Recommended recording:
Scottish National Orchestra / Neeme Järvi (Chandos CHAN
8728)
One could describe The Prodigal Son as a kind of scaled-down
cross between Romeo and Juliet and Le Pas d'Acier.
And if that makes the music clear as mud to your eyes, let me
assure you that once you hear the work you'll understand what
I mean. The scoring is lean, mostly two-part, and themes seem
so often to augur the lush romanticism of Romeo, while
clutching for dear life at the reins of that cosmopolitan side
of Prokofiev, the chief ingredients of which were dry wit, unsentimental
melody, and a healthy dose of dissonance. The result is a highly
arresting score whose hallmark is subtlety, yet which leaves one
wishing Prokofiev had turned back to his Russian proclivities
sooner. (If only he could have done so without actually returning
to his oppressive homeland.) This 1929 work, of course, spawned
more off-shoots than any other in this inveterate recycler's output:
the Suite, Op. 46bis, both versions of Symphony No. 4 (Op. 47;
Op. 47/112), and Six Pieces for Piano, Op. 52, Nos. 1, 2, 3. That
gives you an idea of the thematic wealth of this mere 35-minute
score. But only an idea: the four-movement suite shares no themes
in common with the symphonies! Yet, unlike the original version
of the symphony, the ballet manages to skirt the impression of
being incompletely gestated.
The Divertimento (1929) is a charming work which began life as
part of Prokofiev's obscure circus ballet, Trapeze, a work
written for a quintet of oboe, clarinet, violin, viola and double
bass. The first and third movements formed the opening numbers
of that work, the second movement was newly composed, and the
finale was derived from music originally intended for The Prodigal
Son! The Op. 39 Quintet was virtually lifted from the remainder
of Trapeze. It is hard to imagine a musical relationship
between the intractable Quintet and the delightful Divertimento,
but hearing is believing. Perhaps if the quintet had been rescored
for larger, more conventional forces, much of its harmonic pungency
would have sweetened, making the whole work less astringent, more
approachable, like its enchanting orchestral half-brother.
The Andante from Piano Sonata No. 4 is a fairly literal
transcription for orchestra from 1934 of the dark, eight-minute
second movement of Op. 29 written seventeen years earlier. The
orchestration is effective, but does not offer any new dimension
to the music, which ultimately is better served by its native
dress.
The Symphonic Song (1933) is a gripping masterpiece, one
of the most important rediscoveries in the past decade. Its tough
idiom is no less difficult to grasp than that of the "iron
and steel" Symphony No. 2. This thirteen-minute work depicts
some kind of titanic conflict which resolves happily, a conflict
that along the way seems to threaten to bury everything in its
path with crashing dissonances, angry outbursts, and a sense that
each explosion will merely lead to a greater explosion. Its title,
you might judge, is hardly appropriate to the dark music and powerful
orchestration. Yet, when the struggle ends and victory and peace
arrive (if that's what actually happens), the music turns quite
accessible and lovely, and leads to a beautiful, magical ending.
Once the piece grips hold of you (it might take a few listenings),
its emotional effect is draining but euphoric: you almost feel
the struggle yourself, feel the triumph, feel the serenity that
follows.
It is easy to recommend this recording: to the best of my knowledge,
there is currently no competition on CD in any of these works,
though it is possible the Rozhdestvensky/Melodiya performance
of The Prodigal Son has recently been reissued. It was
an excellent reading that appeared on a Vox Cum Laude LP in 1982.
But then so is Järvi's, catching all the power, all the delicacy,
all the shades in between in their right portion. And he is keenly
alert to the work's colorful fabrics, perfectly capturing the
subtle sensuality in The Siren (track 9), the freneticism
in Drunkenness (track 12), and the tenderness in The
Return (track 16). His powerful rendering of the Symphonic
Song is absolutely riveting in its tension and eventual yielding
to peace. In lesser hands the greatness of this complex work might
fail to register. His sensitive shaping of the Andante makes
the best possible case for the orchestral version of the piece,
and his skillful handling of the lyricism and wit in the Divertimento
will cause you to wonder why this attractive work (recorded
only once before, by Joseph Egger on a Grenadilla LP with the
Vienna Radio Orchestra) isn't more popular. I could well imagine
that were all these works more heavily recorded, Järvi's
readings would still be top drawer in each. The Chandos sound
reproduction is better here than in earlier efforts like the symphonies:
the velvety Scottish strings have more presence, the reverberance
is perfect, and the brass, as always, have burnished power and
brilliance.
I can only say this disc of mostly obscure works is one of the
most important in Järvi's massive Chandos Prokofiev series,
and frankly one of the most important discs of anything recently
issued. Urgently recommended.
Written by Robert Cummings
Table of Contents for Sergei Prokofiev Website
Copyright © 1996 Robert Cumming (rcumming@csrlink.net)
