Tag Archives: Sergei Prokofiev

The Oberon Symphony Orchestra play Shostakovich, Copland & Prokofiev

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oberon-draperOberon Symphony Orchestra and Samuel Draper

Richard Whitehouse on the Oberon Symphony Orchestra‘s latest concert of 20th century music from the superpowers, given at their home of St James’s, Sussex Gardens, London on Saturday 11 June

Shostakovich Festive Overture (1954)

Copland Clarinet Concerto (1948)

Prokofiev Symphony no.7 (1952)

Cosima Yu (clarinet), Oberon Symphony Orchestra / Samuel Draper

This evening’s concert from the Oberon Symphony Orchestra comprised three pieces which complemented each other ideally, especially when their immediacy and accessibility as music tends to offset their frequent technical difficulties – albeit for musicians rather than listeners.

Not least Shostakovich’s Festive Overture, written in three days to commemorate the 37th anniversary of the Bolshevik revolution, whose tunefulness does not make for ease of ensemble; not that this was an issue when the players were as alert rhythmically in the first theme as surely as they conveyed the suavity of its successor, and the grandeur of its framing fanfares emerging without undue heaviness. That Shostakovich struggled to refocus his music in the post-Stalin era hardly lessens the appeal of this piece when so capably rendered.

The sharp stylistic contrasts in Copland’s output may have been determined more by aesthetic than political considerations, yet here again those pieces written for a wider audience are by no means straightforward to perform. One might have expected a testing solo part in the Clarinet Concerto composed for Benny Goodman, but the high and exposed writing in the first movement hardly makes life easy, and it was a credit to the Oberon musicians that they met the challenge while capturing the Mahlerian plangency of this music. The second movement, with its continual syncopation and recourse to jazz idioms, presents difficulties that were less fully surmounted; which in no way deterred Cosima Yu – her elegant phrasing and rhythmic verve much in evidence through to that final and decidedly Gershwinesque upward glissando.

While it has never been neglected, Prokofiev’s Seventh Symphony is still too often interpreted at face value. A letter to the ailing composer from Shostakovich soon after the premiere betrays a recognition of deeper and more ambivalent emotion behind the outward naivety (something the latter clearly had in mind when writing his final symphony two decades on), and it was this ambivalence that Samuel Draper brought out most convincingly – not least in an initial Moderato of a formal simplicity concealed by the harmonic subtlety with which Prokofiev navigates its searching and often uneasy course. This was no less true of the ensuing Moderato, a waltz-sequence of ingratiating melodies undercut by a rhythmic assertiveness made manifest during a coda whose forced jollity came ominously to the fore.

The highlight was the Andante – easy to glide over when its themes are so simply and unobtrusively drawn, but here given with  a plaintiveness and regret as disarming as is the piquancy of its scoring (not least the melting harp passage toward its close). While the final Allegro was less convincing, this further instance of ‘easy’ expression allied to its fair share of technical difficulties is far from plain-sailing, and if ensemble was not always precise in the cavorting main sections (or the admittedly uninspiring central episode), the return of the first movement’s ‘big tune’ was finely judged and the coda suffused with acute poignancy.

Draper rightly opted for the quiet ending that Prokofiev had initially intended: no matter if   its final pizzicato was not together – the music’s essential fatalism could hardly be ignored.

The next Oberon concert takes place on 17th September 2015, where the orchestra will play the Saint-Saëns ‘Organ’ symphony and Liszt’s symphonic poem Les Préludes. Here they are in the Tchaikovsky’s Fifth:

Further information can be found at the orchestra’s website

In concert – Barbara Nissman plays Ginastera at Kings Place

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Barbara Nissman (piano); Hall One, Kings Place, London, 24 April 2016

Liszt Mephisto Waltz No.1, S514 (1862)

Bartók Allegro Barbaro, BB63 (1911)

Ginastera Tres Danzas Argentinas, Op.2 (1937)

Prokofiev Piano Sonatas – No.1 in F minor, Op.1 (1909); No. 3 in A minor, Op.28 (1917)

Ginastera Piano Sonata No.3, Op.55 (1982)

Bartók Night Music, BB89 No.4 (1926)

Ginastera Piano Sonata No.1, Op.22 (1952)

Written by Richard Whitehouse

Although his centenary has been widely reported, the music of Alberto Ginastera has been relatively little heard in the UK so far this year – making this recital from one of his most devoted pupils more welcome. Best known here for a cycle of Prokofiev sonatas a quarter-century ago, Barbara Nissman is a pianist wholly in the tradition of transcendental pianism – though such virtuosity never precludes an enquiring approach to the music at hand, as was evident in the thoughtfulness with which this morning’s programme had been assembled.

Beginning with Liszt’s First Mephisto Waltz was a case in point, as the essence of all that followed is encapsulated in its cunning juxtaposition of unbridled revelry and romantic yearning while Lenau’s decidedly sardonic take on the Faust legend is unfolded. Nissman despatched it with required verve and elegance, then summoned comparable impetus in the brief yet remorseless accumulation of energy of Bartók’s Allegro Barbaro – a repost to those who had doubted the integrity behind the unremitting intensity of his musical idiom.

There is nothing rebarbative about the Danzas Argentinas as were among Ginastera’s earliest successes, the teenage composer delighting in the rhythmic élan yet also insinuating lyricism of ideas inspired by though not beholden to the folk-music of his homeland. If the even younger Prokofiev was at all less assured stylistically when making his compositional debut with his First Sonata, this one-movement amalgam of sonata aspects within a more inclusive design lacks little in the resolve necessary to integrate its wide stylistic remit.

Nissman projected it with relish, then was no less convincing in the Third Sonata that – whatever the derivation from earlier material – brings appreciably greater individuality to bear on its ingenious four-in-one structure and uninhibited yet resourceful display. Qualities which are hardly less apparent in the Third Sonata which the ailing Ginastera wrote for Nissman, its allusion to Scarlatti extending beyond the use of binary form to a rhythmic and harmonic pungency as spills over into the effervescent coda with its curtly decisive close.

After the ‘Night Music’ movement from Bartók’s suite Out of Doors had provided a welcome moment of pensiveness, the recital was concluded by the First Sonata with which Ginastera moved decisively from his earlier nationalism towards a more wide-ranging musical outlook. That said, the spirit of the Argentinian pampas is heard simmering below the surface of the bracing initial Allegro and more overtly in those disembodied rustlings which permeate the Presto. The Adagio must rank among the most eloquent penned by its composer, with Nissman probing its depths as surely as she conveyed the energy of the finale when it surges towards a coruscating close. In its amalgam, moreover, of Classical formal poise with post-Romantic expression, the piece looks pointedly from its own time to that of the present.

A well-planned-recital and a welcome return for Nismann, who introduced each piece from the stage. A pity none of the recordings on her Three Oranges label was available, as these feature a wealth of unfamiliar as well as neglected music, and well deserve investigation.

You can read more about Barbara Nissman at her website, while her Three Oranges Recordings site can be accessed here

Keith Emerson

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The sad news today is that Keith Emerson, spearhead of the legendary trio Emerson, Lake and Palmer, has died aged 71.

The group could be regarded as the original pirates of classical music, taking pieces by Sibelius, Prokofiev, Bach, Bartók and – famously – Musorgsky‘s Pictures at an Exhibition, reworking them affectionately for rock band and a new audience.

By way of tribute, here they are in their most famous arrangement of all, Copland‘s Fanfare for the Common Man:

A full appreciation of Emerson’s achievements, especially with regard to his use of classical music, will follow in due course.

The Borrowers Christmas Special – Greg Lake: I Believe in Father Christmas

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What tune does it use?

The Sleigh Ride (or Troika from Prokofiev‘s score for the 1934 film Lieutenant Kijé.

How does it work?

Lake lifts the entire melody and uses it at the end of the first verse, from 0’43”:

Then after the second verse the tune appears once more :

Finally after the third verse we hear it again, by which time the song has built through a crescendo with a sizable orchestra and chorus:

 

Here is the original:

 

and here it is when the tune really gets going:

 

What else is new?

Prokofiev is a popular composer for lovers of pop music, and it is quite possible you hear his music more often than you realise. His Dance of the Knights from Romeo and Juliet, for instance, has been used as the theme for the BBC show The Apprentice since it started in 2005:

 

Greg Lake, of course, is no stranger to arranging or manipulating classical music. Here is arguably his most famous piece of work in that area, the rocking out of Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man as part of Emerson, Lake & Palmer:

Proms guide and review: Prokofiev Piano Concertos

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Prom 14, 28 July 2015 – BBC Symphony Orchestra / Sir Andrew Davis at the Royal Albert Hall

prokofiev-piano-concertos

Pianists Sergei Babayan, Alexei Volodin and Daniil Trifonov take a bow alongside conductor Valery Gergiev after their performance of all five Prokofiev Piano Concertos with the London Symphony Orchestra at the Royal Albert Hall on Tuesday 28 July. Photo: Chris Christodoulou

With Leif Ove Andsnes finishing his cycle of Beethoven’s five piano concertos the previous night, it seemed an odd decision by the Proms to embark on another cycle of five from one composer, all in a single night. Yet Valery Gergiev, the London Symphony Orchestra and a trio of fiendishly talented Russian pianists proved us doubters couldn’t have been more wrong.

Prokofiev’s piano concertos vary greatly in popularity, so much so that nos. 4 & 5 were receiving their first Proms performances – incredible for works now 83 years old! They embody the composer’s relative economy, his refusal to take himself too seriously and his use of the piano not just as a purveyor of bittersweet melody but as a percussive instrument too.

We began with the impudent Piano Concerto no.1, an often outrageous piece prone to bouts of cheeky sarcasm and unexpected charm:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02y9wqh/player
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto no.1 in D flat major, Op.10 (1912) 16 minutes

Daniil Trifonov played this piece superbly, exaggerating Prokofiev’s mischievous nature in a way the composer would surely have enjoyed. Gergiev too reminded us why he remains a peerless conductor in this repertoire, coaxing previously unheard detail and colour from the orchestra. If you listen to the clip above, you will agree it is a relative riot from start to finish!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02y9x3n/player
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto no.2 in G minor, Op.16 (1913) 31 minutes

This detail could be heard again in the cool, luminous slow sections of the Piano Concerto no.2, where Sergei Babayan lulled us into a false sense of security with a sombre opening section. Gradually – like Rachmaninov in his Piano Concerto no.2 before him – Prokofiev moved through the gears, the climax a titanic cadenza (a showy solo episode, cue to follow) that Babayan – Trifonov’s teacher, incidentally – played majestically, bringing goose bumps when the bright lights of the orchestra returned.

The Second is a contrary piece, following these bold romantic gestures with a grotesque second movement march owing much to Musorsgky (cue to follow), before a more elegiac third movement and a finale that gathers itself for showy virtuosity again, shown in the terrific closing pages. The house was brought down once again!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02y9xf1/player
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto no.3 in C major, Op.26 (1921) 30 minutes

Trifonov returned to make it three cracking performances out of three with a sparkling account of the Third, revelling in the different characters Prokofiev uses for the central Theme & Variations (cue to follow). The sleights of hand in the outer movements were dizzying, the pianist a study of concentration as his quick fingers deceived the eye. Gergiev again found insight to the colours of the second movement that normally evade the ear.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02y9xyz/player
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto no.4 in B flat major, Op.53 (1931) 22 minutes

And so into the relative unknown for the Fourth, a work commissioned by the fearsome left handed pianist Paul Wittgenstein – and ultimately rejected. His dissatisfaction relegated the piece to an also ran in Prokofiev’s output, but as Alexei Volodin proved here, that tag is undeserved.

This holds especially for the slow movement, which points towards the composer’s ballets, particularly Romeo and Juliet, which was close at hand in 1931. Indeed a forebear of the music for Juliet the Young Girl can be heard in the fourth movement, which scampered off the leash in this performance before disappearing in a puff of air.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02y9yd5/player
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto no.5 in G major, Op.55 (1932) 22 minutes

Sergei Babayan returned for an imposing performance of the Fifth and final concerto, a convincing account that made a mockery of the work’s non-appearance at the Royal Albert Hall. With melodic lines that dipped low before leaping up high he was never still, rising to the technical challenges while applying a lightness of touch needed to dilute the heavier, percussive moments.

Once again Gergiev and the London Symphony Orchestra, whose stamina was especially praiseworthy, propelled the third movement like a machine testing its upper speed limit, while again the slow movement – this time placed four of five – drew a lump to the throat before Prokofiev characteristically girded himself for an emphatic finish.

On the face of it this could have been an ill-judged experiment, especially with the two least-known works placed last. But the audience and social media reaction proved it to be anything but, for the listeners thoroughly enjoyed this colourful and often theatrical riot of ever-changing moods. While the piano will no doubt have needed some tender loving care at the end of it, Prokofiev’s invigorating music emerged defiant.