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             Dmitri SHOSTAKOVICH (1906-1975) 
               
              Cello Sonata in D minor, Op. 40 (1934) [26:29]  
              Benjamin BRITTEN (1913-1976) 
               
              Cello Sonata in C major, Op. 65 (1961) [18:39]  
              Sergei PROKOFIEV (1891-1953) 
               
              Cello Sonata in C major, Op, 119 (1949) [22:15]  
                
              Jamie Walton (cello); Daniel Grimwood (piano)  
              rec. 16-18 February 2011, Wyastone Leys Concert Hall, Monmouthshire, 
              Wales  
                
              SIGNUM CLASSICS SIGCD274 [67:26]  
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                Even if Shostakovich the symphonist had barely begun to emerge, 
                  he nonetheless had several masterworks to his credit in 1934 
                  when he composed his Cello Sonata. One of these was the opera 
                  Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, the work that provoked 
                  Stalin’s disapproval, propelling the composer into years 
                  of artistic limbo. The sonata is in four movements, and although 
                  the overall tone is more lyrical and genial than we associate 
                  with this composer, the minor key close of the first movement 
                  is not the only passage to feature the typical Shostakovich 
                  combination of sardonic humour and near-despair. The second 
                  movement is a ferocious scherzo - Jamie Walton tears into this 
                  in impressive fashion - but the passionate, deeply felt slow 
                  movement is the heart of the work. There are many rival versions 
                  of this sonata. I particularly admire the robust and dramatic 
                  reading from Han-Na Chang and Antonio Pappano, a not particularly 
                  generous coupling on EMI of her outstanding performance of the 
                  First Cello Concerto. The slow movement of the present performance 
                  seems underplayed when compared to Chang, and the reading as 
                  a whole is richer and more mellow. I wasn’t totally convinced 
                  at first, but on subsequent hearings I’ve happily come 
                  round to Walton’s and Grimwood’s view of the work. 
                   
                     
                  Prokofiev composed his Cello Sonata for Mstislav Rostropovich, 
                  who gave the first performance in 1950, with Richter, no less, 
                  at the piano. The pianist tells the story of playing it to two 
                  different judging panels, apparently for authorisation to give 
                  the work in public. I wonder if present-day artists in the free 
                  world can really imagine what it is like to work under such 
                  conditions. There was perhaps relatively little official opposition 
                  to this sonata, as it is a predominantly lyrical work, with 
                  none of the harmonic daring associated with the younger composer. 
                  The first impression the work gives is a carefree one, but subsequent 
                  listening reveals much more. The work is beautifully written 
                  for the two instruments; the composer clearly wanted to exploit 
                  the cellist’s sound in the low register. The first movement 
                  is a fine example of Prokofiev’s gift for melody, with 
                  an amusing passage where the two instruments imitate each other, 
                  and a poignant, chiming close. Even the wittily ironic second 
                  movement scherzo has a more lyrical interlude and the energetic 
                  finale has a surprisingly dramatic finish.  
                     
                  Britten was introduced to Rostropovich by Shostakovich at the 
                  first British performance of the latter’s First Cello 
                  Concerto, and their friendship endured until the composer’s 
                  death in 1976. The Cello Sonata was the first of five works 
                  that Britten composed for Rostropovich. The most concentrated 
                  of the three works on this disc, its five movements are over 
                  and done with in less than twenty minutes. A motif of only two 
                  notes makes up most of the thematic material of the first movement. 
                  Wistful in mood for much of its length, and often touchingly 
                  lyrical, it also features passages more powerful and overtly 
                  demonstrative than is usual from this composer. The second movement 
                  is a nocturnal scherzo whose pizzicato writing could almost 
                  have come from Bartók’s pen. An expressive, melancholy 
                  slow movement follows, then a weird march, and the work ends 
                  with a fearsome moto perpetuo. The cellist’s wife, 
                  Galina Vishnevskaya, apparently found the work to be a portrait 
                  of her husband’s wildly changing moods. This may be so, 
                  but there is a certain greyness about the writing too, and one 
                  is left at the end of the work not quite sure what the composer 
                  was aiming at.  
                     
                  Cellists hoping for a place on the world stage all have the 
                  same cross to bear, and that is the inevitable comparison with 
                  Rostropovich. If they are wise, they learn from him whilst forging 
                  their own sound and personality. The only time I ever saw him 
                  in concert he played with a barely controlled frenzy that bordered 
                  on the demented. Jamie Walton’s playing is several degrees 
                  cooler than this, and this shows in the performance of the Britten. 
                  Yet whilst Rostropovich’s performance, with Britten at 
                  the piano, is indispensable in any Britten collection, this 
                  performance is just as fine in its own way. Walton’s sound 
                  is gorgeous, as is that of Daniel Grimwood, made evident in 
                  the rich and immediate Signum recording. Both players are technically 
                  flawless, play with the utmost musical intelligence and sensitivity, 
                  and are totally at one in all three works.  
                     
                  The magnificent Dutch cellist Peter Wispelwey has exactly this 
                  programme on a well-received Channel Classics CD. I have not 
                  heard it, but it is hard to imagine how it can surpass this 
                  outstanding disc.  
                     
                  William Hedley   
                   
                   
                 
                
                                                                                                                                                  
                
                 
                 
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  
                 
                 
                 
             
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