Brahms: Symphonies Nos. 1-4.
Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks conducted by Mariss Jansons. BR
Klassik. $39.99 (3 CDs).
Tchaikovsky: Symphonies Nos. 1-6;
Manfred Symphony; Original version of Symphony No. 2’s first movement;
Capriccio Italien; Coronation March; Francesca da Rimini; Romeo and Juliet
Fantasy-Overture; Marche Slave. Russian National Orchestra conducted by
Mikhail Pletnev. PentaTone. $69.99 (7 SACDs).
It is easy, but facile, to
assume that the standard repertoire invites standardization of performances –
that, all in all, good readings by fine conductors leading first-rate
orchestras tend to sound more or less the same nowadays, especially with the
generalized homogenization of orchestral sound in recent decades and with the
same conductor frequently serving as music director of multiple orchestras at
the same time. There is in fact some truth to this rather cynical viewpoint:
the days in which George Szell gave the Cleveland Orchestra an unmistakable
sound and Herbert von Karajan brought a unique perspective and sonic blend to
the Berlin Philharmonic are certainly over. But like most generalizations, this
one takes things a bit too far. There remain orchestras that are simply better
than the vast majority around the world, and there are still conductors whose
view of well-known music is unusual enough and is delivered with enough
intensity so that it stands out despite there being numerous more-than-adequate
performances available from a wide variety of sources. The BR Klassik release
of live recordings of the Brahms symphonies featuring the Symphonieorchester
des Bayerischen Rundfunks under Mariss Jansons.is a case in point. This is one
of the world’s great orchestras, and it plays Brahms with so much warmth,
solidity, and excellence of sectional balance that a listener can simply sit
back, whether in concert or at home, and revel in the gorgeous ebb and flow of
sound. But there is more: Jansons has his own distinct interpretative way with these
symphonies, one that will not necessarily be to all tastes but that certainly
shines new light on the works’ structure and evocative emotionalism. These
recordings were made over a period of several years: Symphony No. 1 dates to
2007, No. 2 to 2006, No. 3 to 2010, and No. 4 to 2012. But Jansons’ firm grasp
of the music and his determination to guide it down the paths where he wishes
it to go are equally clear throughout. This is most apparent in Symphony No. 1,
which is handled very broadly indeed, not to the point of over-expansion but
right on the verge of it. The first movement swells and then swells again,
growing in expansiveness to a degree that could easily overshadow the rest of
the symphony if Jansons did not reserve analogously broad and elegant treatment
for the finale. No. 2 then gets equal weightiness, so that instead of coming
across as a contrasting and altogether lighter work than No. 1, it emerges as
an elegantly paired symphony springing in large part from the same
compositional impulses that produced its predecessor. These are unusual and
highly involving approaches, although that of No. 2 is marred by the omission
of the exposition repeat in the first movement – which makes it possible to
present Nos. 2 and 3 on a single disc but which mars the overall scale of both
the symphony and Jansons’ reading.
The paired sound of
Symphonies Nos. 1 and 2 is complemented by a similar sense of duality in Nos. 3
and 4. Brahms tended to think in pairs, although not necessarily consciously –
his two very different orchestral serenades, which were in some ways precursors
of the symphonies, provide another example. In Jansons’ Brahms cycle, No. 3
retains its inevitable unity of sound and structure – it is the most tightly
knit of the four symphonies – but Jansons somewhat dials back the emotion here,
preventing the work from having an overdone swooning effect, as it sometimes
does in other readings. He nevertheless makes clear its rhythmic drive and the
way in which the movements seem so closely related to one another that the
symphony comes across as practically a single extended movement. Interestingly,
Jansons then applies a somewhat similar approach to No. 4, even to the point of
pulling forth more intensity (even, arguably, a bit too much) from the second
movement than it normally offers. Jansons gives Brahms’ final symphony a
greater sense of unity than it usually has, to the point that the concluding
passacaglia crowns the work without seeming out of place or overdone merely because
of its unusual-for-its-time-period style. Not all elements of these
performances will immediately enthrall listeners, but those that do not
captivate emotionally at the outset will likely do so on a second hearing – and
all four performances show, from start to finish, a thoughtful and thoroughly
engaged conductor leading a top-of-the-line orchestra in music that, for all
its familiarity, still retains its freshness when handled as well as it is
here.
The personal element is even
more pronounced in the boxed-set version of Mikhail Pletnev’s Tchaikovsky
symphonies, which were originally released on individual SACDs from 2011
through 2014. Like Jansons, Pletnev has an outstanding orchestra: the Russian
National Orchestra, which Pletnev founded in 1990, vaulted rapidly to the top
ranks of ensembles in Russia, which puts it very high in the European and
worldwide orchestral pantheon. Indeed, the orchestra’s first recording, of
Tchaikovsky’s Sixth, was one of the work’s best recorded performances ever, so
beautifully articulated, perfectly played and nuanced in interpretation that a
full Tchaikovsky cycle at the same level would have been one for the ages.
Unfortunately, that is not this one: this cycle is far too uneven and quirky to
deserve wholehearted endorsement. It gets a (+++) rating despite, or rather in
large part because of, the excellent orchestral playing, but many of Pletnev’s interpretations
are just too unfocused to be fully convincing. Indeed, Pletnev’s ideas can be
simply bizarre. For example, he changes tempo repeatedly and confusingly in the
four-minute slow introduction to the first movement of the Symphony No. 1 – but
wait! There is no slow introduction to the movement. Pletnev invents one, turning the start of
this Allegro tranquillo opening
movement into something sleepy and dreamlike (perhaps because Tchaikovsky
called the movement “Dreams [or Daydreams] on a Winter Journey”). Then Pletnev plays the next section of the
movement at such a breakneck pace that a lesser orchestra would have had real
difficulty avoiding sloppiness. Later in
the movement, we get further speedups and slowdowns placed hither and thither,
resulting in a disjointed, mixed-up and altogether peculiar performance. In the lovely second movement, Pletnev again
starts slowly, speeds up (but thankfully not so much), and manages to bring out
the cantabile in the Adagio cantabile ma non tanto tempo
designation only because of the great warmth and beauty of the orchestra’s
strings. At the end of the movement,
though, Pletnev slows down the proceedings so much that listeners may find
themselves nodding off: it is the orchestra that makes this recording worth
hearing, not the conductor’s view of the music. The much-better third and
fourth movements do not make up for the odd first two. Symphony No. 2, heard as
usual in its 1879-80 version, is also very well played, and there is a wealth
of fine detail in the first three movements.
But the fourth movement is peculiar: it is taken unusually quickly, albeit
convincingly, at first – until the gong that heralds the final section, which
here leads to complete stoppage of the forward impetus, then a very slow accelerando, and then eventually a
conclusion so fast that even this first-class orchestra barely keeps up. The
recording also offers the original (1872) version of the first movement, a
rather paltry supplement (the entire CD runs only 48 minutes) but an intriguing
one that shows how Tchaikovsky rethought the opening of his most
folk-music-influenced symphony.
The first two symphonies’
lacks do not extend to the Third, which is a winner. The tempos are well
chosen, the balletic elements so important to this symphony are well
communicated and thoroughly understood, the lighter moments are nicely
contrasted with the more-serious ones, and the overall effect is of a
substantial work with considerable drive, brightness and elegance. The only disappointment is the third of the
fifth movements, the central Andante,
which Pletnev takes too slowly and deliberately, so that it somewhat overweighs
the symphony as a whole in its direction. The interpretation is justifiable,
but in light of the mostly jaunty tempos elsewhere, the movement seems a bit
overthought and overdone. In all, though, this is a well-done interpretation
and as well-played as are all the works in Pletnev’s cycle. The Fourth fares
very well, too. From the opening proclamation of the “fate” motif on burnished
brass, through a first movement handled with tone-poem flair so its length does
not seem ungainly and its episodic nature makes perfect sense, Pletnev shows
his clear understanding of and empathy for Tchaikovsky’s music – at least here. A second movement that nicely balances the
first, rocking gently and not wallowing in the emotionalism of the lengthy opening,
is followed by a quicksilver pizzicato Scherzo
that flits and dances here and there and enfolds a rollicking trio in which the
woodwind playing is outstanding. Then
the finale bursts like thunder on the scene, with Pletnev’s pacing and the
excellent playing of the orchestra combining to produce a thrilling and highly
dramatic conclusion. If the First and
Second are mannered and fussy in Pletnev’s readings, the Third and Fourth are
well-thought-out and well-managed.
The problem is that when
Pletnev fails, he does so on a large scale – and his Tchaikovsky Fifth is, not
to mince words, a failure. It is an odd failure, a throwback to the days
when the conductor mattered more than the composer, when Tchaikovsky’s deep
emotionalism (over-emotionalism to some) invited swooning on the podium and a
level of rubato that, far from
bringing out the inner workings and feelings of the music, inevitably imposed
the conductor’s feelings on it, and
on the audience. This is simply
unforgivable today, even when the conductor is Pletnev. His Tchaikovsky Fifth is well-nigh
incoherent, the tempos varying so much in the first and final movements that
listeners will be whipsawed rather than pulled along through this most carefully
structured of Tchaikovsky’s symphonic works.
The finale is little short of a disaster, slowing down so much that the
rhythm flags, then speeding up to such a point that the beauties and the
musical lines themselves are simply lost.
And the coda, which always hangs uneasily onto this otherwise profound
symphony, is a mess, so perfunctory that it seems as if Pletnev had simply had
enough of the symphony and wanted to get it over with. The orchestra’s superb playing is not nearly
enough to compensate for all the conductor’s quirks, which result in an
inelegant and ill-considered interpretation.
But just when it is tempting to give up on Pletnev’s Tchaikovsky
sequence, something comes along to redeem it, such as the Sixth. Although the
reading included here lacks the elegance and some of the interpretative nuances
of Pletnev’s 1991 recording of the work for Virgin Classics, this version (which
dates to 2010) is amazingly well-played, exceptionally well-recorded (much
better than the older one), and filled with highly sensitive touches. The opening
bassoon, for example, sounds particularly gloomy here, while the gorgeous main
theme of the first movement has a yearning wistfulness that is deeply felt
without being mawkish or overdone.
Pletnev has broadened his view of the symphony in the decades since the
1991 recording: the first and last movements on PentaTone are both longer than
on Virgin Classics, where they were already expansive. But nothing in them feels stretched; nor do
the middle movements sound rushed. The
second movement flows with considerable beauty and elegance, while the
scurrying, speedy opening of the third effectively introduces a movement whose
increasingly frenetic tone makes the depressive start of the finale all the
more pathétique. The last
movement starts almost languidly, moving more deeply into despair as it
progresses and eventually fading into nothingness with a very moving sigh of
resignation. This performance reaffirms
the symphony’s firm place in the classical-music canon and Pletnev’s expertise
with the work.
As for the Manfred Symphony, written between Nos. 4 and 5, Pletnev’s
performance is one of the best in this set, allowing the often-gorgeous themes
to flow freely while not engaging in the sort of overdone rubato that mars Nos. 1, 2 and 5. The beautiful second theme of the
first movement and the whole of the third come across particularly appealingly
here, and Pletnev does not hesitate to pull out all the stops in the somewhat
over-the-top finale, which even calls for an organ (speaking of “all the stops”!).
The performance is involving and flows very well, and the SACD sound is
first-rate. The bonus elements in this seven-disc package are the same ones
included when the SACDs were individually released, and they are scarcely
generous. The performances are at least serviceable, at best exhilarating, and
it is pleasant to have some shorter and mostly lighter Tchaikovsky to
complement the symphonies’ length and seriousness. It is for the symphonies,
though, that listeners will want this set – if they do want it. It is such an
odd mixture of excellence and ineptitude that Tchaikovsky aficionados will
definitely want to think twice, or maybe three or four times, before committing
to a purchase.
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