Sergei Bortkiewicz spent the majority of his creative life
living in exile. Fate seemed to constantly put him in the wrong place
at the wrong time. A thorough Germanophile, the composer took up residence
in Leipzig in 1900 for advanced musical studies. From 1904 until the outbreak
of the First World War, he lived happily in Berlin, but rising anti-Russian
sentiment forced him back to his birthplace. He had no sooner had he taken
up residence and begun to establish a career in Russia, when the October
Revolution of 1917 forced him to flee again. He and his family escaped
to Turkey in 1919. Although he met again with success there, he decided
to move his family to Vienna in 1922. His passion for things German caused
him to move again to Berlin, this time via a short stint in Paris. In
Berlin, Litolff published a number of his works and he enjoyed several
successful premieres. The terrible conditions in Germany under the Nazis
led him to flee again to Vienna.
The horrors of the Second World War had a terrible
physical effect on both Bortkiewicz and his wife. She suffered from
manic depression from the end of the war until her death in 1960. The
composer underwent surgery in 1952 for a chronic stomach ailment, from
which he never recovered.
What we have here is an unsung master composer. Although
by no means a modernist, Bortkiewicz’s is a voice of originality, born
out of the tradition of Lyapunov and Tchaikovsky and in a direct line
with Rachmaninov, Scriabin and Medtner. The two symphonies presented
here (there are sketches for a third, but it was never completed) are
magnificent sound portraits. Haunted by absence from his homeland, the
Symphony number one is a sound sculpture wrought from pure Ukrainian
clay. Cast in four movements, this is music that is rich in both sweeping,
dramatic gestures and in grand melodies. The second symphony is much
darker in hue, and is somewhat reminiscent in style of Tchaikovsky’s
sixth. Both works, while grand and romantic is scale are supremely wrought,
neither being overindulgent in emotion for emotion’s sake.
Martin Brabbins and the BBC Scottish Symphony give
fine readings of these sadly neglected works. They are beautifully paced
with exactly the correct balance between pure pathos and unbridled joy.
Brabbins paints orchestral landscapes with finely crafted brushes and
his orchestra responds to every subtlety of shading that he can create.
It is regrettable that this composer remains such an
enigmatic figure, much of the information about his life and work having
been destroyed in the inferno of war. We are fortunate that recent scholarship
has turned up a number of works heretofore thought lost, and we can
only hope that enterprising musicians like Brabbins will continue to
give us such fine performances to enjoy.
Hyperion, a company that is practically unsurpassed
in the realm of quality productions, comes through here with their customary
shade of perfection. We owe this fine label tremendous gratitude for
superb recorded sound, excellent scholarly notes, and most of all, an
introduction to some wonderful music that has for far too long been
consigned to obscurity.
Recommended without a moment’s hesitation.
Kevin Sutton
Martyn Brabbins, conductor