Customer Reviews

Rachmaninov: Symphony No. 1 / Rimsky-Korsakov: Russian Easter Festival Overture / Prokofiev: Ode, Op. 105

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Rozhdestvensky was one of the rare Soviet conductors in the Brezhnev era to establish himself in the West, all the more remarkable when he took over the BBC Symphony in 1979 (their previous music director, Rudolf Kempe, died suddenly three years before). London became home base for Rozhdestvensky, who is heard here in his first season with the BBC SO, in three concerts from August 1979 (the Russian Easter Festival Over. and Rachmaninov Sym. 1) and October of the same year (the fantastically bombastic Prokofiev Ode to the End of the War). In Russia the music of Rimsky-Korsakov is taken more seriously than in the West, and even a pops piece like Russian Easter is played here with a certain solemnity and straightness that doesn't help it -- I much prefer Stokowski's soupy, swaggering ways.

But the main event is the Rachmaninov symphony, a work all but unheard outside its homeland thirty years ago. Thanks to a catastrophically bad premiere that led to the composer's mental collapse, the First Sym. has always had a reputation for being unformed, discursive, and rambling. I thought so for years until I really listened and discovered how gripping the themes are and how, amid the looseness and rhetoric, Rachmaninov weaves his material to give the symphony unity; then there are its ravishing melodies and a rousing march at the end worthy of Tchaikovsky at his most luscious. Soviet conductors were better than almost anyone nowadays in delivering the full perfume-drenched drama of this work (among modern recordings Pletnev and Jansons are convincing, and live readings by Gergiev raise hopes for a genuinely great recording in the future).

Rozhdesvensky belongs among the select conductors of the Rachmaninov First; he leads a thoroughly gripping, even thrilling account that maximizes the work's momentum, drawing our attention away from too much sweetness and lingering. Despite the temptation to go Hollywood, always present in Rachmaninov's world, Rozhdestvensky also finds dignity in the score. But what draws you in is the sheer sweep of his conception and his ability to dramatize events to the fullest. I wish the BBC's sound were better, though. It's a bit thin in the violins, and the microphone placement is too distant. These defects, however, don't mar an outstanding reading that sets the standard for incisiveness and impact.

As for the Prokofiev, it's a party piece at best, scored freakishly for winds, double basses, four pianos, eight harps (!), and percussion. Its thirteen minutes of bombast are not relieved by much inspiration on the composer's part; this is music that gets you stoned without getting you high, the main feature being a headache inducing march that sounds more grim than triumphant. Another reason to rejoice that the Soviet system has faded away.