At long last, Melodiya have made their
own in-house CD release of the elusive
and pretty much legendary complete Shostakovich
Symphonies, with the Moscow Philharmonic
Orchestra conducted by Kirill Kondrashin.
These have popped up here and there
in various guises, the last being a
10 CD set on the Aulos label (see review).
Melodiya have created a completely new
edition spread over 11 CDs, with some
added bonuses including the famous premiere
recording of the second Violin Concerto
with David Oistrakh as soloist.
There is of course
more than one way of approaching such
an old/new arrival. The recordings are
inevitably of historical value, having
been made in the pressure-cooker atmosphere
of the cold war and during the composer’s
lifetime. They cannot however really
be taken as ‘historical’ recordings
since the techniques and machinery have
to compete directly with contemporary
releases which command similar classic
status in the shops today. Commentators
have mentioned the spot-miking and balance
issues which can sometimes arise with
these recordings, and indeed there are
perspectives which you could never encounter
in the concert hall. Listening to these
recordings and imagining if that really
was the sound from your seat
however, and I can’t see anyone complaining
and asking for their money back. The
only real recurring problem is peak
distortion at the loudest moments, taking
the form of a noticeable ‘clipping’
on the heaviest bass drum thwacks, sometimes
making them sound like a very large
mattress being struck, and at worst
with added roar, as if a volcano is
erupting. The mastering is good however,
with no acute repression of tape hiss
or treble emasculation of the music.
There is in fact very little tape hiss,
only really noticeable if you turn the
volume up high. There is some damage
to the original analogue tape, with
momentary left or right channel drop-outs
(for instance) in one of the fillers:
‘October’ Op.131, and some grungy
moments here and there throughout the
set. Quite a few audible edits show
up: indeed, 15:52 into the 1st
movement of Symphony no. 4 there is
a bizarre moment where the entire orchestra
suddenly appears to decamp into a narrow
but very resonant bathroom – some kind
of emergency repair work no doubt. I
don’t have the Aulos set to compare
results on any restoration work, but
judging by previous remarks the old
problems remain more or less the same.
So, why would you shell
out £50 of your hard-earned cash on
this particular set?
If you already know
and love these recordings on scratchy
old vinyl then I can promise you that
these CDs are made to the highest standard,
and if my own scratchy old vinyl is
anything to go by - I have the 5th
on an undated Dutch import LP, when
Melodiya was still ‘Melodia’ - then
the mastering is as faithful as possible
to the originals. If your joy is that
of pure, squeaky clean digital productions
then this may turn out not to be your
bag, but I would suggest giving your
favourite moments a try in these versions
– I can’t guarantee you will be immediately
convinced, but you may discover things
you’d never imagined before in these
pieces.
My own experiences
of Shostakovich’s symphonies on recordings
are something of an amalgam. I remember
being impressed with the sound quality
of Haitink’s Decca recordings, but over
the years I’ve ditched most of the loose
ends I had from that set – they just
don’t have the right kind of Russian
intensity which, once heard, ousts many
a Western recording. Kondrashin’s Symphony
No.1 is a case in point. This
youthful work is most often seen as
a lighter introduction to the entire
canon, and indeed you can hear how Shostakovich
revels in the strong Russian traditions,
pleasing his teachers with the colourful
and varied orchestration and logical
harmonic and thematic development which
was so important at the end of the 19th
and the beginning of the 20th
century with Tchaikovsky and Rimsky-Korsakov,
and taken in different directions by
the likes of Stravinsky. Kondrashin
‘interprets’ more, seems to hear more
in the music than almost any other version
I can remember. Some of his rubati might
seem overdone at times, but Kondrashin
is placing the work in the tradition
from which it comes, rather than imposing
upon it the tighter, less romantic disciplines
of a later age. The oboe solo at the
opening of the movingly beautiful Lento
movement seems to strain to stay
in tune, but you can relax after the
first minute, and the music blossoms
in to the warmest and most emphatic
of youthfully passionate statements.
The Symphony
No.2 along with the Symphony
No.3 are often seen as problem
works, bridges to be crossed before
we can get to the good stuff. I like
the stunning sound of Neeme Järvi’s
2002 Gothenburg recording (DG 469 525-2)
of both of these works, but Kondrashin
has the advantage of sheer ‘Russianness’.
This might seem like a trite point,
but I am a great believer that, when
national character and language are
so distinctive (and so distinctively
different), there is a unique
understanding – a ‘sound’ in a native-made
production which can’t quite be beaten.
To be sure, the Moscow strings seem
to have difficulty finding direction
in some of the lines which Shostakovich
gives them in No.2, but at its best
the music is scorching, that mad fugue
like an insane crowd of people all looking
and gesturing in different directions.
The choruses are so Russian throughout
this set: you get a colour in the inflections
which you can be sure ‘belongs’ in a
very special way, and the entry of the
choir in No.3 is quite hair-raising.
These are recordings which breathe the
aroma of Shostakovich’s home turf, and
the sense of his emerging style and
his struggles with creative exploration
along with the nationalistic, philosophical
and political fervour of the times seem
to inhabit the music more here than
in any versions I know. It certainly
inhabits the musicians, who bite into
the bizarre moments of humour with all
of the satirical grit of those caricature
puppets which were well-hidden secret
symbols of private protest for the man
in the street.
Hard-as-nails fortitude
is a feature of the Symphony No.4,
again translated into gripping drama
by Kondrashin, who unleashed the work
on its premiere in 1961 a quarter of
a century after it had been quashed
through political pressure. The work’s
mosaic twists and turns are held in
absolute control by the conductor, who
no doubt had a special affection for
the work. Secretive undertones and echoes,
tender fragments, the dramas, tensions,
sardonic wit and nervy restlessness
are all present in what Shostakovich
described as a "Credo of [his]
artistic work" on its composition,
and "in many respects more substantial
than my later symphonies" on its
first performance. The symphonic poem
"October" with which
this disc is supplemented was written
for the 50th anniversary
of the revolution. This is a useful
addition to any such set, as it is very
much a symphonic movement in typical
Shostakovich mode with an inclusion
of elements from the ‘DSCH’ motive,
and having its programmatic content
in common with a number of the other
symphonies. The recording here is a
live one, with some audience noise,
some dodgy moments of tape damage and
some drifting in terms of sound levels,
but the performance is energetic and
committed.
So to the hugely and
justly popular Symphony No.5.
There are so many recordings of this
piece washing around the catalogue that
we’re spoilt for choice, but one version,
a one-time BBC Radio 3 ‘CD Review’ recommendation,
is closely contemporary to the 1967
recording by Kondrashin. André
Previn and the London Symphony Orchestra
made their RCA version in 1965, and
created a chemistry which resulted in
a justifiably recognised classic. Previn’s
contrasts of tempi create a far more
sustained and atmospheric feel in the
slower sections, and his first movement
is almost four minutes longer than Kondrashin.
Kondrashin’s intensity is more of a
full-on roller-coaster ride, a raw feast
which makes the blood run faster. This
is not to say that his more restful
moments are any less expressive, but
they do have a greater forward momentum
– more rhythmic snap, a greater sense
of urgency and danger. What the one
gains in refinement, the other challenges
with sheer explosive power. Both of
these versions share a sense of freshly
minted wonder and joy in the glory of
great new music for the times in which
they were being played, and this is
part of their great strength, as well
as showing how good the music is by
reflecting it in equally effective but
differing lights.
My principal reference
with the Sympbony No.6
is, from memory, that of Bernard Haitink
and the Concertgebouw orchestra. Not
quite as opulent sounding, the Moscow
wind soloists nonetheless prove expressive
and convincing in the atmospheric Largo,
elements of which resonate on in later
symphonies such as the 11th.
The dark art of brooding melancholy
and the journey to playfulness and humour
of the final Presto seem like
night and day with Kondrashin, and it
is that sensation of having climbed
out of a deep gloomy cave into a mad
festival of absurd and colourful cavorting
that makes this recording immediately
memorable.
The later recording
date of Symphony No.7 immediately
brings up a superior sound quality.
"A poem for our struggle and our
future victory", it is of course
very much a war symphony, dealing with
heroism, resistance, horrors and final
triumph. There are some intonation problems
with the lower winds – alto flute and
bass clarinet possibly being doubled
by non-specialists, but the high E flat
clarinet is a very human cry in this
recording. It’s not quite ‘Guernica’
in music form, but all of the forbidding
darkness and desperation comes through,
as do the shafts of sunlight.
Symphony No.8
opens with some wobbly tape, reminding
us that we’re back in the 1960s. Things
settle down quickly however, and the
typical penetrating woodwind sound colours
the orchestral sound with distinctive
acidity. There is a nasty sense of compression
in the sound of the tuttis in the central
section of the opening Adagio
– the orchestra seems to be sinking
deeper into the floor the louder the
music becomes, but there is no denying
the intensity of the playing. That famous
Allegro non troppo is excoriating
throughout, and with so many moments
of gloriously characterful musicianship
it would be a shame to have to put this
recording to one side on sound quality
alone. It is however more than the playing
which keeps one on the edge of ones
seat in this symphony. "The
Sun Shines on Our Motherland"
is an official, patriotic piece which
won the Stalin Prize in 1952, having
all of the epic, lyrical and revolutionary
character required of such works – this
being kind of piece which was designed
to prevent persecution from Communist
critics. Relatively vacuous, it does
have a few Shostakovich fingerprints
and certainly has a bravura sense of
orchestration, but it is more interesting
to hear how much it differs from the
personal expressive centre of Shostakovich’s
orchestral output – taken in isolation,
and you might be pushed to name the
composer.
With his Symphony
No.9, Shostakovich was expected
to express the jubilation on Russia’s
victory after the war, but the work
became infamous for its lightweight
character, compared in the booklet notes
to this set to Prokofiev’s ‘Classical’
Symphony. The second and fourth movements
are the key to what Shostakovich really
wanted to express. The composer was
deeply affected by loss and suffering,
and like the 8th String Quartet,
he found his outlet in a moving lament.
The outer movements are therefore something
more ironic, the victory suffused with
military drums in the first movement
which could belong to any army, the
scherzo character of the finale becoming
the caricature of a victory.
Eight years of persecution
separate the 9th from the
Symphony No.10, during
which works like "The Sun Shines…"
appeared. Shostakovich had built up
plenty of symphonic inspiration by April
1953, Stalin having died on 5 March
of that year. Coming from the later
batch of 1970s recordings, this symphony
has that advantage over the recording
of the 9th, which has nonetheless
survived reasonably well despite some
of those rubbly peaks. The first movement
of the 10th, one of Shostakovich’s
finest, receives a cracking performance
from the Moscow Philharmonic. Coming
in at a respectably compact 21:23 (even
Barshai is 23:14), it never sounds hurried,
but Kondrashin’s rhythmic drive propels
us with terrifying inevitability towards
that drawn-out climax, the one which,
like the summit of a vast mountain,
seems ever just out of reach.
A typo in the booklet
notes has the Symphony No.11 being
written in 1967, which is of course
1957, the work being paired with the
other ‘revolutionary’ Symphony
No.12 from 1961. Both of these
works refer to violent events in Russia’s
history: 1905 in the case of the 11th,
in which the ‘bloody Sunday’ of the
first failed revolution is described
and commemorated; October 1917 in the
12th, where the ‘path towards
the bright future’ of the Soviet nation
was initiated. The power of these readings
has a life of its own and a believability
which springs from the commitment of
musicians and conductor – they are commemorating
their own ancestry and political history
after all. The ‘attack’ section in the
second movement of the 11th
is passionate and turbulent, but unfortunately
once again let down somewhat by the
recording, with the stereo image collapsing
for some reason and with some messing
with the levels – no doubt in anticipation
of all that gunfire from the drums.
The third Adagio movement is
expressive and moving however, and the
final ‘Tocsin’ movement is dramatic
and urgent like few others I have heard.
The same is true of the revolutionary
12th, although the treble
seems a little more damped in this recording
than some of the others. The filler
on this disc, "The Execution
of Stepan Razin" was completed
after the 13th Symphony,
and has one or two echoes of that work
in the solo vocal line, sharing the
same author for the texts. Shostakovich
had a powerful response to the heroic
central figure in Yevtushenko’s poem,
and the music has some of the same intense
passion as ‘Babi Yar’. Kondrashin
conducted the premiere of the piece
in December 1964, and the soloist in
this recording, Vitaly Gromadski - who
also sang in the premiere of the 13th
Symphony - substituted at the last moment
for Ivan Petrov, bass at the Bolshoi
theatre, who had withdrawn at the last
moment fearing disapproval from the
authorities.
Despite the chronological
reversal, ‘Execution’ makes a
good introduction to Symphony
No.13, which to my mind has
always been one of Shostakovich’s strongest
musical statements. The Russian choir
has an immediate impact; the vocal sounds
being ‘right’, something a western choir
can emulate, but as this recording shows
never really substitute. The soloist,
Artur Eizen, is powerful and eloquent,
narrating as much as singing, giving
the text what I can only describe as
a biblical character – not hectoring,
but emphatic and challenging. Kondrashin’s
tempi are brisk, or will seem so to
those of us more used to Haitink. Going
back to some of my old tapes (oooh,
pre-echo!), which includes the CBSO
recording with Okko Kamu on Chandos,
makes most other interpretations seem
overly heavy and lugubrious. Even those
of us who have in the past sought Russian
authenticity through Rudolf Barshai
will note a reduction of many minutes
from each of the longest movements.
All of this driving exigency makes for
a stressful listening experience at
times, but this is after all not the
kind of music to which you should expect
to be able to put your feet up at the
end of a working day.
I have refrained from
making comparisons with Gennadi Rozhdestvensky
until now. I do not dislike his Melodiya
set with the U.S.S.R. Ministry of Culture
Symphony Orchestra, and despite some
fundamental flaws it does share much
of that Russian earthiness and feeling
of surreal drama with Kondrashin. One
of my desert island moments is the ‘Smert
poeta’ movement from his recording of
the Symphony No.14 with
Makuara Kasrashubili as soloist. Yevgenia
Tselovalnik with Kondrashin is more
dramatically operatic, but this chimes
in with his more intense and resolutely
dramatic approach. Rozhdestvensky’s
orchestral shortcomings are more often
than not disguised in a deep bath of
resonance, but Kondrashin is always
direct, up close and unafraid. The bass,
Yevgeni Nesterenko, sounds as if he
is singing through a megaphone. This
recording is indeed one of rich contrasts,
and while the marimba leaps with unnatural
immediacy into your room like a grimacing
clown in the fifth movement ‘On Watch’
the instrumental placing certainly makes
you sit up and take notice.
Also recorded in 1974,
Symphony No.15 has a similarly
close, mixing-desk massaged balance,
but the quicksilver revue of orchestral
effects and mad quotes from ‘William
Tell’ in the first movement revel
in this kind of treatment. Having criticized
Rozhdestvensky for over-resonant presentation,
I am sure that the mournful brass of
the second Adagio has been passed
through one of those wonderful old resonance
boxes full of springs in this recording.
There is however no need for disguise,
the playing is succulently rich and
expressive. With the collage of quotes
and references in this symphony, Shostakovich
turns his final symphonic statement
into a holistic railway-buffer, the
lines of the music reaching back into
a past on whose rails we composers all
ride, whether we like it or not. The
derailment of avant-gardism was never
part of Shostakovich, and he hands on
the baton while sitting on the shoulders
of giants. The classic 1967 recording
of the Violin Concerto No.2 is
a generous bonus with which to round
off this symphonic experience, and while
the sound is a little diffuse there
can be no denying the historical importance
of this recording, with Oistrakh as
the dedicatee and, for many, the best
ever advocate of this concerto.
I feel a word about
packaging on this set is not out of
place. The cardboard CD sleeves have
been imaginatively illustrated, each
with a different and distinctive woodcut
or linocut print by a variety of Russian
artists. Unfortunately, no room has
been made in the booklet notes to give
any further information on these. A
little research might reap rewards,
but the amount of question marks around
some of the artist’s dates lead me to
suspect that there might be difficulties.
The unspoken reasons for this are expressed
eloquently enough in the music. The
notes by Daniil Petrov are interesting
and comprehensive, but not without the
occasional translator’s howler. None
of the sung texts are given. The box
itself is a masterpiece of the paper
folder’s art, but the card is just a
little to thin to make the thing really
stable. Mine arrived a little squashed
and will never recover, so care does
need to be taken. The wee tag which
is supposed to keep the lid shut is
a joke, but I love the wit of that little
finishing touch – the ‘lenses’ of the
spectacles on the box are glossy, where
the rest is matte.
Again, why should one
invest in this cycle? The whole point
with Kondrashin is that the message
of Shostakovich is conveyed by the
performers through the music – they’re
not just playing the piece, they really
are expressing the feelings of the man,
and the atmosphere of the place and
times. I find it almost impossible to
listen to these recordings in a superficial
way. There are inevitable moments where
you might wince at some dodgy intonation,
at bits of tape which have become somewhat
chewed over the years or at some of
those roaring drums which seem to have
overloaded the oxide from day one. Both
recordings and performances are rough
and gritty, but with a bite which leaves
scars. Of each individual symphony,
this will probably not be your only
choice for a library, but who said
we should only ever have one of anything
when it comes to art. You will of course
want the option of modern digital clarity
with this music from time to time, and
I’m not about to ditch my motley collection
of well-loved individual recordings
as a result of (re)discovering these
recordings. I have kept my feet on the
ground by referring back frequently
to Rudolf Barshai’s excellent set with
the WDR Sinfonieorchester on the Brilliant
Classics label, and if a bargain set
is what you are after then this still
has few rivals. Both will exist happily
side-by-side on the space allocated
to my boxed sets – a disused fireplace,
and excluding my right lower molar probably
the most expensive cavity in my little
flat.
I remember going to
a concert in the Royal Festival Hall
very many years ago, where a touring
Russian orchestra – one of the best
– was performing. The only thing I remember
about the concert, aside from some staggering
playing, was that all of the string
instruments seemed to be of the same
make, certainly being all of the same
uniform dark brown colour. I don’t quite
know why, but this somehow seemed to
sum up the wide differences between
the worlds of Russia and the west. There
are so many things that we think we
know about that other country, but don’t
really understand. The Kondrashin recordings
are essential Shostakovich listening
for this reason if for no other. They
spring from the genuine source, and
express not only the voice of one great
composer, but the voices of an entire
population who, for better or worse,
became part of something simultaneously
vastly inspiring and uniquely terrifying.
Dominy Clements
A Note from John Shand
I bought the 2006 Melodiya Kondrashin
set. And now I’ve just come from comparing
the opening of the 4th and
10th symphonies with their
counterparts in the 1994 BMG-Melodiya
set, and there’s a definite improvement!
The level is higher, the sound clear
- the 1994 set sounds muffled in comparison
- and the sound has far more weight
and depth. In case I thought I was imagining
it, I got my wife to listen, who hasn’t
followed any of this, and played her
the disks blind - I have a very understanding
wife! - and she agreed without a qualm
that the sound on the 2006 set was noticeably
better.
I've just played the opening of the
8th. That's much improved too in the
Melodiya 2006 set over the BMG-Melodiya
1994 set. Where as before it was clear
but painful, the sound now has more
depth and body and isn't so unbearably
shrill, without losing any of the excitement.
He whole improvement is really quite
thrilling. The set has come up sounding
fresh.
And, by the way, the first note on
the double basses at the opening of
the 10th is restored, which
on the BMG-Melodiya set was chopped
off, or at least started half way through
- although no-one seems to have to commented
on this before.
I found a page on Amazon where someone
had compared the 2006 Melodiya set with
the 1999 Aulos one, and he thought the
2006 Melodiya set a definite improvement
over that too.
All one has to do is get used to the
quaint packaging of the 2006 set. But
there’s no question about the improvement
in sound. I wonder what they did? Whatever
they did the Russians have come
up trumps!
John Shand
That the 2006 set of the Shostakovich
symphonies is remastered is discreetly
documented on the back of each of the
cardboard sleeves for the disks. (All
except Symphony no.7 oddly enough -
although it’s clear it too has
been remastered judging by the sound
compared to the 1994 issue.) Who we
have to thank is one of two Russian
recording engineers in each case, either
M.Pilpov or V. Obodzinskaya, who shared
the job. They deserve a medal.
I should mention that there is no mention
of Russian sound engineers M.Pilpov
or V. Obodzinskaya, or indeed any other
sound engineers, including the original
ones (also listed on the 2006 set),
on the 1994 set.
John Shand
see also review
of Aulos release by Rob Barnett
Sound
Samples
Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra/Kirill Kondrashin
(conductor) 
