<Translated from Russian automatically>
An historical ensemble performed at the La Scala theatre, with piano by Nikolai Lugansky.
Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov, and Prokofiev performed by an orchestra that has regained its high level.
Having been somewhat in the shadows on the international stage for some time, the Bolshoi Theatre orchestra is beginning to reclaim its place in the sun under the leadership of its principal conductor (since 2001), Alexander Vedernikov. Recordings and tours show that the orchestra has reached a very high level, if not quite the level of the St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra (a comparison that is dangerous for any orchestra).
The programme for the concerts at La Scala seems specially selected to demonstrate their level of playing. It includes the complex rhythmic "layers" of Tchaikovsky's "Francesca da Rimini" with terrifying passages of structured chaos. It also features the subtle, ironic imitation of the classics characteristic of Rachmaninov's American period in the "Variations on a Theme of Paganini", interspersed with fragments reminiscent of Liszt—diabolical, with explosive, fiery intonations of the Dies Irae. Nikolai Lugansky, who performed the piano part, handles the capricious virtuoso passages with ease, articulates with Apollonian clarity, phrases with great taste, and pays close attention to the manner of performance, which is especially important when it comes to the music of Rachmaninov, whom, incidentally, he also performed for an encore.
Here, finally, is the patriotic apotheosis of Prokofiev's grandiose cantata "Alexander Nevsky"—the Bolshoi Theatre Choir, once a national pride of Russia, is returning to its former brilliance, demonstrating both power and beauty of sound. If one could take issue with anything after such a significant concert, it would only be this overt desire to display the theatre's level, as if in a shop window. The demonstration of a sound that is always full and abundant with beautiful harmonies is undoubtedly very effective, but here there is a risk of falling into affectation—ponderous and monotonous—especially in the absence of explicit internal tension (hidden in Tchaikovsky's music and only occasionally manifesting in Prokofiev's cantata) capable of binding the melodic and rhythmic transformations into one living, pulsating thread. In the absence of this tension, the sonic richness acquires the expression of an encephalogram.
However, the episode of the funeral song is beautiful, in which the dark and velvety sound of the orchestra embraces the stunning mezzo-soprano of Elena Manistina. Beautiful, too, is the episode of the battle between the Teutons and the Russians on the frozen Lake Peipus, which forms the heart of Prokofiev's music, as well as the Eisenstein film of the same name for which it was written and from which it was later extracted and reworked.
Here, the desire to glorify does not obscure the originality of the writing, further emphasised by the performance: the string tremolos seem permeated by an icy fog, the trombone lends the theme of the Teutons from the third movement of the cantata its fitting animal obstinacy, and the choir of knights unleashes a gloomy and destructive element. Images of monstrous centaurs with faceless heads, replaced by massive iron—unforgettable thanks to the unique combination of music and visuals created by Eisenstein and Prokofiev—are resurrected in memory.
Source.
An historical ensemble performed at the La Scala theatre, with piano by Nikolai Lugansky.
Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov, and Prokofiev performed by an orchestra that has regained its high level.
Having been somewhat in the shadows on the international stage for some time, the Bolshoi Theatre orchestra is beginning to reclaim its place in the sun under the leadership of its principal conductor (since 2001), Alexander Vedernikov. Recordings and tours show that the orchestra has reached a very high level, if not quite the level of the St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra (a comparison that is dangerous for any orchestra).
The programme for the concerts at La Scala seems specially selected to demonstrate their level of playing. It includes the complex rhythmic "layers" of Tchaikovsky's "Francesca da Rimini" with terrifying passages of structured chaos. It also features the subtle, ironic imitation of the classics characteristic of Rachmaninov's American period in the "Variations on a Theme of Paganini", interspersed with fragments reminiscent of Liszt—diabolical, with explosive, fiery intonations of the Dies Irae. Nikolai Lugansky, who performed the piano part, handles the capricious virtuoso passages with ease, articulates with Apollonian clarity, phrases with great taste, and pays close attention to the manner of performance, which is especially important when it comes to the music of Rachmaninov, whom, incidentally, he also performed for an encore.
Here, finally, is the patriotic apotheosis of Prokofiev's grandiose cantata "Alexander Nevsky"—the Bolshoi Theatre Choir, once a national pride of Russia, is returning to its former brilliance, demonstrating both power and beauty of sound. If one could take issue with anything after such a significant concert, it would only be this overt desire to display the theatre's level, as if in a shop window. The demonstration of a sound that is always full and abundant with beautiful harmonies is undoubtedly very effective, but here there is a risk of falling into affectation—ponderous and monotonous—especially in the absence of explicit internal tension (hidden in Tchaikovsky's music and only occasionally manifesting in Prokofiev's cantata) capable of binding the melodic and rhythmic transformations into one living, pulsating thread. In the absence of this tension, the sonic richness acquires the expression of an encephalogram.
However, the episode of the funeral song is beautiful, in which the dark and velvety sound of the orchestra embraces the stunning mezzo-soprano of Elena Manistina. Beautiful, too, is the episode of the battle between the Teutons and the Russians on the frozen Lake Peipus, which forms the heart of Prokofiev's music, as well as the Eisenstein film of the same name for which it was written and from which it was later extracted and reworked.
Here, the desire to glorify does not obscure the originality of the writing, further emphasised by the performance: the string tremolos seem permeated by an icy fog, the trombone lends the theme of the Teutons from the third movement of the cantata its fitting animal obstinacy, and the choir of knights unleashes a gloomy and destructive element. Images of monstrous centaurs with faceless heads, replaced by massive iron—unforgettable thanks to the unique combination of music and visuals created by Eisenstein and Prokofiev—are resurrected in memory.
Source.
Vedernikov and the Bolshoi's Revival
Elvio GIUDICI, Il Giorno, January 9, 2008
