This fascinating mid-price (UK) disc offers a feast of playing by Leonid Kogan. Unlike David Oistrakh who recorded this concerto at least four times, Kogan did not have such a high profile in the West. His various commercial recordings are a comparatively small resource though well-respected and loved. I recall with great affection his Philips recording of Saint-Saens Havanaise: liquid melody flowing like quicksilver and a strong exoticism. There is also a very strong recording (transferred to LP?) of the Tchaikovsky concerto with Silvestri conducting the Paris Conservatoire Orchestra.

Both the Violin Concerto and Khachaturyan have been much vilified for easy accessibility and for a slightly brazen quality. These are matters of taste and taste is often swept along by fashion. The Concerto comes from 1939 when the 37 year old composer was riding high on the success of his flexatone-featured piano concerto (1936) and the music for Masquerade. This (presumably) mono recording dates from 25 June 1951 when the composer was 48 and Kogan 27 and is part of the vast cache of USSR radio broadcast tapes on which Revelation can draw. The recording is clear but balanced succulently close to Kogan who seems to relish every moment with throaty tone, flying sparks and a joyous relaxation into the composer’s richly (but always pellucid) orchestral textures. There is a certain boxiness to the recording but this is not unpleasant. The concerto won Khachaturyan the Stalin Prize (his Song of Stalin dates from two years previously) and rapidly found fame and multiple performances across the world. The first movement, even during the extended cadenza, has a consistently motoric energy. Those who know this Armenian composer through the Spartacus ballet score and the Onedin Line (this will mean something to British readers) theme will hear strange pre-echoes of this throughout the first movement.

The second movement, marked andante sostenuto, is largely introspective, incongruously mixing elements of a rocking lullaby with a far from innocent serenading which looks towards Balakirev’s Tamar and First Symphony. There are a number of blaring explosive passages which have a Steiner or Rózsa-like shabby grandeur. The last movement opens in raucous activity accentuated by the up-close rich recording. The violin melody soon dances and glitters away - strong on a sort of hiccuping charm. As ever with Khachaturyan melody is never far away; when tunes, usually of an eastern exotic caste intrude you are never surprised. The Concerto ends in what I have to concede is a series of rather hammy stuttering hammer blows.

Let me suggest that this concerto is grouped with the Korngold and even the Walton. The latter dates from the same year. The Bax concerto (1937) which bids in the same direction was written for Heifetz. The Barber concerto (1940) is another parallel. They are all sumptuously romantic. They also have an exotic strange Hollywood bloom to them although they established the mood long before California tapped into it.

The Concerto-Rhapsody is in a (more open) recording made on 3 November 1962 and presumably is in stereo though I find it difficult to tell. It is one of three single-movement concerto-rhapsodies - one each for violin (1960), cello (1965) and piano (1955). Kogan here has feverish excitement to tackle and pyrotechnics. As the title suggests the work is more a fantasy than anything else: full of mood-shifts and some echoes of early works. It is a disappointment that he does not draw on the guileless distinctive tunefulness of the 1930s (try the Symphony No. 1 in the ASV Tjeknavorian CD) but things have moved on and the flame does burn brightly at about 15:00. There are many imaginative touches here. This is a work worth hearing but be prepared to give it several listens before it begins to hold you. This is a concert performance though the presence of an audience is betrayed once by a cough and by a burst of applause at the close.

Recommended for violin fanciers and for the growing ranks of Khachaturyan collectors. Kogan is a very fine violinist. He died at the age of 58 on a train during a concert tour of the USSR. I for one hope that there are more examples of Kogan’s artistry to come from the radio archives. A disc coupling the three concerto-rhapsodies would also be of interest.

Reviewer

Rob Barnett

Rob Barnett