(+++) FLAWED BUT FASCINATING

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. Brilliant Classics. $42.99 (7 CDs).

     This is a very peculiar release indeed – or rather a very peculiar re-release. The seven-CD Brilliant Classics Tchaikovsky cycle led by Mikhail Pletnev originally appeared as a boxed set of Pentatone SACDs in 2015; individual symphonies had previously been released between 2011 and 2014. The complete set consists of readings from 2010 and 2011, except that the Manfred Symphony was recorded in 2013. And this grouping is about as quirkily personal a set of interpretations of Tchaikovsky’s symphonic oeuvre as any listener is likely to hear.

     Pletnev conducts an outstanding ensemble: the Russian National Orchestra, which Pletnev founded in 1990, vaulted rapidly to the top ranks of ensembles in Russia, placing 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 grouping, which is decidedly uneven. Although the orchestral playing is uniformly excellent, many of Pletnev’s interpretations are just too unfocused to be fully convincing.

     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 Symphony No. 1 – but wait! There is no slow introduction to this movement. Pletnev simply invents one, turning the start of this Allegro tranquillo opening into something sleepy and dreamlike, likely because Tchaikovsky called the movement “Dreams [or Daydreams] of a Winter Journey.” Then Pletnev leads 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 here and there, producing a disjointed, mixed-up 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. Also included on this disc is the original (1872) version of the first movement – an intriguing addition that points to one of the release’s real strengths: its ancillary, supplementary material, which tends to come off better than do some of the symphonies that are the primary focus here.

     The first two symphonies’ lacks do not extend to the very fine Third. Here 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 drags down the rest of the symphony. 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 this Pletnev 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 – more so here than elsewhere. 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 about and enfolds a rollicking Trio in which the woodwind playing is outstanding. Then the finale bursts like thunder onto the scene, with Pletnev’s pacing and – yet again – the excellent playing of the orchestra combining to produce a thrilling and highly dramatic conclusion. If Symphonies Nos. 1 and 2 are mannered and fussy in Pletnev’s readings, Nos. 3 and 4 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 still-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: Symphony No. 6. 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 2010 version 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 clearly broadened his view of the symphony in the decades after the 1991 recording: the first and last movements in this later version 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 both the symphony’s 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, in which the organ (played by Norbert Gembaczka) fits very well. The performance is involving and flows elegantly, and the sound is first-rate.

     The bonus elements that help lift this set above mediocrity are all handled very well, with little evidence of the sort of overthinking that mars some of the symphonic readings. Marche Slave (on disc #1) is a jaunty quickstep, with light and bright winds, and has a concluding section that is quite speedy – far too fast to march to – but very well played. The brass is outstanding in a performance that makes this definitely a piece for the concert hall, not the parade ground. The less-known Concert March (on disc #3) is all bombast at the start, very proclamatory – with the strings sounding lovely in the contrasting central section, which also features much lighter wind highlights. Then the return of the brass, in chorale form, heralds a powerful recapitulation that includes some of the same material as heard in Marche Slave.

     Romeo and Juliet (on disc #4) opens with quiet delicacy, followed by a main section that is very fast, almost hectic – but the strings, as always, manage to keep up. There is a substantial slowdown into the famous “love theme,” which is handled with considerable delicacy. The intermingling of themes thereafter is managed very skillfully, although Pletnev favors speed and drama over emotional evocation. The work’s last three minutes, however, are very affecting, especially the extended harp passages. Francesca da Rimini (on disc #5) features a very dramatic opening, the sound of eternal winds impressively conveyed by the excellent strings. The brass interjections are very forceful, to the point of overwhelming some of the main thematic material in the strings – making this a somewhat divisive interpretation of what is arguably Tchaikovsky’s greatest tone poem. The central section, in which Francesca tells her tale, brings woodwinds to the fore and is expansively handled, sounding plaintive for a time, then sweet. It mounts to a moving climax, after which the sound of the eternal winds starts to sneak back in, the music quickly becoming dramatic again as those winds become intense and the brass highlights and interjections resume, leading to a very strong close. Finally, Capriccio Italien (on disc #6) is strongly rhythmic and well-balanced, with the first-rate brass brought to the fore. After the first five minutes, as the pace picks up, there is a nice lilt to the sunny thematic material, and the percussion is particularly well-handled. This is, all in all, a bright and jaunty performance with emphatic rhythms and fine highlighting of orchestral sections.

     It is difficult to sum up the effect of this important but decidedly odd Tchaikovsky cycle. Some of it is outstanding, some astonishingly ill-considered: it is hard to grasp the reality that performances of such extremes all come from the same conductor. The cycle 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.