Vladimir Ashkenazy’s ongoing and wide-ranging festival,
‘Papa, what if they hang you for this?: Prokofiev and Shostakovich under
Stalin’ continued with this fascinating programme. As Ashkenazy stated
in his written introduction, ‘This programme is based on the principle
of contrast – two ‘Party pieces’ by Prokofiev juxtaposed with the masterpiece
which is Shostakovich’s First Violin Concerto.’ The contrast between
the authority-driven first half and the highly personal world of the
second was indeed stark and telling. The excellence of the performances
acted as a pointer towards the dedication from all concerned.
The four posters that were hanging down from the RFH
ceiling were chilling. They said, ‘Glory to Comrade Stalin,’ two in
English, two in Russian. The faces of Stalin seemed to be there to keep
an eye on the performance.
Prokofiev’s fifteen minute, orchestral ‘Festive Poem’,
The Meeting of the Volga and the Don, Op. 130 (1951) opened the
concert. The piece was composed to mark the building of a canal to join
the Volga and the Don and therefore to revitalise Russia’s links with
Central Asia (but which was essentially an ecological disaster). The
rousing trumpet fanfares which begin the work lead to a succession of
themes which, whilst light in nature, seem to yearn to blossom into
something closer to true Prokofiev. Some passages of this work are even
comical (in fact the bizarre coda is positively outrageous!). Orchestration
is frequently striking: the vision of the Don, with its glistening xylophone,
is one particularly memorable moment. The Philharmonia played magnificently.
A liquid, molten clarinet solo which led the Andante section was truly
beautiful, contrasting with the almost militaristic precision of the
strings at times (their articulation was impeccable). Riccardo Muti
recorded this piece back in 1990 with the Philadelphia Orchestra (on
Philips, coupled with the Fifth Symphony): could I make a plea at this
point for its reinstatement in the catalogue? This is, of course, the
ideal time for this type of activity …
Of course the idea of dictatorships is pretty much
foremost in most people’s minds at the time of writing, and so the second
Prokofiev piece, On Guard for Peace, Op. 124, (1950) seemed particularly
relevant. Its affirmations of peace above all else hit home hard (‘Let
unshakeable peace on Earth be the heroes’ reward’; ‘Peace to all peoples
on Earth, We do not want war’ etc). This was Prokofiev’s last large-scale
experiment with the Cantata/Oratorio model, and he cuts no corners.
The scoring is for large orchestra, chorus, children’s choir, mezzo
soloist and boy soloist. From the dissonant opening emerges a blazing
choral statement in the major (‘Scarce had Earth recovered from the
Thunder of War’). Throughout Prokofiev uses his forces to maximum effect
and contrast. There is much rousing music here, appropriately for the
subject matter, but much beauty also: the image of ‘Our little Muscovite
boy/Has thrown out of an attic window/A young dove, like a ball’ is
incredibly touching, for example. Ashkenazy himself refers to the ‘Lullaby’
(the seventh movement) as a particular highlight. It is, indeed, very
beautiful. More’s the pity, then, that the mezzo soloist, Lilli Paasikivi,
was over-vibratoed. This was a particular shame given the delicacy of
the accompaniment on this occasion. Ashkenazy’s own voice was heard
over the loudspeakers in the spoken ninth movement, ‘Conversation in
the Ether’: a nice touch and one that seemed to underline his belief
in this venture. If the end of the piece was hackneyed (tambourines
at full tilt!), it remained rousing in the extreme and provided the
perfect foil to the second half.
Shostakovich’s First Violin Concerto in A minor, Op.
77, was completed in 1948, but not premièred until 1955 (with
David Oistrakh as soloist). It was, rightly, greeted as a masterpiece.
Vadim Repin, the soloist on this occasion, has already recorded the
piece (with the Hallé Orchestra under Nagano on Erato 0630-10696-2,
coupled with Prokofiev’s Second). His identification seemed complete,
both with the composer, and with Philharmonia under Ashkenazy, so that
if on paper a second-half violin concerto might have appeared anti-climactic,
the reverse was true in the flesh. After a bleak opening on cellos and
basses, Repin sung a seemingly unending melody that gained more and
more intensity as it moved on. Control is of the utmost importance in
this music, and Repin’s was complete, his high register ultra-sweet,
his lower register dark and compelling. His virtuosity shone in the
Scherzo (a mercurial, swirlingly grotesque dance). How great the contrast,
then, with the Passacaglia, the stern orchestra balancing the tender
soloist perfectly. The deep, throaty tone Repin brought forth from his
1708 Stradivarius was almost (I did say almost) as impressive as his
remarkable, almost super-human cadenza and the roller-coaster ride of
the finale, its momentum energising the audience into a rightfully enthusiastic
ovation.
This whole series of concerts is one of the most worthwhile to have
been heard in London in recent years: and there are plenty of riches
still to come.
Colin Clarke
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