Sergei Prokofiev is
considered by some to be one of the
greatest musical minds of the twentieth
century, possessing a genius akin to
that of Mozart. His skill in nearly
every genre of composition certainly
goes far in supporting this assertion.
Born in Russia in 1891, he left his
native land in 1918 in the aftermath
of the Russian Revolution, living abroad
in both the United States and Europe
until 1936, when he resettled permanently
in his homeland. While abroad, his music
was not as immediately well received
as he had hoped, and derogatory terms
and names such as barbaric, and
enfant terrible were assigned
to him and his music. It was not until
his return to the Soviet Union that
his style began to mellow, both as a
result of the strictures of the government
and his intentional choice of simplification,
that his music began to become more
accessible.
The Sonata for two
violins dates from this period of transition,
and was in reality a diversion from
the more taxing orchestration of his
fifth piano concerto. The inspiration
for the work came from a similar piece
by another composer that Prokofiev had
deemed inferior. He claimed that good
ideas could sometimes stem from bad
music. What he accomplished on his own
is a remarkable and haunting work, full
of taut harmonies and eerie, wistful
melodies. There is so much wintry beauty
in this piece, that it leaves me wondering
why it is so seldom heard in concert.
The gorgeous third movement which the
composer allows to be played either
with or without mutes (it is muted here)
is alone worth the price of admission.
The brothers Kuusisto
are of perhaps the ideal temperament
to perform this very equal and ensemble-cast
composition. Theirs is a perfect give
and take, without ego and equal. Intonation
and balance is spot on, their sense
of line and cantabile is simply
gorgeous. I have to caution the listener
to have oxygen handy when listening,
as the third movement is so beautifully
rendered, that one might forget to breathe
for fear of destroying the music.
The numbering of the
two sonatas with piano accompaniment
can be a bit confusing, as they were
premiered and labeled out of order.
Although the f minor sonata was given
its first performance (by David Oistrakh)
after the opus 94a, it was begun in
1938, some years before its debut. Prokofiev
revisited it in the early 1940s and
it was at that time that it was first
performed. Movements from the f minor
sonata were the only music of his own
writing to be played at the composer’s
funeral, being the only one of his works
that his friends thought to be appropriately
somber. Its melancholy comes from the
composer’s own frustrations at being
restricted from practically all physical
activity as a result of a head injury.
In 1945, he suffered a mild heart attack
and as a result fell down a flight of
stairs. The injury to his head was to
restrict and afflict him for the remainder
of his life. After his accident, composition
was all that the vibrant performer-composer
was permitted by his doctors to undertake,
and the music of this period reflects
his depressed state of mind.
Jaakko Kuusisto is
an able virtuoso, and a soulful interpreter
of this sometimes boisterous, sometimes
achingly lyrical music. Prokofiev obviously
poured all of his dual ability to write
both beautiful melodies and finger-busting
virtuoso passages. Mr. Kuusisto captures
both elements with sophistication and
ease. His is a warm rich tone, and when
called for, his playing is fleet of
finger and astonishingly effortless.
No theatrical histrionics here, rather,
we are treated to a crystalline beauty
and driving energy like unto a snowstorm
observed from the safety of a picture
window. Iikka Paananen very ably partners
him at the keyboard.
The Opus 94a began
life as a flute sonata, and was composed
as a distraction from the intense work
on the ballet Cinderella, which
was created during the height of the
Second World War. Works for wind instruments
are rare in Prokofiev’s catalogue, and
it took little effort on the part of
David Oistrakh to convince the composer
to rework the sonata for violin. He
made a few melodic changes, mainly to
accommodate bowing, and added double
stops in certain passages to add to
its virtuoso element. The piano part
is identical to that of the earlier
flute version.
The opening movement
is possessed of perhaps one of the most
gorgeous melodies in Prokoviev’s entire
output, much akin to the equally haunting
opening to the seventh symphony. In
many respects it is like the best of
arias, giving the listener a memorable
tune and the performer something meaty
to dig into. Its jaunty presto
is a real workout for both players and
Pekka Kuusisto and his partner Raija
Kerppo handle it with ease. There follows
another brief lyrical movement and is
then rounded off by a splendidly active
allegro finale. The Kuusisto family
must be remarkable indeed to produce
not one but two fine violinists. Pekka
seems to favor a more heart-on-the-sleeve
approach to his playing than his brother.
His playing has a slightly harder edge
to it than that of brother Jaakko, but
this is certainly not a detriment. Rather,
it is playing that is full of excitement
and vigour, and yet perfectly able to
sing when needed.
In summary, this is
an exceptionally fine performance of
some magnificent music. Apex are to
be commended for their recent flood
of interesting re-issues, in particular
for their willingness to skirt much
of the core repertoire for items of
much greater interest. Further, the
exposure of so many fine younger, newer
artists to the international scene is
another meritorious consideration. Rounded
off with fine sound and excellent program
notes, this disc is a bargain priced
winner on all counts. Put it on your
shopping list.
Kevin Sutton
Jaakko Kuusisto, Violin I (op. 56), solo
(op. 80)