Alexander
SCRIABIN (1872-1915)
Piano Sonatas Nos. 3, 10, Opp 23/70, and E flat minor (1889)
Poème-Nocturne Op 61, Vers la flamme Op 72.
Bernd Glemser (piano)
rec. 5-7th December, 1997, Radio Concert Hall, Lugano, Switzerland
NAXOS 8.555368
[65.15]
Crotchet
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The 1889 Sonata in E flat minor is a substantial rarity. But Bernd Glemser
is certainly worth exploring for more than this. A little after Naxos recorded
the hugely successful two CDs of Scriabin's complete Preludes (complete with
those of his tragic son Julian) with Evgeny Zarafiants, Glemser began a survey
of the sonatas. His disc of Prokofiev's Sonatas 1, 3 and 4 was enthusiastically
received; not least because in all these releases the sound quality is greatly
improved.
The opening Third, in four movements from 1898, expresses states of the soul,
the culminating point of Scriabin's hyper-romanticism, and the largest of
his sonatas after the youthful First. Here, Glemser plays it almost as fast
(18.58) as Sofronitsky and Ogdon, only slightly slower in the scherzo, still
faster than most. Glemser's approach, however, in the opening movement seems,
despite this, more fragmentary, and less drammatico than the marking
exhorts. The three-note figure needs expressing theatrically but without
greasepaint. Glemser is a little too soft-grained, too sensitively mannered.
Scriabin never was at this stage of his development, or at any point in his
life. Others, like the acclaimed Graham Scott or the absolutely clear-fingered
Ashkenazy (Decca-brightly recorded), take the movement slower, but maintain
energy. In some respects Glemser's willingness to explore byways recalls
the surprisingly slower traversal by Horowitz in 1956, or the incisive
granite-like aplomb of Fergus-Thompson, slowest of all but with the finest
acoustic. Both these players, and to some extent Scott and Ashkenazy, allow
filigrees of the secondary subjects to eddy and gild, but never tarry. Horowitz
maintains a clear nervous pulse despite his length, and understands the mercurial
alternations of mood that allow him to quicksilver about with tempi and agogic
sleights of hand. Only Sofronitsky, Ogdon and Ashkenazy suggest that the
allegretto scherzo's accelerated three-note theme (from the opening) shouldn't
quite sound as gallumphing as it does, a slightly bumptious 'young soul'
on new adventures, shouting (one imagines) 'a genius' with a first moustachioed
growth. Glemser here is as good as anybody other than these three.
Glemser shows similar qualities in the andante, sure and well-shaded, without
the pulse of genius that Sofronitsky tortures out of it, or Ogdon, slower
for once in his love of extremes, with a similar beat that holds the attention.
Taking a further extreme, Fergus-Thompson, also holds the attention with
his shadowing, raising and lowering of tempi and temperature to colour the
andante's premature ejaculatory bliss. At points here he almost halts, yet
his control never falters. He makes discoveries no-one else quite manages,
with connections to the opening phrase laid out beautifully. Glemser is slower
again in the rondo-like Presto con fuoco that ends in wailing adolescent
despair, though here he never loses the dramaturge as he seemed once or twice
in danger of doing in the first movement. He doesn't quite manage the true
elemental, quite demonic ferocity that Sofronitsky above all brings. He also
misses by a shading the incredible velocity of Ogdon. Listening again to
Ogdon, one realises his unsung genius in this repertoire. Ashkenazy's overview
of the sonatas is as fine in a different way, and in 1, 6, and 8 (the last
recorded, in 1984) he reigns supreme unless one reaches back for Richter's
1953 Sixth.
The Tenth, from the summer of 1913, is a different matter. Glemser opens
with some exquisite shading, well-captured again in this fine-sounding disc
(not a platitude alas with Naxos, though happily almost beginning to be).
His releasing and gathering of tempi are judicious and elegantly clear -
and this music needs clarity. He enjoys moulding a more hesitant set of insects
('the sun's kisses' Scriabin called them), one characterising of this work.
In C major, it owns a kind of blinding ecstasy (Ian Pace communicated this
in his homage to Ogdon recital at the Wigmore, 9th February 2001) not far
removed from Vers la flame. The young Scriabin specialist Yuri
Paterson-Olenich takes everything in close-up at 15.38, on his microcosmed
Steinway C. The sonata doesn't quite wind out of itself at this range; but
his account remains fascinating. Otherwise, only Fergus-Thompson, acoustically
flattered, takes longer (at 13.29) than Glemser (13.09), separating and
contrasting the trill sections and even then unskeining these to a compelling
hallucinated account. Ogdon's explodes at 10.40 yet utterly convinces in
its rapid alternations that blend to blind. Horowitz's is the most beautifully
articulated, terraced with competing voices through each hand, if dryly recorded
(12.03). The climax is shattering and remains the benchmark, yet Ogdon in
his way, and Ashkenazy, seven seconds slower than Horowitz, in better sound,
remain authoritative too. I've not heard Roger Woodward's accounts, or Donna
Amato's, incidentally. The biggest omission above is Marc-André Hamelin's
set, after cool reviews dissuaded me from listening to such a luxury!
Vers la flamme from 1914 is very fine, faster than most, without gradually
winding from silence in the way that Ogdon (who takes longest to unwind)
or several others do. Sofronitsky here (in authentically smoky mono that
somehow seems right) keeps up a gradual accelerando which, though he suddenly
blasts the final stalking fifth figure before slowing it again, quite elegantly
closes. This is the norm and Glemser, apart from his general velocity throughout,
follows it with real clarity and strength. Those who don't include the
incandescent performance by Demidenko, and Ogdon. Paterson-Olenich lives
dangerously, accelerating and slamming the brakes just in time (his authentically
quirky, all-Scriabin disc is eminently worth acquiring). Yet perhaps most
revelatory is Fergus-Thompson whose beautifully sprung and phenomenally shaded
account left the strongest impression after Sofronitsky's and Horowitz's
- whose equally reined-in menace and demonic glittering ecstasy remain in
the spirit realms. Sofronitsky meanwhile suffers like a giant, and Demidenko's
excitement vies with Ogdon as a must-hear.
The revelatory sonata in E flat minor is remarkable for a 17 year old, not
so much in its most attractive Chopinesque slow movement, but in the way
he extends the language of early preludes to sonata form, by way of layering,
sudden episodic shifts, and very intricate, buzzing passage-work. This in
one sense prefigures the mature Scriabin more than some of his popular early
bon-bons like the Op 2/1. They also attest to his intensive technique, and
small reach (just spanning an octave) and this last factor perhaps told against
him when his junior by a year, Rachmaninov, gallingly beat him into second
place in the 1892 Moscow Conservatory competition. Rachmaninov's huge reach
was a by-product of the Marplan's heart disease that eventually killed him.
Glemser plays the Poème-Nocturne Op 61 with a true sense of its late
provenance, releasing and pulling back the tempi as the teasing fluctus of
a piece demands, a snake's sallying and retraction. It's accented and shaded
as the bright acoustic allows, glittering back to its lair. The 1889 sonata
makes this disc a mandatory acquisition for Scriabin completists, and worth
hearing for the other works: a fine introduction. Yet Naxos is ironically
not the cheapest road to the sonatas. These lie with the Ogdon EMI-Forté
and Ashkenazy Decca sets, both generously coupled with wholly different short
works, and both essential. Ogdon lives Scriabin the more dangerously, and
his set contains extraordinary, disquieting revelations about Scriabin and
that other very fine composer, John Ogdon. Ashkenazy's set, acoustically
cleaner-sounding but sometimes glassier, is a safer recommendation. Though
only the late digital performances of 1, 6, and 8 completely satisfied reviewers
when these works first appeared in 1989 (without the extras), with exemplary
accounts of 9 and 10. Nos. 2, 4, 5 and 7 were heavily criticised for sound
that enhanced Ashkenazy's clangorous vices in these works. Maybe. But I'd
disagree about 3, and playing the set again feel the judgement isn't quite
fair. Still, Ogdon is the antidote.
Simon Jenner
Listed Comparisons
(use the links at the bottom of the page to search for these)
Piano Sonata No. 3 in F# minor Op 23
Sofronitsky (rec. 9/1958) Philips Great Pianists, 456-970-2
Horowitz (rec. 1956) RCA GD86215
Scott (rec. 14-15. 8. 1990) Gamut GAM CD 520
Fergus-Thompson (rec. 23-27. 11. 87) Kingdom KCLCD 2001
Ogdon (rec. 6. 1971) EMI 7243 5 72652 2 5
Ashkenazy (rec. 1972-84) Decca 452 961-2
Piano Sonata No. 10 in C Op 70
Horowitz (rec. 1966) CBS MK 42411
Ogdon (rec. 6. 1971) EMI 7243 5 72652 2 5
Ashkenazy (rec. 1972-84) Decca 452 961-2
Fergus-Thompson (rec. 1991) ASV CD DCA 776
Paterson-Olenich (rec. 20. 12. 1999) Prometheus 001
Vers la flamme Op 72
Sofronitsky (rec. 1/1959) Philips Great Pianists, 456-970-2
Horowitz (rec. 1962) CBS MK 42411
Fergus-Thompson (rec. 23-27. 11. 87) Kingdom KCLCD 2001
Ogdon (rec. 6. 1971) EMI 7243 5 72652 2 5
Paterson-Olenich (rec. 20. 12. 1999) Prometheus 001
Demidenko (rec. 29/30. 5. 1990) Conifer CDCF 204
