One of my fondest musical memories is of an Alexander Nevsky
played by Vladimir Ashkenazy and the Philharmonia as an accompaniment
to Eisenstein’s film. It was an extraordinary evening, not least
for hearing this score played – and sung – with such gusto.
On disc I’ve long admired Claudio Abbado’s version on DG 447
419-2, Elena Obraztsova incomparable in the lament, and Neeme
Järvi’s – with Linda Finnie – on Chandos CHAN 8584. Both
have formidable weight and thrust – the latter especially –
but what impresses most is how these recordings bring out the
sheer sophistication and range of Prokofiev’s writing. Superficially,
Nevsky may appear to be a patriotic tub-thumper, but
that’s no reason to underplay or underestimate this terrific
score.
Abbado and Järvi include worthwhile fillers – the Scythian
Suite – while Svetlanov offers Hail to Stalin, Prokofiev’s
cantata written – by invitation - for Uncle Joe’s 60th
birthday. Hearing Svetlanov and ‘his’ orchestra in such repertoire
is certainly an event, although I found him extremely variable
in a collection of music by Rimsky-Korsakov (review).
Yes, there are moments of illumination and excitement, but there’s
roughness and routine as well, often exacerbated by agricultural-grade,
Soviet-era sonics.
Svetlanov really emphasises the grind of life under the Mongolian
yoke, his phrasing surprisingly ponderous. In mitigation his
choir sings with a passion and edge that’s entirely apt. Only
when one compares them with the LSO Chorus for Abbado does one
realise there’s breadth and eloquence in this music too. Indeed,
it soon becomes clear that Svetlanov’s Nevsky is painted
in bold primary colours, with all the subtlety of a Socialist-realist
poster. The recording isn’t bad – the rasping brass are well
caught – but the chorus is often too close for comfort.
Those drenching declamations at the start of ‘The Crusaders’
are as arresting as ever, but otherwise Svetlanov is much too
aggressive and unyielding in this section. He seems to live
for the moment as it were, missing the ebb and flow of this
unfolding epic; by contrast, Abbado and Järvi build that
narrative so well. The summoning bells and percussion in ‘Arise,
ye Russian People’ are spikily present, the chorus suitably
febrile, but Svetlanov pulls the music about in a somewhat cavalier
fashion. That said, ‘The Battle on the Ice’ is the biggest let-down;
after a marrow-chilling prelude the heat of combat is conveyed
in some of the most chaotic choral singing I’ve heard in ages.
Really, this Nevsky becomes less appealing as the minutes
tick by. Both Abbado and Järvi are splendidly incisive
on the battlefield, the hurly-burly thrilling without ever sounding
incoherent. Even Svetlanov’s orchestra is pushed beyond its
limits here, and while there’s no obvious distortion the choral
sound has a fatiguing glare at times. Goodness, this is the
most doggedly literal, comic-book Nevsky I’ve ever encountered,
Andreyeva’s querulous mezzo no match for the far-reaching nobility
and grief of either Obraztsova or Finnie. And could the triumphal
entry into Pskov be any less prosaic, with dull gongs and a
battle-weary tread? The chorus adds a modicum of energy to the
celebrations, but Svetlanov’s rivals are sans pareil
in this great climax. Indeed, Järvi’s is probably the most
spectacular finale on disc.
The less said about the filler the better. This is Prokofiev
on autopilot – I did catch a glimpse of Romeo and Juliet
from time to time – and I don’t sense the musicians are that
engaged either. The 1980 recording is fuller and less strident,
but that hardly compensates for such a shallow piece; of historical
interest only. What a pity we couldn’t have had something more
worthwhile as a filler, especially as there’s only 52 minutes
of music on the disc anyway. Oh, and I do hate these Digipaks;
regrettably, they’re becoming more commonplace these days.
This promises much, but fails to deliver.
Dan Morgan
http://twitter.com/mahlerei
L. Andreyeva (mezzo) 
