It was widely observed at the time that people
were shocked to hear of Alexander Glazunov’s death in 1936 –
but only, it seemed, because they had assumed that such an “old-fashioned”
composer must have died many years before.
True enough, it must have appeared that Glazunov
was something of a relic of the past. Protégé of Balakirev and
pupil of Rimsky-Korsakov, his early musical style – demonstrated
here in the first three symphonies – was very much influenced
by that of the members of the so-called “Mighty Handful” (Cui,
Mussorgsky and Borodin, in addition to Balakirev and Rimsky).
As such, Stravinsky, for one, was later to dismiss Glazunov
as a sort of “Carl Philipp Emanuel Rimsky-Korsakov”. The older
composer was, however, equally sharp-tongued, assessing Fireworks
as a demonstration of “no talent, only dissonance.”
But all that overlooks a fact well demonstrated
when considering Glazunov’s complete symphonic oeuvre
- that he moved on quite quickly and decisively from the Mighty
Handful’s nationalist orbit towards a new, more musically cosmopolitan
stance that was significantly closer to less inward-looking
and more progressive composers such as Tchaikovsky and Taneyev.
Here Evgeny Svetlanov offers a traversal of eight
symphonies written over a span of a quarter of a century; a
projected ninth got no further than an incomplete first movement
before being set aside and ignored for the last twenty five
years or so of the composer’s life. Its value lies not, though,
in the fact that it fills any gaps in the repertoire: collectors
have, in fact, been rather spoiled for choice in recent years
with complete cycles from the likes of Neeme Järvi (Orfeo) and
Tadaaki Otaka (Bis)
as well as worthwhile recordings of individual symphonies from
Valery Polyansky (Chandos and Brilliant),
José Serebrier (Warner)
and Alexander
Anissimov (Naxos).
No, the value of these recordings lies in the fact that they
formed part of Evgeny Svetlanov’s visionary long-term project
to record his “anthology of Russian symphony music”. As such,
he took great care to place Glazunov’s symphonic oeuvre in
what he saw as its proper historical/and musicological context.
Before going any further, however, we need to
register a couple of potential reservations, both concerning
sound. In the first place, we have to face up to the fact that
we have here a typical Soviet-era Russian orchestra with a brass
section that, to Western ears at least, often sounds blaring
and raucous. If you find that unbearable then there is really
little point in reading on: Otaka’s National Orchestra of Wales
or Järvi’s Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra/Bamberg Symphony
Orchestra recordings will be far more to your liking. But if
your tastes – in orchestra timbres, I hasten to add - run along
much the same lines as Messrs. Stalin, Khrushchev and Brezhnev,
then do please carry on reading.
The second issue is the nature of the recordings
themselves. While the accompanying literature gives us no clue
to the venues used, all were made in markedly reverberant acoustic
settings that, at their worst, sounds like empty swimming pools.
Unfortunately, that has serious implications: orchestral detail
can become unpleasantly muddied and, moreover, the emotional
impact of passages that would benefit from being played quite
simply and sparely can be lost amid the sense of immense surrounding
space.
But, putting those two points to one side, it
is fair to say that this is an exceptionally well thought-out
and performed survey. That blaring brass has frequently coloured
past critical assessments of the USSR Symphony Orchestra but,
if you can accept that feature as merely the cultural norm in
its own time and place rather than seeing it as an objective
“fault”, then it’s clear that overall this was an exceptionally
fine and responsive band. Their playing throughout this symphonic
journey is almost always exemplary and is consistently enjoyable,
with the woodwinds in particular regularly making a most positive
contribution.
The First Symphony, clearly influenced
by Rimsky-Korsakov, suffers as much as - if not more than -
any of the others from the impression that it must have been
recorded in the Moscow Municipal Baths. The sound in the opening
allegro is really quite confused, an effect even more
noticeable in the succeeding scherzo where we ideally
need more clarity to appreciate the virtuosity of Glazunov’s
skittish writing for the strings. One of Svetlanov’s very rare
musical misjudgements comes in the adagio third movement
which, at 11:23, lacks pulse and direction and is stretched
out too long. By comparison, Gennadi Rozhdestvensky clipped
nearly three minutes off that time (8:27) in his recording with
the old USSR Ministry of Culture Symphony Orchestra - from their
set of the complete symphonies on Olympia OCD 5001 - and successfully
avoided the longueurs that afflict Svetlanov’s account.
The latter returns to form in the finale, however, demonstrating
at times a surprising degree of delicacy.
The opening movement of the Second Symphony
is most impressive. Svetlanov’s tempi are beautifully judged
and he demonstrates firm control of dynamics, while the orchestra
plays with very clean articulation; the sound is a trifle less
reverberant this time. Although the slow movement is actually
almost two minutes longer than its predecessor, it seems far
more concise. Played here with fervour and an appropriately
rapt intensity, its luscious themes will appeal to anyone with
a sweet musical tooth - think of the slow movements of Balakirev’s
First Symphony, Borodin’s Second, Rimsky’s First and Gliere’s
too little known First.
The USSR Symphony Orchestra shines too in the sprightly, beautifully
orchestrated allegro vivace and Svetlanov ensures that,
in the vigorous finale, that the brass are kept well under control
so that the strong, effective contributions of strings and woodwinds
are showcased effectively and not overwhelmed.
The sound improves again - or am I just getting
accustomed to it? – in the Third Symphony. Strings and
brass are again balanced well in the opening movement and Svetlanov
builds and maintains dramatic tension and lyricism. The woodwinds
come effectively to the fore in another showpiece skittering
scherzo before the conductor makes the best possible
case for the rather impressionistic and atmospheric andante.
At 16:10 this is the longest slow movement in the cycle and
it is, to be honest, a case where material that was rather thin
in the first place is being overstretched. The orchestra, nevertheless,
plays with intelligence and delicacy and carry over those qualities
into a finale that Svetlanov shapes and paces with great skill.
The writer of the booklet notes, Rob Barnett,
argues that the three-movement Fourth Symphony (“extraordinary,
exhilarating, exuberantly inspired and often ecstatic”)
marks something of a watershed – and not just an alliterative
one. He raises it, the fifth and sixth symphonies, the violin
concerto and the ballet The Seasons - all written in
the highly productive period 1893-1904 - to the status of Glazunov’s
masterpieces and Svetlanov and his orchestra certainly treat
the op.48 symphony as musically significant. We have now left
Rimsky-Korsakov’s shadow as Glazunov explores entirely new (for
him) symphonic models. A superbly played and very lyrical opening
movement is beautifully crafted, both in individual phrases
and overall, whereupon yet another skittishly playful scherzo
is succeeded by a vigorous, purposeful finale.
The USSR Symphony Orchestra’s flexibility is
well demonstrated in the opening movement of the rather better
known Fifth Symphony where it plays, as required, with
both virility and sensitivity. The woodwinds shine in the following
scherzo which is beautifully balanced - and brings a
brief return of Glazunov’s Rimsky-isms with more than a hint
of Tsar Saltan. The following andante is very
atmospheric, with attractive strings and particularly effective
interjections by the brass, but is unmemorable and never quite
reaches the melodic heights to which it appears to aspire. The
symphony’s finale, the cycle’s briefest at just 6:24 but still
full of vigour and power, gives the conductor full rein to demonstrate
yet again his players’ impressive rhythmic precision and discipline.
The Sixth Symphony offers Svetlanov the
opportunity to impress with his ability to integrate a strong
sense of momentum alongside episodes of emotional indulgence
(in the opening movement). The following Tema con variazioni
is very reminiscent at times of The Seasons and notable
for some fine, delicate phrasing by the woodwinds and for the
way that the brass is kept under firm restraint. An attractively
delicate and refined intermezzo provides conclusive evidence
that the orchestra’s widely-held reputation for crudity is utterly
undeserved, while the finale that follows offers a winning combination
of authoritative and idiomatic playing. Svetlanov almost manages
to convince one that the score’s drama and powerful drive are
enough to outweigh its somewhat disjointed structure.
Moving on, the Seventh Symphony, Glazunov’s
Pastoral, is another successful performance. Appropriately
enough, the first movement brims over with gentle “country dance”
bonhomie and, quite significantly, these are not the Russian
peasants who would doubtless have been depicted by one of
the Mighty Handful. Once again, some rather impressionistic
passages open the succeeding andante before it succumbs
to the indulgence of a rather lusciously played Romantic “big
tune”. More virtuosic playing characterises yet another characteristically
light and playful scherzo, with more of those familiar interjections
by the brass well balanced and carried off with élan.
Svetlanov’s decision not to take the composer’s direction molto
pesante (“very heavily”) too literally also benefits the
allegro maestoso finale by integrating it effectively
with the rest of his generally “Glazunov-lite” approach to this
genial work.
But if the seventh was “Glazunov-lite”, then
the Eighth Symphony is, I’m afraid, distinctly “Glazunov-thin”,
although Svetlanov and the orchestra nevertheless do their characteristic
best for it. The ensemble is particularly well balanced throughout
the opening movement - shades of Raymonda here - but
the musicians have their work cut out to make much of an atmospheric
but essentially rather nondescript slow movement that certainly
outstays its welcome. Rob Barnett’s booklet notes warn of the
danger of over-inflating music that needs to sound simple and
intimate to be effective: unfortunately, the reverberant sound
here prevents any possibility of that so that the movement ends
up sounding rather hollow and vacuous. In this generally uninspired
symphony even the scherzo is far less characterful than usual,
while the finale is oddly anticlimactic. It is interesting to
see that the direction given by Glazunov to that slow movement
was mesto (“sad”) and, as an overall verdict on the symphony
as a whole, that is not an inappropriate word. Did Glazunov
feel that his symphonic inspiration had finally run dry? After
all, as already noted, he could never subsequently motivate
himself to complete even the opening movement of a Symphony
No.9.
This set has one filler, the “symphonic picture”
The Kremlin. Unfortunately, the quality of Glazunov’s
musical invention wasn’t especially high for this one and he
seems to be merely going through the motions – and doing even
that in a relatively restrained way. Of the three episodes,
Popular Festival sounds as if the participants needed
a rather more generous allocation of vodka to get things going
with more of a swing, while To the cloister proves to
be an excessively long and tedious journey. The final Entrance
and coronation of the prince is appropriately regal, pompous
and triumphalist, with appropriate intimations of Orthodox chant.
Rather oddly, although this set’s booklet notes translate its
title with those words – as does the writer of the notes on
Konstantin Krimets’s performance on Naxos 8.553537 – the booklet
track-listings give it as merely Meeting and entrance of
the Prince, which rather gives the impression that the whole
thing might be altogether crown-less and taking place in an
office or at the Wal-Mart delicatessen counter. Thankfully,
Glazunov’s orchestration and Svetlanov’s performance effectively
torpedo that rather bizarre thought.
My overall verdict on this box is inevitably,
then, coloured considerably by my reaction to the music itself.
Much of it is undeniably very attractive, but there are also
increasingly frequent passages that are characterised by thin
inspiration and where the composer appears to be working on
auto-pilot. It does appear that by 1906 Glazunov was coming
to realise that he had said all that he had to say in symphonic
form.
It is inevitable, too, that, in any completist
project like this one, there will be some - or perhaps even
many - less interesting instalments. Even the complete Mozart
edition, for goodness sake, showed Wolfgang Amadeus capable
of a few less than usually effective days. In the circumstances,
therefore, one has to admire Evgeny Svetlanov’s dedication to
the whole project. One must also acknowledge the consistency
of his and his orchestra’s almost invariably idiomatic, stylish
and accomplished performances – as well as their admirable determination
to pay due regard to a composer who today, just as in 1936,
appears to be too easily overlooked.
Rob Maynard
Invariably idiomatic, stylish and accomplished ... see Full
Review
USSR Symphony Orchestra/Evgeny
Svetlanov 
