Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)
Symphony No. 1 in G minor, Op. 13 ‘Winter Daydreams’ (1874)
Italian Capriccio in A major, Op. 45 (1880)
Waltz from Eugene Onegin, Lyric Scenes, Op. 24 (1879)
Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich/Paavo Järvi
rec 2019-2021, Tonhalle Maag, Zürich
ALPHA CLASSICS 838 [65]
This is the fourth in Paavo Järvi’s survey of all Tchaikovsky’s symphonies and his most popular orchestral pieces. The recordings were all set down at the orchestra’s second home while the resplendent Tonhalle was under restoration. Paavo Järvi, like his father, is a fine interpreter of Russian music, yet the Tchaikovsky symphonic cycle is a trial for any conductor – If the last three symphonies belong to the most glorious of Russian popular works, the early symphonies present the challenge of grasping the heart of Tchaikovsky’s development as a composer of greatness.
In all my years of concert-going, I can remember hearing only two or three performances of Tchaikovsky’s First Symphony. Like Dvořák’s early symphonies, Tchaikovsky’s rarely feature - even in Russian concert programmes. One had to get to know this symphony largely through the recordings of conductors such as Svetlanov, Ivanov and Fedoseyev. I discovered this work in an old mono LP issued on Artia in a recording by Konstantin Ivanov. To date, no one has equalled his marvellous handling of the dream-like, wintry impressionism of the opening pages of Tchaikovsky’s score. Despite its lack of popularity, however, it is a beautifully crafted symphony with remarkable orchestral colour and its use of folk themes bringing out the prodigy which was Tchaikovsky. Hans Keller called it the ‘first and weakest symphony’, underlining that the work was composed when the composer’s spirit had been temporarily broken by music criticism. The composer himself called the symphony the ‘most lyrical of musical forms. After all, is it not meant to express that for which there are no words, but which forces itself out of the soul, impatiently waiting to be uttered?’, yet the symphony gave him many sleepless nights, and after the first performance in 1867, he made a revised version in 1874.
Paavo Järvi is an outstanding orchestral trainer, as witnessed by his work with orchestras in Frankfurt, Bremen, Cincinnati, Tokyo, Paris and, now in Zurich. He has that ability to grasp the essence of a composer’s conception and inspire his musicians to give of their best. Tchaikovsky’s mood and conception of the symphony are evident in his calling the first two movements ‘Reveries on a winter journey’, and ‘Land of emptiness, land of mist’. In Järvi’s recording, the opening Allegro tranquillo, captures all the Romanticism of Tchaikovsky’s idiom with wonderful string playing and delightfully colourful woodwind, with fine virtuosity from the flute of Sabine Poye Morel and Michael Reed on the clarinet. However, as I was listening to this playing, it came to me that this orchestra rarely plays Tchaikovsky, for the magic of a winter’s journey, the invocation of snowy landscapes and that mystery of Slavic idiom all seemed to be missing. The score is played impeccably, yet lacks that particular feeling that the finest Russian orchestras can bring to this music - I have in mind recordings by Sladkovsky, Fedoseyev and Pletnev. There are charming solos from the oboe of Simon Fuchs in the Adagio cantabile ma non tanto, while in the third movement Scherzo, the delightfully charming waltz in the Trio is well handled allowing all the virtuosity of the woodwind group to be revealed and enhanced with the technical engineering on this excellent recording. The Russian folk song which is heard in the Finale is well played, showing off the glorious woodwind group and the excellent brass produce a fine culmination to this neglected Russian symphony.
That apparent lack of an empathy with Tchaikovsky’s music is not apparent in the Capriccio Italien, in which the woodwind playing is stunningly beautiful and a more appropriate, nuanced Mediterranean idiom is displayed. Throughout, the strings and wind groups are often spectacular, most notably the oboes in their introduction of the Tuscan folk song ‘Bella ragazza della trecce blonde’ and leading to the energetically executed tarantella in bright primary colours through the orchestra. The waltz from Eugene Onegin is gracefully played with much of the colour and charm appearing underlining the virtuosity of this fine orchestra.
For those collectors who have already invested in the other releases in this series, this new issue is recommendable; however, better versions of this symphony and of these two orchestral pieces are available.
Gregor Tassie
