7 Symphonies/Lieutenant Kije [Box set]

If "Ala & Lolly" (the Scythian Suite) is a little too baldly imitative of "Le sacre," Prokofiev's second symphony is a marked and mature contrast, displaying a rarefied assimilation of the daring sonic achievements of Prokofiev's fellow expatriate.

The performance here has more weight, and is less blaring, than others I have heard. And even with less blare, the twelve-minute first movement is unrelenting. There is surprising (and always welcome) textural variety. The mechanistic rhythm keeps chugging in such a way that one loses one's breath, just listening; this piece has what deserves to be the most popular ritardando in the literature ... and that is just at the end of the exposition. The development does not present any such temperamental contrast as we noted in the later fifth symphony; yet, the recapitulation is a clear event. If we are prepared to take the sound-world on its own terms, we may just perceive how closely Prokofiev takes a certain Beethoven piano sonata as his two-movement model here.

The bass clarinet and English horn which begin the theme-&-variations movement II are magical; this passage is every bit as mysterious and delicate, as movement I had been "iron and steel," and the contrast is miraculous. I suppose we must weigh movement I on its own merits (and the fine presentation Ozawa gives here must be the result of great affection for, and understanding of, the score) ... but the effect made by the opening of movement II, more than makes up for any shortcomings in the "Allegro ben articolato."

Indeed, the bulk of the second movement seems to be from some other planet than the first; diaphanous textures predominate, and the succession of variations creates a most welcome variety of tempo and dynamics. But this scheme allows for "iron and steel" intrusions. The heart of the variations, its "calm center," is the Larghetto, variation IV.

In many respects, this was Prokofiev at his most experimental (within his symphonies as a group); his use of the orchestra, and the music he makes with it, is in this piece not merely experimental; it is unfolding, exquisite discovery.

The fifth symphony is in a sense, a step backward from Beethoven. In the classical sonata-design, the themes are neatly exposed one after the other, and the development is where there is dramatic thematic interplay, dramatic harmonic exploration. Order is then restored in the recapitulation. In the Eroica, Beethoven famously refused to wait until the development for the drama, and the thematic/motivic churning and struggling begins in the olympian exposition.

Prokofiev's Opus 100 "steps backward" from Beethoven, in that the exposition is relatively calm and orderly affair, a melodic unfolding of relative calm and optimism. Gentle, and exquisitely lyrical winds, answered by pastoral strings. Occasional stirrings, often accented with the percussive piano, intrude.

Where other performances I have heard 'go wrong' with the first movement of the Prokofiev is, they let the calm and order leash in the development. But Ozawa here turns the development loose, as well as the dramatic resistance-against-literal-recap, and the result is breathtaking.

About two minutes from the end of the first movement we have those low brass octaves, answered by percussion plus a rattle in the piano, the whole thing related to a bit from the first theme group. Then this block is repeated, with the answer in high strings, again plus rattling in the piano. The end of the first movement is stunning here, the kind of massive chordal chill that opens Tybalt's funeral cortege in Romeo & Juliet. Only bigger, more menace. Ozawa understands this piece to a degree that puts most everybody else to shame.

The strings have a degree of mastery and control in the second movement that I have never heard before. The clarinet and oboe aren't shabby, neither. With each symphony I turn to on this set, I am impressed with how perfect the piano is.

The tempo for the outer sections of the trio of movement two is more pulled-back than I have heard anywhere else, and it works beautifully. The center of the trio also benefits from the surety in the strings; timpani is good and present, without being overbearing. Then the sluggish repeat of the scherzo ... the sound of the interlocking trumpets seems "off-stage" so that the gently pulsating accompaniment is more to the fore ... the whole effect is like an achingly deliberate folk-dance. The movement ends with a kind of barely-controlled shriek.

I haven't done any comparative listening for "Roméo et Juliette" ... I was introduced to the complete ballet by a DG Ozawa/BSO recording ten years ago, and I have never felt the need to go elsewhere.

The Adagio sounds every bit as deliciously sumptuous as Ozawa's "Roméo et Juliette" leads us to expect.

A good friend of ours, a long-time subscriber to the BSO's open rehearsals, often expresses astonishment and admiration for Ozawa's memory skills. While memory itself is something, in its way, but not an intrinsic musical asset ....

This is a symphony I first heard some seventeen years ago, and have enjoyed living with all these years, without seriously cracking the score open. I hear a wealth of detail and subtlety that is new to me, on this recording, that has almost always been buried in the texture before. From the mastery that Ozawa has achieved of the score, as evident on this recording, I should be astonished if he COULD NOT conduct it from memory.

There is no auto-pilot to the concluding Allegro giocoso here. The decrescendo might have been invented for this piece. The "galop" of the wood-block (when all the orchestra is a blur, over which the trumpets ring their dotted figure, towards the end) is just restrained enough that it does not "bang" the texture out. The full orchestra giving way to the soli-string "sewing-machine" ostinato, and then the final crescendo, are exquisitely clear, and splendidly effective.

This set is magnificent on every level, from performance, to Ozawa's conducting, to DG's beautiful package. The cover photo of steel girders captures the hackneyed notion of "the Soviet composer," and is really only appropriate for the steely constructivism of the Second Symphony, but excellent design nonetheless. There are no plastic jewelcases -- each disc comes in its own sleeve, like a vinyl LP, resting in a box along with the informative booklet. This is a package that this splendid music deserves.