RECORDING OF THE MONTH
Pyotr Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893)
Swan Lake, Op. 20 (1875-1876) [153:50]
Nadezhda Tolstaya (harp), Yuri Torchinsky (violin), Yuri Loyevsky (cello),
Anatoly Lyubimov (oboe), Vladimir Sokolov (clarinet), Lev Volodin (trumpet)
USSR State Academic Symphony Orchestra/Evgeny Svetlanov
rec. Moscow, 1988
MELODIYA MELCD1002223 [3 CDs: 53:35 + 47:35 + 52:40]
The last Swan Lake to come my way was
Neeme Järvi’s Chandos
account with the Bergen Philharmonic; others raved about it, but for me it
was dead in the water. It seems that my old favourites, among them Ernest
Ansermet’s classic Decca set with the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande
(reissued on Major
Classics), have yet to be supplanted. Admittedly that version is heavily
cut – it runs for a mere 83 minutes – but it combines theatrical
intensity with remarkably good sound for 1958.
Then there are complete versions from Charles Dutoit and the Orchestre Symphonique
du Montréal (Decca), Mark Ermler and the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House
Covent Garden (originally released on the ROH label, but now available on
Sony)
and André Previn and the LSO (Warner). John Lanchbery’s Philharmonia
recording, slightly abridged to fit on two CDs, is also worth hearing (Classics
for Pleasure). The sound quality of these three issues varies somewhat,
with Dutoit’s ultra-vivid 1992 recording the best of the bunch.
That’s hardly a comprehensive list – according to ArkivMusic there
are at least 57 available sets – but it does represent a broad spectrum
of performing traditions and more than three decades of recorded sound. I
would have been very content with this trio, but that was before I chanced
upon Svetlanov's Melodiya account. Given that conductor’s unique and
authoritative way with so much Russian repertoire this set promised to be
rather special. Indeed, it was First Choice in BBC Radio 3’s Building
a Library in April 2015. Happily, audio samples indicated the recording
– made in 1988 – was pretty impressive as well.
Act 1 gets off to a glorious start; Svetlanov makes the Introduction
seem nervier than usual and in the ensuing Allegro giusto the percussion
and brass have a powerful presence that bodes well for what’s to come.
Svetlanov is rhythmically alert too, the opening Waltz attractively
sprung; not only that, Tchaikovsky’s multi-hued writing is explored
to the full, with luminous colours filtering through at every turn. Also,
this is a real-world performance, sensibly paced and eminently danceable.
Even at this early stage it’s clear this conductor isn’t one to
overdrive the music. More important, perhaps, he doesn’t busk through
it either.
A corollary of this very proportionate, thoroughly musical approach
is that the score’s quieter passages – the linking narrative as
it were – unfold in a very natural, unflustered way; and although the
grander ones are sensibly scaled they’re always drenched in drama. The
balances are just fine, but the bass is a little soft-edged at times. I’d
far rather that than the aggressive Soviet-era treble and weird perspectives
one associates with Melodiya recordings of old. Nadezhda Tolstaya's harp playing
– especially at the start of the Pas de trois – is very
well caught; ditto the refined string sound and velvety woodwinds.
What a delight it is to be reminded that Swan Lake is a veritable
daisy chain of lovely tunes and even lovelier interludes. The real pleasure,
though, is hearing Svetlanov at his affable and engaging best; every change
of mood or pace is seamlessly managed, and each number has its own distinct
character. The Coda to the Pas de trois is a case
in point: just listen to how the snappy side drum brings a sudden frisson
to the mix. Such flourishes are all the more exciting for being framed with
sensitivity and a sure sense of style. Forget those fruity, excitable Russian
bands of old, for this is playing of rare finesse and feeling. The grateful
recording is a bonus.
Svetlanov ensures the Act 1 Pas de deux is wonderfully supple; even
better, Yuri Torchinsky’s violin solo in the Andante – Allegro
– Molto più mosso is as clear and colourful as one could wish.
It certainly isn’t soupy, self-seeking or a mix of the two. Yes, he
is too far forward, but that hardly matters when the playing has
so much point and personality. And what a fierily executed Coda,
very much in the Ansermet mould. By contrast the Pas d’action
has real tenderness and the polacca in the Danse des Coupes
is deft and dynamic. Everything segues so naturally, and the whole is shaped
with a quiet conviction that I’ve only encountered once or twice in
the theatre but never on record.
Tolstaya sets the moonlit scene at the start of Act 2, where Siegfried first
glimpses the swans and eventually succumbs to the enchanted - and enchanting
- Odette. Very quickly Svetlanov draws us into the quickening vortex in a
way that the brusque, almost peremptory Järvi fails to do. The Russian brass
cut through the orchestra like scythes here, yet they’re mercifully
free of edge or old-style excess. As for the Danses des Cygnes it
has both glow and grace; not only that, it’s delivered with a singing,
ardent line that’s just ravishing. Torchinsky is at his most beguiling
here, and Yuri Loyevsky’s cello contributions are most affecting. Also,
the brass bring a tingle or three to one's spine in the Pas de quatre.
Here, more than anywhere else in this set, the sense of theatre – one
of Ansermet’s greatest strengths – is simply overwhelming. There’s
nothing routine or drearily corporate about the playing; it’s feisty
when it needs to be, and supremely elegant, too. As always Svetlanov judges
the big moments to perfection; just listen to how he makes the music burgeon
and billow at Odette’s transformation. The flipside, if you like, is
the raunchy start to the palace party in Act 3. In spirit it reminds me of
Matthew Bourne’s clubby, neon-lit take on this scene in his own, very
individual version of Swan Lake. Even if you're a traditionalist
do try and catch it on DVD; it's by far the most inspired of his Tchaikovsky
ballets. Adam Cooper's dancing is splendid, too.
Svetlanov's party certainly goes with a swing. For once his trusty steeds
seem as if they’re about to bolt, but he reins them in before any damage
is done. The royal fanfares – realistically balanced – are thrilling,
as are the powerful, punctuating cymbals in the introductory waltz. This is
a remarkably visual Swan Lake, not just an orchestral run through. Indeed,
the Pas de six found me spellbound in the stalls, eyes riveted on
the brightly lit stage. As expected the national and regional dances are dispatched
with brio and brilliance; the Hungarian Czardas is as mesmerising
as watching a whirligig. Torchinsky’s earthy violin sound in the Danse
Russe is as idiomatic as it gets. The Spanish and Neapolitan displays
are just as captivating. Incidentally, I could swear a cornet is used in the
latter, but the booklet credits Lev Volodin on trumpet.
The public glitter of Act 3 is tinged with private grief. Svetlanov really
racks up the tension here, the bass drum thudding into action as if to underline
the extent of von Rothbart’s cruel trick. Also, I’ve never heard
the trumpets cackle with such devious delight at Act's end. There’s
no holding back there, or in the tense and twitchy Entr’acte
to Act 4. Ansermet and Lanchbery are especially memorable towards the end,
driving the drama towards its dark denouement. Svetlanov is even
more compelling, though; clear-headed and far-sighted he’s the master
of both detail and structure.
The sense of approaching apotheosis is more palpable than ever, an effect
achieved through steady, scrupulous progress rather than synthetic thrills.
That’s probably why Svetlanov’s thunderous finale has a transfiguring
intensity that few can aspire to, let alone match. Indeed, if this were a
theatre the audience would rise as one, sure in the knowledge they'd just
witnessed the Swan Lake of a lifetime.
Simply unforgettable; Svetlanov at his considerable best.
Dan Morgan
twitter.com/mahlerei
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