When, in 1929, the composer Alexander Glazunov conducted a concert
in Eastbourne, a
Daily Express journalist graphically
described him as having the appearance of a “wealthy retired
tea planter”. In fact, the composer/conductor was lucky
that the reference was merely to tea - because, for several decades
by then, he had had a well-documented preference for strong alcohol
in large quantities. Thus, more than three decades earlier in
1897, Natalia Satina had famously suggested that the disastrous
premiere of her fiancée Sergei Rachmaninoff’s first
symphony had been the result of rather too many early evening
snifters on Glazunov’s part before he had mounted the rostrum
to conduct it.
But it is easy, on the other hand, to see how, even if he had
been sober, Glazunov, who in the mid-1890s was composing attractive
but conventional works such as his sixth symphony, might well
have found himself out of sympathy with the much richer, more
complex and often turbulent musical idiom of the (slightly) younger
composer’s first.
Since its reconstruction from rediscovered orchestral parts in
the 1940s, the long-lost Rachmaninoff no.1 has been increasingly
recognised as a major work. Nevertheless - as here - it still
tends to appear on disc as part of a wider-ranging Rachmaninoff
cycle and stand-alone recordings tend to be few and far between.
I suspect the explanation is that A&R men worry that potential
buyers will be frightened off this still relatively unfamiliar
work unless they have first sampled the same conductor’s
account of the far more popular second symphony. But here is
one occasion, at least, where they need not have worried at all,
for this performance is quite strong enough to stand on its own
two feet and to face down almost any competition.
In the first movement, an even more portentous and glowering
opening than usual immediately demonstrates the orchestra’s
gutsy, raw and entirely appropriate sound. Even in the most congested
passages - of which there are many - Pavel Kogan demonstrates
his ability to maintain a fine orchestral balance. Plenty of
exquisite woodwind detail, often swamped in other accounts, comes
beautifully through and, similarly, the vigorous tintinnabulation
in the “orthodox church bells” passage (think Rimsky’s
Russian
Easter festival overture) doesn’t obscure or distract
attention from what the rest of the players are doing. The performance
is a consistently effective one, whether in the beautifully projected
quieter “yearning” passages (from, for instance,
2:43 to 5:02) or in the more full-bloodedly passionate ones that
make me wish I had heard these artists’ earlier account
of the Rachmaninoff second symphony. Kogan’s fine dynamic
control is intelligently applied throughout, not just to enhance
the drama of the music but also to clarify and elucidate the
textures of this busy score.
Kogan drives the second movement along very excitingly and, right
from the very opening, revels in the full, deep and rich tones
that the orchestra produces, especially in its lower registers.
The very fine woodwinds and agile Moscow strings are shown to
particular advantage and the conductor uses the widest dynamic
range to draw attention or add emphasis to some exquisite passages
that are skated over in less thoughtful accounts. Even more impressive,
though, is the
andante third movement - the high point,
for me, of this recording. Once again, Kogan’s thoughtful
and painstaking approach forces one to listen anew to the details
of the score. The richly-textured opening pages convey the most
aching and intense sense of melancholy and desolation, before
an especially powerful and ominous orchestral introduction at
3:37. The playing throughout this movement is very fine indeed
and its final section - capped at the climax with just a hint
of that old-style raucous Soviet brass that you either love or
loath - is exceptional moving.
Rachmaninoff’s thrilling finale - forever remembered by
UK TV viewers of a certain age as providing the theme music for
BBC TV’s
Panorama - does not disappoint. There is
plenty, of course, for those powerfully raw lower strings to
do, but once again Kogan lets as much light into the score as
possible. For once I found a couple of issues with the orchestral
balance: some characterful writing for pizzicato violins that
gives extra lift to the melody of first the woodwinds and then
the strings (from about 4:00 to about 5:18) is underpowered and
the climatic stroke on the tam-tam (at 10:41) is not, perhaps,
as awe-inspiring as I personally like to hear it. As that remark
suggests, though, those are personal quibbles which may not trouble
other listeners at all. The movement’s final tragic peroration
is very powerfully delivered and as utterly moving and emotionally
cathartic as it ought to be.
Isle of the Dead makes a substantial filler, not only
in terms of the clock but also in emotional heft - although I’d
suggest that there is room to question booklet writer James Murray’s
emphatic assertion that “nowhere else does this most emotive
of composers exhibit his innermost feelings so graphically”.
This flowing, purposeful account keeps its end in sight throughout
- it does, after all, depict a physical journey - and occupies
a position somewhere between Rachmaninoff himself - whose ferryman
must have taken a speedboat to the island to get the masses ranks
of the Philadelphia Orchestra there in just 18:05 in a 1929 account
(see
Vista
Vera and
Pearl)
- and
Evgeny
Svetlanov who, distracted on his traversal of the waters
to look
very intensely at the view, takes a whopping 25:00.
Kogan builds the musical ebb and flow very successfully to an
effective and most dramatic climax at 14:37 and his skilful musicians
play their hearts out for him. This is altogether a most impressive
account.
That makes it all the odder that the recordings of both works
have taken nearly twenty years to appear on disc; the booklet
makes it clear that these are first issues. I would hazard a
guess that the collapse in funding for the previously heavily
subsidised arts in post-communist Russia may have had something
to do with it, but the booklet notes throw no light on the mystery.
Observant readers will have noticed that I have spelled the composer’s
name as
Rachmaninoff whereas Alto’s presentation
prefers
Rachmaninov. It is certainly true that the name
in Cyrillic lettering ends in the Russian letter “b” which
is usually transliterated into a “v” in the English
language. But the composer himself chose to adopt the French
transliteration of his name that uses a final “ff” -
as can be seen in his personal signature, on his application
for US citizenship and even on his gravestone. The “v” variant
appears to have originated only in the 1960s. I have thus followed
the invariable practice of Rachmaninoff himself.
Rob Maynard
Moscow State Symphony Orchestra/Pavel Kogan 
