Aram Il’yich KHACHATURIAN (1903-1978)
Symphony No. 2 in E minor, ‘The Bell’ (1943) [48:26]
Lermontov Suite (excerpts) (1959) [14:04]
Russian Philharmonic Orchestra/Dmitry Yablonsky
rec. 18-23 November 2006, Studio 5, Russian State TV & Radio Co KULTURA,
Moscow
NAXOS 8.570436 [52:30]
Mention Khachaturian and most people think of his ballets.
Who can forget the sight of Gary Lockwood shadow-boxing his way around the
spermatozoon-spaceship in 2001 to the Adagio from the third
Gayaneh suite? Or the Sabre Dance, from the same work, put
to inspired use in that hula-hoop sequence from The Hudsucker
Proxy? Then there are the popular concertos, one each for violin, cello
and piano; as it happens I’ve just reviewed
a splendid new account of the latter. Khachaturian’s three symphonies
have fared less well; that said, the handful of recordings that do exist come
from the likes of Leopold Stokowski (EMI-Warner), Neeme Järvi (Chandos), Loris
Tjeknavorian (ASV) and the composer himself (Decca and Melodiya).
Given this comparatively poor showing – in numbers, if not quality of
performance – I was pleased to welcome Dmitry Yablonsky’s coupling
of the Second Symphony and excerpts from the Lermontov suite. I’m
surprised it’s taken so long to release this album – it was recorded
in 2006 – as Yablonsky is usually worth hearing in repertoire from the
Soviet era. Two very fine recordings come to mind; that of Shostakovich’s
film music for Grigori Kozintsev’s Hamlet (review)
and a superbly remastered collection of the same composer’s ballet suites
(review).
As for the Russian Philharmonic, it draws musicians from several Moscow-based
ensembles.
Khachaturian’s Simfoniya s kolokolom, written in 1943, owes
its name to the bells that ring out in the first and last movements. Like
Shostakovich’s Leningrad Symphony it’s a wartime piece,
with all the associations that implies; indeed, the composer called it a ‘requiem
of wrath’. I really don’t find such descriptions helpful, and
I try to ignore them when listening. Yablonsky’s Andante maestoso
is mighty impressive, but those reared on the composer’s Decca/Wiener
Philharmoniker recording will be underwhelmed by the puny alarm bell - or
tocsin - in this new one.
Otherwise, Yablonsky’s performance has plenty of thrust and sweep, and
the climaxes emerge with considerable weight and clarity. And while the quieter
moments are wonderfully transparent the lovely tunes that rise from the mix
are more striking – more passionate – on the Decca disc than they
are on the Naxos one. Also, the Viennese players articulate rhythms more emphatically
and/idiomatically than their Russian counterparts do. Not surprisingly, the
Naxos recording is far more sophisticated than Decca’s, with none of
the ‘focus pulling’ and overloaded climaxes that mar the latter.
Even so, there’s a raw vitality to that old ‘un that the newcomer
simply can’t match.
To be sure, Khachaturian is inclined to wander at times – Yablonsky
has the firmer grip – but that irks me far less than a taut, super-refined
reading that lacks spontaneity and colour. Alas, Yablonsky’s Allegro
risoluto is no different; impeccably presented, it seems more remote
than ever. This is the kind of music that needs the strongest advocacy if
it’s not to seem second rate; that’s certainly true of the symphony’s
inner movements which, in Yablonsky’s hands, are just too bland to be
taken seriously. Indeed, there’s an inbuilt exuberance to this music
that spills over into grand, rather garish gestures – especially in
the finale – and to ignore that is to misconstrue the essential spirit
of the piece.
In short, this is a very frustrating performance that, although spectacularly
recorded, simply doesn’t do this symphony any kind of justice. One only
needs to hear Järvi’s version – recorded in his halcyon days with
the Royal Scottish National Orchestra – to realise just how sanitised
this newcomer really is. True, I’d have liked more distinct bells, but
the pith and pace of the Estonian’s reading pinions the listener from
start to finish. And while the Chandos sound isn’t as airy as that on
the Naxos disc it’s still exceptionally vivid. Most important, though,
maestro and orchestra play the music as if it really matters.
Yablonsky’s filler comprises three excerpts from the incidental music
Khachaturian penned for a stage work about the Russian playwright and poet
Mikhail Lermontov (1814-1841). This includes music he wrote for a production
of Lermontov’s Masquerade some years earlier The Introduction:
On the death of the poet has all the precision and polish that defines
Yablonsky’s account of the symphony; alas, it also inherits some of
its prosaic qualities. Yes, the Mazurka is crisply done and the Waltz
is nicely sprung, but this is an underwhelming end to a very disappointing
disc. Incidentally, Järvi signs off with a thrilling set of Gayaneh
excerpts.
No, if you’re after a very special version of ‘The Bell’
Khacaturian’s own, with the WP, is the one to have. It can be had on
a Decca twofer, along with the piano and violin concertos and the Masquerade
suite. Those who only want the symphony can download a Bibliothèque nationale
de France transfer from Qobuz for under three euros. And don’t overlook
Loris Tjeknavorian and the Armenian Philharmonic. The ASV titles can be hard
to find, but now that Presto have taken over the catalogue – see here
– that much-admired recording should be back in circulation soon.
Refinement at the expense of character; superb sound, though.
Dan Morgan
twitter.com/mahlerei
Previous reviews: Raymond
Walker ~ Michael
Wilkinson
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