I’m not sure now who it was – it may
have been the critic William Mann –
but someone once referred to Svetlanov’s
"Tsarist" tastes in composition.
It was probably in relation to one of
Svetlanov’s more populist numbers, doubtless
one of the overtures, but at least Mann
(or whoever) gave the conductor his
due as a composer. This is an area that
will probably come as a surprise to
most people for whom Svetlanov means
conductor and sometimes pianist. But
he wrote a great deal in most forms
– from operatic to symphonic to concertos
and smaller-scaled compositions. Now,
from his personal archive and superintended
by his widow, Nina Nikolaeva Svetlanova,
come four discs’ worth of Svetlanov’s
compositions and allow us close scrutiny
of those tastes, Tsarist or otherwise.
The mot juste
is really Rachmaninovian. Svetlanov
was a passionate, occasionally wayward
but always warm interpreter of his compatriot.
He seems to have taken Rachmainonoff
as a compositional lodestar, though
we can hear a number of other influences
as well. Frustratingly only one of these
works is dated with certainty – the
1956 Symphony – and there are unspecified
recording dates which further muddies
the waters, but the admirer of Svetlanov’s
many, many recordings can wallow in
these essentially late-Romantic works
unimpeded by aesthetic straitjackets.
The Symphony is one
of his best-known works and he promoted
it in his concert touring, not always
to the delight of promoters and agents.
The predominant influences are Rachmaninovian
lyricism, overlaid with Shostakovich-like
march rhythms and a vein of Miaskovsky-like
melancholy and occasional dynamism.
There’s a film music aura to the light-footed
scherzo and alternately portentous and
becalmed warmth in the slow movement.
The Shostakovich influence is most marked
in the finale before we arrive at the
bell-chime Mussorgskian triumphalism
of the final measures. Coupled with
the Symphony is the Poem, written in
memory of David Oistrakh and played
here by his son, Igor. It’s a sincere,
heartfelt work, though not melodically
especially distinctive and unbalanced
by an overlong cadenza.
The symphonic poem
The Red Guelder-Rose was another
in memoriam work, this time for
Vasily Shukshin. It opens with a certain
wistfulness but a striking allegro section
drives the music onwards. Svetlanov’s
writing for solo cello is as assured
as the pounding momentum he generates
in the orchestral ranks. The vocal lines
are alas untranslated. The Piano Concerto
features Svetlanov as pianist and Maxim
Shostakovich on the rostrum, the only
such time that the composer is not present
as conductorial protagonist. Once again
it’s cast in rich, cantilevered romantic-Rachmaninovian
style though it too becomes filmic in
places. Cast in two movements and lasting
twenty-one minutes we find the second
movement straying strangely close, harmonically,
to the Londonderry Air. Coincidence?
The Preludes are lyric and warmly orchestrated
– with roll-call hints of the Russian
symphonic and orchestral tradition:
Volga Boatmen, Arensky, Tchaikovsky.
The vivo finale has musical-box
sonorities – a Liadov tribute perhaps.
The third disc opens
with Daybreak in the Field a
"symphonic picture" and full
of big brassy standard Russian blare,
not least in this performance, with
its admixture of cinematic musings.
Svetlanov’s music was often used to
accompany films or newsreels and he
did write specifically for film, so
it’s not entirely unexpected that this
should be so strong a feature of his
writing for symphonic forces. The Three
Russian Songs are essentially homages
to Rachmaninoff’s own songs - pleasant
but not distinctive in any way. Pictures
of Spain is an Iberian Rhapsody
with a powerful role for the solo clarinet
and elsewhere some unashamedly virtuosic
old school panache for the band. Svetlanov
really lets rip with Andalusian fire
here, in a broadly Lalo-esque sort of
way. Something has gone awry with the
tracking at the end of the Serenada
first movement – the music stops and
then restarts before the concluding
Jota [end of track 5]. The Rhapsody
No.2 was his last composition and dedicated
to the Bulgarian composer Pancho Vladigerov.
Though Svetlanov seemingly tried to
persuade officials in the broadcasting
company that the melodies were derived
from the Mediterranean and the Black
Sea apparently it was clear to all that
they were actually Jewish – hence the
work was sidelined. It opens tersely
but enlarges to include some sweeping
arabesques from the clarinet, a favoured
Svetlanov instrument from the sound
of things, in which the klezmer hues
are readily audible especially in the
cadenza. There’s plenty to interest
here – pawky dance rhythms, folkloric
colour, roles for two solo violins and
trumpet, and a lot of generated heat
and excitement. This disc ends with
the glittering Russian Variations
for harp and orchestra – intensely
romantic with sumptuous glissandi and
some percussive knocks on the body of
the instrument.
The final disc lasts
about half an hour. Daugava – symphonic
poem is almost defiantly old-fashioned
– coursing with Lett folk themes, Tchaikovsky,
bitingly blaring brass (of course) and
skirling "School of 1905"
strings. A touch of acerbity comes via
Prokofiev but the Big Tune is defiantly
Svetlanov’s own; a good one too. The
Siberian Fantasy was co-written
with Yakushenko. It has Miaskovsky-like
nobility and gravity of utterance with
an especially attractive mazy, meandering
section complete with a prominent role
for the solo violin.
This conspectus of
Svetlanov the Composer is completed
by a four-page essay – in Russian and
English – by his widow, Nina. Things
are vague when it comes to dates of
composition and dates of performance
but there are some nice anecdotes in
the generally well-translated text.
The cover picture shows Svetlanov in
relaxed mood, soaking up the sun during
an American tour and the set is a must
for those who are inquisitive as to
his prowess in the compositional field.
Jonathan Woolf
And a further
view from Rob Barnett who declares his
interest in acting as the Angliciser
(not translator) of the booklet note:-
Most collectors know
of Evgeny Svetlanov as a brilliant conductor
although some have complained of a lack
of subtlety in his readings. Very much
a renaissance man in Soviet and world
terms he not only conducted but was
also pianist, singer, professional writer.
His compendious Anthology of Russian
Orchestral Music remains one of
the world's most ambitious recorded
music projects. It’s also one of the
least sung and celebrated. So it will
remain until there is a cased set no
doubt running to several hundred CDs.
It is however glimpsed in fragmentary
splendour through issues by Regis, Warner,
BMG and SCVO.
The present set is
based on analogue recordings of performances
conducted by the composer between 1954
and 1978. It showcases his creative
talents. His style is conservative but
his ideas are self-evidently freshly
conceived and executed even if other
composers are echoed. His music is always
accessible. Dissonance has little place
here. Dissonance is however employed
in the horror-stricken sections of Red
Guelder Rose (13:12). Other composers'
names are invoked including Miaskovsky,
Prokofiev, Boiko and Tchaikovsky.
The Daugava
symphonic poem is often grandiose and
certainly dramatic. The driven section
of this score must surely have been
influenced by the cavalry charge scherzo
section of Miaskovsky's Symphony No.
21. The Miaskovsky was of course recorded
by Svetlanov in his complete set of
all 27 of that composer's symphonies.
The recording here betrays its black
disc origins with some deep scuffing
noises only evident on headphones.
The Siberian Fantasy
was written collaboratively with
Yevtushenko. It is more epic in mood
than Daugava and also more poetic
with memorable solos for the leader
and saxophone. The quieter sections
which predominate glitter and glimmer
with the light of the Northern realms.
The suggestion of desolation is softened
by a folksy voice given edge by soulful
melancholy.
The Red Guelder
Rose is an even more poetic Symphonic
Poem of great sentimental beauty - try
1:56 onwards. It is built around a memorable
melody which remotely echoes the Dr
Zhivago melody. We are then introduced
to an aggressive theme reminiscent of
the ruthless power-hungry scherzos of
Shostakovich symphonies 10-12. This
is topped off at 6.10 by a direct and
baleful quote from Dies Irae.
There is an eloquent solo for the principal
cello then more silvery Borodin-style
writing for strings with flute. This
blossoms into a technicolor version
of the theme. Lush strings and towering
French Horns call out in all-conquering
dialogue from one side of the orchestra
to the other. The piece ends with a
long romantically-crooned vocalise for
soprano voice.
The Piano Concerto
starts with a prominent, tender and
touching solo for oboe. Then comes a
sentimental solo by the piano soloist
(here Svetlanov) with a Slav-tinged
redolence of Macdowell. The curve of
this 22 minute two-movement piano concerto
is affected by a gorgeous melancholy
- how could it escape?
Agreed that the Poem
for violin and orchestra lacks a grippingly
memorable melody but its atmosphere
is a pleasure to soak up. The Symphony
is all that Jonathan Woolf asserts.
Do seek it out if you have any taste
for the symphonies by Boiko, Khrennikov
(No.1) and Miaskovsky (the later ones).
Many if not all these
recordings have been issued before on
Russian Disc but never as a uniform
composite edition.
The recording quality
can be coarse but it is never less than
vivid. A taste for Soviet orchestral
manners and timbre will also help the
adventurous listener. There are many
rewards in these performances and this
music.
Rob Barnett
for details
State Symphony Orchestra/Evgeny Svetlanov
