Glière saw it
all. From tsarist days to the 1917 revolution
to Stalin and indeed outliving the man
by three years. He did not feel the
siren-pull of modernism and so escaped
condemnation for formalism to which
his students Miaskovsky and Prokofiev
were subjected in the 1940s. His natural
bent was toward folk material and melody.
The opera Shah-Senem (1925) draws
on Azerbaijani mythology as does Leili
and Medzhnun (1940) - works I would
very much like to hear. His 1927 ballet
The Red Poppy said all the right
things in the right way so far as the
regime was concerned. However it was
his ballet The Bronze Horseman that
won him the Stalin Prize in 1950. There
was much more too, including tone poems
plus concertos for violin, harp, horn
and coloratura soprano, five string
quartets (the Fourth attracted the 1948
Stalin Prize), at least two hundred
songs and the same number of solo piano
pieces amongst much else. Both the Violin
Concerto and the Fifth Quartet were
left incomplete on his death. There
are three symphonies of which Il’ya
Muromets is the Third. Interesting
that he abandoned the symphony so early
in his career. There were to be forty-five
years without a symphony from his pen.
It was as if Muromets had drained
him of symphonic creativity.
Rely on Glière’s
Il’ya Muromets for atmosphere
you could cut with a knife ... and it
would have to be a big one at that!
Farberman’s recording stands at the
extreme of the range of interpretation
of this awesome sprawl. He plays the
thing without cuts although I cannot
verify that independently. However at
this timing it is the longest of any
of the recorded versions. Many conductors
have tackled the work including Scherchen,
Talmi and Stokowski (both versions drastically
cut), Rakhlin and Golovchin (on long-deleted
Russian Disc CDs: 75:09; 75:21 respectively),
Johanos (Naxos), Ormandy (two versions
- the first time around greatly cut:
1956: 54:31; 1971: 59:13) and most recently
Leon Botstein (Telarc CD-80609; 72:20).
The Chandos version is conducted by
Edward Downes who knows his Russian
repertoire very well indeed. No one
comes anywhere near Farberman.
Il’ya Muromets was
a character of fable perhaps comparable
with Arthur and Robin Hood. The legends
tell of the 12th century hero, doughty
and magnificent in battle, but also
wise in peace. Ultimately he converts
to Christianity. Despite this undertow
the work did well in Soviet Russia.
No doubt the element of triumph through
religion was elided in Soviet programme
notes.
In common with many
programmatic works of the period Glière’s
score carries a detailed storyline movement
by movement. Muromets is of peasant
stock. He rises to greatness in the
Bogatyr army of Sviatogor and when his
great general dies Murometz assumes
the mantle. In the second movement Muromets
defeats Solovei, a king among brigands
in the dense forestlands of Russia.
Dragging his wounded captive to the
court of Vladimir he decapitates Solovei
and Vladimir embraces Il’ya and welcomes
him to the feasting table. In the finale
after a twelve day battle Il’ya at the
head of his army of Bogatyrs defeats
the pagan forces of Batyagha the Wicked.
He meets his nemesis when he encounters
an army that doubles in number every
time he strikes down one of their soldiery.
With his seven surviving companions
he is turned to cold stone; so dies
a dynasty of heroes.
Glière’s language
in this sumptuously scored work has
Scriabin (Second Symphony and Poem
of Ecstasy) disporting with Elgar.
Tchaikovsky (Manfred and Pathétique)
and Borodin (16:20 in first movement)
jostle. The early Stravinsky of The
Firebird bubbles along in the finale
of the first movement as well as at
numerous other points (e.g. 7:23 in
second movement). The creepy mystery
of the Prokofiev First Violin Concerto
casts a diaphanous fairy mantle over
the episode with Solovei in the Forest
(tr. 2 CD1). Birdsong is a prominent
feature of that movement with the complex
proto-impressionist soundweb recalling
such contemporaneous works as Bax’s
Spring Fire symphony and Ravel’s
Daphnis. Farberman allows us
to bask in this to the point of warm
saturation. The nine horns bawl magnificently
and towards the end of the 28 minute
movement the four trombones and tuba
grunt out presumably echoing the subjugation
of Solovei. The predominance of slow
music, over 56 minutes and two movements,
is contrasted with an eight minute scherzo.
This swashbuckles along keeping up with
the best scherzos by Borodin (Symphony
No. 2 - sometimes subtitled ‘The Bogatyrs’
by the way), Rimsky-Korsakov (the swooning
counter-subject is closely related to
romantic themes in Antar) and
Glazunov (Fourth and Fifth symphonies).
Glière cannot sustain this across
a whole movement. He succumbs again
(4:40 in III) to black-hearted atmosphere
and the myriad colours of mythical scenes
before returning to the Borodin-Glazunov
axis. In the fourth movement Glière
mobilises every device in suggestion
of the sinister army - one can easily
imagine Tolkien’s orcish hosts. The
battle is ferocious and a Russian chant-like
theme rings clear in Holy triumph at
15:23. The work closes in awe as the
petrified giant warriors gaze enigmatically
across the endless steppe-lands. For
all that Glière has been criticised,
this understated and atmospheric valediction
reveals integrity. The whole work evinces
a brilliant if garrulous magician of
image and atmosphere.
This is a lavish extravagance
of a piece. The massive orchestra is
used with a craftsman’s fastidiousness
to create lush effects and an impressionistic
skein of sound - rarely for wall-shaking
effects. Only in the finale did I feel
that Glière was truly meandering
- note-spinning. Otherwise if you are
in the right mood this is an opulent
tapestry of a piece.
The Il’ya Muromets
Symphony won a Glinka Prize. It
was premiered under the auspices of
the Russian Musical Society in Moscow
with the conductor Emil Cooper on 23
March 1912.
The big Cello Concerto
is from 35 years later. It was written
for the young Rostropovich but seems
to have made little headway. For whatever
reason his performances appear not to
have been recorded. I had half expected
to find it included alongside Kabalevsky,
the two Khachaturians, Knipper, Tischenko
and Boris Tchaikovsky in EMI Classics’
13 CD ‘The Russian Years’ set (7243
5 72016 2 9) but no such luck. The big
22 minute first movement is full of
action and lyrical address with more
than a shade of Miaskovsky (try 9:30
onwards for example) present. The middle
movement uses melodies suggestive of
Borodin and Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sheherazade.
The finale is lively but with a predominance
of curvaceous lyricism - warm and rounded.
Lacking enduringly distinctive ideas
it remains a pleasing work. This recording
was originally issued on Olympia OCD
592 with two works by Mossolov. Rostropovich
premiered the concerto in Moscow on
18 February 1947. Everyone involved
here turns in a competent performance
and Sudzilovsky digs in with a will
clearly enjoying the many lyrical undulations.
This is a real treat
for those who like to venture around
the periphery of Russian nationalist
repertoire and there are plenty of rewards
to be had. Audio ‘archaeologists’ should
also snap up this bargain price set.
The recording of the Symphony is one
of the very first digital recordings
and was made by Bob Auger using hired
Sony PCM-1 machines. Entire movements
were recorded each in a single take!
It still sounds wonderful. It is of
the wide-open spaces school rather than
the close-up microphone approach.
Rob Barnett
Russian Cinematic Symphony Orchestra/Sergei Skripka
