Shafran was one of
those musicians whose name is routinely
prefaced by the word legendary.
One of the most controversial string
players of his generation he manages
to bisect critical judgement, even seven
years after his death.
Born in 1923 he was
a recital soloist at twelve, made his
concerto debut with Albert Coates and
cut his first 78, it’s said, at fourteen,
though I’ve not located anything earlier
than after the Second War. This is certainly
not unique in the annals of violin playing
but, if true, quite some feat of prodigious
accelerated development for a boy cellist.
Much of Shafran’s life
is shrouded in mystique. Partly the
reason is his lack of ubiquity on the
international circuit. He was soloist
with the Moscow Philharmonic in the
Second World War but it wasn’t until
1960 that he appeared in the West, playing
first in Carnegie Hall and then further
afield. He made recordings steadily
but many constituted remakes. He was
a distinguished jury member for many
years but was never a teacher at a conservatoire,
though he did teach privately and gave
masterclasses.
Of late Shafran’s recordings
have emerged from a bewildering array
of sources. The Shostakovich Sonata
(with the composer) is on Electra, some
Bach Suites are on obscure Yedang and
less obscure (but deleted) Revelation
– which has other Shafran discs on its
books, Haydn and Tchaikovsky were on
Melodiya whilst Cello Classics have
a strong entrant in their Kabalevsky-Prokofiev-Tsintsadze
release. Doremi have staked a claim
for Shafran in at least two important
issues and Russian Disc has – or had
– his Davidov.
And, importantly, Omega has his Schumann
and Kabalevsky Concertos coupled with
de Falla and to cap a by no means exhaustive
list (even if it is exhausting) Multisonic
had his Dvořák and the Schumann
with Järvi. It’s certainly a bewildering
situation for Shafran admirers
and the latest entrant to the lists
is the Korean company Aulos Classics,
which now presents a slew of CDs licensed
from Melodiya, whose famous logo adorns
the cover of these discs.
A look at the headnote
lays out the territory. There’s an encore
disc called Dreaming, which may
be a good place to start for those yet
unversed in Shafran’s art. Aulos doesn’t
date these pieces but they seem to derive
from the 1980s and are with his regular
accompanist Anton Ginsburg. I dare say
detractors will feast on the very first
item, the Schumann, which is subject
to constant tonal and colouristic inflection;
diminuendi, espressivo phrasing, lightening
switches of tonal reserves bar by bar,
the better to highlight its profile.
The tone can be leanly centred, but
the inflections are constant. Internationally
of course Shafran was overshadowed by
his great contemporary Rostropovich
and their playing could not be more
different, to judge from an example
such as this. Shafran’s Bach playing
(there’s more to come) – very different
from Rostropovich’s – is noble and serious
and one can appreciate his big personality
in the two Schedrin examples. The Tchaikovsky
Mélodie is beautifully
phrased but seems to have been recorded
at a lower level. The Ibert displays
Shafran’s command of rhythm whilst his
slow and intense Debussy is at a tangent
from the French tradition as exemplified
by an older player such as Maurice Maréchal.
His Swan – well, it’s capricious,
metrically daring and will be off-putting
to some. The Schumann that ends the
disc reflects those virtues (or vices
if you prefer) that illuminated the
Adagio and Allegro; quiveringly
alive playing, elastic rhythm, unceasingly
active playing, the very opposite of
leonine legato.
His Schubert Arpeggione
Sonata received three commercial
recordings; the first was with Dieter
Zechklin for Eterna in 1958, the second
with Lydia Pecherskaya for RCA (coupled
with the Shostakovich) and this third
version in 1978 with Felix Gottlieb.
I’d call Shafran’s playing here interventionist
to a fault. There’s a long personalised
slide, colours change all the time (his
playing, within its tonal limits, has
a huge variegation of tone colours);
he’s elastic toward tempo relationships.
His finale has delightfully light articulation
along with subtle shading. The Franck
is his only known commercial recording
of the entire work – though live performances
exist and have been issued. It dates
from 1970. The more distant recording
doesn’t impede appreciation of his well-calibrated
partnership with Ginsburg. I tend to
prefer a tight rein on this work – whether
from a fiddle player or cellist. Shafran’s
fantasy sometimes borders on the over-emoted
for me and the Allegretto poco mosso
isn’t really quite climactic enough.
His Debussy, again his only extant recording
of it, is relatively closely recorded
(you can hear his breathing) but notable
for the noble breadth he imparts. The
second movement pizzicati are within
apt stylistic limits, harmonics on the
button. The playing is evocative, the
bowing in the finale fluent and fast.
It’s especially instructive
to hear his Brahms Sonatas – not least
as a counterblast to the outsize masculinity
of the Rostropovich/Serkin 1983 DG traversal.
Shafran and Gottlieb recorded their
sonatas three years earlier and we notice
immediately that Shafran differs markedly
– tonally, emotively, expressively,
rhythmically – from his colleague and
one-time rival. Shafran’s E minor opens
almost as a lied veiled in the
most melancholy italicisation. It is
slow, certainly, non legato, with pronounced
divisive rhythm; introspective with
some uncomfortable moments on the lower
two strings. The second subject steals
in and the emotive stealth here is very
Russian, whilst the Allegretto is taken
at a good, sprightly quasi Minuet tempo.
There’s fine fugal distribution in the
finale – chordally crisp, strong and
sinewy when necessary. But this is a
profoundly different and divergent view
from that of Rostropovich and Serkin.
The Sonata in F doesn’t really open
Vivace, as marked. It’s once more measured,
meditative, idiosyncratic as ever. The
noble restraint of the slow movement
however is superior and even if Shafran
is placed rather too near the microphones
– meaning we can hear the abrasion of
bowing and attacks (there’s no smooth,
silken sheen about Shafran’s playing)
nevertheless there’s manly strength
to his phrasing and a profile generally
of the utmost seriousness.
We’d earlier had a
glimpse of Shafran’s Bach but the admirable
news is that we have much more: three
cello and harpsichord sonatas with Andrei
Velkonsky and all six solo suites. Rostropovich
has long confessed to fears at committing
his Bach to posterity. The Russian/Soviet
school generally tends to reflect more
romantic affiliations and associations
when it comes to Bach playing. Think
for example of Feinberg’s richly nuanced
piano transcriptions or Rostropovich’s
own less than convincing traversals
of the solo Suites. Shafran is an individualist
of course and his Bach won’t be to all
tastes. Still the cello and cembalo
works (the viola da gamba sonatas in
other words) show the breadth of his
affiliations. They come with Velkonsky’s
harpsichord accompaniments, somewhat
unusually so for a Russian string player
in the mid-1960s but indicative of Shafran’s
probing instincts. His Bach is contained
within expressive limits. The Allegro
moderato finale of the first takes the
qualifying instruction seriously, the
dynamics of the second movement Allegro
of BWV1028 being varied expertly - and
the softened articulation a refined
touch. Nothing sounds forced or artificial
and Velkonsky (perhaps better known
as an avant-garde composer) is a fine
partner. The cellist reserves greatest
expressive weight for the Andante of
BWV1028, where the variations of colour
are calibrated with absolute finesse.
The most quasi-romantic is the corresponding
Adagio of the three-movement BWV1029.
He had earlier, by the way, recorded
the third Sonata with Maria Grinberg,
playing piano, on a 10" Melodiya.
It’s in the solo Cello
Suites that one find the greatest of
Shafran’s Bach. Due to restrictions
on travel, lack of proliferation of
his recordings, the greater ubiquity
of his Russian repertoire, and doubtless
other reasons – not least that these
recordings were not made as a set but
issued piece-meal between 1969 and 1964
– we know less of Shafran’s Bach than
we should. Much less, say, than an older
player such as Fournier. These performances
are revealing of the differences between
these two great players. Shafran is
much more metrical than Fournier, less
romanticised in profile. Fournier leans
heavily on the first note of the G major
whereas Shafran is away like a shot.
There is a consistency between the two
players. Shafran is almost always faster
in fast movements and he is almost always
slower than Fournier in slow movements.
The effect is one of greater sleekness
and modernity of interpretation, greater
terpsichorean drive, with Fournier warmer
and fuller-toned and Shafran tending
more to the resinous and reedy. In Minuets
Shafran is more urgent (see the G major),
Fournier more graceful. The compelling
differences of approach to the C minor
show that Fournier’s forceful call-to-arms
in the opening Prelude contrasts with
the Russian’s more introspective intimacy.
In the Sarabande Shafran finds a certain
bleak direction matched all the way
by Fournier (though the latter’s recording
is warmer and more "open").
In the concluding Gigue Shafran’s tight,
coiled vibrato is nervous and very intense.
The culminatory trill episode sounds
oddly in Shafran’s hands and here, in
comparison with the more patrician Fournier,
Shafran does sound almost overwrought
(an isolated incident it should be noted).
It may also be instructive to note that
at the same basic tempo – in for example
the Courante of the D minor - Shafran
manages to vest his line with a greater
sense of harrying insistence whilst
Fournier takes just that bit extra time
to phrase. As I suggested earlier the
sound on a couple of the suite recordings
is rather boxy and constricted but in
general it’s clear and listenable. As
a footnote it would certainly be good
to hear the 1953 Melodiya recording
of the G major and the 1958 Berlin D
major (on Eterna). Neither to my knowledge
has yet made it to CD.
The 1971 set of the
Beethoven Cello Sonatas, once more with
Ginsburg, is housed in a striking red
double box set. Performances are perhaps
less personalised than some in this
series but no less compelling. Right
from the veiled introduction to the
Adagio sostenuto of Op.5 No.1 we are
in the grip of a master cellist. His
partnership with Ginsburg is a real
partnership and not a flag of convenience,
such as was, for example, the ill-matched
Piatigorsky-Solomon traversal of the
five sonatas. Tempi are flexible, adagios
expressive but not glutinous and not
over-vibrated even though he deploys
a welter of tone colours. In the great
A major we can hear rhythmic pull at
its best and noble dignity to the phrasing.
Articulation of the Scherzo is precise
without being at all mannered, the Adagio
introduction of the finale being concentrated
yet spacious. He brings out the rather
Bachian impress of the Andante of the
C major even if his playing of the sonata
as a whole may alienate some. It’s engagingly
personalised playing with moments of
arresting poetry and sudden swooping
diminuendi, but he’s not always at his
best in the higher positions. In the
Allegro Vivace section the fugal pages
are deft and well aerated and both he
and Ginsburg catch the strangeness of
this movement, neither submerging it
nor codifying it. If the 1950s recording
of the Third Sonata with that fine Italian
pianist Carlo Zecchi has made it to
CD I’ve missed it.
Licensed to Aulos from
Melodiya these discs have been edited
utilising Direct Stream Digital Remastering.
From the documentary information, Aulos
have had access to Melodiya’s master
tapes. The results seem to me, given
that I haven’t heard the LPs from which
the majority derive, noteworthy transfers;
excellent restorative work. I’m not
able to make A/B comparisons with Doremi
but I think it’s fair to say that this
body of Shafran’s recordings has fared
exceptionally well here. Notes are predominately
in Korean only – there’s one disc with
a biographical sketch (in approximate
English). There’s certainly not a wealth
of published material available on Shafran
in English but the music’s the thing.
If you only know Rostropovich or Knushevitzky
amongst Russian cellists of this generation
then you owe it to yourself to listen
to Shafran. It’s an absolute feast for
admirers.
Jonathan Woolf
AULOS MUSIC AMC2 013 [62.40]