Dmitri Kitaienko first came to my attention with a radiant and
redefining performance of Tchaikovsky’s Manfred
(review).
Spaciously conceived, insightful and superbly recorded that
Oehms release spurred me on to investigate Kitaienko’s
Shostakovich cycle. Finding this Capriccio box wasn’t
easy, as it has commanded silly prices on the internet. Eventually
I chanced upon a secondhand set for a mere £35 which,
for 12 CDs, works out at less than £3.00 a disc. A terrific
bargain then, but what about the performances? First impressions
suggest many of the qualities that inform Kitaienko’s
Manfred are present here - a generally unhurried approach
that’s low on histrionics yet high on atmosphere, nuance
and tonal sophistication.
Anyone reared on Kiril Kondrashin’s Melodiya set will
know that a certain asperity of utterance works very well in
these symphonies, helped in no small measure by those rough-edged
Soviet recordings. That said, Mark Wigglesworth’s revelatory
cycle for BIS demonstrates that refinement and weight are just
as revealing in this repertoire. Both he and Kitaienko have
the benefit of exemplary recordings and very committed orchestras.
Indeed, Wigglesworth’s later instalments with the Netherlands
Radio band are among the finest Shostakovich symphony recordings
available, both musically and technically. The earlier RBCDs,
with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales, are also very good,
but are no match for the Dutch discs in sonic terms at least.
Taking the Capriccio set in order of catalogue number I started
off with the Eighth (71 013), recorded live in 2003.
Kitaienko is up against stiff competition here, not least from
Wigglesworth on SACD and Andris Nelsons on DVD/Blu-ray (review).
Both are probing, powerful accounts that do full justice to
this most enigmatic work; as for Evgeny Mravinsky’s Amsterdam
performance on Philips it’s uniquely eviscerating, and
the playing of the Leningrad Philharmonic is frankly terrifying
in its blend of discipline and thrust.
Kitaienko’s reading of the Eighth is softer - but not
necessarily soft-edged - and I found much to enjoy in the cool,
unruffled air of the first movement and the refined, carefully
shaped second. Orchestral details and dynamic shifts are superbly
caught, although I would sympathise with those who prefer more
extreme swings of mood. That’s just not this conductor’s
way and, in mitigation, he controls the music’s ebb and
flow with disarming ease. He’s not without animation though;
the strange alarums and excursions of the Allegretto are gripping
and the emotion-tightening Largo has all the point and cumulative
tension one could wish.
Wigglesworth and Mravinsky especially wring out more from the
notes - the latter’s Allegro non troppo really
is a postcard from the edge - and both convey a sense
of controlled hysteria that’s simply breathtaking. Mravinsky’s
transported trumpet player is unequalled for sheer frisson,
no doubt helped by the orchestra’s higher pitch. This
passage isn’t such a stand-out in Kitaienko’s account,
but then the eruptive bass, side drum, timps and tam-tam in
the Largo are pole-axing in their weight and cathartic
power. The equivocal Adagio - a highpoint of Wigglesworth’s
reading - isn’t quite as unsettling or spectral in Kitaienko’s
hands but then it’s very much in tune with the air of
restraint and - paradoxical as it may sound - the savage elegance
that he finds elsewhere in the piece.
This is a most intriguing entrée to the set and,
one hopes, a pointer to the musical and technical strengths
of the cycle as a whole. It’s all too easy to be underwhelmed
by Kitaienko’s approach, but as I discovered repeated
listening reveals just how forensic - and intuitive - his understanding
of this music really is. As for the Gürzenich band they
seem to be on top form, and although the Eighth was recorded
live you wouldn’t know it, so quiet is the audience. The
Capriccio engineers are also on a roll, and the sound - on both
the RBCD and Super Audio layers - is first rate.
Next up are the First and Third (71 030) the big
and bold presentation of which requires a much lower volume
setting than the more distantly recorded Eighth. My benchmark
for these two early works is Wigglesworth (review)
but it’s soon clear that Kitaienko has the measure of
the precocious - not to say anarchic - First. It’s as
quick witted, darkly sardonic and, where necessary, as ribald
a reading as I’ve ever heard. He’s every bit as
crisp as Haitink in his celebrated Decca version, but the Capriccio
recording has a body and bite that suits this work well. Leonard
Bernstein’s volatile Chicago account on DG - another front-runner
- is also well engineered.
The fleeting Allegro is nicely articulated - the pratfall
piano part is well caught too - and the Lento has a lyrical
intensity that can’t fail to impress. I’d struggle
to choose between Kitaienko and Wigglesworth at this juncture,
although the Gürzenich brass has a fantastically febrile
quality that’s simply hair-raising. Musically this is
a well-shaped and finely judged performance that had me marvelling
anew at the youthful Shostakovich’s talent to flit so
fluently between an inner world - the knowing wit of a composer
supremely confident of his material - and the ambiguous, more
serious outer one embodied in those excoriating tuttis. Indeed,
Kitaienko makes the most of them all in a truly galvanic last
movement.
This most varied and insightful reading of the First deserves
to sit alongside Haitink, Wigglesworth, Bernstein and the delightfully
unaffected Kurt Sanderling on Berlin Classics, its musical strengths
underpinned by superb sonics. That said, Kitaienko’s and
Bernstein’s readings of the finale hint at encroaching
darkness, an emotional vulnerability, that’s most unsettling.
All very different from The First of May which, as it’s
title suggests, is a patriotic crowd pleaser. Even though Shostakovich
leavens his starchy loaf with some tasty tunes and lusty singing
there’s no escaping the primary colours and unsubtle poses
familiar from the socialist-realist posters of the time.
As I’ve remarked before banality is embedded in Shostakovich’s
musical DNA, and while it serves a sardonic purpose in many
of his works it would be idle to pretend that’s the case
here. The Gürzenich performance of the Third is atavistic
in the extreme, thanks to the conductor’s volatile direction
and the immediate recording. Goodness, has the tam-tam in the
Andante ever shimmered and decayed so thrillingly, or the summoning
brass sounded this imperious? As for the Prague chorus they
really enter into the spirit of this gaudy piece; indeed, they’re
every bit as impassioned and incisive as Wigglesworth’s
fine Dutch choir. Damn, I know I shouldn’t but I find
this symphony curiously irresistible, especially when it’s
played and sung with unbridled energy and fizz.
Once again I’m struck by the breadth and heft of the Capriccio
recording, which even surpasses that provided for Wigglesworth.
I must also commend the good burghers of Cologne for being so
quiet in the First; as with the live Eighth there are no restive
breaks between movements or applause at the end. The Third is
a studio recording that despite being assembled over several
sessions six months apart reveals absolutely no acoustic inconsistencies
or fall-off in musical commitment.
The Second and Fifth (71 031) are both studio
recordings. The former, often paired with the Third, is another
Shostakovich symphony that needs a light touch if its banalities
- not just textual - are to be kept at bay. Wigglesworth certainly
manages that, but it’s Mark Elder’s live account
- only available as a cover-mounted CD with BBC Music Magazine
- who strikes the best balance between raw excitement and musical
substance. Kitaienko is much less flamboyant than his main rivals,
but the upside is that he emphasises structural integrity and
instrumental colour. That said, the slightly undernourished
Prague Philharmonic Chorus can’t quite match the fervour
and attack of their British and Dutch counterparts.
The first movement of Kitaienko’s Fifth is similarly restrained,
although much less welcome are his daringly slow speeds. This
is another symphony where he faces plenty of competition, not
least from the various Bernstein recordings on CD and video.
The DVD of Lenny’s live 1966 account with the LSO is immensely
satisfying - review
- while Yutaka Sado and the Berliner Philharmoniker on DVD/Blu-ray
are dramatically and sonically impressive (review).
On CD I’ve always had a soft spot for Vladimir Ashkenazy’s
Decca recording with the Royal Philharmonic; it may not offer
the most polished playing but it’s a cogent and propulsive
performance nonetheless.
By contrast Kitaienko may seem a little too laid back at times,
although there is some limpid playing and seamless phrasing
in the Moderato. The Allegretto, with its ‘hear-through’
scoring, is nicely articulated, yet I can’t help thinking
it lacks that last ounce of fluency and character. Perhaps the
demands of a live recording would have helped here, cranking
up the tension a notch or two. That said this is a lovingly
shaped and well-recorded Fifth; it’s just not the dramatic
tour de force it can be, especially in Bernstein’s
highly strung - but always revealing - recordings.
I daresay those who prefer a less overt approach to this symphony
will find much to enjoy here. For me, though, Kitaienko’s
Fifth burns with too low a flame, at least until he turns up
the wick in the finale. This is more like it, even if the sudden
urgency and amplitude aren’t enough to assuage my doubts
about the earlier movements. What a pity that momentum falters
at the point of maximum tension. So, decent performances of
Nos. 2 and 5 but not in the top rank. The latter is a real disappointment,
but then we’re all allowed an off day once in a while.
Gergiev’s Mariinsky account should be worth waiting for;
in the meantime Bernstein - the ICA DVD and the early CBS/Sony
CD, not the bloated Tokyo one - gets under the skin of this
piece like no-one else.
The Fourth (71 032) had me turning down the volume even
more, such is the impact of that lacerating start. Instantly
I was reminded of Daniel Raiskin’s equally powerful performance
(review).
The latter is perhaps steadier in the Allegretto but both he
and Kitaienko make this movement flare with a magnesium heat
while also picking up on its moments of Mahlerian otherness.
It’s a tricky juxtaposition that Wigglesworth also manages
very well (review).
Once again the Capriccio recording takes no prisoners, but then
that’s what this fierce and uncompromising symphony is
all about; it simply must grab listeners by the throat
and pin them to the wall.
And, goodness, it does just that. The Gürzenich band play
as if to the manner born, every pluck and ghoulish pirouette
indelibly etched on one’s consciousness. Although others
- Wigglesworth especially - sustain momentum more effectively
few catch the work’s bipolarity as completely as Kitaienko
does. Naively I was fairly sure Raiskin and Wigglesworth were
unbeatable here, and that there was nothing more to say about
this score. Listening with growing astonishment to Kitaienko’s
wonderfully wall-eyed Moderato confirms how much this
extraordinary piece has yet to yield.
The Mahlerian funeral cortège at the start of the Largo
is superbly paced and played, its growlsome rhythms most forcefully
done. Now this really is music of surpassing strangeness,
its climaxes as grand and glorious as anything Shostakovich
ever wrote. As always, though, it’s the odd colours and
loping gait of this music that’s so mesmerising, more
so when every detail is this naturally rendered. My only caveats
- and they are minor - is that tension flags towards the end
and pulses are a tad fluttery at times. That said, the jaunty
dance tunes and tipsy brass are a real treat. As for that extended
peroration - complete with iridescent cymbal clashes - and the
spectral coda, they’re guaranteed to give your timbers
a good old shiver.
I first encountered the Sixth (71 033) on Previn’s
EMI recording from the 1970s. At the time it failed to make
much of an impression, although hearing it again recently made
me wish he’d recorded more of these symphonies. Wigglesworth’s
version, coupled with Nos. 5 and 10, makes a very strong case
for this unfairly neglected work. Kitaienko’s Largo
is funereal without being lugubrious, and although those keening
string passages aren’t always as focused as they might
be this is a gaunt and deeply affecting a performance. Sanderling’s
mighty impressive too, and the strident Berliner-Sinfonie strings
add to the overwrought character of the first movement.
Kitaienko’s animated Allegro, with its air of things
that go bump in the night, is also well managed. His light touch
means that the work’s grotesqueries - some might call
them banalities - aren’t overplayed. He’s certainly
more refined than Sanderling, but both accounts are played with
commendable zest. The Presto is a tougher nut to crack,
and no-one seems able to make complete sense of it. One of Shostakovich’s
more oblique creations, it has comedic elements that don’t
always sit comfortably with the louring Largo. Still, Kitaienko
makes a decent attempt at reconciling these oddities; by contrast
Sanderling’s brightly lit finale has a spontaneity and
lift that’s impossible to resist.
The live Gürzenich Seventh (71 033), more distantly
recorded, is split over two discs. The first movement is spacious
yet keenly focused, not at all like the brash jangle one hears
from Andris Nelsons and the CBSO (review).
It’s much closer to Valery Gergiev’s Mariinsky account,
with which it shares hints of wistfulness and even a gentle
charm (review).
The latter, a quality one doesn’t usually associate with
these symphonies, is a welcome foil to all that encircling brutishness.
Wigglesworth is predictably revealing too, his spacious approach
no bar to the cumulative charge of that infamous march. Kitaienko,
perhaps not quite as menacing as Wigglesworth here, still manages
to combine a slightly softer edge with plenty of thrust.
As always the Capriccio recording is sensational, although I’m
tempted to say the BIS sound is even more impressive in its
clarity and ‘air’. That said, the Kitaienko is live,
so the challenges are much greater. In any event I doubt anyone
would be remotely disappointed with this disc. More important,
Kitaienko is vivid without being blatant, and that’s just
what this much-maligned symphony needs to make its full impact.
He also brings a striking inner calm to the first movement’s
end; and while he’s not as spectral as Gergiev in ‘Memories’
he remains robust and purposeful throughout.
There’s much to engage and admire in the remaining movements,
which are on the second disc (71 034). Take ‘My native
field’ for instance; Kitaienko’s is as poised and
ruminative a reading as I’ve encountered. There’s
a hushed quality to the playing too that really underlines the
symphony’s musical substance. Even that big, galumphing
tune is tastefully done, a far cry from Nelsons’ incoherent
babble. The excellent Gürzenich strings combine silkiness
and strength, and the dark pizzicati are perfectly articulated.
Indeed, those who deride the Leningrad would do well
to seek out this performance, which brims with telling detail
and speaks with an eloquence rarely heard in this work.
The problematic final movement, ‘Victory’, is yet
another no-no for the nay-sayers. Taken at face value this seems
to be a tub-thumping celebration, but in the light of all that’s
gone before that’s a crude oversimplification. Amid those
orchestral huzzahs lurks something more equivocal, a dichotomy
that Wigglesworth conveys more effectively than anyone I’ve
heard on record or in the concert hall. Kitaienko, Gergiev and
Bernstein run him very close, all making it clear that if this
is a victory it’s a hollow one. The weary tread and air
of desolation says it all, that slow panorama of destruction
every bit as harrowing as ‘The field of battle’
from Prokofiev’s Alexander Nevsky. As for the long
finale Kitaienko gives it a symphonic strength and cathartic
power that’s simply overwhelming.
There’s no applause for that Leningrad, but as
reserved as I am I’d have been on my feet shouting ‘Bravo’.
This is a staggering performance and by some margin it’s
the finest on the set thus far. True, I wouldn’t want
to be without Wigglesworth, Gergiev or Bernstein, but I’m
immensely grateful to have Kitaienko alongside them. As for
the quirky Ninth (71 034) it’s been very well served
on disc, not least by Haitink and Wigglesworth. In the former’s
bright-eyed account the LPO play with terrific snap and character;
Haitink, who’s apt to seem a little dour at times, certainly
brings out the work’s mischievous mien. Kitaienko is plainer,
although the level of orchestral detail here is exceptional.
His phrasing is a joy too, and his speeds in the Moderato
are especially appealing.
More than Haitink or Wigglesworth Kitaienko emphasises Shostakovich’s
mordant wit; that’s particularly true of the Ninth’s
bird-flipping Largo, whose unexpected levity probably
contributed to the symphony’s lukewarm reception in the
years after its quite positive premiere. Haitink’s recording,
now sounding a tad bright, has worn rather well, and I’d
recommend it to anyone looking for an entertaining performance
of this engaging oddity. Don’t overlook the equally fine
Wigglesworth, whose version is paired with a field-leading account
of No. 12.
Shostakovich’s symphonic output reached another peak with
the troubling Tenth (71 035). There’s a greater
sense of stoicism here, of terseness and trenchancy combined
with long-breathed lyricism. Predictably perhaps Evgeny Svetlanov’s
protest-quelling performance from the 1968 Proms is unflinching
in its perusal of the work’s darkling plain (review);
Neeme Järvi, in his incomplete Chandos cycle, majors in
urgency and thrust. Both are very desirable versions of this
defining work, and they sit comfortably alongside the weighty,
thrusting Kitaienko. A studio recording, the latter sounds a
touch less airy than some of its predecessors; still, tuttis
have terrific clout and those recurring tam-tam smashes in the
Moderato reverberate mightily.
Most revealing here is the chamber-like transparency and inwardness
that characterise stretches of this symphony; the Gürzenich
strings and woodwinds are just splendid - especially in Mahler
mode - and there’s an eloquence to Kitaienko’s reading
of the long first movement that’s most affecting. That
said, he doesn’t hold back in the bristling Allegro
which, aided by some arresting sonics, emerges with plenty of
snap and snarl. The Allegretto is alive with ear-pricking incident
- just sample those soft bass-drum thuds - and those exposed,
rather haunting tunes should raise a few goosebumps along the
way.
The Allegretto is swiftly done without sounding rushed.
Indeed, Kitaienko has that rare skill - an ability to highlight
details without impeding general progress - which counts for
much in a movement that, in some hands, can seem slow and discursive.
As for the finale it’s a masterly distillation of all
that’s gone before, and Kitaienko draws remarkably committed
- and beautifully blended - playing from his orchestra. At times
it’s hard to believe this is a studio recording, since
it has all the breath-bating intensity and atmosphere of a live
concert. As for the symphony’s final moments the slapstick
- tastefully done - is curiously liberating.
So, another first-rate performance in this surprisingly consistent
and insightful cycle. Kitaienko’s is only one of two complete
SACD sets - Oleg Caetani’s on Arts is the other - and
while Capriccio’s Super Audio/DSD recording is an obvious
draw for high-res collectors the considerable sonic virtues
of this cycle are apparent on the RBCD layer as well. The Eleventh
(71 036) certainly benefits from good engineering, as Wigglesworth’s
electrifying account so amply demonstrates (review).
As with the Leningrad the Eleventh, subtitled The
Year 1905, is ostensibly a populist piece, and it’s
probably suffered because of that. Both works can easily sound
crude and unremitting - Semyon Bychkov’s recording of
the latter springs to mind - which is why Wigglesworth’s
strongly symphonic account is so welcome. This is no shrill
blast of propaganda but a cogently argued and highly accomplished
piece of writing. It seems Kitaienko thinks so too, as he eschews
passing daubs for a much broader symphonic canvas.
The Palace Square is crisply articulated and its motifs
aren’t overplayed. Even the music of 9thJanuary
is well focused and propulsive without ever spilling over into
histrionics. As so often on this set the bass drum and tam-tam
have a pulverising presence, and that’s a mark of just
how good these live recordings are. Kitaienko’s speeds
aren’t always steady, but in the heat of battle that hardly
matters.
From the wintry square to glacial grief Kitaienko breaks through
the permafrost in a way that Vasily Petrenko can’t quite
manage (review).
Ditto the introspective, oft haunted Adagio, where the
dogged pizzicati are as stoic as I’ve ever heard
them. As for those gaunt, pounding perorations and resigned
Mahlerian postlude Kitaienko imbues them with a compelling narrative
that’s just as thrilling as Wigglesworth’s superbly
scaled reading. A sense of proportion is even more important
in The Tocsin, whose thumping, pell-mellish progress
is apt to test the loyalties of even the most ardent Shostakovich
groupies. Not one to disappoint, Kitaienko is crisp and propulsive
to the very end, the eponymous bells allowed to ring out even
after the orchestra has stopped playing.
I’ve never been persuaded by the lingering bells but that’s
hardly a deal-breaker when the rest of this performance is so
well judged and executed. My colleague John Quinn thought highly
of Mravinsky’s 1959 recording - review
- and I have fond memories of James DePreist’s version
on Delos. Kitaienko’s Eleventh won’t displace Wigglesworth
in my affections, but I wouldn’t want to be without either.
Given this fine pair perhaps one can now say this symphony has
been rehabilitated at last.
Finding a persuasive reading of the Twelfth (71 037)
is really rather difficult. One of the few recording that convinced
me this symphony isn’t a ghastly aberration was Mravinsky’s
live one on Erato/Warner. It’s a muscular, highly disciplined
account whose dramatic strengths easily transcend the boxy Soviet-era
sound and bronchial interruptions from the audience. Then Wigglesworth’s
revelatory SACD redefined the work for me, its musical cogency
complemented by a recording of rare sophistication and power.
While Kitaienko’s opening view of Revolutionary Petrograd
has s certain majesty what follows is the vacuous rumty-tumty
that Wigglesworth so scrupulously avoids. Even the usually impeccable
Capriccio sound has a coarseness, an edge, that does the work
no favours. Perhaps it’s a question of advocacy; Wigglesworth
and Mravinsky seem to regard the Twelfth as a piece of substance
that’s worth exploring, whereas Kitaienko doesn’t
get beyond the work’s crude programme. His reading of
Razliv is otiose, and although Aurora is reasonably
propulsive it and the bombastic Dawn of Humanity are
soon derailed by their own rhetoric.
It’s a mark of Wigglesworth’s skill that he avoids
all these bear traps; instead we are presented with broad, colourful
performance that makes the piece seem far more than the sum
of its problematic parts. Granted it’s not vintage Shostakovich,
but when it’s essayed with such conviction and care it’s
not a write-off either. One only has to compare Wigglesworth
and Kitaienko in the protracted finale to hear how it can -
and should - go. Indeed, I can’t imagine that Wigglesworth’s
version will be bettered any time soon.
No-one could possibly describe the towering Thirteenth
(71 038) as anything other than a masterpiece. It’s probably
the finest performance in Haitink’s distinguished cycle;
I’d even suggest it’s one of the very best things
he’s ever done. I only wish I could say the same of Wigglesworth’s
version - one of the few disappointments in his otherwise first-rate
series - but musically and sonically the Dutchman’s recording
is hard to rival, let alone surpass. Kitaienko’s Babi
Yar certainly doesn’t have anything like the sense
of foreboding one gets with Haitink; the Prague choir aren’t
as weighty or incisive as the Royal Concertgebouw Men’s
Chorus either. As with Wigglesworth I was somewhat underwhelmed
by Kitaienko’s soloist, Arutjun Kotchinian, although that
perception did change as the performance progressed.
What I miss most with Kitaienko is the lack of cumulative weight
and tension, that block-by-granitic-block construction that
sets Haitink apart from his rivals. That said, Kitaienko reveals
the human face of this most imposing symphony. Kotchinian sings
meltingly in quieter passages and the chorus is impressive too.
Kotchinian is suitably animated in Humour, if not as
bitingly sardonic as Marius Rintzler for Haitink. As for Kitaienko
his approach isn’t as seamless as I’d like, and
the music is apt to sound like a collection of discrete chunks
rather than a carefully unified whole.
Make no mistake this is a very decent Thirteenth - In the
store really does capture the grey, bone-aching weariness
of those interminable queues - and I found myself warming to
Kotchinian’s heartfelt, sensitively scaled delivery. The
vocal/orchestral balance is well judged too, and the sonics
are up to the standards of the house. Even the band excels,
with finely calibrated playing that explodes into controlled
splendour in those despairing climaxes. Where Kitaienko does
rival Haitink - perhaps even surpasses him - is in the bleak
music of Fears. Goodness, this is marrow-chilling stuff,
the louring bass as threatening as one could wish.
This Babi Yar is a flesh-and-blood creation, the polar
opposite of the often faceless, grinding monumentalism that
characterises Haitink’s reading. In that sense Kitaienko
offers a valuable corrective to one’s long-held preferences/prejudices;
he also finds a rare transparency and inwardness here that’s
very impressive. That said, Haitink’s is still the most
searing performance; Rintzler and the Dutch chorus really do
sound corrosively cynical in A career and Haitink maintains
a firm grip on the reins to the very end. By contrast Kitaienko
is softer, more pliant, at this point and that works surprisingly
well too.
Old loyalties are sorely tested by this Thirteenth, although
for sheer authority and grip Haitink’s performance is
peerless. His recording of the Fourteenth - with the
songs sung in their original languages - is also desirable,
not least for the contributions of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau
and Julia Varady. Kitaienko’s cast may not be so stellar
but Kotchinian has a dark-chocolate bass that sounds so much
more authentic in this rep than Fischer-Dieskau’s lighter,
sometimes hectoring tones. The downside is that under pressure
- in Malagueña, for instance - soprano Marina
Shaguch’s steely soprano is perhaps too authentic.
Kitaienko’s way with this score is much more visceral
than most; the upfront vocals and closely balanced orchestra
add to a sense of immediacy that’s most apt, although
some may prefer the less overt presentation and greater transparency
of Haitink’s reading. Kotchinian and Shaguch are very
dramatic in Lorelei - great bells, too - and one could
argue that Kitaienko and his forces plumb the symphony’s
emotional depths more surely than most. That said, in the second
Apollinaire setting, Le suicidé, Shaguch’s
bleached tones are suitably chilling; as for Kitaienko he brings
an urgency to the proceedings - a tugging undertow, if you like
- that heightens the drama.
The prominent percussion in Les Attentives (I and II)
is well caught, and it’s only in the more demanding registers
that Shaguch’s voice sounds constricted. I’ve read
elsewhere that the recording clips at these pressure points,
but I’m happy to say that’s not the case with my
copy. Kotchinian is glorious in À la Santé,
his deep-chested delivery matched by the most Stygian orchestral
sounds imaginable. By contrast Fischer-Dieskau is too generalised
here. The high point of Kitaienko’s recording is the eloquent
Delvig, which Kotchinian sings with huge authority and
heft. As for Shaguch she leaves the best until last; despite
caveats about her top end she sings Rilke’s Der Tod
des Dichters most movingly.
There are several stand-out recordings of the Fifteenth
(71 040) among them Haitink, Kondrashin’s 1974 account
with the Dresden Staatskapelle on Profil and Sanderling’s
with the Berliner Philharmoniker. The latter, coupled with Haydn’s
Symphony No. 82 and issued on the BP’s own label, is hard
to find but it’s a uniquely dark performance that’s
well worth hearing. Wigglesworth has yet to record the piece,
but I imagine BIS will get round to it soon. As usual Haitink
and the LPO offer us a crisply articulated view of the score,
although for all its felicities it may seem a little short on
insight alongside the very best.
Does Kitaienko excel here? Emphatically, yes. The first Allegretto
is a riot of colour and snappy rhythms, and the warm, detailed
recording conveys all the score’s quirks and quiddities.
The drag and drear of the Largo has seldom seemed so
tactile, or the strings so ethereal. This is playing of a high
order, and Kitaienko really has a feel for the dark-hued second
movement. Pace and phrasing are well-nigh ideal, and the music
unfolds so naturally too. The all-important percussion is especially
well caught, and that gives the sound a startling presence.
The witty exchanges of the second Allegretto are perfectly
judged and a joy to hear, but it’s the finale that really
absorbs an engrosses. Sanderling and the BP are superb here,
but for sheer focus and tonal sophistication Kitaienko and his
orchestra must now be the ones to beat.
I’m delighted to end this review on such a positive note.
I generally prefer different conductors and ensembles rather
than unified sets, on the premise that it’s rare for one
maestro and band to excel in all the chosen works. Well, I’m
prepared to make an exception here, as this cycle is more consistent
than most. It’s also chockful of insight and inspiration,
with several performances that rank with the best available.
In terms of sonics this is a remarkable achievement as well;
indeed, the Red Book layer is only marginally less impressive
than the stereo Super Audio one. I’d be very surprised
if the multi-channel mix were anything less than top-notch too.
Immensely satisfying; a traversal to treasure.
Dan Morgan
http://twitter.com/mahlerei
Masterwork Index: Shostakovich symphonies 1-3
~~ 4-6 ~~
7-9 ~~ 10-12
~~ 13-15
Detailed list of contents
SACD 71 013 [69:19]
Symphony No. 8 in C minor, Op. 65 (1943)
rec. live, Philharmonie, Köln, 28 June-2 July 2003
SACD 71 030 [67:36]
Symphony No. 1 in F minor, Op. 10 (1924-1925) [34:39]
Symphony No. 3 in E flat major, Op. 20, The First of May*
(1929) [32:57]
*Prague Philharmonic Chorus
rec. live, Philharmonie, Köln, 3-7 July 2004 (No. 1); Studio
Stolberger Straße, Köln, 20-24 January, 13-17 July
2004 (No. 3)
SACD 71 031 [69:28]
Symphony No. 2 in B major, Op. 14, To October* (1927)
[21:16]
Symphony No. 5 in D minor, Op. 47 (1937) [48:12]
*Prague Philharmonic Chorus
rec. Studio Stolberger Straße, Köln, 20-24 January,
13-17 July 2004 (No. 2);
12, 14-15 March 2003 (No. 5)
SACD 71 032 [69:04]
Symphony No. 4 in C minor, Op. 43 (1935-1936)
rec. live, Philharmonie, Köln, 7-8, 9-11 February 2003
SACD 71 033/34 [132:48]
Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 54 (1939) [32:39]
Symphony No. 7 in C major, Op. 60, Leningrad (1941) [75:23]
Symphony No. 9 in E flat major, Op. 70 (1945) [24:36]
rec. Studio Stolberger Straße, Köln, 16-18 July 2002
(No. 6); live, Philharmonie Köln, 15, 17-18 September 2003
(No. 7); Studio Stolberger Straße, Köln, 30 April
2002 (No. 9)
SACD 71 035 [58:41]
Symphony No. 10 in E minor, Op. 23 (1953)
rec. Studio Stolberger Straße, Köln, 24-26 March
2003
SACD 71 036 [65:17]
Symphony No. 11 in G minor, Op. 103, The Year 1905 (1957)
rec. live, Philharmonie Köln, 12-17 February 2004
SACD 71 037 [41:03]
Symphony No. 12 in D minor, Op. 112, The Year 1917 (1961)
rec. Studio Stolberger Straße, Köln, 20-25 October
2003
SACD 71 038 [64:13]
Symphony No. 13 in B flat minor, Op. 113, Babi Yar (1962)
Arutjun Kotchinian (bass)
Prague Philharmonic Chorus
rec. Studio Stolberger Straße, Köln, 20-24 January,
13-17 July 2004
SACD 71 039/40 [113:35, inc. German documentary on The
Shostakovich Project]
Symphony No. 14, Op. 135* (1969) [49:48]
Symphony No. 15 in A major, Op. 141 (1971) [45:32]
*Arutjun Kotchinian (bass)
*Marina Shaguch (soprano)
rec. Studio Stolberger Straße, Köln, 4-5, 8-12 July
2003 (No. 14); live, Philharmonie Köln, 3-7 July 2004 (No.
15)
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Gürzenich-Orchester/Dmitri Kitaienko 
[12 CDs: c.14:00:00] 