Boris Lyatoshynsky (1895-1968)
Symphony No. 1 in A major, Op. 2
Symphony No. 2 in B minor, Op. 26
Symphony No. 3 in B minor, Op. 50
Symphony No. 4 in B minor, Op. 63
Symphony No. 5 in C major 'Slavonic', Op. 67
Grazhyna (1955)
Ukrainian State Symphony Orchestra/Theodore Kuchar
rec. 1993-1994, Kiev, Ukraine
NAXOS 8.503303 [3 CDs: 189]
Given the arcane and dubious relationship of English spelling to its pronunciation, it is clearly illogical to complain about the decision of Naxos in the transliteration of the composer’s name from Cyrillic to Roman alphabets to substitute “y” for “i” throughout. This box is clearly identified as containing the complete symphonies of Lyatoshynsky. But, given an English tradition that is already clearly inconsistent in retaining an initial T in the spelling of Tchaikovsky, it is nevertheless to my mind perverse to substitute such a bizarrely exotic spelling of the composer’s name for the more traditional “Liatoshinsky” which has been widely adopted elsewhere. The substitution of the letter Y for I makes no appreciable difference to the actual sound in English (while in Welsh it does, and the resulting pronunciation is wrong!), and is moreover inconsistent with other similar composers’ names such as Liadov which are well-established in regular usage. (Stravinsky, for example, never transliterated his name as Stravynsky.) Additionally, Naxos persist in spelling the composer’s forename as “Boris” rather than as “Borys” which would be the logical conclusion of their transliteration policy – as, no doubt, by extension Mussorgsky’s opera should be Borys Godunov. Accordingly throughout the remainder of this review I am reverting to established tradition, and will continue to refer to the Ukrainian symphonist by the name of Boris Liatoshinsky.
The barbaric Russian invasion of their former satellite state of Ukraine is, of course, one of the great historical tragedies of our time which has inflicted untold damage on the self-image of a supposedly civilised world. But, at the same time, it has served to focus the eyes of the world onto the distinctive culture of “Little Russia” as established during the history of centuries, and is exemplified by the symphonies of Liatoshinsky which slowly over a period of Stalinist repression liberated themselves from the dictates of Soviet realism and realised their own brand of national identity. Listening at the time of writing to a radio relay from the Metropolitan Opera of Lise Davidsen singing Strauss’s Im Abendroth given as part of a support concert for the people of Ukraine has forcibly underlined the emotional impact of the invasion on the conscience of the world. And, some thirty years after this complete cycle of the Liatoshinsky symphonies first appeared on the Marco Polo label, this set of recordings remains as a remarkable and unique testament to the composer’s achievement during his lifetime and his influence on succeeding generations.
The course of the composer’s career is succinctly summarised in the booklet notes for the discs (these have been updated by Katy Hamilton since the original releases) and describe a similar trajectory to that of Shostakovich, from youthful iconoclasm and experiment through politically motivated censorship and repression to ultimate vindication. And a fascinating evolution is indeed revealed here. The First Symphony of 1918-19 is the work of a young enthusiastic disciple of the most modern trends in Russian music at the time of the First World War, which means in this case an extravagant fantasy in the manner of Scriabin (who had died in 1915). There are elements in the music which closely recall the latter’s Poem of ecstasy, complete with his trademark use of high-soaring trumpet lines rising above the clouded textures below. And Liatoshinsky goes one better, adding further descants above them in the form of elevated lines for the high woodwind, with flutes and piccolos rising boldly into the stratosphere. The result is exciting, but perhaps exhausting after a while – although the playing of the Ukraine orchestra is never strained or over-bombastic, as might so easily become the case in a less sympathetic performance. But this is clearly a young man’s symphony, the beginning of a journey rather than its consummation.
The Second Symphony of 1935-6 ran into considerable difficulties at the hands of the Soviet cultural commissars, the same kind of officious body who effectively consigned Shostakovich’s Fourth to the deepest dungeons for some twenty years. In the case of Liatoshinsky, the result when it finally emerged had been subjected to some revision in 1940, and it is hard to say how drastic this had been although the score as we now have it does not seem as radical as all that. Indeed the objections of the cultural police may have been more to the general tone of the work (a hard pessimistic view of existence without much in the way of hope in the future) than to specific elements in the music itself. My impression was of a parallel with the early symphonies of Arnold Bax, lamenting the destruction of his vision of Irish nationalism following the Easter Rising – deep woodwind tones in almost folk-like but jagged melodic fragments, and searing chordal dissonances expressive of pain and longing. It is hard to imagine that Liatoshinsky ever heard a note of Bax, but the similarities once noticed are undeniable, clearly indicative of a similar emotional undertow. This is a very impressive work, only let down (if it is) by a lack of distinctive melodic material.
The Third Symphony of 1951 certainly makes up for that lack, with melodic impetus supplied by a liberal use of traditional Slavonic chant and folk material – the result of the composer’s studies following the suppression of his Second. It has long been the popular favourite among the Liatoshinsky cycle of symphonies, and its clear outlines and structures are evidence of a desire to communicate even though the original subtitle Peace will defeat war was suppressed at the instance of the same censorship that still bedevilled Soviet music even after the death of Stalin. Here the parallels with other composers are even more unexpected, since Liatoshinsky’s treatment of his Slavonic material sounds remarkably similar in tone and harmony to Respighi’s treatment of Gregorian chant as for example in his Pines by the catacombs in his Roman trilogy. Perhaps not quite so unexpected, though, when one remembers Respighi’s early studies in Russia; and the clear influence upon both composers is that of Rimsky-Korsakov. The almost impressionist textures in the Liatoshinsky symphony are often hauntingly beautiful, and the reason for its popularity are not far to seek.
Before he commenced work on his later symphonies, Liatoshinsky in 1955 wrote a symphonic poem entitled Grazhyna which is also included in this set; and quite rightly, since at nearly half an hour in duration it is close to being a symphonic work in scale and its formal construction is decidedly closer to a symphony than a purely illustrative tone-poem. The booklet notes state however that there was also a detailed programme supplied by the composer, based upon a poem by Adam Mickiewicz, and it is a pity that more information on this was not furnished here since it is clear that some elements in the music are intended to reflect specific episodes in the text. The slow movement within the unified structure brings a lush romantic flavour to the music, and chorale sections surround other more military adventures. And there are unexpected echoes here of Rachmaninov, with the opening overlapping textures reminiscent of the latter’s trademark Dies irae motto, which may or may not be intentional.
The later two symphonies belong to the years of the sunnier post-Stalinist era when for a period it seemed that Russia would find the shackles of Soviet realism loosened, before the deadening hand of Brezhnev stifled such optimism. The Fourth Symphony of 1963 marks to some extent a return to the mood of the Second, with the sometimes brusque material likened by contemporary critics to Bartók and Honegger and the extreme juxtapositions of mood typical of Liatoshinsky given full rein. The result is exhausting but exciting, and far from devoid of thematic content with a serene chorale melody from the slow movement (the symphony runs fort nearly half an hour without a pause) returning to bring the finale to a reconciled conclusion. There is also an atmosphere of optimism which reminds the British listener in places of Walton in one of his more rebarbative moods.
I must admit to finding the final symphony of 1965-6, with its Slavonic subtitle, a somewhat harder nut to crack. The initial theme, an old Rus song about the hero Ilya Murometz (whose story is already familiar from a symphony by Liatoshinsky’s teacher Gličre) introduced by six horns in unison, is almost immediately joined by other brass sections playing the same material not only in canon but also in multiple keys – a brash effect which produces violent clashes of harmony that seem to be curiously out of sympathy with the basic melodic material. Other Russian folktunes that follow form energetic dance movements, and then are linked to Bulgarian melodies to provide a positive melange of Slavonic material, also incorporating church music of the mediaeval period, which is then drawn together into a would-be-unified whole which somehow seems to achieve unity. My initial thought was that I had failed to grasp the intention or structure of the work, but I fear that after three attempts over a couple of weeks I still found myself unable to discern just what the composer was trying to convey. But, at the same time, one must admire Liaoshinsky for wishing to tackle the symphonic form afresh with each attempt, and not simply to resort to repetition of earlier formulas. In this pursuit of distinction, he reminded me to an extent of the similarly experimental Vaughan Williams.
As I mentioned earlier, this complete cycle of the Liatoshinsky symphonies remains unchallenged in the catalogues, and as such is particularly valuable in allowing us to hear the whole spectrum of the composer’s development over half a century. There have been rival recordings of one or another of the symphonies, mainly drawn from Russian broadcast archives; and perhaps unsurprisingly the only one to have received a modern rival recording is the Third, recorded by the Bournemouth Symphony for Chandos under the baton of Kiril Karabits (whose father was a student of the composer). Karabits interestingly adopts the original version of the score, while Kuchar employs the composer’s later 1954 revision which may or may not have been influenced by the disapproval of the Soviet cultural authorities; but although Ivan Moody in the Gramophone welcomed the Karabits release (which also included a committed performance of Grazhyna) and asked for the cycle to be continued, no further issues have appeared in the succeeding three years. Unsurprisingly the 2019 sound on the Chandos is an improvement on that obtained by Marco Polo in the very resonant acoustic of the Ukrainian hall or halls in 1983-4, but the ability to hear the music in the context of the cycle as a whole must override any other considerations. The packaging, as is usual with these Naxos sets, contains all the individual CDs in their original jewel cases in a sturdy cardboard sleeve. The orchestral playing of the Ukrainian instrumentalists is exceptionally fine in music that clearly holds great importance to them. The music of Liatoshinsky merits attention, and this boxed set must surely claim its place in that process.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
Previous reviews: Rob Barnett ~ Nick Barnard
