ remastering
for this CD issue. The LP original is
noteworthy for its excellent balance
and sound quality. You can hear pretty
well everything that’s going on. The
"heavy mob" - brass
and percussion - never overwhelm
the sound-picture, and the strings,
when they go into "accompanying
figuration" mode, are always clearly
audible, both in terms of sound-balance
and clarity of articulation. All that
was evident on the LP, and I’m glad
to say that this has been reproduced
on the CD with a fidelity close to perfection - I
am having just as much fun listening
to this new issue as I ever did the
LPs, and of course revelling in the
loss of so many reminders of one of
the main shortcomings of that venerable
medium.
The venue, though,
does have one problem. Sample, say,
the start of the Russian Dance,
with its open-weave staccato trumpets
and ticking wood-block, and you can’t
fail to notice the echo. Fortunately,
there are not many other places in the
score which offer you the same opportunity
to "savour" this effect! However,
that apart, the venue bestows a pleasing,
spacious ambience over the proceedings - one
which, moreover, does little or nothing
to interfere with the crystal-clear
articulation.
The "Fill-ups"
My head is still spinning
so much, from the impact of re-acquaintance
with this superb recording, that I’m
in danger of overlooking the fact that
the reissue includes a whole
LP’s worth of additional music! The
orchestra is different, the engineer
is different (Brian Culverhouse), and
the venue is different. The common denominator
is - I’m tempted to say "the
one and only"! - Loris
Tjeknavorian.
Selections from
Spartacus
Spartacus has
one advantage over Gayne - there
has been a complete recording, on four
LPs including a whole side of numbers
dropped for one reason or another from
the ballet as generally performed. As
far as I am concerned, Spartacus
is not a patch on Gayne. I recall
listening, many years ago, to this complete
recording: I became increasingly dismayed
by the relentless barrage of "barbaric"
motor-rhythms, to the extent that the
appearance of the famous Adagio of
Spartacus and Phrygia was like an
oasis to a man lost in the desert! What
seemed like the only other tune of any
note, and ironically it was a real
belter, was found amongst the left-overs
on side 8. This unfortunate experience
turned me off Spartacus, big
time. Now I wonder, with little hope
of ever finding out, what difference
would it have made if that complete
recording had been made by Tjeknavorian?
Anyway, suffice it
to say that it was a very pleasant surprise
to discover that, pared down to only
four "selections", Spartacus
can really be lots of fun! Having said
that, even in this short selection there
is a noticeable preponderance of that
rapid, Sabre Dance-style motor-rhythm.
Yes, it’s fun - in small doses
like these!
The recording acoustic
is nice and warm, but with the orchestra
set fairly forward. Even so, the recording
does tend to lose some clarity when
pushed hard. Compared to Gayne, the
width of the sound-stage is less extreme,
and the "middle" feels more
populous. The LSO strings sound warmer,
and rounder of tone. The overall balance
between the orchestral sections sounds
very natural, and I’m glad to say that
the bright percussion are allowed to
cut through the texture. Presumably
prompted by the subject matter, Khachaturian
used a lot of percussion in Spartacus.
This recording seems to find a sensible
line between giving the percussion their
head and letting the percussion blow
the rest of the orchestra out onto the
street.
The Scene and Dance
with Crotales had me reaching for
my music dictionary. My brain was insisting
that crotales were something you had
for breakfast! Having reminded myself
that they were the forerunners of castanets,
whose modern form was that of small,
thick, tuned cymbals (so, not much difference,
then?), I was a mite disappointed not
to find any, of either vintage, in evidence.
Presumably they are played by the dancers
not present at the recording sessions?
Tjeknavorian finds much humidity in
the slow, tense Scene, and injects
bags of bounce into the subsequent Dance
with (Imaginary) Crotales. Winding
it up by degrees, he cuts the leash
when the brass inject their flashing
phrases. When the percussive din ceases,
he puts more heat under the returning
slow tune, cooking the strings, coiling
winds and bumping drums to produce sultry
vapours, exotic and perfumed - not
quite your average "Overture in
the French Style", is it?
As soon as I heard
the clarinet tune in the Dance of
the Gaditanian Maidens and Victory of
Spartacus, I was convinced that
it was the same tune as in the first
number - I had to check back
to be sure it wasn’t! Anyway, it’s a
very sexy bit of clarinetting, and hardly
what I’d call "maidenly".
The feel is reminiscent of the mugam
styles in Gayne, but somehow "westernised".
It struck me more like Hollywood’s idea
of "oriental" music, and I
even get the odd whiff of the Edmundo
Ross Band playing some rumba or other!
Not to worry - Tjeknavorian
winds it up brilliantly, encouraging
the players to go for the jazzy touches
that Khachaturian tossed in for good
measure.
In the UK, the Adagio
of Spartacus and Phrygia is virtually
unknown. However, most of the population
are familiar with the theme from the
BBC’s drama serial The Onedin Line,
to which it bears a remarkable resemblance.
The problem is that it has been played
by any and every organisation capable
of gathering together the necessary
orchestral forces. Does Tjeknavorian
have anything "different"
to say about it? Well, no, not really - but
he does show us that you don’t have
to fry it to a frazzle to make your
point! This is clear right from the
start. The beautifully moulded, rising
cello figure seamlessly disgorges the
cor anglais. The famous melody is played
with plenty of rubato, but absolutely
no exaggeration. Tjeknavorian has an
instinctive feel for when to press forward,
and when to hold back. Right in the
middle, both his relaxation of passions,
and his opening of the tap when the
accompaniment gets busy, feels so natural.
Then, the martial interjections bring
expectancy in spadefuls. Far from losing
his head when going for the big climax,
Tjeknavorian instead builds up a big
one (head, that is!). It erupts as majestically
as anyone could wish, but without being
blasted. Consequently, in the coda the
sense is one of passions satisfied rather
than spent.
The tune at the start
of Aegina’s Variation and Bacchanale
sounds so familiar. It reminds me of
something else I know, but for the life
of me I can’t think what. I once lived
with such a tune in my head for over
twenty years before I found its "precedent".
I hope I get this one sorted quicker
than that! Anyway, this is an exuberant
little number, played with lots of sparkling
zest, and making a neat, fun-filled
finale.
Masquerade Suite
Turning to the popular
Masquerade Suite, I wonder: has
there ever been a bad performance of
the ubiquitous Waltz? It seems
almost to play itself, so gratifyingly
does it flow from the instruments. Tjeknavorian
handles it as well as anybody - in
fact, better than many, as he disdains
those distended tenuti that more showy
conductors, presumably confusing this
with a Viennese waltz, somehow cannot
resist. The Nocturne is played
andante, all the more radiant for being
allowed some freedom of movement. The
violin solo is ravishing, partly because
it remains closely integrated with the
orchestral picture. Played with evident
affection, this entire movement exudes
warmth. The Mazurka is a bit
like the Waltz, inasmuch as it almost
plays itself, that is. Here, Tjeknavorian’s
tenuti are much more expansive gestures - presumably
because, for once, they are marked
as such? There is a splendid robustness,
a ruddy-cheeked honesty about the way
this is played - it is devoid
of false "good manners".
A nicely measured Romance
is given space to breathe and expand,
the strings in particular seeming to
relish their chance to indulge themselves.
Although the oboe sounded ever-so-slightly
off-colour, the all-important trumpet
solo is satisfyingly sugar-sweet and - like
the violin in the Nocturne - integrated
rather than segregated (like vibrato,
I feel that solo "spotlighting"
is done best if you don’t notice it!).
The rudely rumbustious concluding Galop
is taken just a fraction too quickly,
judging by the start of what we might
call its "development section",
where the bass brass don’t seem to have
quite enough time to articulate their
bottoms! Also, possibly for the same
reason, the comical trombone slides
don’t always manage to punch home their
vulgar points. These are, though, very
minor carps - overall there
is a juicy sense of finely-judged mayhem.
Russian Fantasy
Right: that just leaves
the one work on this issue that is performed
in its entirety. Granted, at just under
five and a half minutes the Russian
Fantasy can hardly be described
as a magnum opus, but nevertheless it
is complete and unexpurgated!
You can get some idea of its content
from its composition date - 1944 - and
the occasion of its première - the
1945 celebration of the anniversary
of the October Revolution. However,
once you have switched off those images
of stern, aspiring youth determinedly
hoisting red flags aloft in the wind,
it is actually quite a neat, toe-tapping
bit of music. Effectively a set of continuous
textural variations, its single tune
starts off as a sturdy march-cum-revolutionary
song, and ends up as a torrential Russian
dance, sizzling along on the crest of
what I am starting to regard as a "Spartacus
motor rhythm". Tjeknavorian is
as considerate as ever, shaping and
nuancing the phrases even where all
guns are blazing, and the LSO pitch
into it as if to the manner born.
Summing Up
For me, Tjeknavorian
brings many very special insights to
Gayne. Taking full advantage
of his "75% of the complete score",
he gives us a much more rounded view
than the concert suites - which
tend to feature the "highlights" - can
ever do. This not only contextualises - and
to some extent leavens - the
overtly spectacular, but also exposes
a vein of real, human emotion in a composer
too often and too lightly dismissed
as brash and shallow. The not-so-motley
crew of the National Philharmonic - as
if sensing the occasion - play
their hearts out for him, whilst the
quality of the recording, with one very
minor reservation, is in its own right
a delight to be savoured. The digital
remastering is a model of faithful reproduction.
I wouldn’t be without this recording
for the World.
As music, the
fill-ups don’t aspire to the high standard
of Gayne, although Tjeknavorian
treats them as if they did. They are,
though, more than mere padding, containing
plenty to eliminate boredom from an
idle hour - especially when
the LSO’s playing gives every impression
of "a good time being had by all".
In spite of, or perhaps even because
of, being set in a more natural "concert
hall" sound-stage, the recording
occasionally sounds just a bit on the
murky side - but only when
compared with the utterly outstanding
Gayne.
Generally, when I assess
a recording I bought years ago, purely
for the sheer quantity of music it contained,
I discover to my private embarrassment
that "quantity" was indeed
all it had in its favour. So, I get
a really warm feeling inside of me to
be able to thoroughly recommend this
set. I am pretty sure that, at rock
bottom, Gayne will be the real
reason you’ll be spending your money.
I think I can safely say that, even
had it been without those generous fill-ups,
and at today’s prices, it will be money
well spent.
Paul Serotsky
National Philharmonic Orchestra (†),
London Symphony Orchestra (*)/Loris Tjeknavorian
