Mikhail Pletnev and the Russian National Orchestra have already recorded
the complete Tchaikovsky symphonies with
Deutsche Grammophon, and to do so again for
Pentatone seems to suggest largesse not seen since the days of Karajan. So
is it worthwhile? The answer is a clear yes. This is the most exciting
Tchaikovsky cycle out there, and it beats the earlier DG set both for
thrills and for the quality of the recorded sound.
One of the most distinctive things about this set, and one of the things
that sets it out as interesting, is Pletnev’s preference for fast tempi.
That repeatedly injects an extra element of excitement into the music which
others often lack; and it is matched with stunningly virtuosic orchestral
playing so that there is never any danger of coming off the rails. However,
the one place where you
won’t hear that preference for fast tempi
is in the very first track on the set. The opening of No. 1 unfolds much
more slowly than you might expect, but here you hear amply this box's
two biggest selling points: the rich, resonant, utterly characteristic
Russian playing, and the gloriously full Pentatone sound. Listen to the way
the violins first tremble beneath the frosty winds, then soar in the second
subject; or the way the sound seems so open and transparent as to have the
effect of beaming an X-Ray through the score. The balance is just about
ideal, with brass clear and distinct without ever dominating, and both winds
and strings sitting perfectly within the soundscape. It's a
delightful mix, and demonstrates the best that this team (conductor,
orchestra and producer) can do. Pentatone’s surround sound is glorious, and
you don’t even have to listen in SACD to pick it up: the stereo picture is
remarkably, stunningly clear. I might even go so far as to say that this is
the best
sounding Tchaikovsky cycle out there, and I suspect that
was the main thing the lured Pletnev and the RNO back into the recording
studio for this repertoire.
Pletnev shows himself to be particularly sensitive to the changes in
Tchaikovsky's style, and he handles them very well. For example, he
doesn't attempt to conduct No. 1 as though it were the
Pathétique - in fact, he embraces it as the slightly episodic work
that it is and he seems to enjoy bringing out the child-in-a-sweetshop
aspects of the symphony's exploratory immaturity. However, if Pletnev
doesn't conduct it like the
Pathétique, then his orchestra
plays it as though it were. The same lush string tone that they lavish on
the great late symphonies is also on display in the less mature works.
Listen, for example, to the gorgeous blanket of sound that opens the slow
movement of No. 1, or the tailor-made violin tone of the Scherzo that steers
a halfway house between brightness and mystery. Likewise, the gorgeous wind
solos of the Adagio (or the introduction to the Finale) would not be out of
place in the slow movement of No. 4, and the verve of the finale seems to
look forward to the composer's later works.
The slow introduction of No. 2 is hugely exciting, full of anticipation of
a cracking Allegro, and, again, contains some fantastic solos, all of which
are brought to life in magnificently clear sound. There is a real impetus to
the ensuing Allegro, full of a bite and passion that sounds unmistakably
Russian (though I wonder if I’d be saying that if I didn’t know who the
players are?). The Andante Marziale is splendidly perky, and daringly fast,
as is the Scherzo, which rollicks along brilliantly. The finale then crowns
the symphony with a reading of tremendous energy that also serves to remind
you of what a great orchestrator Tchaikovsky could be. The breadth of the
sound is magnificent here, too, right from the slow opening through to the
crash of the gong and the hell-for-leather coda, helped by the slightly
cheeky but utterly forgivable way that Pletnev pulls the tempo around.
It's the kind of Tchaikovsky sound that makes your scalp prickle. As
a bonus you also get the original version of the first movement (before
Tchaikovsky revised it in 1880). The introduction is pretty much identical,
but the main body of the movement is a lot slower and less exciting, even
though it uses lots of the same themes. It’s interesting, but this recording
is good enough not to need that as a USP.
No. 3 has a wonderfully oblique introduction whose mood really could swing
either way; and you can sense the delight as it ultimately dissolves into
the main allegro, whose light-hearted ebullience is relished by the players
as they take every opportunity to let their musical hair down, reminding us
that this, after all, is Tchaikovsky's only major key symphony.
Meltingly sweet oboe and flute solos are there in the second subject to
remind us that the melancholy is not altogether banished, but bright
trumpets and busy strings, as well as Pletnev's direction, ensure
that an upbeat mood is kept firmly to the fore. The second movement is,
quite rightly, only a hop-skip-and-a-jump away from the world of the
ballets, and Pletnev doesn't allow symphonic weight to overwhelm the
music's inherent sense of style and movement. The Andante opens
wistfully in the winds, but that's a mere prelude to the
heart-rending string tone that takes over around the 3-minute mark, playing
the like of which you just don't get in Berlin or Vienna, let alone
in London. That lends this central movement a weight and intensity that,
bluntly, it barely deserves, but I was utterly sold. The filigree bustle of
the fourth movement is delightfully precise (with a fantastic trombone solo
towards the end), and the Polonaise finale still manages to feel like a
dance movement, for all its added weight. In fact, it feels like the most
energetic movement in the symphony, and there is a gleeful swagger to each
reappearance of the main theme (and its contrapuntal variants), to which the
interludes provide delicately drawn contrast. The final peroration is
(almost) as thrilling as the one that ends Symphony No. 2, and there are few
recordings about which you can say that.
I had expected the fanfares at the start of No. 4 to pin me to the back of
my seat a bit more than they did, but Pletnev's tactic is to make the
violins' first theme the centre of attention. Again, it's
faster than normal, adding weight to the idea of fate as a malign propulsive
force, driving the action forward, to the extent that even the gentler
second theme is affected. Towards the end of the rocking third theme,
Pletnev increases the tempo steadily, inexorably, almost imperceptibly so as
to build up the excitement in such a way that the start of the development
feels like plunging into a cauldron of despair; something which, after an
initial lull, is only intensified as the development builds into the
recapitulation. This is playing and atmosphere that can stand comparison
with Abbado, Gergiev and, perhaps more pertinently, Mravinsky; and that is
high praise. The strings are hair-raising in the coda. The Andantino flows,
never wallows, and the bright-as-a-button winds steal the show in the
Scherzo. The quicker tempo makes the finale an exhilarating thrill ride to
the extent that, in the hands of different musicians, you'd be
worried about the music coming off the rails altogether! No such danger
here. The coda will bring you to your feet if you're not already
standing, and even in the tumult of the final bars, as Pletnev drives the
tempo over a cliff, important details like the piccolo and triangle remain
crystal clear.
The clarinet solo that gives out the Fate theme at the beginning of No. 5
is oh-so-subtle, as if engaged in an against-the-odds conversation with
string section, and the speed of the main Allegro is fast in a way that
makes it feel like a march. The violins are warm and persuasive in the
second subject, leading to an exciting - and rather optimistic - climax.
There is then a real punch to the coda with its staccato brass, before
sinking quietly into nothingness. The (excellently played) horn solo in the
slow movement is distinctively Russian: lacking the central European glow,
it sounds fairly close to a euphonium in its lower registers, which will be
a matter of taste, but it's certainly in keeping with the rest of the
reading. The rest of the movement is beautifully lyrical, with sweeping
strings and characterful wind solos, so that the brass punctuations of the
Fate theme are all the more striking. The waltz is very winning, with
admirable precision in the central scampering section, but the finale will
be a Marmite movement for many people because Pletnev's tempi are so
inconsistent. He opts for extremes of slow and fast, and pulls things around
all over the place, not just between sections but even within them. I was
just about won over by the sheer excitement of the results, but I can
understand why, if you'd heard this Fifth in isolation from the rest
of the set, you'd think it was wilful and inconsistent.
For the
Pathétique, perhaps the climax of the cycle, Pletnev
paces the first movement as though it were a psychological thriller (which,
let's face it, it is!). Extremes, both of tempo and dynamics, help
not only to build the tension but to propel the drama forwards: the opening
kick of the development hits you like a punch in the stomach, and the
slowdown before the reappearance of the consoling string theme is volcanic
in its intensity, the trombones ringing out like the Apocalypse. The second
movement is steady-as-she-goes, while the March, taken at a cracking pace,
builds wave upon wave of excitement unto the final bars. The finale then
opens in utter doom, and I don't think I've ever heard the
contribution of the horns so clearly drawn as here. The major key second
theme seems to bear the movement forwards, wave upon wave, but the
devastation of the final climax is total, all the more devastating for its
seeming inevitability. The power of the gong and trombones, and the darkness
of the final string fade will live in my memory for a long time, with the
bass pizzicati seeming like the final nails in the coffin. My only criticism
is their putting
Capriccio Italien straight after it on this disc:
you have to reach for the stop button pretty quickly if you're to
avoid the mood of the symphony’s conclusion being utterly shattered.
There is a neat contrast, at the beginning of
Manfred, between
the choir of winds and the torrent of strings, both of which conjure up
soulfulness and weight in entirely different ways. This is a tricky work to
get right, partly because the architecture is more problematic than in the
numbered symphonies, and Pletnev does a good job of managing the ebb and
flow as anyone else. The violence of the first movement's Manfred
music melts very convincingly into the (beautifully played) music for
Astarte, and the all-important harp in this section sounds as clear as a
bell, while the final section, with surging, dark cellos, sinister trombones
and thrilling horns is electrifying. The Alpine fairy is depicted with
precision and brightness in the Scherzo (it vanishes into thin air
magnificently at the end), and the central string theme is beautifully
lyrical. The tonal colour of the third movement is (correctly) utterly
different to the others: the pastoral beauty of the opening leads inexorably
through an ever darkening soundscape to the appearance of Manfred's
theme, and the reappearance of the bucolic earlier themes feels rather less
convincing the second time around. Energy levels are high in the problematic
finale, though they are somewhat (and inevitably) sapped by the reappearance
of the themes from the first movement. The fugue cannot wholly solve this
problem, and the ending is unavoidably tricky; but the entry of the organ
sounds great, and the wind choir at the end seems to invoke the
work's opening in a pleasing symmetry.
The extras are all done very well too.
Marche Slave is on the
fast side, but this injects it with a certain level of energy that few
recordings achieve. The ending eschews all subtlety, and is all the better
for it! Likewise, Pletnev is not afraid of the Crash-Bang-Wallop elements of
the 1883
Coronation March, though not even he can prevent it
sounding just a little cheap.
Romeo and Juliet is given a genuinely
classy, albeit very driven reading. The energy of the fight music is so
all-encompassing that it threatens to engulf the love music. Pletnev just
about avoids this by broadening out the tempo incredibly at the climax of
the love theme, and the wind chorale in the finale is very beautiful, the
harp chords drifting upwards magically at the end. The grandeur of
Francesca da Rimini is apparent right from the opening chords, and
the sense of space opened up around the winds' groanings is awesome,
evoking the very caverns of hell. The storm is vigorous (and terrifying in
the coda) while the love music is most involving, albeit too rushed at the
climax. The
Capriccio Italien is tremendous fun, too, the
brightness of the sound really adding to the sense of Mediterranean colour
and, in this of all works, Pletnev's extreme tempi really help it to
take off.
So where does this set stand in the overall catalogue? Pretty near the
top, in my view. It’s better than Pletnev’s earlier DG version because of
the surround sound and the faster tempi. If you compare them back to back
then there is not, perhaps, too much in it; but the Pentatone one just
feels different, with more get-up-and-go to it, which renders this
one much more exciting and the DG one perhaps the safer bet. Among other
complete cycles, the virtuosity of the playing, combined with the energy of
the reading, put it ahead of
Karajan or Masur (Gewandhaus, Warner), let alone
Litton in Bournemouth, for all the virtues of that
set. Among conductors who have not (yet) set down the first three, Gergiev’s
Vienna set is remarkable as, for entirely different reasons, is
Mravinsky’s Leningrad set. However, the main rival
to this one among complete cycles is, surely, Mariss Jansons’ Oslo set
(Chandos CHAN8672M). It was through this set that I first got to know
Manfred and the earlier works, and it still sounds astoundingly
fresh today. In many ways, Jansons is the greatest example of orthodoxy,
while Pletnev on Pentatone represents the best of the current Russian
school. Jansons does have price on his side at present, but Pletnev has the
new sound technology.
One of the downsides of having such excellent recorded sound, by the way,
is that, during the quieter passages, you can frequently hear Pletnev
groaning on the podium, but unless you're hyper-sensitive to that
sort of thing it shouldn't get too much in the way; and he's a
lot less audible than are the likes of
Pappano and
Gergiev.
Simon Thompson
