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| Leonard Slatkin Conducting Rachmaninov |
When I first started collecting
classical music in the early 90’s, I caught the Rachmaninov bug: a piece called
The Isle of the Dead enraptured my heavy-metal heart and never let
go. It was darker, more intense, and
more exciting than any piece of music I had ever heard—and there was so much of
it: 20 minutes of brooding, spine-tingling music! Not even Iron Maiden could match that! :) I quickly began investigating everything
Rachmaninov wrote, though in the early days of CD, there really wasn’t much
available other than two of his three symphonies, the piano concertos, and a
handful of piano music. Until one day I
stumbled on a chunky three-disc set of Rachmaninov’s Orchestral Works performed
by Leonard Slatkin (a new name to me back then) and the St. Louis
Symphony. Vox Box recordings exciting in
those early days, since each one had anywhere from two to four discs, but were
economically priced and contained a thick, detailed booklet inside with a
wealth of information about the composer and the works included. This set introduced me to works I had never
heard of, many of which still remain rarities.
Besides the relatively familiar Symphonic Dances, Isle of the Dead, and
Vocalise, Slatkin included works which really stretched my understanding of
Rachmaninov’s orchestral language: the epic, powerful choral symphony, The
Bells, which should really have been called his Symphony No.3, the creepy,
Mussorgskyian choral piece Spring, the uber-Romantic, Rimsky-Korsakovian tone
poem, Prince Rostislav, and an Tchaikovskyian overture, the Caprice Boheme (Capriccio
on Gypsy Themes), among others. Where
had these works been, and why did no one else seem to bother with them? For despite the derivative nature of some of
the earlier works, I heard masterpiece after masterpiece, any one of which
could have been a concert-hall staple.
What captivated me was how much
energy and Russian spirit Slatkin seemed to infuse in these works, particularly
as they were so unknown. He seemed to
really care about them, like a teacher who really wanted his students to
appreciate a work that otherwise seemed doomed to oblivion. The sound, too, hardly seemed dated, though
the recordings were from the late 70’s.
Some Vox Box collections, admittedly, feature third-rate orchestras
recorded underwater (or on a submarine?) with inferior equipment. This one, by comparison, glowed with
orchestral fire and seemed a cut above every other Vox recording I owned,
comparing favorably even to the higher-priced Ashkenazy recordings of The Isle
of the Dead and the Symphonic Dances. It
quickly became a treasured recording that I made copies of (tapes, back then)
for my friends until the CDs became too scratched and worn out to play any
longer. I put them aside and sought out
other versions which soon replaced my time-worn Slatkin recordings. Indeed, I even fooled myself into believing
that the Slatkin versions weren’t all that good, and were only ‘intro’
recordings leading to Ashkenazy, Jarvi, Pletenev, and so forth.
A chance to reassess Slatkin’s
overview came at just the right time: Amazon has issued all the St.
Louis recordings: the orchestral works, the symphonies, and the piano concertos
for—gasp!—99 cents. They’ve done
this before with the Vox Box Mozart Symphonies (which were raw and a bit
average), and Abravanel’s complete Mahler cycle (which has its ups and
downs). But this...this was the bargain
of all bargains, high quality music played by a first-rate orchestra and a
talented conductor, and for an absurdly low price. So naturally I bought it and played through
the entire set over and over again, weighing it against the versions I had
accumulated since. I’m happy to say that
Slatkin’s cycle stands up with the best: though some individual pieces have
better interpretations, none of these will disappoint, and for the neophyte to
Rachmaninov’s symphonies and concertos, I would confidently call this
Rachmaninov 101. Below are a few
highlights and comments about the set without being exhaustive: after all,
there’s really no reason not to recommend it at this price, so whether
it’s good or not scarcely matters.
However, it is good, very good indeed, and in some cases the best
Rachmaninov you are likely to hear set down on disc.
HIGHLIGHTS
The Orchestral Rarities: Caprice
Boheme, Prince Rostislav, and the Youth
Symphony
One of my guilty pleasures in
the Rachmaninov canon is his Op.12, the so-called Capriccio on Gypsy Themes, also known as the Caprice Boheme. I say
“guilty” because Rachmaninov himself disowned the piece (saying it “terrified”
him), and Patrick Piggott, writing in the BBC Music Guide of Rachmaninov’s
Orchestral Music, claimed it “was written too hurriedly...the themes are
not particularly striking in themselves...and their treatment is rather
conventional” (14). Sure, maybe,
perhaps, but oh how I love that piece—the slow dramatic opening, and then the
glittering, balletic introduction which subsides to a gloomy funeral
procession. Over the years I collected other versions of the piece only to
convince myself that, yes, the piece was a little rough—not a worthy piece of
the Rachmaninov canon. But when Slatkin
played it, I heard shades of the First
Symphony, the Isle of the Dead, and even his greatest orchestral work, the Symphonic Dances. It’s a bit derivative, in the sense that
Rachmaninov is consciously trying to compose a piece in the same vein as
Tchaikovsky’s Capricio Italien. Yet without sounding entirely blasphemous, I
think he manages to be derivative while equaling the source of his
inspiration. It’s a fabulous piece,
beautifully orchestrated, with that trademark Rachmaninov melancholy as well as
his less well-known manic energy (that we see more in his last work, the Symphonic Dances). Echoes of this work also crop up in the
finale of the famous Second Symphony, as well as some of the piano
concertos. For all his dourness,
Rachmaninov could express gaiety and outright joy—he just rarely chose to.
Another great little piece,
all-but-forgotten, is his nationalist tone poem, Prince Rostislav. It takes a
page from Rimsky-Korsakov and Balakriev, sounding at times like a crib from the
former’s tone poem, Sadko. Yet again, what saves a derivative piece is the
melodies: the main melody is so hauntingly beautiful that you almost wished he
saved it for the First Piano Concerto (written soon thereafter). It spirit it resembles his slightly more
famous tone poem, The Rock, though it’s
just as captivating and reminds you that Rachmaninov started composing when
many of the ‘Might Five’ were still composing themselves. Then
we have his aborted first symphony, which only survives in one movement with
the appropriate title, Youth Symphony. It’s resembles what he would later do with
the opening of the First Symphony, as
it has the same tone and funeral darkness…yet it opens quietly, with a yearning
motive similar to that of Prince
Rostislav. It’s not developed or
varied enough to be the first movement of a symphony, perhaps, but it’s an
astonishing piece of writing, again brimming over with trademark melodies. A great find and well played as always by
Slatkin and the St. Louis SO.
The Choral Works: The Bells,
Spring, Three Russian Songs
The Bells is fairly well-known, as it has been recorded numerous
times since the 90’s, though it hasn’t completely made its way into the concert
hall, and is not considered part of his complete symphonic output (sadly). Based on the poem of the same name by Edgar
Allen Poe, it’s an astonishing work which is the most quintessential
Rachmaninov experience money can buy.
Rachmaninov wrote beautifully for chorus and soloists, and the melodies
are among his very best. The first
movement is thrilling, a fast-paced sleigh ride (the “Silver Sleigh Bells”) with
a gorgeous, slow motion moment toward the middle which recalls the most
gorgeous moments of the Third Piano
Concerto. The slow movement
highlights a soprano singing of “wedding bells,” and all is romance and moonlit
contemplation. A fiery scherzo follows,
a side of Rachmaninov not often seen in his orchestral music though visible in
some of the more tempestuous piano music.
The “alarm bells” are alarming indeed, blazing with blood and thunder—a work-out
for a good stereo system. Finally, we
get the bells of death, which instead of being horrific, are gentle and
restorative. Though the piece begins sadly,
mourning the approach of death, death comes as a friend offering consolation—not
torment. Not surprisingly, Rachmaninov
considered this among his very best works. Unfortunately, this version of the work is sung in English for some reason, which is a bit of a disappointment (despite fine singers). The other choral works below are all in the original Russian, which is a bit jarring, but with such a good performance you get over it. I might suggest buying another version to contrast this with, perhaps Dutoit's with the Philadelphia.
We see slivers of this masterwork in the other two pieces, Spring and Three Russian Songs. Spring was written in the creative
renewal that brought about the Second
Piano Concerto, Cello Sonata, and the Suite
for Two Pianos No.2. It’s a
dark-hued work (not surprisingly), but grittier than you might expect for him;
in fact, I find similarities here with Mussorgsky’s song cycles such as Songs and Dances of Death, or perhaps
some of Rimsky’s more colorful operas.
It’s a tale of winter turning into spring, but it’s a long Russian
winter and the poet is a man whose wife has betrayed him, and he broods over
her infidelity as they are trapped together in the house. Finally, spring breaks winter’s grasp and the
lover finds forgiveness and decides not to kill her after all (for a moment,
you think the murder has actually occurred as the chorus thunders to the skies
along with the clangorous support of the orchestra). By comparison, the Three Russian Songs are nostalgic tributes to folksong written at
the end of his career, when Rachmaninov was living in exile in America, never
again to return to his Russian home. The
first and second pieces ache with longing, yet are quite spare—a testament to
the slimmer, more ‘modern’ style Rachmaninov adopted in his American
years. The third movement, a perky dance
of infidelity is the most charming piece, and is full of unusual and
characteristic orchestral touches.
Everything Else: Symphonies & Concertos, etc.
The set also contains excellent
versions of the three symphonies, any one of which would grace a serious
collector’s shelves. The First Symphony
is a problematic work, highly dramatic but hard to bring off; Slatkin doesn’t
make it seem like a masterpiece, so I would prefer Dutoit or Jansons here. Yet the Second and Third are excellent and
compare with the best. So, too, with the
Piano Concertos played by Abbey Simon, who makes each one glitter and
shine. I particularly admire his account
of the Third Concerto, which is the
longest and most difficult to pull off, yet it sounds remarkable here. He’ll also make you rethink the unjustly neglected
First and Fourth Concertos, which are hidden gems. My only reservations in this set are the Symphonic Dances, which sound a bit
weak, lacking the virile thrust and overpowering melody of the best versions,
and The Isle of the Dead, which also
seems to give up the ghost too quickly.
But these are minor quibbles in a set that pays for itself ten times
over, and challenges our perception of Rachmaninov as a minor composer—or worse,
an anachronism in modern music. No, he
was a master in any age, even in the highly competitive waters of the early 20th
century which teemed with the big fish of Stravinsky, Prokofiev, Schoenberg,
etc. Download this set and rejoice! You can find the entire set here: http://www.amazon.com/Rachmaninoff-Complete-Symphonies-Concertos-Orchestral/dp/B00V63E05G/ref=pd_sim_dmusic_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=00BS7NCYZ5PNCWBZHRFN
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