As admirers of Evgeny
Svetlanov’s work will know, his discography
is getting rather messy. The highest
profile reissues are coming from the
ongoing Warner Classics edition – generally
good recordings but somewhat erratically
issued and with some appallingly presented
and proof-read booklets. In addition
there are the discs, such as these under
review, in The Anthology of Russian
Symphony Music series (potentially
comprising, according to Svetlanov himself,
almost 2,000 recordings). And a number
of somewhat spasmodic and less ambitious
enterprises also seem to be under way
(the enterprising Scribendum label,
for example, has released several very
interesting performances).
Of course, the fact
that Svetlanov was an inveterate re-recorder
and a man who kept a massive archive
of recordings of his live performances
considerably confuses the issue and
makes it particularly important that
the provenance of any performance on
CD is made as clear as possible. Merely
stating "recording 1971-1993 from
Evgeny Svetlanov’s archives", as
this issue does, is a real disservice
to potential purchasers.
What it is possible
to say, though, in spite of the woefully
inadequate supporting documentation,
is that the sound itself suggests that
these performances originated from several
different venues. Some audiences are
prone to (winter?) coughing, while others
keep relatively silent. Some tracks
end in applause, while others are followed
by complete silence. With that inconsistency
noted, there is nevertheless a great
deal to enjoy on these six discs, with
some outstanding performances of rarely
heard repertoire.
The first disc contains
arguably the best-known of Balakirev’s
works, his first symphony. Forty or
so years ago, the old Penguin Guide
to Bargain Discs (full of pseudonymous
orchestras and conductors issued on
long forgotten labels – Allegro, Fidelio,
Saga, Wing and the rest) gave full marks
to the Sir Thomas Beecham/Royal Philharmonic
Orchestra recording. In those days I
would have loved to have heard its slow
movement that the authors claimed had
a Tin Pan Alley-worthy "big tune"
but, as Beecham’s 1955 performance was
on HMV Concert Classics and consequently
priced at a whopping 21/6d., it was
well beyond my schoolboy budget.
Listening to that recording
now – and also to another much admired
1950 account from the Philharmonia Orchestra
under Herbert von Karajan – Svetlanov’s
individuality is obvious. It is not
so much a question of mere tempi,
for Beecham’s, both in that studio recording
and in a 1956 BBC broadcast, are roughly
similar (the odd one out is Karajan:
first movement timings are Svetlanov
11:37, Beecham 11:45, and Karajan a
staggering drawn out 15:05). The striking
and consistent difference is that while
Beecham and Karajan tend, in general,
to "westernise" the music
and smooth out its rough edges, the
Russian positively emphasises them.
Partly, of course, that reflects differences
in orchestral playing: Soviet-era brass
players were not famed for their subtlety.
But one also suspects that the conductor,
focused on his personal project of recording
the complete orchestral output of his
country’s composers of that era, would
have gloried in emphasising any distinctive
"Russian" elements in the
music.
The rest of the first
disc contains Balakirev’s other overtly
"Russian" pieces so the approach,
as you might expect, remains much the
same. Russia is particularly
successful, with buoyant, well sprung
rhythms and very characterful playing
from all sections (in this – as earlier
at the climax of the first symphony’s
slow movement – I was struck by the
welcome prominence that Svetlanov gives
his harpist, adding a real visceral
thrill to the overall orchestral mix)
but the more episodic Overture on
three Russian songs is also thoroughly
idiomatic and very well done indeed.
The major item on the
second disc is Balakirev’s second symphony,
a less inspired work than its predecessor
and one that seems to lack spontaneity,
with almost the air of an academic exercise
about it. In spite of an introduction
that makes us anticipate great things
to come, the slow movement lacks the
requisite "big tune". (Rimsky-Korsakov
had the same problem: his third symphony
seems almost monochrome after the kaleidoscopic
colour of Antar). There are,
though, frequent opportunities for the
orchestra to demonstrate its skill -
even in a relatively hopeless cause
- and it rises successfully to them
all as Svetlanov does his best with
the score.
In Bohemia and
the Overture on the theme of a Spanish
march, filling
out the second disc, both
show the composer’s inspiration at a
higher level. They are most competently
and enjoyably performed. The magical
opening of In Bohemia is beautifully
shaped and executed and the rest goes
with real aplomb, even though Bohemia
is occasionally made to sound like Romanov
- rather than Habsburg - territory!
The overture that fills out the disc
uses a Spanish - and clearly Moorish-influenced
– theme as its basis but thereafter
largely eschews those familiar clichés
of rhythm and orchestration that, for
instance, Rimsky –Korsakov exploited
to the full in Capriccio espagnol.
An enjoyable romp, it once again unfortunately
lacks the final degree of memorability.
As we move, on the
third disc, from Bohemia and Spain to
mythical Ancient Britain with the incidental
music to King Lear, so Balakirev’s
musical idiom changes noticeably. The
eponymous ruler, as depicted here, is
most clearly not a Romanov, even
though Svetlanov’s orchestra, with its
distinctive Soviet timbre, seems occasionally
to hint that he just might be a distant
cousin. Apart from the quite substantial
overture, a long "procession"
that would take any actors around the
stage at least a dozen times (and with,
it has to be said, not the easiest of
rhythms to process to) and the rather
beautiful entr’acte to the fourth act,
these are relatively inconsequential
episodes – included by the conductor,
I suspect, for historical completeness
rather than real musical worth. The
programmatic symphonic poem Tamara,
on the other hand, is certainly worth
recording (Beecham set it down at the
same sessions when he recorded the first
symphony in 1955) and here it receives
a splendidly idiomatic and dramatic
performance that encompasses all its
many moods with great authority, if
perhaps slightly marred by a particularly
reverberant acoustic.
With the fourth disc
– more Balakirev and a bit of Lyapunov
– we are, apart from the well known
Islamey, on less familiar ground.
Balakirev’s B minor suite turns out
to be pleasant enough, if somewhat lacking
in any particular identity: the attractive
Quasi valse (with the emphasis
very much on the quasi) makes
the strongest impact, though the concluding
tarantella allows the composer to return
to the sort of musical high jinks that
was clearly one of his strengths. The
D minor suite, a homage to Chopin, a
composer much admired by Balakirev,
is again easy enough on the ear (the
scherzo finale works best) but mainly
of interest to completists. It taxes
neither Svetlanov nor his orchestra
in the slightest but they pay it the
complement of taking this rather inconsequential
piece seriously and performing it well.
I have always preferred,
I admit, Lyapunov’s orchestration of
Islamey to Balakirev’s original
– and fiendishly tricky - piano solo.
Svetlanov’s performance here is stunning,
making it a real virtuoso orchestral
showpiece. From the urgent, fiercely
buzzing strings of the opening, through
the final but all too brief repetition
of the "oriental" theme, complete
with of blaring brass and thumping percussion,
and on to the tremendously exciting
final pages, this is all very much spot-on.
The disc concludes with our first taste
of Lyapunov’s own music, yet another
tribute to Chopin. Zelazowa Wola was
actually the Polish composer’s birthplace
(Balakirev was instrumental in erecting
a commemorative plaque there in 1894)
and Lyapunov’s quite agreeable symphonic
poem makes a well-orchestrated and sincere,
if rather episodic, impression. But
let’s not look this – typically well
executed – rarity of a gift horse in
the mouth.
The last two discs
in this box set offer us the chance
to hear more of Lyapunov, until quite
recently a largely composer overlooked
composer. My own shelves, which once
only held Michael Ponti’s electrifying
performance of the Rhapsody on Ukrainian
themes, op.28, now positively bulge
as they also accommodate both the BBC
Philharmonic/Sinaisky and the Moscow
State Symphony Orchestra/Glushchenko
in the first symphony; the Orchestre
Phlharmonique de Radio France/Svetlanov
in the second symphony; Hamish Milne
as soloist with the BBC Scottish Symphony
Orchestra in the two piano concertos
and another version of the op.28 Rhapsody;
another recording of the second piano
concerto, this time with Howard Shelley
and the BBC Philharmonic/Sinaisky; the
Ballade op.2 (Moscow State Symphony
Orchestra/Glushchenko); and the Polonaise
op.16 (BBC Philharmonic/Sinaisky).
On the fifth disc,
the main course is provided by the symphony
no.1, op.12. This, it must be conceded,
is something of a curate’s egg: strikingly
good in parts (another gloriously broad,
swooning and swooping slow movement
and a playfully skittish yet incisive
scherzo) while sometimes quite bland.
Even though Lyapunov was personally
very close to Balakirev, it is Borodin’s
influence that is most evident here
(not an unusual phenomenon: for yet
another example of Borodin’s pervasive
influence, though rather further afield,
seek out Belgian composer August De
Boeck’s symphony in G). With Russian
participation in all the versions of
the Lyapunov first symphony that I have
mentioned, a great deal will depend
on exactly how Russian you like
your music. If you are not averse to
typically blaring brass, then Svetlanov’s
fervent emotion in that glorious andante
sostenuto and his sheer gusto as
appropriate elsewhere would make his
recording an excellent choice.
In a world where most
political leaders (with the honourable
exception of Barack Obama) deny ever
inhaling, I wonder if it’s political
correctness that has inhibited more
performances or recordings of Lypunov’s
"oriental symphonic poem"
Hashish? It cannot be that the
music is thought to lack interest. Reminiscent
quite often of Scheherazade (at
around the 10:00 mark you’d swear that
you were listening to a discarded page
from The young prince and the young
princess), its somewhat episodic
form clearly reflects Lyapunov’s intention
to depict the random images produced
by a drug-induced dream. I enjoyed this
(for me) new discovery a great deal,
especially in Svetlanov’s fervently
idiomatic performance.
The box’s final disc
is more Lyapunov, this time the symphony
no.2, op.66 (of which Svetlanov himself
gave the world premiere as late as 1951)
and the Solemn overture on Russian
themes, op.7. Some commentators
have suggested that the symphony’s relatively
sombre atmosphere reflects the period
of its composition, for by 1917 the
pre-war world had been utterly destroyed
by three years of the First World War
and Russia was about to see the introduction
of a ruthless communist dictatorship.
One can still hear the occasional flourish
of Lyapunov’s old nationalistic style.
But, in general – and specifically,
too, in the striking opening movement
and in the finale where elements of
martial triumphalism sound forced and
ultimately completely hollow – this
is a darker score, a world away from
the earlier close kinship that we noted
with Balakirev or Borodin.
It is quite conceivable
that any of the famous "mighty
handful" – Balakirev, Cui, Mussorgsky,
Rimsky-Korsakov and Borodin – might
actually have lived to see the Great
War and the Russian Revolution. None
of them, in fact, did so. But Lyapunov
did – and perhaps we can look to his
example to see the dramatic effect of
those world catastrophes on a musician
essentially of the old school.
It is a great shame
that the second symphony has yet to
receive as much attention as the first.
It is certainly just as interesting
– though in a very different way – and
Svetlanov’s impassioned and persuasive
advocacy makes the strongest impression.
The overall conception
differs considerably, by the way, from
Svetlanov’s later French radio recording
(on the Naïve label V 4974). In
this earlier Russian version he adopts
far faster tempi in every movement,
so that the overall timing for the whole
work is 49:15 as against 62:54 for the
French recording. Forced to choose,
I’d say that, even though the slower
tempi of the 1998 French version
seems on paper more appropriate to the
symphony’s "doom and gloom"
scenario, I’d go for the dramatic urgency
of the earlier interpretation coupled
with the orchestra’s authentically raw
Russian-ness.
The final item of the
whole set, Lyapunov’s Solemn overture
on Russian themes, returns us from
the chaotic conditions of 1917 to an
earlier, more certain and gentler age.
It could, in truth, have been written
by any of those late 19th
century Russian composers who were so
fascinated by their homeland’s folk
music heritage, but that does not lessen
its attractiveness one whit – especially
when so convincingly performed as here.
So what of an overall
judgement? As I have indicated, there
is a great deal of music here that one
might not want to listen to terribly
often. But there are also some real
discoveries to be made. A lot will depend,
too, on your personal reaction to the
sound typically made by a Soviet-era
orchestra and, more specifically, by
its unmistakeable brass section. If
you can live with that – or if, like
me, you positively revel in it – and
if the repertoire interests you, then
this very useful set of discs could
well be right up your street.
Rob Maynard
The State Academic Symphony Orchestra/Evgeny
Svetlanov 
