Pianists
who love their Tchaikovsky symphonies and other orchestral
works have to face the fact that his extensive solo writing
for their instrument never produced anything quite on that
level. In reality, once allowance has been made for what his
solo piano music is not, a good deal of it is attractive,
characteristic and even inspired. To a greater degree, I would
say, than in the case of Dvořák or Sibelius, where a
similar sort of situation exists. Even so, exaggerated claims
are likely to arouse disappointment in the listener. The accompanying
booklet states that the twelve pieces of “The Seasons” contain
“music of subtle melancholy, profound poetry and great diversity
which rates the pieces among the most important Romantic piano
cycles”, and so implicitly among those of Schumann or Liszt.
This claim is hardly supported by what we hear. In truth Tchaikovsky
wrote the cycle for a Russian magazine which asked him for
a piece to illustrate each month. He apparently accepted the
commission so casually that he asked his servants to remind
him a few days before the end of the month that a piece was
to be written He thereupon sat down and dashed it off. September
seems to have got him with his trousers down, producing a
Hunting Song that is amazingly conventional and threadbare
in invention, especially when we remember what Mendelssohn
had achieved in this line. Had it been penned by Mackenzie
or Cowen, it would have been seized upon as damning evidence
that the Land Without Music was deservedly so named. The fact
that it happens to be by Tchaikovsky doesn’t make it any better.
November,
on the other hand, inspired the delightful “Troika”. This
was for long a popular encore piece, as is witnessed by the
fact that Rachmaninov made no fewer than two recordings of
his somewhat odd interpretation. Also “June” produced a “Barcarole”
full of piquant counterpoint which was much appreciated by
our grandfathers. The “Autumn Song” (October) opens up vistas
of desolate wastes while the “Song of the Lark” (March) has
something of the melancholy of the “Canzonetta” of the Violin
Concerto. “Snowdrop” (April), too, mingles compassion with
elegance and could easily have found a place in one of the
great ballets. The faster pieces find the composer more on
automatic pilot but if you don’t expect to be overwhelmed
you will be entertained and occasionally moved.
I’ve
been moaning a bit lately about pianists who don’t separate
the different strands of the texture by varying their tone
colours. I’ll say at once, then, that Matsuev has his pianistic
house fully in order from that point of view. Melodies, counter-melodies
and accompaniments are all heard in their right proportions.
At first I thought he was going to be a spontaneous but unduly
interventionist guide, but “Carnival” (February) and the other
faster pieces show that he can play with rhythmic grip when
needed. I much preferred his lilting “Barcarole” to Richter’s
lugubrious affair. Doubts only came in the last three. The
“Autumn Song” has been known to yield up more bleak tension
and I regret that he has chosen to ape Rachmaninov’s antics
in “Troika”. This means playing the opening part “Andante
lugubre” instead of the written “Allegro moderato”, speeding
up to a good, lively tempo in the middle and then alternating
two tempi in the last part. There’s a fast tempo when the
original theme is accompanied by “snowy” semiquavers, then
he goes back to the lugubrious one when those stop. People
are going to get the idea that Tchaikovsky didn’t know what
he was doing. Even Richter makes a strange compromise between
what Rachmaninov did and what Tchaikovsky wrote, and yet the
piece sounds absolutely charming if played as written.
The
cycle ends with a Christmas waltz which has been made to sound
full of seasonal joy but here emerges strangely subdued. The
static middle section, though, is seemingly a blip in Tchaikovsky’s
own inspiration and I doubt if anyone could save it. The question
whether these lapses, measured against some notable successes,
amount to a recommendable “Seasons” falls by the wayside in
view of what happens in “Petrushka”.
It
is clear by now that Matsuev is a pianist with a fine control
of sonority and he is unfazed by Stravinsky’s extreme demands.
His textures can be magical at times. The trouble is, he seems
to think he is playing Liszt. Just to give one example, at
the change to A major on p.6 of the “Danse Russe” he makes
a notable rallentando, where none is written, so as to create
a soft, delicate, Debussian quality. All through he applies
a sort of rhythmic flexibility which recomposes the music
in an unduly romantic light. We know very well from Stravinsky’s
writings that this sort of thing was anathema to him even
in romantic music. His own recordings of his music, as well
as those of musicians we know he admired such as Monteux and
Ansermet, leave no doubt of the importance of rhythm and dance
movement in performing his music.
However,
any residual respect for the performance goes completely out
of the window when the pianist makes a whacking great cut
in the last movement, from p.35, line two, to the più mosso
on p.37. Ours is an age when traditional cuts are being opened
out, when long-omitted repeats are being increasingly observed
and when opera recordings often come with supplements of alternative
arias etc. It seems all the more incredible, therefore, that
anyone can even dream of hacking bits out of a composer who
knew exactly what he wanted, like Stravinsky. And if Matsuev
really must demonstrate the superiority of his own genius
over that of Stravinsky by rewriting his music, the potential
buyer could at least be told – the word “abridged” in the
header was added by me. To sell something as implicitly complete
when it is not is tantamount to misleading the public. I really
wish that somebody one day with money to burn (that rules
me out!) and a taste for legal battles would bring a test
case. In the meantime, the least we can do is not to buy the
record.
Christopher
Howell
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Denis Matsuev (piano)
