I discovered with Sakari Oramo’s Nielsen symphonies
that writing off an entire cycle based on just one instalment is very unwise.
To ensure I don’t do that again I’ve elected to review Andrew
Litton’s Prokofiev Fifth, even though I found his
Sixth
rather disappointing. The Bergen Phil are a fine band, as their work with
Andrew Davis, Edward Gardner and Juanjo Mena so amply demonstrates; not only
that, Chandos and Hyperion seem to get better results in the Grieg Hall than
BIS have managed thus far.
Then there’s the stiff competition;
Neeme
Järvi’s much-celebrated cycle for Chandos springs to mind, as does
Dmitri
Kitaienko’s for Phoenix Edition.
Sakari
Oramo’s Ondine Fifth and Sixth mustn’t be overlooked either.
All offer very different views of the Fifth, Prokofiev’s great wartime
symphony, and that in itself suggests the work responds well to opposing interpretations.
Oramo’s is a case in point, for he taps into a vein of lyricism that
others don’t always find. He also has a very transparent recording that
exposes much of the score’s inner workings.
The Järvi Fifth dates from the conductor’s halcyon days with the RSNO
– then the Scottish National Orchestra – which yielded particularly
memorable recordings of Richard Strauss, Shostakovich and Prokofiev. Revisiting
his Prokofiev Fifth after a long break I discovered the performance has all
the spunk and spike that I remember, although the treble is fiercer and the
big moments are rougher than I recall. I have no such qualms about his
Scythian
Suite – coupled with a white-hot
Alexander Nevsky
– which is my benchmark for the piece.
Litton’s
Andante is powerful enough, but alongside Järvi and
Kitaienko it takes a little while to limber up. Admittedly, this is the kind
of music that lends itself to large, gruff gestures, but as Oramo’s
forensic reading confirms there’s more to this score than that. For
sheer excitement, though, Järvi is hard to beat; as for Kitaienko he plays
the music with a a bold, deep-rooted conviction that’s impressive too.
Litton isn’t quite so overt, so visceral, but I soon came to realise
that's no bad thing. The recording is exceptionally vivid, although there's
an occasional hardness in the treble.
Moving on, Litton’s perky
Allegro marcato is nicely phrased,
and he captures the score’s veers and vacillations very well indeed.
Now this is more like it. The Bergen Phil are well up to the challenge and
the BIS balances are much more believable than Phoenix's; while that certainly
helps to soften the music’s sharpest edges it doesn't undermine the
thrust and energy of Litton's reading. Oramo’s version is the most pliant
and personal one here, but some may feel that robs the music of its pith and
piquancy. As for Järvi he's as taut and compelling as ever in this movement,
a reminder of just how good a team he and the RSNO once were.
The yearning
Adagio with its inner musings and gentle tread finds
Litton at his most thoughtful and communicative. There’s a pleasing
lucidity and openness here that's most welcome. In short, this is a very persuasive
account of this lovely, multi-faceted movement. Built on a smaller, more intimate
scale Oramo’s
Adagio is the most lyrical and colourful; the
Ondine recording has a very strong stereo spread, and it’s closer to
BIS's in terms of subtlety and tonal sophistication. Unfortunately Oramo allows
the pace to flag, which is a shame as I like what he’s trying to do.
Both are commendably refined, and that makes for more congenial performances
than either Järvi's or Kitaienko's; frankly, the latter have a raw edge and
restless angularity that can be a tad unremitting at times.
In that rather forceful context Litton’s frisky
Allegro giocoso
may seem rather reticent, although it’s actually alert and keenly paced.
Not only that, there's a joy, a sparkle, to this music that brisker and more
declamatory performances tend to miss. I'm also extremely imprssed by the
recorded sound, which really brings out the score's muances and competing
timbres. Here and in the symphony as a whole Litton is nearer to the affectionate
and reflective Oramo than he is to the volatile Kitaienko/Järvi. I can live
with both extremes, but it's a relief - and a pleasure - to hear Prokofiev
performances that don't sound like they're being forged on a factory floor.
The
Scythian Suite gets a typically febrile outing, with thumping
bass and glittering treble. Järvi may have the rhythmic edge, not to mention
the most spectacular recording, but Litton’s no slouch either. As with
the symphony he combines slam with subtlety, and there's a mervellous sense
of a tale being told. He’s aided and abetted by wide-ranging sonics
and an orchestra that's in tip-top condition. Indeed, this strikes me as the
very best of BIS’s Grieg Hall productions to date, and that augurs well
for the rest of Litton’s Prokofiev cycle.
Despite some initial reservations I’m delighted to welcome this addition
to the Prokofiev discography. These are performances that grow in stature
with each hearing; in fact, not only is Litton's
Scythian Suite every
bit as thrilling as Järvi's, it's also the more illuminating - the most
interesting - of the two.
A terrific pairing, very well played and recorded; here’s to the next
instalment.
Dan Morgan
twitter.com/mahlerei