Symphony No. 27/ Cello Concert

Connoisseurs of Russian, or more properly, of Soviet music will recognize the name of Nicolai Miaskovsky and will likely know his somber, beautiful Concerto for Cello and Orchestra, roughly coeval with although slightly earlier than Prokofiev's Sinfonia Concertante. Miaskovsky's Cello Concerto has enjoyed a number of recordings since Rostropovich recorded it for EMI in the early 1960s and has rarely been out of the catalogue. Miaskovsky's symphonies (he wrote twenty-seven of them) are a different matter, despite the fact that they represent his main achievement. Only one, the Twenty-First, a one-movement affair requiring about fifteen minutes in performance, has ever gained anything like currency in the West. Frederick Stock gave the premiere in Chicago in 1940; Ormandy recorded it, and it appeared on a Unicorn LP in the late 1970s in a performance under David Measham. A few Melodiya recordings made their way to North American in the 1960s and 70s, most prominently a rendition under Svetlanov of the Twenty-Second, a "war symphony" full of alternating melancholy and strife, with prominent and impressive parts for the horns. More recently, Marco Polo has offered a handful of the symphonies, as has Russian Disc; the lamentably defunct Classical Revelation label also included several Miaskovsky symphonies in its rich, if evanescent catalogue. Despite this, Miaskovsky has been something of a rare bird among important names in Soviet symphonism. All the more then is Valeri Polyansky's new disc from Chandos a welcome one, for it gives us not only superb rendering of the Cello Concerto but something close to a recorded premiere of Miaskovsky's last symphony, the Twenty-Seventh, from 1950, the year of his death. Polyansky has been active under a Chandos contract for some years now, offering representations of Rachmaninov, Glazunov, and Shostakovich: the foray into Miaskovsky is a natural furtherance of his survey of Muscovite and Petersburger music of the pre-revolutionary through the totalitarian periods. Miaskovsky was a remarkably consistent composer, finding his style while still a conservatory student. The idiom lies somewhere between the Rachmaninov and Scriabin: basically tonal and late-Romantic, with an interest, now greater and now lesser, in chromatic extensions of the harmony in the manner of "The Divine Poem." A Russian accent is always noticeable. Miaskovsky has a preference, like Rachmaninov, for minor modes and dark colors: these appear in his First Symphony, written under the supervision of Gliere in 1905, and they are still present forty-five years later in the Twenty-Seventh, although the outlines are now leaner, the sense of form more acute. There was once a Melodiya LP of the Twenty-Seventh, with Alexander Gauk leading the USSR Symphony Orchestra, from a master tape recorded in 1950. I have remembered the Twenty-Seventh (in C Minor) from that scratchy and dim LP although it disappeared when I discarded my "record library" twelve or fifteen years ago. Polyansky's new performance confirms what my memory told me: A brooding, lyrical motto, first heard in the low woodwinds, becomes the melodic touchstone of the whole symphony, which Miaskovsky casts in three movements; these are an Adagio - Allegro Animato, an Adagio, and a Presto non Troppo. Shostakovich reacted to Stalinism with irony; Miaskovsky reacts with nostalgia. Even the two outer, faster panels are full of folksong-like "song periods" similar to those in Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov. The return of the motto theme on flute at about 5.20 into the First Movement is a case in point. If the listener is neither wood nor stone then his heart shall melt. The Concerto for Cello and Orchestra, written during the war has preserved Miaskovsky's name in the recorded music catalogues since the mid-1950s, when the first of Rostropovich's traversals appeared. Just now there are two or three competing versions available. Alexander Ivashkin, who has also recorded the Schnittke concertos with Polyansky, has a warm and appealing tone that suits this slow and quiet music perfectly. This is a lovely recording - even the packaging is nice, with its autumn colors. Chandos scores another one. recommended.

What's amazing about Myaskovsky's 27th Symphony (1949-1950) is its ability in maintaining its hugh sense of dignity and nobility, despite the disgraceful Zhadanov affair of 1948. Myaskovsky's unbreakable spirit, personality, & conviction were not compromised (he even refused to submit a letter of apology & acknowledgement for his "error" after the Affair). And even when this Symphony was posthumously awarded the Stalin prize after its premiere in December 9th, 1950, Myaskovsky's personal essay remains personal, deeply rooted in the musical tradition of Tchaikovsky, Glazunov, et al. that he was proud to embrace unregrettably. And like the Cello Concerto of 1944, the melancholy, the nostalgia, and the sensitivity of the Symphony are compelling and wrought, soul searching in its aims, and in the end, deep and ultimately moving and memorable.

The introspective slow movements of these works are clear cases in point. The Adagio movement of the Symphony is among the most inspired of his compositions. The mood belies some of Tchaikovsky's sentimentality and warmth at the other sections of the movement (somewhat in an ABA format). And nothing can better the poetic rhetoric towards the end, with the strings voicing more of its own passion aided by the romanticized brass and woodwinds. In some contrasts, the Lento ma non troppo movement of the Cello Concerto has more of a cantibile, songlike quality throughout, with the sentimentality and nostalgia even more apparent, though not by much. But, as usual with this extraordinarily fine composer, the depth of the slow movements of these two works are profound and beguiling.

And an ensemble must convey these qualities & others should one find a listening experience of a piece of especially this calibre ultimately moving. And while I admire the warmth and sensitivity of Russian State Symphony's performance under Polyansky, I found myself virtually unmoved. What I love so much in Svetlanov's reading of the Symphony (and even in the Concerto in a Melodiya LP) was his masterly manipulation of tempo. This late, great conductor had the ability to give the phrasings that special quality a listener would gladly take everywhere and indulge; the phrasings that speak! In the slow movement, for example, Polyansky's approach is very sensitive indeed, and his orchestra played with real sympathy and feeling. But Svetlanov's approach is much more alive and passionate, especially in the final four minutes. His sense of structure is in every way ideal, decisive and with flair. In the first movement, marked Adagio-Allegro molto animato, Svetlanov brings to mind Tchaikovsky, and to some extent Rachmaninov, whom's world Myaskovsky knew and love deep in his own subconscious. But Polyansky's treatment sounds a bit too much like an allegro moderato for my liking, evoking the grandiousness of Glazunov, which would have been fine if Myaskovsky's mannerism evokes this great composer (which was never really the case). Furthermore, Polyansky's orchestra lacks the finesse that made Svetlanov's Russian Federation Symphony Orchestra the best even in today's Russia. The strings of the Russian State lack bloom and richness in tone of its above-mentioned rival while the brass is rather muddled and lacks presence throughout much of the work (the brass suddenly have more of a presence in the final moments of the piece). Furthermore, I really don't sense the orchestra totally at home with the Symphony as was Svetlanov's, for the reading is more dutiful than it is inspired.

Ironically, though, the orchestra fares better in the Concerto. Here, the sensitivity is more apparent and Polyansky's approach have more flair and decisiveness. And I greatly admire Alexander Ivashkin's songlike playing on the cello solo. Ivashkin was not heavy-handed nor undercooked, but poise yet not detach from the score. He has a compelling lightness of touch where appropriate and, in the cadenza, real imagination & artistry. And while I would hesitate to heighten his playing above those of Rostropovich's or Webber's, his delivery surely measures up to them admirably.

Since Olympia Compact Disc Ltd. will re-issue the original Russian Disc/Melodiya recording of Symphony (presumably), I would wait for that while venture on to acquire the Philips CD of the Concerto played by Webber or the EMI recording featuring Rostropovich. The Chandos CD is worth thinking about for the Concerto (and those unfamiliar with the composer, the Symphony...perhaps). But this disc has its limitations not entirely its fault. Call my review rather harsh, but I've put away this disc feeling a bit cheated, only to find redemption in Svetlanov, who like Kondrashin and especially Rozhdestvensky, knew how to make music something much of memoriabilty and humaneness. They were not always consistent, but almost always worthwhile.