50
YEARS AFTER STALIN - a Russian Music Discovery
Day Sofiya
Gubaydulina Rejoice! Sergey
Prokofiev Sonata for solo cello op.133 Vladimir
Tarnopolsky Troisty Music Daniel Hope
violin Hastening to South Bank from Blackheath's Sunday Morning concert, I heard the items listed above , those comprising most of the last three concerts in a compendious day-long study event organised by Prof. Alexander Ivashkin of Goldsmiths. In a discussion chaired by Norman Lebrecht, about music in Russia since the deaths on the same day of Stalin & Prokofiev, there was general concern expressed that leading conductors, who programme recent Russian music by some of these composers in Russia, seem reluctant, or are frequently prevented, from doing so abroad. Dmitry Smirnov, who emigrated to UK before the collapse of the USSR, described the nervousness of composers after constraints were lifted, and how thaws were only temporary. Of Smirnov's own music, I heard at this discovery day only his little tribute to Denisov for cello with musical glasses; this is included in a Portrait CD of Smirnov, Megadisc MDC 7818. However, there have been ample opportunities to explore his music further, as he is now well established on the London scene with his composer wife Elena Firsova and their gifted pianist daughter. Not possible to review every work heard, so I summarise two of the chief tendencies that emerged; satirical music theatre, politically directed (though sometimes in code) and other music, mainly slow and ponderous, of 'spiritual' purpose. We are indebted to Alexander Ivashkin as virtuoso cellist and a catalyst, indeed powerhouse, of high profile events of which this was a typical example, attracting the the ex-Soviet musical fraternity who are settled in and around London. Some of the scheduled composers (Knaifel & Silvestrov) were dropped because of over-run of a packed time-table. Others were represented by deliberately boring &/or disconcerting works, e.g. Raskatov's 'Sweet doing nothing' says all in its title. Tarnopolski, in his trio, sought to 'create an illusion of emptiness'; leaving us never knowing when the tuning-up finished, he succeeded! I am assured that he has written better music, and those who came only for the evening concert missed a lot of fun and they will have heard only three ill-matched heavy, ponderous pieces; they might have felt disinclined to explore further Nicolai Korndorf, who had emigrated to Canada and died there, and it would be their loss. There
are always immense dangers in representing unknown composers by
a single work. Those who were at the Purcell Room during the afternoon
will however never forget Korndorf's Yarilo, a spectacular
tour de pianistic force which left Ivan Sokolov's piano crying for
mercy by the end. Nikolai
Korndorf (1947-2001) left Russia and became a Canadian citizen
in 1991. Yarilo is a powerful and completely riveting piece
which builds to its climax by stealth and incorporates piano preparations
which are only revealed towards the end; at one point we feared
that a particular note had given up, but this developed into a woodpecker
motif; Yarilo is available on one of a number of CDs distributed
in the foyer by Mr Korndorf's widow, Galina
Averina, who welcomes contact for information about his music.
On Amazon.com you can listen
to extracts
from Nikolai Korndorf's A New Heaven (BBSO/Lazarev
with Catherine Bott; Sony 66824) Ivan Sokolov
as composer was another welcome discovery for me and I had not previously
seen him perform live. I had selected his as the most recommendable
recording in a comparative review of Ustvolskaya's
piano sonatas; he joined Ivashkin for a cello and piano recital
which was dominated by Ustvolskaya's Grand Duet (try to hear
Rosptropovich's recording of it) and during the day he turned out
to be also an original composer with a very personal sense of humour.
That was demonstrated in a music-theatre piece Rodina, which
required violinist Daniel Hope to simulate a fatal collapse on stage,
as Kagel famously did conducting his fiftieth birthday piece Finale,
and in Sokolov's thirteen acrobatic, and deceptively childlike,
piano pieces - 'very often their titles do not correspond with
their meanings'; Russians like to remain enigmatic.
Peter Grahame Woolf |