Alto have held true to immaculate standards in their continuation
of the Olympia Myaskovsky project. Olympia's discs – some of which
now command vertigo-inducing prices on ebay – ran to ten volumes
and then folded when the company stopped trading. Alto have picked
up the fallen baton and this is the fourth of their continuation
series. There's no overlap. If you have or can get the Olympias
this means you now have all the symphonies. With three more discs
you will have the complete series including various overtures,
sinfoniettas and serenades. Alto's attention to continuity extends
as far as quoting the serial number Olympia would have used had
they not been cut down mid-stride. They even continue the scheme
of spelling out Myaskovsky's name on the spine with one letter
per disc.
Per Skans’ notes were
such a bulwark of the Olympia series but his death halted that
contribution too although he did complete the note for Symphony
24 and that is used here. Jeffrey Davis has taken his place
and provides a very full note on Symphony 23. He carries the
standard high. Annotation is one of the unique selling points
of the Alto-Olympia edition which compares very favourably with
the scant annotation of the inexpensive Warner Myaskovsky-Svetlanov
symphony box.
While symphonies 24
and 25 have been in harness before (Melodiya and Naxos) these
two have never shared a disc. Placed side by side they remind
us of two Myaskovskian themes: folk voices (23) and the epic-heroic
(24). Both works are war-time creations. The first, designated
as symphonic suite (like Rimsky's Antar) is deeply soulful
and wondrously glowing. It is redolent of its contemporary RVW's
Fifth Symphony. Sincere and soulful, without bathos, it makes
for a slow burn and seems to carry also a redolence of Orthodox
chant. For a war-time symphony it approaches national spirit
without brash heroics. It taps the underlying pulse of nationhood
without crowd scenes, banners or grand parades. After two yearning
singing movements the finale looks to the celebration of Borodin's
Polovtsi camp rather than to Shostakovich's ramparts and tank
battles. It’s very much a natural progression in the nationalist
line of Balakirev, Borodin and Rimsky.
There is no mistaking
the heroic agenda of Symphony No. 24. It is dedicated to his
friend the musicologist Vladimir Derzhanovsky who died the same
year as Rachmaninov. The RSFRSO brass players are simply
magnificent - rhetoric irradiated with sincerity. Comparing
Myaskovsky with Shostakovich is to compare a composer whose
fundamentally conservative tonal language - rooted in Tchaikovsky
and Scriabin - answered his expressive need with a composer
of raw and unflinchingly violent distinctive originality. The
middle movement (each symphony is in three) opens in folk-inflected
contentment but rises to heroically grandstanded statement recalling
the heightened emotionalism of the first movement of the underrated
Seventeenth Symphony. While listening to this recording it came
home to me that his clamant heroism is distinctive not just
because of the cargo of tragedy but also because he speaks of
a better tomorrow. This is not in any facile agit-prop poster
way but because it is part of the warp and weft of this composer's
creative engine. This quintessentially sanguine music articulates
its optimism alongside tragedy. After an evidently heartfelt
Molto sostenuto comes a demonstrative allegro appassionato
with a touch of Reger-Strauss about its fugal-accented introduction.
The orchestra is amazingly powerful and responsive and its brass
and woodwind retain some of the distinctive character. Listen
to that abrasive bray and the liquid singing of the Russian
playing tradition.
Symphony 23 was premiered
by Golovanov in Moscow on 5 June 1942 and 24 by Mravinsky, again
in Moscow, on 8 December 1943.
There you have it: two wartime symphonies:
one stirringly heroic; the other folksy nationalist.
Rob Barnett
Myaskovsky review index
Russian Federation Academic SO/Evgeny Svetlanov 
