It must have been
knocking on for forty years ago that I read a review of a recording
of Mahler’s First Symphony
penned by the late, great Deryck Cooke. With so many recordings of the
work already in the catalogue, he argued that the only possible justification
for bringing out yet another was to produce an
outright winner. What followed in that review could be summarised
in four words: “ - and this is it.” That’s my opening gambit done for
a Burton, so how then do I start this review?
Well, it will have
to be “Rather more prosaically,” but stick around - it won’t stay
that way for long! The prosaic fact is that, before I say anything
else, I must “declare an interest”. It’s nothing to write home about,
really, just that having written the booklet note I can’t comment
on its quality. Other reviewers will perhaps fill you in.
The experience did
teach me a fair bit about the company, though; not so much facts and
figures (for those, you can look at www.danacord.dk),
but more about their entire attitude and approach to making records.
In nature’s realm, it’s generally the case that the smaller the brood,
the more care the parent takes of each individual offspring. Something
similar might be said of companies. Vast, pan-global industries churn
out CDs like frog-spawn, their instincts geared to survival of the
species rather than individual progeny. Danacord, as a small company
with a rate of production (or should that be “reproduction”?) rather
more akin to that of the Giant Panda, by comparison lavishes bags
of tender love and care upon each offspring. Our expectation, that
we should therefore find issues more thoughtfully conceived and of
a consistently higher individual standard, tends to be confirmed by
a quick trawl through their extant Musicweb reviews.
Anyone who has admired
the Danacord presentation of the Rachmaninov Piano Concertos set will
equally admire this one. The art-work (see illustration) is based
on a colourful and atmospheric painting by Alexy Lieberov. This is
reproduced both on the inside of the back cover and on the CD itself,
so that when the disc is placed in the transparent tray the continuity
of the scene is preserved. Need I say that to benefit from this neat
effect you do have to
line it up accurately?! The booklet is tidily laid out, including
all pertinent details except, oddly, any identification of the subject
of the painting. As well as the usual photographs of the soloist and
conductor, there are a couple of the young Shostakovich and on the
back cover a shot of the HSO players involved in the recording. This
last is truly splendid, because it’s not the usual “ochestra at work
with faces all fuzzy and anonymous” sort of thing, but a proper group
photograph in which every individual can clearly be seen as a friendly
face. I rather like that.
Although alternative
versions of Shostakovich’s two piano concertos have never burdened
the CD catalogue quite as much as the Mahler First,
we are still fairly spoilt for choice. Hence, I do wonder: is the
only possible justification for bringing out yet another still
to produce an outright winner? Exercising marginally more caution
than Deryck Cooke, I’ll add, “- and is
this it?” Ever responsive to such promptings, my subconscious mind
appends a marginally less cautious, “Very probably,” so now I’ll have
to justify it!
With a combined running
time of a little over 40 minutes, the two piano concertos were a convenient
pairing on LP. However, because of its greater popularity, recordings
of the Second were often
paired with something else. As dim and distant memory serves me, there
was a stubby-fingered but loveable Bernstein LP which had the Ravel
Concerto in G on the flip side. On CD though,
40 minutes is a bit mean, so (if you’re lucky) there’s a “make-weight”.
With up to 35 minutes to play with, companies have a golden opportunity
to exercise a bit of imaginative programming.
For example, Dmitri
Alexeev’s excellent Classics for Pleasure recording included something
of a rarity, The Unforgettable
Year 1919. That’s all very nice of them, but his short
(and I mean short!) concertante piece, with its origins
in a film score and its rather nice (though I’d hesitate to say “unforgettable”)
tune, would have fitted rather more comfortably on CfP’s disc of Warsaw
Concerto (et al.). Turning to the recording that currently
graces my collection, EMI and Cristina Ortiz give you, at about three
minutes, the fantastically brief Three
Fantastic Dances for solo piano. Now, that would be mean
indeed, were it not that the two-CD set also includes Berglund’s brilliant
Sixth and Eleventh
symphonies!
Yet, neither of these
examples shows any real imagination. Without wading through the catalogue
with a fine-tooth comb I couldn’t swear to this (so please correct
me if I’m wrong), but I think that no-one has ever coupled the the
piano concertos with the Twenty-Four
Preludes Op. 34. If I risk discounting a few juvenilia
(like the Aphorisms, a smaller batch of Preludes, and those Three Fantastic Dances), I think I can fairly
say that the Op. 34 Preludes
are the very platform on which Shostakovich set out his considerable
pianistic stall. Not only are they a pivotal work, but also they are
intimately connected to the concertos. Now, this
adds up to not just a
bit of imaginative programming, but a bit of truly brilliant programming.
It feels like I’ve
heard more performances of these concertos than I’ve had hot dinners,
and in both cases few of them were “turkeys”! However, aware of the
tricks the memory (especially my memory!) can play, I’m going to limit
any comparisons I do make to the Ortiz/Berglund recording.
Even the mere mention
of the name of the pianist on this CD will have many seasoned MusicWebbers
scrambling eagerly along that well-worn bee-line to their preferred
record suppliers. This wouldn’t surprise me, because Oleg Marshev
is a thoroughly remarkable phenomenon, who has already been documented
in some detail in other MusicWeb reviews of his work.. In these days,
when every young pianistic pretender is dubbed “virtuoso” almost before
he or she is even out of nappies (or daipers, if you prefer), Marshev
is not a virtuoso. Why
not? Because he is, first and foremost, a musician. Don’t get me wrong: he can mix
it with the best of them when it comes to dazzling digital dexterity,
but it isn’t top of his list of priorities. Having sampled quite a
few of his recordings, including both concertos and solo works, the
overriding impression I get is of a “Barbirolli of the keyboard” ‑ the
quality that shines through, again and again, is unashamed love
for the music he is playing. At each and every turn, he seems to be
asking not “What can I do to show myself to the best advantage?” but
“What should I do to show the music to the best advantage?” I’m not
claiming that Marshev is alone in this, any more than Barbirolli was,
but like JB he is one of a rare breed whose affections radiate, even
through the impersonal filter of a recording.
Although Shostakovich’s
two piano concertos have very distinct (and distinctive) characters,
they do have some things in common. For example, both are very carefree
works (here I’m hoping that nobody takes the “doom-laden” centre of
the First even remotely
seriously!), and both are unusually scored for relatively small forces ‑ the
First for strings with
obbligato trumpet, while the Second
is for a “classical” orchestra, without trumpets, trombones or tuba
but including an “obbligato” part for snare drum. This is significant:
Shostakovich, even more than the Ravel of the G
major Concerto, nips in the bud any possibility of neo-Romantic
heavyweight fisticuffs between the modern concert grand and the modern
symphony orchestra. (in this light, could perhaps that pianistic ruck
in the middle of the First be seen as parody, or even sarcasm?).
By paring down his orchestra, Shostakovich instead points the piano
in the direction of agile articulation, clearing the decks for lithe
athleticism in the First,
“Haydn-esque” humour in the Second,
and sublimely slender, saccharine-tinged romances in both.
Another consequence
is that on this CD we hear only portions of the Helsingborg Symphony
Orchestra. Like the WDRSO on the Brilliant Classics set of the symphonies,
the HSO is a provincial orchestra, similarly and gratifyingly endowed
with endearing qualities, notably a richly communicative, down-to-earth
character and palpable enthusiasm for the music they’re playing. The
HSO does of course lack that intercontinental gloss that these days
seems to be de rigeur but, as it happens, “gloss” is
something these concertos can well do without. On the other hand,
the HSO is not short on the sort of inciseveness that can cut blond
hair lengthways, which, equally “as it happens”, is something on which
these concertos positively thrive.
Having said that,
you won’t be surprised when I say that the body of strings is on the
small side. This might well be a budgetary imposition, but it actually
sounds far more like a shrewd artistic strategy,
as Hannu Lintu harnesses their slimline strengths into a marriage
of chamber-style delicacy and balletic muscularity. In the faster
music of the First Concerto, they are so nimble and fleet
of foot that, unlike other more plushly upholstered string bands,
they skitter over Shostakovich’s pellucid textures like pebbles skimmed
across a frozen lake. In the slower music, and especially the “bar
ballad” of the second movement, their lightness of tone and keenness
of intonation are melded into sweet and soulful intimacy.
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The trumpeter is
Jan Karlsson, who has stepped forward from the ranks of the orchestra..
I’m told that he declined to have even a brief note about himself
put in the booklet, basically on the grounds that he is simply a loyal
member of the orchestra doing his bit when called on, and he doesn’t
want any sort of special treatment at the expense of his colleagues.
Well, I’m sure his colleagues will understand, because he’s going
to get some from me! His playing, like his loyalty, is almost beyond
praise (I’m only really saying “almost” because nobody’s absolutely
“perfect”). His execution is nigh-on flawless, dispatching his part
with both flair and a good deal of wit, admirably complementing Marshev’s
flying fingers. At the other extreme, namely near the end of the slow
movement, he finds smoky langour in his muted crooning of the main
theme.
Even the sound he
makes has a distinctive quality. Many years ago, when I was a student,
I knew this other student who was a cornettist in a brass band, and
(in common with all British brass band players) a real fanatic. In all innocence, I wondered why
it was that brass bands included cornets but not trumpets. He gave
me a withering look, and retorted, “Because cornets can ‘trumpet’
when they need to, but trumpets can’t ‘cornet’!” The relationship
of this tale to the price of eggs is that since then I’ve often thought
that Shostakovich’s trumpet part might have been better given to a
cornet, especially when it comes to the rumbustious allusion to Der
Liebe Augustine, a tune as ripe for a bit of “cornetting”
as you’re likely to encounter on the concert platform. The point is
that this trumpeter
comes nearer to “cornetting” than any trumpeter I’ve ever heard ‑ rarely
has the piano’s scrunching comment seemed more like a hearty elbow
in the ribs! Impressed? You will be.
It’s strange how
you can go along for years and fail to see something that’s staring
you in the face. Listening to this recording I was taken aback to
realise that apart from the pianist the only clear solo line in the
Second Concerto belongs to the snare-drummer!
True, a bassoon opens the proceedings (this bassoonist would make
a sprightly grandfather in Peter
and the Wolf), but this is its one and only solo, and it
lasts scarcely a couple of bars. Considering Shostakovich’s fondness
for woodwind solos, I somehow don’t think this was an oversight. The
effect, of course, is to focus attention more sharply on the busy
piano part, so it probably has something to do with paternal pride:
the work was conceived as a birthday present for his son, Maxim, who
was at that time a budding pianist.
Having been “robbed”
of the opportunity to shine individually, the HSO winds are utterly
unfazed and busily apply themselves to shining collectively. In a
work where I had, over the years, become accustomed to the winds sounding
vaguely monochromatic, largely differentiated only into “dark” and
“bright”, Hannu Lintu coaxes from his willing troops a fascinating
diversity of textures that my ears simply hadn’t noticed before. Of
course, it helps to have no more than a svelt string body to penetrate,
but then that’s all part of the “shrewd strategy”, isn’t it?
Right, add the HSO,
Hannu Lintu, and Oleg Marshev together, and what do you get? Well,
the sparks fly, but not quite as you might expect. My faithful old
Ortiz/Berglund recording, which used to sound so vivacious, by comparison
now sounds dull. Ortiz herslef is articulate and alive, but her piano
sounds ponderous. The Bournemouth SO string section, itself hardly
the most populous, does come across as a bit opaque. With equally
“one size fits all” winds I suspect matters might not have been helped
by the recording, which lacks a sparkling edge. On the other hand,
when Joanna MacGregor played the Second with the Slaithwaite Philharmonic
under Adrian Smith a year or two back, the slow movement was meltingly
delicate, and in the outer movements sparks flew in all directions!
It was superbly played, but the problem was that it was just a bit
too “hell-for-leather”, rather too much “Beethoven” and nowhere near
enough “Haydn”.
Marshev’s piano is
very much “up front”, but is nevertheless beautifully balanced against
the small orchestral forces. The quality
of the piano sound makes an important contribution. It’s hard to describe,
but (inevitably) I’ll try. Imagine a very clean sound, having a full
dynamic range but with scarcely a trace of the “velour” resonance
that tends to flesh out the sound of a powerful modern piano. Better,
imagine the transparency of the “authentic” early-Romantic piano married
to the purity of tone and dynamic stability of a thoroughly modern
instrument. Under Marshev’s fingers it can slice like a rapier, it
can “glitter and be gay”, it can drip dewdrops of sound, and it can
bash out a thunderous bassline without becoming merely “thunderous”.
The upshot of all
this is a pair of performances of remarkable clarity and insight.
Where required, there’s plenty of “welly”, but there is hardly a moment
passes in which you don’t feel the shade of Haydn hovering within
the music. To my mind, they don’t put a toe (never mind a whole foot!)
wrong in the First Concerto, where Shostakovich’s musical
imagination is positively running riot. In the first movement, Marshev
is only marginally faster overall than Ortiz. However, his moderato
is a bit slower, making his playing of the vivace episodes not only
relatively quicker but also, by virtue of the crystalline ensemble
and scintillating fingerwork, positively tingling (the prefix “spine”
is omitted entirely on purpose!). The slow movements of both concertos
are a lot slower than Ortiz (in both cases, nearly a minute longer
than her average of seven minutes). Taking all the time in the world
is fine in the First,
where the movement is marked “Lento”, but might be questioned in the
Second’s “Andante”. However, Marshev and
Company come up trumps: by letting in some air they give themselves
an important bit of elbow-room in which to wax poetic, and then proceed
to take full advantage of it.
Contrariwise, Marshev
takes the First’s tiny
third movement (marked “Moderato”) quicker than Ortiz. By not lingering,
he points up the parallel with the famous bridge passage in the Mendelssohn
Violin Concerto, similarly placed and having
a similar function. Performance-wise, the finale picks up where the
first movement left off, the lazy, thigh-slapping heft of that tune
for “cornetting” trumpet made, by heightened contrast, into a leery
joke in the worst possible taste, which is exactly how it should be!
Turning to the Second,
I encountered my one brief moment of doubt. After the relaxed and
aimiable tune, shouldn’t the central episode of the first subject
have a bit more verve? Afew moments of reflection yield the answer
“no”, because the two episodes are “in tempo” ‑ like
the “horse and carriage” of the old song, they go together. Of course,
a few pianists of a particularly virtuoso inclination are tempted
into hoicking up the tempo. Both Marshev and Ortiz, to their credit,
don’t. Ortiz, at a faster basic tempo, gains on the “verve”, whilst
Marshev wins on the “aimiable”. Interestingly enough, the second time
I played Marshev’s performance of the movement, it already sounded
“right”, which says much for his perception of the tempo ‑ the
“verve” lies not in the tempo as such, but in the “attitude”. The
climax of this movement is superb. The build-up at the end of the
development digs deep into the style of Rachmaninov in barn-storming
mood, with the rampant piano surmounting the orchestra. Yet, when
the music spills over into the reprise on that characteristic unison
tutti, Marshev’s piano is exactly where it should be, embedded in
the body of the orchestra, reinforcing the massive effect.
Lintu and Marshev
match Berglund and Ortiz almost to the second in the finale, but the
story remains the same: the Danacord artists find much more sheer
fun and “punch” in what is effectively a slapstick “boxing match”
between the two incongruent themes.
Overall, the real
joy of these recordings is not simply Marshev’s thoughtful and articulate
readings, it is not simply the Helsingborg orchestra’s clean-limbed
playing, steered with wit and zest by Hannu Lintu, nor is it simply
the admirable clarity of the recording, which fails miserably to sound
the least bit “dry” as a result! No, it is all these together, a production
which as a whole conspires with considerable success to exceed the
sum of its parts. There’s not much comes my way that brings with it
such unalloyed pleasure.
I’ll bet you’re thinking
that I’ve forgotten about the Preludes! At over 33 minutes, they are a very substantial complement
to the concertos. They have little in common with their magisterial
predecessors, the Preludes
of Chopin and Debussy, largely (I would guess) because they were written
for a very different purpose. Ranging in length from a maximum of
no more than 2'31 to a mere, minuscule 0'31, you could fairly call
them “pithy”. Some of them are a bit like Webern, though mostly only
inasmuch as Shostakovich seems to have the same knack of making music
that plays tricks with the listener’s sense of time.
This performance
provokes a palpable sense of peering over the shoulder of the composer
in his workshop, trying his hand at all the different styles and techniques
he’s encountered, sifting and searching for the common thread of his
own individual voice amongst it all. It’s a feeling that is heightened
by the numerous occasions a movement sets off purposefully, only to
peter out in apparently aimless doodling! Marshev’s playing seems
to go right to the heart of this imagined scenario, drawing out rather
than trying to conceal this vision of a composer “losing the thread
of his argument”, of turning over his ideas and wondering what he
might possibly do with them.
But they’re not all
like that, by any means. Some of them jump up and whack your face
with a smart idea, then just as smartly they are gone, leaving you
with a smarting face. Again true to the scenario, a few (like the
famous No. 15) emerge as perfectly formed little gems. Part of the
wonder of discovering these Preludes
lies in second-guessing what happens to each idea. How often were
my expectations confounded, one way of the other!
I’ve no other recording
to hand, so I can make no direct comparisons, but it’s nonetheless
clear that Marshev brings to these solo pieces every bit as much consideration
as he brought to the concertos. Tempi and tempo relationships always
feel right, everything
feels comfortable (which is not the same as “predictable”!), ebbing
and flowing, inflaming and soothing entirely in sympathy with the
musical lines. Moreover, each vignette’s character and style are captured
to a “T”. I must confess a particular fondness for Marshev’s way with
the bibulous little dances, which are made to lurch with delicious
giddiness from one precarious harmonic pose to the next. Putting it
in a nutshell, Shostakovich wrote and, it seems, Marshev plays what
Shostakovich wrote.
The recording engineers,
Lennart Dehn and Stephan Flock, have done a cracking good job. My
one bone of contention ‑ and, note, this is simply
a matter of personal taste! ‑ is that in the stereophonic
image of the concert platform the piano occupies a rather large space.
This is a distortion of perspective
apparent only to hardened headphone users like myself. Through loudspeakers
you are hardly likely to even notice it, never mind find it a problem.
However, I must stress that this is distinct from the dynamical balance between the piano and orchestra. Although the piano
is right at the front, which given the balance of forces is exactly
where it should be, you can still hear everything that the orchestra
is getting up to. The sound quality matches the piano and orchestra
in its cleanliness and clarity, yet nobody is going to find any real
trace of dessication in either the direct or ambient signals. Nigh
on exemplary, I’d call it.
This issue has one
very serious flaw that I feel duty bound to report. Simply, it may
be too good. In this
production Danacord have set themselves a very high standard: now
they are going to have to work their socks off to maintain it, because
as sure as eggs is eggs folk are going to expect lots more of the
same!
By anybody's standards, that adds up
to something of a Cooke-style "outright winner". I must
admit, it's set me wondering to what extent any reviewer who has "declared
an interest" might thereby be influenced. Hum! Of two things
I have no doubt. One is that you will, quite rightly, be wondering
the self-same thing. The other is that I believe, hand on heart, that
if I'd been less than
enthusiastic about the CD, the combination of integrity and "interest"
would have prevented me from submitting a review. I have simply commented
as I found, so shoot me down in flames if you can. In the meantime,
I'll leave you with this thought: remember whatit is that constitutes
"the proof of the pudding"!
Paul Serotsky
Helsingborg SO/Hannu Lintu