Mikhail KOLLONTAY (b. 1952)
Russian Soul en route
Viola Concerto, Op. 8 (1980)
Piano Concerto No. 1 ‘White’ (1984, rev 2010)
Nai-Yueh Chang (viola)
Alexei Kornienko (piano)
RTV Symphony Orchestra, Moscow/Alexei Kornienko, Mikhail Kollontay
rec. 2015/18, Studio 5, State Broadcasting House & Studio 1, Mosfilm, Moscow
TYXART TXA19129 [61:55]
Mikhail Kollontay (also spelt ‘Kollontai’) is a Muscovite and attended the Moscow Conservatory music college where he graduated in 1971 with a double first in piano and composition. He was a classmate of the great violist Yuri Bashmet for whom the present concerto was written. His work has appeared sporadically over the years on disc, often in multi-composer anthologies (sometimes under the alternative spelling of his name). Most recently his 2012 Violin Concerto ‘Blue Ray’ turned up on a Tyxart disc coupled with a similar work by an even more obscure Austrian figure, Nickolaus Fheodoroff. My colleague Stephen Greenbank wrote warmly of it in his review; I’m afraid I’m somewhat less positive about the fare on offer here.
This may have something to do with the fact that both these concerti are products of the early stages of Kollontay’s composing career. In each case he seems to inflate, extend and ultimately repeat to death what is rather thin gruel. On the other hand there are occasional washes of attractive and unusual instrumental colour. There is a real fervour to the playing of the Moscow Orchestra in both works, but the recording (especially of the Viola Concerto) does them few favours. There are wonky balances, harsh brass, although somewhat counter-intuitively delicate waves of tuned percussion emerge with real presence, perhaps due to some artificial spotlighting.
An obscure 1980s recording of Bashmet playing the Viola Concerto exists (on the unfamiliar Relief label); it is without question the best of the two works here. When I put it on for the first time, armed with my note pad, I was rudely interrupted by some unscheduled destructive antics on the part of my cat. It took half an hour to sweep up the (china) debris and the disc played on in the background while I did so. With my critical antennae on hold, the overriding, superficial impression given by the concerto was actually rather positive – interesting melodic material, some colourful textures, a bit in the opening five minutes even seemed to suggest Lennon and McCartney.
The initial Andante con moto opens with very closely recorded piano chords before the soloist enters, one is thus immediately disoriented into thinking this is actually a sonata with piano. Eventually brass lines and flute emerge over descending strings and reassure one that it is a concerto after all. The busy viola line develops in a rather jagged, unruly way, which suits the russet, full-blooded tone of the soloist, Nai-Yueh Chang. After some tinkling celesta, the argument takes something of a sentimental turn, evoking cinematic schmaltz. During a somewhat pensive episode it becomes apparent that the piano seems to comment on everything the viola does, in an annoying ‘Jiminy Cricket’, unwanted moral compass kind of way. It takes on something of a predictable pattern – including a rather bombastic treatment of the twee theme that is certainly unmerited. At 9:25 there’s a viola cadenza – it conveys a rather tragic mood and goes on at length before the listener is rescued by the piano (inevitably) and a rather fruity sax (less predictably). The material speeds up and almost turns into a folk/jazz jam session before things rather peter out. This movement takes fifteen minutes to say what arguably could have been said in two – perhaps I’ve been desensitised by watching too many election debates.
There’s a bit more variety in the solo writing of the central Allegro, and more excitement in the orchestration, although in truth the argument lacks cogency and the effect is one of fragmentation. Kollontay imbues the music with an unmistakably ‘Soviet’ flavour not least in the vocal-like inflections of the viola part (the passage starting around the 3:30 point is especially mordant). While the tuned percussion (especially the celesta) offer brief surface prettiness, I’m afraid I find Kollontay’s music tends towards nagging and over-assertiveness. Stylistically it seems very much of its time and perhaps fails to connect effectively four decades on. The concluding Adagio however is darker, the development of the initial material, deployed against a backdrop of muted brass fanfares, is certainly more varied and arresting. It piques the listener’s curiosity for a more sustained period than what has gone before until the music eventually settles. The fanfares return at 4:33 and the soloist is backed by a strange (and not unattractive) celesta accompaniment, although I feel the composer is again guilty of prolixity. There are shrill interjections from winds and brass before a gentler, gnomic conclusion.
There are fleeting moments of beauty and excitement in Kollontay’s Viola Concerto and one cannot imagine a more committed account than that provided here by Nai-Yueh Chang. The playing of the RTV Symphony Orchestra is rather old school – the brass especially sound pleasingly ‘Russian’, although there is something rather boxy and compressed about the engineering, a deliberate attempt perhaps to recreate the traditional Melodiya sound. It doesn’t always come off- some loud climaxes seem extremely harsh. However I certainly feel more warmly disposed to Kollontay’s Viola Concerto than to its coupling, his ‘White’ Piano Concerto No 1, originally produced in 1984, but revised in 2010. Kollontay is frank in the booklet note (about which I will have more to say in due course). At its original premiere, the audience seemed to like it, but the composer took a rather bad review to heart and subsequently rewrote the piece, work he only completed in 2010. I have never heard the original, but the piece as it appears here seems overlong, extending material which is rather too thin into unjustifiably epic proportions.
The measured tread of the descending scale with which it opens is something of a cliché in itself – it is no surprise when the material is inverted. The piano traces a delicate theme over these ascents and descents – at 1:40 soloist and orchestra change places. The music darkens slightly and at 3:35 a secondary idea emerges from this basic content. The music is simple, calm and quietly hypnotic, not unattractive, but it really doesn’t seem to go anywhere. There is a brief, slow cadenza later in this initial Andante tranqillo movement which sounds like a dry, rather cheesy improvisation. The orchestra return to conflate these simple gestures into a loud, ecstatic climax ill-matched to the musical content; individual shards of melody seem to fall away from this eruption and leave behind an episode of stasis. To my ears this is the most telling moment in the whole piece.
In contrast the Vivace capriccioso finale is puckish, tricksy and unashamedly Prokofievian. Its charms are limited and short-lived due to Kollontay’s habitual recourse to sledgehammer repetition. The superficial glitter he produces is too obvious- there may well be some serious post-modern intent here but I found the consequent tweeness jarring and irritating. Possibly because I have heard this kind of thing done more expertly and movingly – notably in the Piano Concerto No 3 by the rather obscure Georgian composer/pianist Nodar Gabunia. (I fortuitously picked up an old Melodiya LP of this piece 25 years ago; I have retained very little vinyl but made an exception for this invigorating work which is rich in unforgettable melody and which moves inexorably towards a wonderfully worked coda – curious readers can investigate it on YouTube.
There is some interesting role-swapping on this disc. The soloist in the Piano Concerto is Alexei Kornienko, who acts as conductor in the Viola Concerto. Kornienko is clearly a confirmed advocate of Kollontay’s music and invests the piano part with evident conviction. The piano sound is most realistic – indeed the recording of the Piano Concerto as a whole holds up much more successfully than that provided for its coupling. The composer himself conducts it so one can only imagine the results chime with his original intentions. Other Russophiles may respond far more warmly to these pieces than I; in any case Tyxart are to be commended for their enterprise in bringing this repertoire to a wider audience, and one hopes other little-known figures will benefit similarly in due course.
A final word about the booklet. The disc’s title, ‘Russian Soul en route’ (sic) makes little sense in itself but it does epitomise the standard of English that features throughout the booklet translation. To paraphrase the late Eric Morecambe, I’m sure all the words are there, but they’re not necessarily in the right order. I don’t think this is necessarily symptomatic of this label as I have another Tyxart release for future review in which the documentation is first-class but the opposite is the case here, even to the extent that one might easily misconstrue Mikhail Kollontay’s artistic goals and methodology, alas.
Richard Hanlon
