A brand-new recording of
Swan Lake - especially a Super Audio
one - is cause for celebration. I say that even if one already has any/all
of the classic versions - Ansermet, Previn, Lanchbery, Ermler and Dutoit
among them - of this guaranteed crowd-pleaser: perennially fresh and
exciting with glittering set-pieces. That said, of the versions in the
catalogue not all are complete and many are starting to show their age when
it comes to sound.
I am fiercely loyal to Ansermet, whose theatrical instincts make his
vintage Decca performance one of the most enduring and dramatically intense
I know. Lanchbery is another man of the theatre, and his EMI Classics set
has all the lilt, energy and diversity of character that one would want;
older readers will remember the original LPs in their distinctive silver and
red du Maurier box. Mark Ermler and his Royal Opera band also benefit from
their work together in the pit, even if the 1989 recording is apt to sound a
little aggressive now. Sadly, that’s also true of André Previn
and the LSO, whose classic EMI performance lost much of its refulgence in
the transfer to digital.
I recently acquired Charles Dutoit’s much-praised Montreal
set, which I’d somehow missed when it was first released in 1992.
Alas, I didn’t warm to it at first - ditto his
Nutcracker -
more of that later. Would all the essential attributes listed earlier
manifest themselves in this Järvi/Bergen performance. I must admit to
reservations at the outset, as this conductor can be rather brisk and
unsmiling at times; his recent Chandos recordings - several of which
I’ve reviewed for Download News - have been variable to say the least.
The Bergen Philharmonic have also had a patchy record of late; their
BIS recordings of Stravinsky and Prokofiev with Andrew Litton don’t
find them at their very best. However, their
Turangalîla with
Juanjo Mena (
review) and their Berlioz overtures with Sir
Andrew Davis (
review) most certainly do. The
Introduction to this new
Swan Lake comes across well enough, but already there are hints of
the rhythmic inflexibility that resurfaces in the iconic
Valse a few
minutes later. That said, Järvi does bring out the splendour of the
scurrying
Allegro giusto, and the brass and percussion are superbly
rendered.
Listening to that first waltz I was struck by the nicely nuanced
playing, although it’s clear that Järvi’s reading
isn’t going to be anywhere near as vivacious as those of his finest
rivals. Take the start of the
Pas de trois, for instance; it sounds
glorious, but where’s that breath-bating sense of spectacle? Or that
deep, animating passion? Tempi are a problem too. How on earth would dancers
respond to this school-masterish lack of give and take? I don’t mind
brisk, but I take exception to brusque, especially in this most yielding and
spontaneous of scores. Regrettably, as Järvi busks his way through this
music he misses all the pleasures of the moment.
Frankly, the rest of Act I is utterly charmless, and although
Järvi’s rather breathless
Coda is undeniably thrilling
it’s too rumty-tumty for my taste. This metronomic response to
Tchaikovsky’s living, breathing narrative is just too dispiriting for
words. Indeed, all those delectable tunes pass as if on a featureless
assembly line to nowhere. Staying with the machine-like metaphors,
Järvi exposes all the music’s cogs and gears, and they
don’t always mesh as smoothly as they should. At least the melting,
harp-led
Finale offers some respite, albeit very brief, before we
trundle into Act II.
I have no qualms about the sound which, although a little dry, is
pretty good. It’s not one of those exaggerated ‘hi-fi’
presentations - the prominent bass of earlier Chandos recordings has
vanished - and transients are well caught. What a pity these fine sonics are
wasted on such a lacklustre performance. The catch-in-the-throat loveliness
at the start of Act II is nowhere to be seen, and the passionate intensity
that Ansermet and Lanchbery find elsewhere proves just as elusive. Intensely
irritating, too, is the curious stop-start nature of what we hear;
Järvi makes little or no attempt to segue the numbers.
Odette’s solo, which calls for tenderness and lift, is dour
and leaden, and there’s absolutely no joy in the waltz and or in
Dance of the Cygnets that follows. That really is the problem with
this
Swan Lake, it’s drab and joyless; even the playing seems
hesitant at times, Tchaikovsky’s melodies stunted by too many
imprecisions. As for Odette and Siegfried’s pivotal dance it lacks all
magic when it’s as foursquare as this. Just listen to how Ansermet,
Lanchbery and Previn bend these rhythms. The music is a mirror of the
enchanted love that enfolds this doomed pair.
There’s something else missing here, and that’s an
element of fantasy; without it we are never really drawn into this dark
fairy tale. Instead we are just bystanders, stony of face and heart. Act III
offers little for the famished ear and spirit, although the big moments -
helped by this fine recording - aren’t without a certain panache. Then
Järvi spoils it all with a now gabbling, now pallid
Ballabile.
As parties go this is something of a disaster; the dances are graceless -
not altogether surprising at these sluggish speeds - and the warming glow
that usually radiates from this music is conspicuous by its absence.
Indeed, while I may have expected a swift reading I was surprised to
get a lugubrious one as well; this seems to be a performance of sudden
extremes, with little subtlety or substance in between. I’d go so far
as to say it’s peremptory in parts, with little variety and no sense
of dramatic ebb and flow. To put it bluntly, Act III simply chugs along; and
if you thought the journey would be enlivened by the national dances
I’m afraid you’d be much mistaken. A dull
Csárdás and an equally drab
Danse Russe precede
a fairly sunny display by the Spaniards. As for Järvi’s halting
Neapolitan number it’s no match for the more fluid and idiomatic
Dutoit, whose cornet player is sensational.
Dipping into Dutoit at this point - and he’s never been my top
choice in this repertoire - I had to marvel at the nuance and colour he
finds in these show-stopping set-pieces. What a sparkling celebration of
local colour these dances are - albeit filtered through Russian
sensibilities - and how grey they seem under Järvi. Not surprisingly
the start of Act IV lacks all sense of impending apotheosis or tragedy; how
could it be otherwise, given the absence of a compelling narrative? These
tragic and transfiguring events - assuming one prefers the downbeat ending
to the upbeat one - count for precious little here. Ansermet and his
transported players are overwhelming at this point, as one is drawn,
helplessly, into the great vortex of the ballet’s closing scene.
Predictably Järvi overdrives the big climaxes, which certainly sound
splendid, but that just underlines the episodic, prodding nature of this
performance as a whole. Lanchbery and the Philharmonia are also rather
special here. As for Dutoit and the OSM they are unfailingly vivacious -
that word again - and both transform a mere spectacle into a heart-stopping
drama. This is a work that should leave one spent and elated at its close;
that it does neither under Järvi should come as no surprise.
Reviewers aren’t immune to prejudices or preferences, and
sometimes it’s very hard to break those old bonds. That said,
I’m thrilled when a new performance challenges or supplants a
long-held favourite; I really hoped Järvi’s
Swan Lake
would be one of those, even if I did have doubts at the outset. To put it
bluntly - that phrase again - Järvi is not the powerhouse he once was,
and the Bergen orchestra aren’t at their best either. The only
positive in this set is the recording, but even then it seems a bit pale
next to the big, flamboyant sound Decca provides for Dutoit. In fact
Järvi’s
Swan Lake has made me re-evaluate Dutoit’s,
which has a theatricality and thrust that I hadn’t appreciated before.
An uninspired
Swan Lake, albeit in fine sound; Järvi has
clearly lost his edge here.
Dan Morgan
http://twitter.com/mahlerei
[81:17 + 73:24]
