President Vladimir Putin is famous for well-publicised recreational
activities that we in the west often find utterly outlandish. The adoring
Russian media, though, positively delight in macho images of him
hang-gliding with flocks of birds, fitting trackers to polar bears, taking
skin samples from whales, scuba-diving on archaeological sites and, in
general, seizing every opportunity to take off his shirt and expose his
manly chest. Vigorous "traditional" masculinity is clearly regarded, then,
as a laudable characteristic in contemporary Russia, even if its social and
cultural ramifications - such as the Minister of Culture's recent denial of
Tchaikovsky's homosexuality - are frequently taken to ridiculous extremes.
Valery Gergiev is well known as a long term friend of President
Vladimir Putin and a little internet research confirms that Denis Matsuev,
winner of the first prize for piano at the 1998 Moscow International
Tchaikovsky Competition, is another musician who enjoys the particular
favour of the Russian head of state. Standing at 6'4", "built like a
weightlifter" according to
The New York Times and apparently
nicknamed "the Siberian bear", 38 years old Matsuev is a physically
formidable presence on stage. Moreover, he often gives strikingly virtuosic
performances to match, with generally gushing press headlines recognising
his "muscle and speed" (
The New York Times) and "muscle and mind"
(
The Washington Post), as well as praising a style that "finds a
place for both a hush and a roar" (
The New York Times). Might it not
be too fanciful, then, to suggest that these two artists' frequently
powerful and rugged new accounts of Tchaikovsky's B-flat minor and G major
piano concertos might be regarded as appropriately representative of the
Putin era
Zeitgeist?
Over the years, the concertos - particularly the ever-popular first
- have generated a wide range of recorded interpretations. The great
majority have favoured a traditional line and the B-flat minor, in
particular, has usually been seen as an epic, adrenalin-charged duel between
soloist and orchestra, in which each drives the other relentlessly forward
to a fireworks conclusion. Thus, as one of the great peaks of the Romantic
piano concerto repertoire, the first concerto and its fellows were hardly
surprise choices when Hyperion selected them to mark the celebratory 50th
issue in their much-lauded series of the same name. The rather fewer
recorded accounts that offer more considered approaches - including my own
favourite from Solomon, accompanied by the Philharmonia Orchestra under
Issay Dobrowen in 1949 (EMI CHS 7 64855 2 and as part of the
EMI Icon set) - have rarely had the popular impact of their
barnstorming rivals. While selecting other accounts for critical comparison
is a very personal matter, on this occasion I took the opportunity to
reacquaint myself with two favourite older recordings of the traditional
school - from Gary Graffman with the Cleveland Orchestra under George Szell
(1969) in the First concerto (Sony Classical S2K 94737) and from Sylvia
Kersenbaum, accompanied by the Orchestre National de l'O.R.T.F. under Jean
Martinon, in a 1972 performance of the Second that garnered excellent
reviews at the time of its first release but is now often, and unjustly,
overlooked (EMI 7243 5 69695 2 0).
Having listened to this new disc several times over the course of a
few days, what strikes me most, apart from the expert technical execution,
is Matsuev's artistic relationship with the orchestra. True enough, when he
plays
along with them, he is quite in line with Gergiev's
driven, propulsive interpretation. For much of the first concerto's opening
movement, for instance,
tempi from both soloist and orchestra are
closely matched and very much what anyone familiar with most other
widely-known accounts would expect. What then goes on to differentiate this
version from those others, though, is the way in which Matsuev treats the
episodes for solo piano, frequently slowing passages down and utilising
changes in dynamics in order to bring their dreamy, introspective
possibilities to the fore. As suggested by those American newspaper
headlines pinpointing "a mind" and "a hush" as well as the muscle, this
pianist is clearly rather more than a mere thumper of the keys. In fact, as
these recordings confirm, the Siberian bear can transform itself, when
appropriate, into something of a cuddly-looking koala.
The long opening movements of both concertos offer the best
examples. Listen to 6:23-6:59, 8:40-9:07 and 11:07-12:13 in the First
concerto's first movement, for instance, and you will find clear examples of
that approach - and the long cadenza (16:30-20:23) intermittently offers
several others. The overall result is that while this interpretation may
lack the sheer visceral thundering-juggernaut excitement of the
well-recorded Graffman account, it does force you to listen to Tchaikovsky's
score with new ears. Similarly, after Gergiev sets the second concerto's
opening movement off on a brisk, vigorous and propulsive trajectory, Matsuev
takes the opportunity provided by passages for solo - or almost solo - piano
to indulge in some more thoughtful day-dreaming. Listen to 2:33-3:46,
7:48-9:21 and intermittently throughout 11:34-16:46 - although the latter
section also offers several impressive exhibitions of sheer virtuosity - and
you will hear what I mean.
The remaining movements of the first concerto and the finale of the
second are rather less individually characterised, though they certainly
succeed in demonstrating Matsuev's fleet-of-finger keyboard wizardry. The
prestissimo section of the B-flat minor's second movement
(2:58-4:17), for example, really lives up to its billing, with quicksilver
pianism of the greatest accomplishment and technique. The succeeding
allegro con fuoco finale - introduced, after a very short break
between tracks, by a great wake-up thwack from the Mariinsky timpanist -
offers more of the same, even though Matsuev continues to find occasional
episodes in both movements that allow him to return to a more ruminative
approach.
That leaves us with the somewhat problematic middle movement of the
second concerto - so problematic, in fact, that Stephen Hough recorded no
fewer than three alternative versions of it for the
Hyperion Romantic
Piano Concerto release to which I referred earlier (
CDA67711/2). This new recording thankfully eschews
Siloti's drastic abbreviation and instead opts for Tchaikovsky's own
revision that accords proper weight to the violin and cello soloist - both
obviously very accomplished players but rather ungenerously uncredited on
the packaging. Interestingly enough, whereas Sylvia Kersenbaum, like many
other pianists, creates the impression at this point that she was playing as
part of a chamber trio of equally balanced instrumentalists, one somehow
senses that Matsuev is aligning himself more with Gergiev. Thus, both piano
and orchestra push the tempo along - admittedly to good effect - from 6:08
until 7:27, in marked contrast with the more ruminative violin/cello
dialogues that both precede and succeed that section. I confess to hugely
enjoying the extra degree of lush romanticism, flattered by a generous
recording acoustic, that Ms Kersenbaum and her colleagues bring to this
movement, but others may well prefer the somewhat more direct and
businesslike approach of the Mariinsky team.
Though I can find no indication of it on the CD packaging or in the
interesting booklet notes, these appear to be recordings of live concert
performances, as indicated by the odd cough or two - at, for instance, 13:21
in the second concerto's slow movement. More oddly, in that same movement a
swishing noise occurs intermittently at 2:07, 2:13, 9:22, 11:07 and 11:36,
almost as if one of the Mariinsky Theatre cleaners was present and sweeping
the auditorium floor. I find it so hard to believe that no-one in the
production process noticed it that I am charitably inclined to think that it
may simply be a fault with my own copy of the disc. In general, though, the
sound is good - with the proviso that the piano is positioned just a little
too forward, so that the visceral impact of the massed St Petersburg strings
in full Romantic mode is somewhat reduced. That prominence can also obscure
the odd small but important detail: thus, at 20:08-20:10 in the second
concerto's opening movement, we struggle to hear the pizzicato strings that
serve to bring the tempo - and the emotional temperature - right down at
that point, a moment better engineered on the EMI recording.
All in all, then, although it failed to displace either Gary
Graffman's or Sylvia Kersenbaum's recordings in my affections, I enjoyed
this account a great deal. The performances are never less than technically
assured and anyone coming to them with experience of other recordings will
certainly find that Messrs. Matsuev and Gergiev offer an invariably
interesting and often quite striking alternative approach.
Rob Maynard
Masterwork Index:
Tchaikovsky
piano concerto 1
