There had been rumours of a Repin performance
of the Miaskovsky Concerto for some time. Dedicated Miaskovskians
have been holding their breath, in case the accountant’s red pen
should excise the work from Philips’ new release schedule and
we thus have cause now to welcome this, the first all-digital
recording and only the third ever to be committed to disc. Repin
is one of the leading violinists of the day – comparing him with
his Zakhar Bron stable mate Vengerov is a violin fancier’s hobby
– and one of the most intelligently imaginative of artists. He
is partnered by the incendiary Gergiev, revivifier of many a musical
corpse, who is here in charge of his Kirov forces. They have two
performances to match – the Oistrakh/Gauk of 1939 on Pearl, and
the now deleted Olympia of Gregory Feigin and Alexander Dmitriev
who recorded it in 1976. Let me say first of all that they give
a tremendous performance of the work; what cavils I have are localised
ones and should not be read as seismic misgivings. Repin and Gergiev
have my admiration for their idiomatic understanding and their
utter professionalism.
In the unsurpassed 1939 reading Oistrakh and
Gauk began with inexorable tread; Gauk’s separated string notes
prior to the soloist’s first entry are heavy, bowed down. Gergiev
is not as heavy; he favours an expectant, anticipatory feel. Oistrakh
enters inwardly, withdrawn, as if responding unmediatingly to
the orchestral patina; in his recording Feigin was somewhat less
introspective; Repin is even less so. I find that Repin simply
can’t match Oistrakh’s almost quasi-improvisatory playing in the
opening paragraphs, the sense of pull and release, the sense of
anticipation and relaxation – he sounds rather more earthbound
and very slightly metrical, no matter how attractive his tone.
Which leads perhaps inevitably to a digression on vibrato usage.
Oistrakh is not afraid to vary and intensify vibrato usage at
climactic moments for immediate expressive effect; he highlights
the climax of a lyric phrase through the use of multi-variegated
tonal resources, his ascent to the natural climax of a phrase
is unerring. Repin lacks the older man’s seemingly limitless tonal
variety – there is a beautiful but too often generalized tone
production that never quite gets to the core of the lyrical intensity
of the work. He can do so – listen at 4.12 as he colours and inflects
the line with winning acumen – but listen as well to the rather
congested bass line; there’s a degree of saturation that might
well have been mitigated and can’t entirely be laid at the composer’s
pen.
Repin’s intonation is faultless, even in alt,
and the orchestral solos are, as they should be, well spotlit.
The fascinating trilling incident with bassoon accompaniment early
on is an indication of a violinist’s transmutational skills in
this work; Oistrakh and Feigin are both marvellous – the latter
playing with expressive rapture – but Repin, though technically
immaculate, loses impetus. One feels that for him and Gergiev
it is merely a technical embellishment, a hurdle. For Oistrakh
and Gauk it was more. It was a structural crux, a decisive and
explicit jumping-off point, an emotive-technical confluence that
leads inexorably to the next passage. And for all Gergiev’s exceptional
orchestral control I find him just a little too easy with some
melodramatic gunshot pizzicati and bass line attacks, just sapping
the architectural integrity of the movement a little too much
more than is ideal. The long first movement cadenza, one that
occupied the composer for some time and for which he sought Oistrakh’s
help, is well negotiated by Repin. Here is a musician fully in
control of the narrative and utterly in control of his technique;
again however I must note the superiority of Oistrakh’s vesting
of phrases with little intensified emotive devices.
The lyrical-nostalgic impulses Miaskovsky always
possessed come to the fore in the slow movement, Adagio molto
cantabile. Here beautiful woodwind traceries fleck and drape
the score; Feigin scored highly here for his effortless pirouetting
around dancing wind themes. Oistrakh is more incisive and active
in these musing violin passages, as if seeking an architectural
solution to the lyric vagaries of his line. Repin is slower, rather
unvaried, static as if mesmerised. He is becalmed as if in some
Elysian rapture, the tone glorious and centred, the conception
drenched in woodland stasis. When it comes therefore – and with
Gergiev it always comes – the slap of the orchestral pizzicati
come as a rude awakening. To me the contrast is simply too magnified
and self-serving and doesn’t emerge naturally as part of the orchestral
fabric; drama for drama’s sake. What seems to me incontestable
is that however prayerful and sympathetic Repin is, Oistrakh had
a knack of intensifying in sometimes unexpected lyric places,
lending a questing, alive quality to his music making, whereas
in this second movement Repin is, in comparison, more lyrically
obvious, however attractive (and later on he tends to lean slightly
on the first part of the phrase). The vocal quality of Oistrakh’s
phrasing of the second subject for example lends the line greater
flux and nuance; he is richer by far than Repin in the G string
episode, more willing to dig into the string, more demonstrative.
Repin takes Feigin’s contemplative simplicity to another level;
it’s an attractive solution and a valid one not least when the
musicianship is so splendid.
The quickest of the trio in the finale is Feigin.
Repin however is splendidly articulate and loses nothing in comparison
– though when judged against Oistrakh one feels the older player
(though he was only in his early thirties when he recorded it)
is more electric in passagework, turns corners faster, whilst
his conductor Gauk still manages, despite the sometimes muddy
orchestral sound, to bring out telling detail. Oistrakh actually
had considerable reservations about the finale, calling it "disjunctive"
though there are few traces of that in his 1939 performance. The
virtuosic rhetoric is firmly in place in this rather Brahmsian
movement with its admixture of Russian influences. Bowing and
pizzicato playing are fully tested along with dashing command.
Here Gergiev is excellent at unravelling orchestral strands –
the winding bassoon line for an example of piping woodwind. Repin
is commanding, his trill of electric velocity. The beautiful passage
from 2.38 with shimmering strings and winding lower woodwind is
deftly and imaginatively done – but how much more exultant and
exotic it is in Gauk’s hands, how much more full of surging life
and joy (keen listeners will however note a few additions in the
Oistrakh/Gauk reading – the solo pizzicati to reinforce the melody
line for one). As the finale detonates towards the triumphant
conclusion we can hear a number of things; how Dmitriev, for the
excellent Feigin, holds too loose a rein despite the basically
quick tempo; how Gauk gives a capricious kick and really brings
out the orchestral counter-themes at the end; how Gergiev is over-inclined
to indulge bombast. The drum tattoos are ridiculously overblown;
there’s quite enough drama without this sort of thing. And so,
for me, the Repin/Gergiev ends ambiguously. There are many superb
things about it and it is a shame endlessly to refer this performance
to the Oistrakh/Gauk and find it, comparatively, wanting. Still
that’s the way it has to be if you throw your hat into the ring.
Those coming afresh to the Miaskovsky – the majority I suppose
– will find the performance captivating and strongly etched and
I hope they will love the work enough also to seek out the Oistrakh/Gauk.
The coupling is conventional but the performance
is not. Here is more evidence of a sympathetic and sometimes too
extravagant pairing of musical minds that bring to the Tchaikovsky
a powerful introspection, alongside eviscerating accelerandi and
bravura. I listened to the performance three times and comparing
notes on each occasion see my view is essentially unchanged. The
first movement is full of strong orchestral attacks, well-weighted,
crisp articulation. Repin’s dynamic range is wide; his passagework
ranges from the strangely introspective and italicised to the
fiery. The rhetoric is grand but there is no specious sense of
self-congratulation; care is taken over dynamic variance and in
matters such as repeated phrases – the music is sometimes capriciously
but never thoughtlessly unveiled. Repin indulges a yelp in the
cadenza, but also a keening depth, a sense of self-examination
as well as skirling and passionate drama. As if to explore the
multi-faceted nature of the score Repin’s sensitive elegance immediately
after the cadenza is notable - as are the exceptionally withdrawn
dynamics, which adds further to the emotional engagement of the
solo line. The dynamic swell of both orchestral and solo lines
is reinforced by Gergiev – and there is here no Prestissimo charge
to the line. This is in fact an unusually controlled performance,
which seems keen to explore the vertical implications of the score
in a way that is both curious and revealing.
The slow movement is taken at an affectionately
flowing tempo; Repin is songful, fluent but always full of movement
and Gergiev closes with baleful passion from the brass – unusually
so in fact. This is a prelude to the massive fortissimi orchestral
outbursts that launch the finale. Sonorities can be massive or
dramatically reduced – "terraced" really doesn’t begin
to convey the extremes that can on occasion be cultivated – but
I did like the rusticities of tone Gergiev encouraged from the
Kirov orchestra. Here Repin is almost disconsolate in places –
objectively stretching the line to breaking point – vesting the
solo part with deeply expressive intensity and phrasing of considerable
power. He again seems to want to stretch a finale often serving
as a mere virtuosic launch pad into something very much more –
maybe more than it can withstand. If he and Gergiev explore the
potential for daring dynamic variance they here investigate the
movement’s potential for inner drama, for elasticities both of
thematic and emotive meaning. My own view is that this is damagingly
overdone – but I’m glad I heard it. It’s thought provoking and
novel but I won’t be disposing of Mischa Elman, Heifetz and Oistrakh
just yet.
For all my strictures then a rewarding pairing.
As a devotee of the Miaskovsky, I can commend its drama and intelligence;
as for the Tchaikovsky it’s laced with a personalised vision.
A disc to savour then and to admire as well; its faults are mainly
those of generosity and spirit and they are faults on the right
side.
Jonathan Woolf
Vadim Repin (violin)