Alfred SCHNITTKE (1934-1998)
          Symphony No. 1 (1969-1972)
          Paul Magi (violin), Victor Guseinov, Vladimir Pushkarev (trumpets), 
          Irina Lozben (flute), Rashit Galeyev (trombone), Sergei Soloviev (timpani), 
          Tatiana Fridliand (organ)
          USSR Ministry of Culture State Symphony Orchestra/Gennady Rozhdestvensky
          rec. 1987, venue not given
          MELODIYA MELCD1002321 [64:57]
	     As maiden symphonies go Alfred Schnittke’s First 
          is a hugely ambitious enterprise. Scored for a large orchestra – 
          including quadruple woodwinds, guitars, several saxophones and a number 
          of soloists - it can seem intimidating at first. Indeed, hearing the 
          clamour of bells at the start and the chaos that precedes the conductor’s 
          arrival on stage you may well be tempted to switch off. But stay your 
          hand, for this is a polystylistic masterpiece that assimilates a range 
          of genres and periods in a remarkably organic way. Not only that, Schnittke 
          uses his soloists and groups thereof in highly imaginative ways; all 
          of which makes for a glorious kaleidoscope of sound and colour.
          
          The symphony was first performed in Gorky (now Nizhny Novgorod) by the 
          Gorky Philharmonic led by the work’s dedicatee, Gennady Rozhdestvensky. 
          It was subsequently performed in the Estonian capital Tallinn, and received 
          its Moscow premiere in 1986. Rozhdestvensky’s Melodiya account, 
          recorded in 1987, was followed by one for Chandos in January 1988; I’ll 
          touch on the latter at the end of this review. Also, one mustn’t 
          forget Leif Segerstam and the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic, recorded 
          live in October 1992 as part of BIS’s complete Schnittke cycle; 
          Symphony No. 1 is available on BIS-577, with all ten packaged together 
          as BIS-1767.
          
          Segerstam - who I tend to find reticent and rather quirky - is comparatively 
          unbuttoned here. Still, he has a firm grip on all the work's competing 
          strands and his players seem transported by the occasion. As if that 
          weren't enough the enthusiastic audience adds a real buzz to the hall 
          and the BIS recording is big and ultra-vivid. This is the kind of immersive 
          – not to say proselytizing – performance the symphony needs 
          if it’s not to descend into rhetoric or a full-blown riot. Happily 
          Rozhdestvensky is just as committed in his Melodiya account, even if 
          the sound can't quite match Segerstam's for sheer immediacy and excitement.
         That said, Melodiya did a pretty good job for Noddy, 
          as he’s affectionately known in Britain, although some of the 
          balances at the start of the first movement are a little disorientating. 
          Actually his opener is more sharply etched than Segerstam’s, which 
          is why that jazzy trumpet part seems so bright and bracing. Analytical 
          is a good description of Rozhdestvensky’s reading as a whole; 
          it’s clear-eyed – scrupulous even – but in its own 
          way it’s just as persuasive as Segerstam’s. When it comes 
          to certain details – that frankly pornographic trombone solo, 
          for instance – it’s clear that Segerstam’s performance 
          has even more wit and character.
          
          In spite of my admiration for Segerstam I’m still profoundly impressed 
          by Rozhdestvensky's performance; the baroquerie that starts the 
          second movement - marked Allegretto - is stylishly done; also, 
          the gate-crashing brass will surely raise a smile or two. The more forensic 
          nature of this recording means that jammin’ violin and piano improvisations 
          are a toe-tapping delight. As for those polyrhythmic Ivesian parades 
          they are just as well caught by the Melodiya team; indeed, this couldn’t 
          be further from the agricultural-grade sound we came to associate with 
          this label in the 1960s and 1970s.
          
          The third movement – Lento – may be quiet but it 
          has an abiding strangeness that puts me in mind of Mahler’s nachtsmusik. 
          That’s the extraordinary thing about this symphony; it evokes 
          so many connections, but with hints rather than the hard sell. Schnittke’s 
          judicious use of percussion is particularly thrilling here. The long 
          fourth movement – Lento. Allegro – slips in almost 
          unnoticed; thereafter we hear the opening of Tchaikovsky’s First 
          Piano Concerto, presented as if in a demented loop. The Kodo-like drumming 
          is tinglesome too.
          
          If anything Rozhdestvensky seems more concentrated than Segerstam in 
          this movement; ever the archaeologist he sifts through the soil and 
          comes up with all manner of interesting artefacts. Oh, and is that a 
          snatch of bimm-bamming from Mahler’s Third? Perhaps not, 
          but quite frankly anything’s possible in this magpie of a score. 
          As if to underline the point we’re suddenly pitched into a jazz 
          club, complete with high-lying trumpet, and then into the midst of a 
          marching band. Those who might recoil at such juxtapositions really 
          need to hear this, for it all fits together so well. Even that gaudy 
          organ part seems entirely apt in this context.
          
          At more than sixty minutes this isn’t a short symphony, but such 
          is the quality of Schnittke’s invention that there are no longueurs 
          to speak of. The advocacy of conductors such as Rozhdestvensky and Segerstam 
          – not to mention orchestras that really embrace the piece – 
          certainly helps. Several commentators have suggested that Shostakovich 
          is integral to Schnittke’s oeuvre; I suppose they share a subversive 
          wit and a propensity for deflating decorum. That’s all too evident 
          in this poly-everything of a finale. However, it’s Segerstam who 
          turns this music into a genuine, and strangely affecting, tour de 
          force. The storm of applause that breaks at the end of the latter’s 
          performance is well deserved.
          
          Now for a word or two about Rozhdestvensky’s Chandos recording 
          (CHAN 9417). Decent though it is, it’s only a simulacrum of his 
          Melodiya one. There’s little of that ear-telling detail or those 
          truly off-the-wall moments that makes this music come alive; that may 
          have something to do with the Chandos sound, which is poorly balanced 
          and rather airless. If that were the only recording of this symphony 
          from Rozhdestvensky one might be tempted to dismiss the piece as merely 
          interesting. Thank heavens Melodiya have given us such a wonderful alternative; 
          it does everyone proud.
          
          This is a mandatory purchase for Schnittke's friends and foes alike; 
          Segerstam is still pretty special, though.
          
          Dan Morgan
          twitter.com/mahlerei