RACHMANINOFF Symphony No. 3. Caprice bohémien. Prince Rostislav • Gianandrea Noseda, cond; BBC PO • CHANDOS 10677 (73:50)


Rachmaninoff’s Third Symphony, composed in 1935–36, has never gained the same traction as the Second or The Isle of the Dead , both composed some years before his departure from Russia in 1917; it is neither as lush as the Second—how could it be?—nor as muscular as the Symphonic Dances , his next, and last, composition. Aside from the difficulty Rachmaninoff had composing in exile, which has been well documented, I believe the Third Symphony and the Fourth Piano Concerto, both “problem” pieces, stand in similar relation to the Symphonic Dances and the Paganini Rhapsody , respectively: Just as the Fourth Concerto shows Rachmaninoff working out the difficulties of adapting to a familiar genre the leaner-textured and more harmonically bold style of his later solo piano works, so does the Third Symphony; and, in each case, the work that follows demonstrates his masterly solution to the problem. In other words, while the Third Symphony is a not-quite-comfortable juxtaposition of past and present in Rachmaninoff’s musical language, the Symphonic Dances expresses the complete assurance of his new style or manner, much in the same way an émigré writer’s second novel in his new country would exhibit greater security in its use of the new language.


Over the years I’ve found the recordings of the Third by the Philadelphia Orchestra, for which the symphony was written, generally satisfying: the composer’s own, supple 1939 version, and those by Eugene Ormandy, first a taut version on a mono LP and then a somewhat more luxuriant one in stereo. (The Dutoit recording for Decca is more problematic; see my review in Fanfare 35:1.) This new version by Gianandrea Noseda, however, demands consideration. For starters, the BBC Philharmonic sounds terrific; the strings are rich and full, as they must be in this work, and the many wind solos are superb. The statement of the first movement’s second theme near the end, by flute and clarinet two octaves apart, is meltingly beautiful. The ensemble in the tricky scherzo section of the second movement is dead-on. This may well be Britain’s finest orchestra these days.


Then there’s the contribution of Noseda himself. He’s a veteran Rachmaninoff conductor by now, having recorded all three symphonies and all three operas for Chandos; of the major works, only the Symphonic Dances and the choral-orchestral music remain. Fanfare’s critics have had mixed reactions to his previous Rachmaninoff recordings, but I find this one a real winner: Like the composer’s own version, tempos are flexible but never arbitrary, instead seeming to react to the music’s ebb and flow; climaxes are dynamic (and with Chandos’s sound, they can pack a wallop) but never exaggerated. Noseda takes the first-movement exposition repeat, now standard practice, but something neither Rachmaninoff (on 78s) nor Ormandy did.


The symphony, sensibly placed last on the disc, is complemented by two early works. The Caprice bohémien is a sonic showpiece, again with particularly beautiful wind solos. Noseda handles the gradual but relentless increase in speed in the latter portion nicely, making for a big finish. Prince Rostislav , from Rachmaninoff’s incredibly fruitful year of 1891—he was 18 years old!—is long on atmosphere if short on memorable thematic material; it owes a debt to Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sadko.


This is a first-rate recording. If, like me, you could use a well-wrought Rachmaninoff Third with the exposition repeat and in excellent modern sound, you need look no further.


FANFARE: Richard A. Kaplan


------

There was once a trend among critics to downplay Rachmaninov's Symphony No. 3 likely stemming from mixed reviews at the work's premiere but beginning in the late 1970s the symphony has been re-evaluated several times and is today often recognized as an assured and thoroughly exciting Russian orchestral work, with appealing themes and a structure every bit as strong as the popular Symphonic Dances. In fact the dance rhythms of the Symphony's energetic finale are much akin to those in the Symphonic Dances as is the colorful orchestration. The work was written for Rachmaninov's favorite orchestra, the Philadelphia under Leopold Stokowski.

The album contains two other rarely heard works. The symphonic poem Prince Rostislav wherein the youthful composer shows the influence of his composition teacher Rimsky-Korsakov and, as with Rimsky-Korsakov's most popular works, is graced with eloquent, folk-like melody. Despite these appealing elements, the piece is overshadowed by Rachmaninov's later masterpieces. An even more rarely heard work is the Capriccio bohémien, which is luminously orchestrated and inspired by similar musical moments within the composer's opera Aleko.

Gianandrea Noseda continues this Chandos Rachmaninov series with excellent, well-recorded performances by the BBC Philharmonic who seem to be enjoying themselves within this passionate, fiery, luxurious music.

- Greg La Traille, ArkivMusic.com

Recorded in: London Coliseum 18. 20 and 23 December 1975 Producer(s) John Mordler Sound Engineer(s) Stuart Eltham

Recorded in: New Broadcasting House, Manchester 29 & 30 March 2000 Producer(s) Mike George (Executive) Ralph Couzens (Recording) Sound Engineer(s) Stephen Rinker Steve Hargreaves (Assistant)

Also available: Ginastera: Orchestral Works, Vol. 1 / Mena, BBC Philharmonic

This is the second in our three-volume series of Juanjo Mena's idiomatic exploration of Ginastera's orchestra works with the BBC Philharmonic. The series was started to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the birth of the greatest of all Argentinean composers, Vol. 1 - receiving uniformly high praise. This album features a late work, lesser-known, yet rich in surprises, namely the Second Piano Concerto. Here the keen musicality and sweeping virtuosity of Xiayin Wang meet the sumptuous sound of the BBC orchestra. It succeeds her recording of concertos by Tchaikovsky and Khachaturian with the RSNO which was made Editor's Choice by Gramophone. It is coupled with the exotic early ballet Panambi, heard complete with a concluding contribution from the Manchester Chamber Choir.

Recorded in: Moscow

Polyansky and his Russian forces continue their series of works by Rachmaninov. This CD features some of Rachmaninov's most famous tone poems and orchestral works, and includes one rarity - Prince Rostislav - a colourful and striking tone poem for large orchestra. Recorded in: Grand Hall of Moscow Conservatory September 2001 Producer(s) Valeri Polyansky Sound Engineer(s) Igor Veprintsev

After demonstrating their ‘innate love and understanding of Haydn’s music in performances of the expected vivacity and insight’ (BBC Music), Bavouzet and Takacs-Nagy, the latter conducting his Manchester Camerata, now explore Mozart’s extraordinary prolific year 1784 in this new series. Two of the six concertos that year are heard here, each unusual for having been written by Mozart for another pianist and for featuring a central Andante, instead of the more common Adagio. This is a unique version that, as Bavouzet stresses in his booklet note, ‘although played unequivocally on modern instruments, contrasts with those versions made not so very long ago, which used a large orchestra incorporating sixteen violins and eight double-basses.’ He adds: ‘a versions which also will take into account a number of performing practices current in Mozart’s time, such as the use of a solo quartet to accompany certain well-defined passages in which the piano is predominant. A version which in one way or another aims to link tradition and modernity.’

REVIEWS:

The mantra all performers must repeat over and over again when recording something which is already very well represented on disc is, “what am I bringing to it which is new and distinctive?” For Jean-Efflam Bavouzet, the answer in this case is simple. He is bringing to Mozart’s G major Concerto, K453, cadenzas of such startling originality and invention that they flavour the entire disc.

Moving off message and into the realms of Ravel, Stravinsky and near-jazz, Bavouzet’s cadenzas are an astonishing departure from Mozart’s own (which are usefully included on the disc as supplementary tracks) and one which, it might be thought, would stretch credulity beyond reasonable limits. But the amazing thing is, you listen to Mozart and enjoy the lovely quality of the playing as well as Gábor Takács-Nagy’s delightfully personable readings, and find yourself wandering off into Bavouzet’s own fantastic dream-world without even knowing it. Suddenly you are in the chromatic morasses of neo-Classical Stravinsky and wonder how on earth you got there. Next, you find yourself seamlessly transported back into the presence of Mozart and, again, wonder whether the strange aberration you have just experienced is real or imaginary. So beautifully integrated are these extraordinary cadenzas into the performance that their departure from the standard idiom is barely perceptible. Potential stylistic gulfs are bridged so easily that it is difficult to object to the musical chasm which lies between them.

There are two clear opinions. The first is that cadenzas need to maintain the stylistic idiom of the concerto, while the other is that cadenzas originally opened the door for different stylistic viewpoints to emerge. I retain a critic’s impartiality on the matter, but am as near convinced by Bavouzet as can be. These cadenzas not only add a lovely measure of spice and a tantalizing glimpse of the present, but they bring about a freshness and vitality to the concertos which causes us to listen to it as if through new ears.

Beyond the novelty of the cadenzas in the G major Concerto, these performances would be well worth having on disc on their own terms. Gábor Takács-Nagy is a conductor whose approach exudes not just good cheer and a lovely sense of joy in the music, but have an almost spiritually-charged character; to use one of his own favourite words when describing musical optimism, these are moments of pure “alleluya”. Bavouzet is in total accord with this approach, and the fluency and elegance of this playing is the perfect match to the Manchester Camerata’s witty and at times effervescent playing.

With a fine recorded sound, this is a recording of two popular Mozart concertos which should be in everyone’s possession.

-- MusicWeb International

Having recently concluded his Halvorsen series, Neeme Järvi continues his Nordic project with the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra. This is Volume 2 in the survey of orchestral works by the Norwegian composer Johan Svendsen, a contemporary of Grieg.

One of the highlights of this new release is Svendsen's Cello Concerto, a new recording featuring the award-winning cellist Truls Mork. The piece has only been on record once before long ago and long out-of-print. The orchestration, reflecting the contemplative nature of the music, is perhaps more introverted than what we usually hear in Svendsen’s music.

The disc also includes Svendsen's Symphony No. 2, considered his masterpiece. A work that greatly impressed his contemporary, Edvard Grieg. The two selected Norwegian Rhapsodies are informed by appealing melodic music that will surely remind listeners of the lyricism of Grieg as much as of Svendsen.

Reviews of some of the original recordings that make up this set.

Fantasia on a Theme from Beethoven's Ruins of Athens, Grande Fantasie symphonique on Themes from Berlioz's Lelio
These are exuberant performances, overflowing with arch character and impish brio. Lortie doesn't merely phrase responsively; he deftly teases and articulates, so that even routine passage-work lifts into scintillant repartee, wittily met by Pehiavanian and The Hague Residentie Orchestra. For salient instance, this is the first time I've heard the young Liszt's hilariously slapdash, formally sprawling Lelio Fantasy actually . . . fantasticated. Leslie Howard's fine, sympathetic go at it with Karl Anton Rickenbacher and the Budapest Symphony (Hyperion CDA67401/2, 22:5), to take perhaps the most challenging comparison, seems literal and earnest after this nuance-rife take, couching coruscating roguery in feathery exquisiteness. Nor do Howard's broader tempos—timing in at 29:44 against Lortie's fleet 24:06—help to put this overlong jeu across. Chez Lortie and Pehiavanian, on the other hand, it is no longer a mere curiosity but a grandly empurpled Byronic narrative. Similar comparisons could be drawn piece by piece, but suffice it to say that in brilliant contrast to the workmanlike note-spinning that too often overtakes such ambitious intégrales, these artists approach music-making as a form of merrymaking, animating everything with irresistible verve. Sound is transparently immediate in a spacious aural frame. Enthusiastically recommended.

Adrian Corleonis, Fanfare [9/2000]

Piano Concertos
Volume 3 triumphantly concludes Louis Lortie's Chandos cycle of Liszt's works for piano and orchestra. Once again his mastery is as fluent as it is scintillating. Less heartstopping or intense than his finest rivals in the two concertos (Richter and Zimerman, and Argerich in No 1 only) his occasional distance lends enchantment, and his aristocratic brilliance brings a special distinction to pages inviting heaviness and theatricality. Listen to him unbending winsomely at 1.24" in the First Concerto or tossing aside the Allegro vivace with an almost winged bravura, and at 045" in the cadenza from the Second Concerto he shows a poetry and inwardness rarely achieved in such overt showpieces.

He does all that is humanly possible with the Third Concerto, which received its premiere in 1990, yet even he, alive to moments of authentic Lisztian rhetoric, can do little to erase one's sense of music in urgent need of revision. Likewise the Concerto Pathetique, judiciously arranged from a variety of sources, storms and rants with the sort of self-conscious drama that often came too easily to Liszt; never more so than in the allguns-blazing Allegro trionfante conclusion. But again, the performance is exemplary, the recordings of demonstration quality with a sensible rather than spectacular balance, and George Pehlivanian and The Hague Residentie Orchestra prove themselves admirable partners, even when they are hardly maestoso at the start of the First Concerto. Altogether this has been a most distinguished series.

-- Bryce Morrison, Gramophone [5/2002]

Classical Music

Edward Gardner's Mendelssohn in Birmingham series continues with a recording of Overtures. As with the previous volumes, a reduced size CBSO join Gardner in Birmingham Town's Hall, where Mendelssohn himself conducted many of the UK premieres of his own orchestral works. The majority of works in the programme were written as concert overtures, spanning the length of Mendelssohn's career from the early Midsummer Night's Dream composed when he was just 16 though to 'Ruy Blas' written towards the end of his lifetime. Two of these overtures were written as the opening movements of larger works: 'St Paul', his first great Oratorio from 1836, and his overture to 'Athalie', incidental music written for Racine's play. The Trumpet Overture is the earliest work here, written possibly to precede a performance of Handel's Israel in Egypt, and allegedly Mendelssohn's father's favourite piece!

British Film Classics' represents some of the greatest film music ever written in some of the finest recorded performances. The repertoire juxtaposes some much-loved film scores with unexpected and original items, to form a highly satisfying and enjoyable collection. This 2CD set is available for the price of one full-price disc, in an attractive slimline double package. The moods range from the sumptuously romantic, such as the music of 'Lady Caroline Lamb', to the swashbuckling brilliance of Walton's Shakespearean scores and the high-adrenaline excitement of Ron Goodwin's '633 Squadron'. Many of the great classic scores of the 1940s are included and are, in some cases, taken from the only modern versions available.

Chandos features a varied selection of orchestral works by Benjamin Britten, performed by the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra under Richard Hickox, to mark the great composer's centenary year on this re-release. Included works are the Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra, Suite on English Folk Tunes, the Suite from Johnson over Jordan, and Four Sea Interludes.

TCHAIKOVSKY Swan Lake • Neeme Järvi, cond; James Ehnes (vn); Bergen PO • CHANDOS 5124(2) (2 SACDs: 154:41)

As has been noted in previous reviews of recordings of Tchaikovsky’s “complete” Swan Lake , there may well be as many different versions of the score as there have been productions of it. The problem is that Swan Lake is both the earliest (1875–1876) and the longest of the composer’s three great ballets, and it has had so many cooks adding their own ingredients, removing others, and generally revising the recipe that no one can say for sure what made up the original soufflé.

The generally known and accepted facts are these: The ballet, with original choreography by Julius Reisinger, was staged for the first time in February, 1877 by the Bolshoi Ballet at Moscow’s Bolshoi Theater. It was not well received; audience and critics alike felt it was too long and convoluted, its music too heavy, and its libretto, adapted from a story by a German author, an affront to Russian sensibilities. And thus began the tinkering and tampering. By the time the work was revived in 1895 by the Imperial Ballet at St. Petersburg’s Mariinsky Theater there was new choreography by Marius Petipa and Lev Ivanov, along with major musical revisions to the score by the Imperial Theater’s conductor and composer, Riccardo Drigo. It should be noted that by the time of the 1895 revival, Tchaikovsky was dead and had no hand in the new performing version. Tchaikovsky and Drigo had worked together previously, but according to accounts, they didn’t agree on much of anything and their relationship was strained.

The upshot of all this is that there is no definitive Swan Lake . It was no longer a ballet by one composer, but rather a group effort; and you know the saying about a camel being a horse designed by a committee. It’s important to bear this in mind when considering the various recordings of Swan Lake that claim to be complete, for the drastic differences in timings cannot be explained by mere tempo differences alone. There have to be other factors involved, such as omission of some movements, cuts to others, and/or reliance on differing versions/editions. Let’s look at the timings of several well-known recordings, sorted in order by duration.

Conductor	Orchestra	Label	Timing
Valery Gergiev	St. Petersburg Mariinsky O	Decca	106.59
Antál Dorati	Minneapolis SO	Mercury	131:41
Felix Slatkin	St. Louis SO	RCA	141:00
Mikhail Pletnev	Russian National O	Ondine	142.52
Dmitri Yablonsky	Russian State SO	Naxos	148:38
Michael Tilson Thomas	London SO	Sony	149:05
Mark Ermler	Royal Opera House O	Conifer	153.03
André Previn	London SO	EMI	153:02
Charles Dutoit	Montréal SO	Decca	153:56
Neeme Järvi	Bergen PO	Chandos	154:41
Wolfgang Sawallisch	Philadelphia O	EMI	158:45

Right off the bat, I need to offer a disclaimer: My personal familiarity with the above-listed recordings is limited to only four of them—Gergiev, Pletnev, Yablonsky, and now this new one by Järvi. Of the four, Gergiev’s version is the worst in terms of the hatchet job it does on the score. Movements are reordered—for example, the act I Waltz has been moved to act III and its ending abridged—and it’s full of egregious cuts—some 40 minutes of music are sacrificed. Gergiev’s Swan Lake is presumptively based on the Mariinsky performing version; i.e., the above-mentioned Drigo edition prepared for the 1895 St. Petersburg revival.

Looking at Pletnev’s timing of 142:52 vs. Yablonsky’s 148:58 and Järvi’s 154:41, it seems pretty obvious that that while tempo differences over the course of two and a half hours could account for the difference of approximately six minutes between Pletnev and Yablonsky and, in turn, between Yablonsky and Järvi, they’re unlikely to be the cause of the approximately 12-minute difference between Pletnev and Järvi.

Upon closer examination of all three recordings, what I found was that Yablonsky and Järvi both include two often dropped numbers from act III, the Pas de deux that was written after the fact specifically for Anna Sobeshchanskaya, and the “Danse Russe,” added specifically for Pelageya Karpakova. Pletnev omits these two additions, as do a number of others. Whether they should be included or not is a rather complex question.

Ballerinas of the day were not much different from their opera diva counterparts in terms of their egos. They had no shame when it came to demanding custom cadenzas to show off their voices or, in the case of danseuses, their fancy footwork and frilly tutus. The story surrounding Sobeshchanskaya and her Pas de deux is especially messy and borders on scandal. Originally picked to dance the lead role of Odette (the Swan) for the 1877 premiere, Sobeshchanskaya was ignominiously dropped from the cast at the last minute when a high-placed government official with whom she’d had a dalliance accused her of having taken expensive jewelry from him and then pawned it when she married a fellow danseur. On the spur of the moment, she was replaced by Pelageya Karpakova. Sobeshchanskaya survived the indignity and went on to dance the title role when the ballet was staged again a month later with no greater success than at its premiere.

But the intrigue didn’t end there. The ballerina made no bones about the fact that she hated both the choreography and the music, and so off she went to St. Petersburg, where she engaged Petipa to choreograph a new Pas de deux for her that would replace the third act’s Grand pas. Petipa complied and choreographed the new number to music, not by Tchaikovsky, but by Ludwig Minkus, the Imperial Ballet’s composer in residence.

When news of this change reached Tchaikovsky, he was miffed; his ego was probably bigger than Sobeshchanskaya’s. How dare she?! He was the composer, and he alone should take credit (or discredit) for the music. After some smoothing of his ruffled feathers, Tchaikovsky agreed to compose the music himself for Petipa’s new Pas de deux , but there was a problem. Tchaikovsky’s new music didn’t synch up with Petipa’s choreography, and Sobeshchanskaya, now back in Moscow, wasn’t about to travel back to St. Petersburg to go through the whole exercise again. She didn’t seem to care much one way or the other about the music, but she was adamant about keeping Petipa’s choreographed number. How exactly Tchaikovsky was prevailed upon to discard his newly composed music and essentially start over, this time following the outlines and rhythmic steps of Minkus’s music is not explained, but that’s what Tchaikovsky did. So, this particular episode apparently had a satisfactory ending for all involved, except, I suspect, for Minkus who surely must have felt put out. The original Grand pas with music by Tchaikovsky was replaced by Sobeshchanskaya’s Pas de deux with music first by Minkus and then by Tchaikovsky.

Based on the foregoing, it would seem that there is every reason to include this number in complete performances of the ballet, yet many conductors, Pletnev among them, don’t. The situation regarding the “Danse Russe” (Russian Dance) is much simpler and appears to be the reverse; it’s one of deletion rather than addition. It was composed for and included in the original 1877 version of the score danced by Karpakova, the premiere’s last-minute substitute for Sobeshchanskaya. The number was then removed for subsequent performances in which Sobeshchanskaya took over the role, for reasons one can easily guess. If two competing sopranos could bitch-slap each other on stage during a production of a Handel opera, there was no telling what professional jealousy might provoke between two rival ballerinas.

This describes only some of the butchery that turned Tchaikovsky’s finely feathered swan into a plucked chicken. It’s well to remember, however, that Swan Lake was not only the composer’s first completed ballet, it was really his first major stage undertaking to survive the ravages of time, even if not entirely intact. He was working on his opera Eugene Onegin at the same time, his first opera to achieve success; and though there had been earlier operatic efforts— The Voyevoda, Undina, The Oprichnik , and Vakula the Smith —they were either destroyed by the composer, recycled, later revised, or didn’t stir much interest at the time. Thus, at 37, Tchaikovsky’s greatest works still lay ahead of him, and he had yet to achieve the self-confidence that fame would bring him to be able to just say no to those who would mess with his music.

Neeme Järvi’s Swan Lake follows his Sleeping Beauty , reviewed in 36:5. I would expect to see a Nutcracker in the near future, perhaps timed to coincide with Christmas (I’m writing this in November 2013). My only objection to Järvi’s Sleeping Beauty was his somewhat business-like approach, which struck me as missing some of the music’s fairy magic. But the Bergen Philharmonic’s polished playing, James Ehnes’s ravishing violin solos, and Chandos’s thrilling multi-channel SACD recording offered much allure.

On relistening to that release, and in listening to this present one, in which Järvi, Ehnes, the Bergen orchestra, and Chandos repeat their earlier accomplishment, it occurred to me that my criticism of Järvi wasn’t entirely fair. There are two ways to conduct a ballet performance for a strictly audio recording. You can approach it as a concert work, in which case you will tend to emphasize the melodic, harmonic, and structural elements of the score, or you can approach it as a suite of dances, in which case you will emphasize the music’s rhythmic and terpsichorean aspects. Järvi falls into the former camp, and there’s nothing wrong in that, as long as he’s not directing a live production of the actual ballet, in which tempo, pacing, and phrasing need to be molded more flexibly to accommodate the movements of the dancers.

I can’t say absolutely that this is the most authoritatively complete Swan Lake on record, though in taking up the original 1877 score and including additional material supplied by Tchaikovsky himself for subsequent performances, Järvi gives us a version that’s certainly more complete than are a number of others. What I can say is that of the four recordings of the score with which I’m familiar, Järvi’s would now be my first choice, and taking all other factors into account—superb playing by the Bergen Philharmonic, James Ehnes’s beguiling solo violin contributions, and a killer recording—I’d extrapolate from this that Järvi’s Swan Lake is now the one to have.

FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

When Chandos brought out this CD in the mid-1990s, it revealed Doreen Carwithen to be a substantial creative personality in her own right: she was a warmly communicative composer, the style of her work owing more to Walton than to her husband and colleague William Alwyn. Her writing is strong and purposeful, sometimes adopting syncopated rhythms and stirring melodies, and always enhanced with brilliant and inventive orchestration. We are therefore delighted to reissue these works and at mid-price for the first time.