Tcherepnins
have been drifting in and out of the musical scene for at least
three generations, often more as walk-ons in more famous composers’
biographies than for themselves. None has really impinged so
far on the general musical consciousness that the average concert-goer
could tell you which was which. The one here is the one you’re
most likely to have encountered. A prominent figure among the
modernists working in Paris in the 1920s, his First Symphony
caused a furore on account of its percussion-only scherzo. He
was sufficiently well-known back then for the 9-note scale he
often employed to be named the “Tcherepnin-scale”. Later he
was attracted to Oriental music, particularly that of China.
This influence is to be heard in the fourth concerto. In late
years he dabbled with pre-recorded tapes. A fine pianist, a
disc of him playing concertos 2 and 5 with the Bavarian Radio
Symphony Orchestra under Rafael Kubelik was issued by DG in
late 1968. Despite a welcoming review from Edward Greenfield
in Gramophone it evidently didn’t sell particularly well, since
the remaining four concertos didn’t follow. However, Kubelik
must have been impressed, as he conducted the belated première
of the sixth in 1972, played by Margrit Weber.
The first is in a single movement, though falling into distinct
sections. It opens with a thudding ostinato recalling – probably
coincidentally – Sibelius’s En Saga, adulterated with
braying orchestration that heralds Khachaturian’s Sabre Dance.
Indeed, in its insistence it even looks ahead to Philip Glass,
anticipating as it does the minimalist tendency to labour an
idea, even a good one, far longer than necessary. Still, it’s
a striking beginning. When the piano enters, the sound world
seems less individual, almost nondescript in its modernized
romanticism. No blame for this can be attached to Noriko Ogawa,
who is throughout brilliant, colourful, rhythmical and poetic
when the opportunity arises. We spend the rest of the concerto
waiting for that beginning to come back again.
The second is also in a single movement. It enlarges the view
without expanding the method. The third, in two movements, is
more consistent in that there is no longer a disparity between
the orchestral and the piano writing. On the other hand, it
is becoming clear that musical development, for Tcherepnin,
simply means sticking in a rut for a while, then going on to
another rut and sticking in that. In spite of the orchestral
colour range, the effect of this concerto is drab.
The fourth is the Chinese-inspired one. Its three movements
are entitled Eastern Chamber Dream, Yan Kuei Fei’s
Love Sacrifice and Road to Yunnan. How Chinese it
really is I’m not qualified to say. It’s the sort of sound and
tone Hollywood composers use when illustrating an epic Chinese
subject, but in view of the date, perhaps Tcherepnin was their
inspiration. The opening has genuine majesty and breadth. As
is Tcherepnin’s wont he doesn’t do much except just go on until
it’s time to do something else, but at least it’s a rut with
a view. A magnificent view at the end, too, when the idea comes
back with a rolling, over-the-top splendour. What happens in-between
is variable, and there’s a lot of it. The piano has a surprisingly
limited role here, rippling and cascading around but often more
a part of the orchestra.
The next movement shows that virtually any sequence of notes,
if allotted to the cor anglais and played as soulfully as possible
on that instrument, will take on the semblance of a beautiful
melody. This is actually a rather attractive movement, again
with the piano offering a twittering commentary rather than
a leading role. I kept thinking that at last Ogawa would get
to play the tune, which she would certainly have done very beautifully,
but she never does. She leads the way along the Road to Yunnan,
though, in a very sprightly, good-humoured fashion. Perhaps
because it’s about a road, this is the one movement in all the
concertos where Tcherepnin’s music seems to offer linear progress,
rather than rut-by-rut.
The Chinese influence disappears in the last two concertos,
but I’m not quite sure what this leaves. Nothing very much to
my ears. In spite of an unfailingly inventive range of orchestral
sound I find it difficult to hear much music in them. A few
of the ruts start promisingly but that makes it all the more
frustrating when they fail to deliver. Both pianist and conductor
try hard to persuade us there’s real melody in the hushed exchanges
of the slow movements but I fear they’re flogging a dead horse.
Contrary to what some may believe, it gives me no pleasure to
virtually trash a substantial corpus of work. Having dedicated
much of my life to taking up the cudgels on behalf of little-known
composers, I know how irritating it can be when a critic comes
along who maybe hasn’t heard a note of that composer before,
and loftily dismisses him. But there it is. All I can say is
that, probably the unusual vistas of the fourth concerto will
tempt me back sooner or later and, having got the discs out,
I’ll probably hear 1 and 2 again. Unless these sound a whole
lot better than before I think I’ll pass on the other three.
I can only repeat that I am sure it is no fault of the performers,
though in truth I’ve never heard the two set down by the composer.
A cycle was also recorded by Murray McLachlan, originally for
Olympia (Olympia OCD439 (2, 3, 6), November 1994; OCD 440 (1,
4, 5), December 1995), later partially reissued by Forum.
The conductor Lan Shui does an excellent job and my already
high admiration for Ogawa – her complete Debussy is probably
the best available overall – is only reinforced. To have set
down the lot in one month is remarkable – it would have been
so much easier to record them separately on a learn-one-forget-one
basis over a year or two. What a thankless task, though. Even
if she really loves them, I wonder how often she’s been engaged
to play one in concert, before or since. Or is Tcherepnin popular
in Japan?
The recording, originally by BIS, is outstanding. So there,
if you’re interested, the job’s been done as well as it possibly
could. If you want to hear Ogawa, get her Debussy first (Bis
Vols, 1,
2,
3,
4,
5).
Christopher Howell
see also review of the original BIS release by Rob
Barnett
Footnote
In my review of the complete Tcherepnin Piano Concertos played
by Noriko Ogawa and reissued on Brilliant, I wrote, on the basis
of Brilliant's documentation, which states that all six were
recorded in December 1999: "To have set down the lot in
one month is remarkable – it would have been so much easier
to record them separately on a learn-one-forget-one basis over
a year or two".
However, from the header to Rob Barnett's review of the original
BIS issue, I now learn they were set down as follows:
Concertos 5 & 6: December 1999
Concertos 2 & 4: January, February, August 2001
Concertos 1 & 3: January, November 2002
I don't doubt that this is the correct information and I now
have to withdraw my amazement at Ogawa's having set them all
down in a single month. This doesn't affect my admiration for
her playing, of course.
I must say this was pretty careless of Brilliant, and a clear
case where no information at all would have been preferable
to misleading information
Chris Howell
Noriko Ogawa (piano) 
