Piotr Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893)
Symphony no. 5 in E minor op.64 [41:17]
Francesca da Rimini op.32 [18:51]
Alexander BORODIN (1833-1887)
Prince Igor: Polovtsian Dances [8:42]
Symphony Orchestra/Albert Coates
rec. 25 October, 3, 17 November, 22 December 1922 (Symphony), 22, 24 October
1924 (Francesca), 18 October 1923 (Borodin)
Transfers by Ward Marston
PRISTINE AUDIO PASC 297 [68:50] 
This review follows on from that of a companion disc containing Coates’s recordings
from the 1920s of shorter Russian and French pieces. For a rounded picture,
readers should start with that review.
Although these recordings were made at the same time as the others, and have
been transferred by the same engineer, Ward Marston, presumably using the
same method, I find them less satisfactory to listen to. I think this is because
Tchaikovsky’s music is essentially string-based, whereas the pieces on the
other disc rely much more on wind and brass colours. It is evident here, as
it wasn’t on the companion CD, that the acoustic recording process allowed
Coates a wretchedly small complement of strings. Also very evident here is
the typical device used in acoustic recordings of substituting pizzicato strings
– which didn’t register properly – with a tuba, to be heard squelching its
way grotesquely through the tender Francesca love music. Also, Francesca in
particular contains a lot of loud music and it comes across so confused that
one wonders what a listener living far away from any city offering regular
orchestral concerts would have thought of this music, which is made to sound
far more modern than the Stravinsky on the companion disc.
Given that real enjoyment is unlikely, the question remains whether Coates’s
interpretations offer such insights as to make it worth our while to persevere
nonetheless. I have to say they don’t seem to. After a perfunctory introduction
he launches the symphony’s main Allegro incredibly slowly, then soon he is
tearing away in a manner that suggests hysteria rather than passion. The lyrical
second subject is pulled about in a very exaggerated manner. Perhaps this
would have a sense if we could hear it better. As to whether I could ever
enjoy an Andante cantabile launched so fast, and frequently getting faster
still, I have my doubts. Side-lengths sometimes dictated strange tempi in
those days, but Coates’s version of the symphony spread over 6 discs, as did
the 1928 version by Sir Landon Ronald, who offered a spacious, noble reading
of this movement. The years between 1922 and 1928 saw the introduction of
electrical recording, to the obvious advantage of the Ronald version. All
the same, if this latter offers a brooding, powerful and passionate interpretation
that can still be fully enjoyed I don’t think the difference is to be attributed
only to the recording.
Connoisseurs of orchestral traditions will be surprised to hear the horn in
the second movement using a euphonium-like vibrato. This has never been a
feature of British orchestral playing, though it is habitual in military bands
and British orchestral players can provide it if asked. Listen to the opening
of Sullivan’s In Memoriam as played by the City of Birmingham Orchestra under
the noted brass band conductor Sir Vivian Dunn! So presumably Coates wanted
this. By contrast, the player in the Ronald recording has a very pure tone,
beautifully controlled, and launches the movement memorably.
Coates’s 1930 recording of Francesca da Rimini was included in the “Great
Conductors of the Century” set dedicated to him. It is sufficiently well recorded
to show that Coates’s interpretation was electric in the depiction of the
inferno, passionate if not especially imaginative in the love music. Since
he presumably made the new recording as a replacement for the old, he would
be surprised to know people were listening to the 1924 version in 2011.
The Borodin is something that has to be heard to be believed. The documentation
gives nothing away so I feel a bit guilty about making a spoiler and telling
you that, first of all, Coates doesn’t indulge the famous tune as conductors
have tended to do ever since “Kismet”, he has it bouncing merrily along. And
then, unannounced, there’s a choir, or at least a small group of voices –
individual vibratos can be heard. Now, conductors can usually get an orchestra
to play in the style they want, but choirs tend to arrive ready-trained and
the conductor just hasn’t the time to train them all over again in a different
style let alone teach them a different vocal technique. This choir has it
in its genes that it’s here to sing Nymphs and Shepherds, and then Gilbert
and Sullivan, and there’s precious little Coates can do about it. He does
get up lashes of energy in the later dances, but here we have the strange
effect created by the dominance of the big drum pounding away its steady,
remorseless beat. In place of Borodin’s barbaric splendour we have something
closer to African primitivism.
I see I was highly impressed by the “Great
Conductors” compilation. I haven’t heard it again since, apart from Francesca.
What worries me is the fact that I remember nothing at all about what I heard.
Even rereading my review rings no bells. Is it possible that Coates was a
great disciplinarian and energizer but too superficial an interpreter for
his performances to stay in the mind? Unfortunately, these old acoustic recordings
seem to emphasize the weaker sides of his art. For confirmed admirers only,
I’d say.
Christopher Howell
For confirmed admirers only, I’d say.