Rimsky-Korsakov: Scheherazade - Beecham/RPO

To be published...next week sometime.

Man, I am glad I did this one. I hadn't gone over all those recordings in a while.

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Album: RIMSKY-KORSAKOV: Scheherazade; BORODIN: Polotsvian Dances

Artist(s): Sir Thomas Beecham, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Beecham Choral Society

Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade is a wonderful, intoxicating piece of music. Standing as the composer’s most beloved composition, its picturesque Orientalism—realized through brilliant, inventive orchestration and an outpouring of exotic melody—lends itself perfectly to conductors’ varied styles. Listeners adore comparing performances—invariably, Reiner’s recording is extolled for its technical excellence, Stokowski’s for its mysticism, and Svetlanov’s for its 100% genuine Russian bombast.

Yet, even in such a crowded field, this present performance by Sir Thomas Beecham is perhaps the most universally admired recording of Scheherazade. In fact, it is so admired that even the colossal ego in Herbert von Karajan initially declined to record the work, remarking that Beecham’s interpretation could not be improved upon.

Frankly, the praise is bit overdone. This is not to say that this is a bad recording—by no means! Beecham was one of those conductors who could seemingly do no wrong, and there is certainly nothing wrong here, per se. But for comparison, let us draw upon one of Scheherazade’s very best performances—Ernest Ansermet’s lamentably rare 1954 recording with the Paris Conservatoire Orchestra.

Take the opening few bars. The Sultan’s theme roars out of the brass, and Scheherazade’s voice—symbolized by the haunting violin solo that unifies all four movements—responds, spinning the first of her tales, The Sea and Sinbad’s Ship. Beecham’s opening shows the maestro in classic form, smoothly propelling the metallic, ominous sound of the brass with a very musical and masculine snap. And his violinist is very good, depicting our heroine with seductive style. In contrast, Ansermet’s sultan is bit less forceful, a bit warmer and more balanced with the strings and reeds. His sultan has just a little more weight around the middle and strides in purposefully. Ansermet’s violinist plays swiftly, with considerable freedom and feeling—in his hands, Scheherazade’s’ feminine voice coyly convinces the sultan to pause and listen.

In the second movement, The Story of the Kalendar Prince, Beecham’s bassoon soloist is really very good, aptly injecting a bit of awkward character into his solo without sacrificing rhythm. The strings are very elegant. And the maestro’s same, classy, snappy phrasing works wonders in the faster parts of the music, particularly in all those wonderfully rousing orchestral strikes towards the end where his wide dynamic range really comes to bear. Clearly, Beecham has the superior orchestra and they play the pants off this music. Yet, Ansermet somehow makes his comparatively sloppy ensemble sound more appropriate—the fluttering, less precise winds are the voices of his characters, and the lighter, thinner strings are the dust and air they breathe. With them, he takes full advantage of Rimsky’s colorful and atmospheric orchestration, defining each melodic line with unerring clarity.

And these trends continue. In the third movement, The Young Prince and the Young Princess, Beecham is all elegance and charm, making a tasty “Beecham bon-bon” of this romance. And his clarinetist depicts a lovely princess indeed. But Ansermet’s is a lighter, sweeter, and more innocent pair of lovers—by comparison, Beecham has too little fairy tale and a bit too much Tchaikovsky. Is that such a bad thing? Well, no, actually it’s great, and no one could ever say that Beecham’s conception lacks character. But Ansermet’s storytelling is second to none.

The last movement, The Festival of Bagdad – The Sea – The ship goes to pieces on a Rock surmounted by a Bronze Warrior, with its mad dash to finish line and final moments of redemption, suits both conductors just fine. Beecham displays typical panache and energy, galloping through with a palpable sense of fun and arriving at a most sensuous conclusion. Here, his superior orchestra really does give him an edge. Still, Ansermet handles himself well, with the Baghdad festival coming off as quite a ragtag affair and the orchestra’s bright, blaring trumpet intruding in a wonderfully impetuous way.

In short, both recordings are excellent, but neither is the end-all performance. Beecham provides a vivid musical picture of a far away, exotic, spice-filled fantasy world. Ansermet provides a threadbare magic carpet and takes you there.

The “filler” of Borodin’s Polotsvian Dances are hard hitting and very exciting, demonstrating essentially the same qualities as Beecham’s Scheherazade but in music even better suited to them. The appearance of the Beecham Choral Society is a plus. The sound is typical 50’s—clear and very closely miked. The bass is a little weak, but not unacceptable.

Recommended, but don’t limit yourself to just this recording of Scheherazade. Get several different ones and argue over them. It’s fun!

Rating: A-

Red Army Ensemble

To be published...soon-ish in the Elmhurst College Leader. Unsure what issue.

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Album: Red Army Ensemble
Artist(s): Col. Boris Alexandrov, Soviet Army Chorus, Soviet Army Band

Yes, it’s that chorus. Whether you know them as the Red Army Choir, the Soviet Army Chorus, or the Alexandrov Choir, it is indeed the same ensemble that performed with the Leningrad Cowboys in songs like “Gimme all your Lovin” and “Sweet Home Alabama.”

But don’t judge them by their mediocre YouTube videos (or by the Leningrad Cowboys’ hair). This Great Recordings of the Century album captures the chorus at its absolute peak, way back in 1963 when the name “Red Army” actually meant something. Any cliché about Russian army choirs exists due to these gentlemen, and whether it be opera, folk, or pop music, this release illustrates why. Despite the album’s occasionally corny programming, the singing displays a truly militaristic level of discipline and “comradeship.” Or to put it another way—they’re tight as hell.

And what they truly excel at is pure sound. The basses are quite capable of a good subterranean rumble, the tenors are quite secure in their top notes, tuttis are scandalously abused, and very often there are as many as eight parts singing at once. What results is a steely, harmonically rich, masculine sound that is the aural equivalent of a roundhouse to the head.

For example, the Soldier’s Chorus from The Decembrists (Shaporin’s opera based on the first Russian Revolution of 1825) is delightfully bombastic, and displays a dynamic range wide enough to drive a truck through. Similarly, Song of the Volga Boatmen is taken at a brisk, militaristic speed and not only avoids sounding like a dirge, but capably shows off the physical impact of the choir’s tenors. And Kalinka—a song long associated with this ensemble—comes off perfectly, with its rapid accelerations and crescendos executed with breathtaking precision.

The soloists, too, are uniformly excellent, each demonstrating formidable technique rooted in the classic “glottal” Slavic sound. While there are far too many soloists to list, one of the standouts is Evgeny Belaiaev, whose bright, ringing tenor voice surely missed its greater calling in opera. His sustained high notes in the extremely Russian You Are Always Beautiful are fully the equal of most any operatic tenor singing today, and likely superior to most of them. The song itself is upbeat and cheery, demonstrating not only impressive breath control on the part of Belaiaev, but a convincing and necessary panache.

But even aside from objective or technical measurements of excellence, this ensemble is top notch. As should be expected, every Slavic selection is thoroughly idiomatic (balalaikas are used everywhere) and performed with trademark Russian sentiment. Some are very good, many are eminently forgettable, but all are unlikely to ever be better recorded. Among the better selections as yet unmentioned, Black Eyebrows is appropriately melancholic, Snowflakes is sincere and devoted, and The Little Bells is beautifully wistful. Ukrainian Poem, which relays the story of the Ukraine’s liberation from the Nazis, is probably the best cut on the entire album. Bass Aleksei Sergeiev sings with great pathos and the choir’s entrance is appropriately spectacular—the result is a six-minute piece of music rendered as epic drama.

But what is perhaps most interesting about this album is the choice to record various English-language songs. Annie-Laurie, the well loved Scottish ballad, is given perhaps its best choral treatment on record, beating out even the various renditions of Anglo-Saxon groups. Again, Evgeny Belaiaev makes an appearance as the soloist, and his voice floats beautifully above the rich, swelling a capella sound of the chorus. Yes, it’s a Soviet military choir singing with a thick Russian accent on a Scottish song (which has a Scottish accent written into the lyrics!), but somehow, it’s still convincing, and undeniably beautiful.

This is not so say that many of the English cuts aren’t kitschy—indeed, they are. The accents, after all, render the English nearly undecipherable. It’s a long way to Tipperary is rendered “Eet’s uhh lowng vhey too Tihperharry,” and the brass sound like Mariachi music for a moment, but the effect is hilarious. The fact that they can pull this tune off at all is in itself impressive.

So, is it really a Great Recording of the Century? Yes, if you dig the style and the offbeat program. Like other titles in this series, it’s currently selling in the $7-$12 range. Strongly recommended for choral enthusiasts and vodka drinkers.

Grade: A

First Review--Boris Christoff sings Russian Opera Arias and Songs

The following was written in a wee bit of a hurry, since I had a deadline to meet. I do feel the need to deride it shortcomings, but I will resist the temptation of a diatribe...

Understand that the intended audience was apathetic college students. The two greatest difficulties were A) abstaining from 'technical' language, and B) deciding how much space to give to each track (and whether to leave any out). I eventually opted for a great deal of subjective language and addressed each track individually, though often briefly. Since it is my first review, I do not feel terribly ashamed. And David Hurwitz has offered to "rip [my reviews] to shreds," so I hope that I shall improve.

Published 12/04/07 in the Elmhurst College Leader.

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Album: Russian Opera Arias & Songs

Artist(s): Boris Christoff, et al.

Boris Christoff occupies a unique place among the last century’s great bass voices. His voice, while not as large as the true “monster bassos” like Ghiaurov or Hines, seemed perfectly produced—deep, dark, round, flexible, and capable of a variety of colors and tones. His gifts for the dramatic are well known, and as an exponent of the great Russian bass roles, he was second to none in the postwar period. This newly remastered disc from EMI’s Great Recordings of the Century series presents Christoff in all his glory, singing various selections of the Russian repertoire that made him famous.

As with his complete recordings of the opera, Christoff sings all three bass roles from Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov. While the intimidating authority of his voice is perhaps better suited to the character of the Tsar, the other roles are admirably done. Pimen’s act I monologue, though lacking humility, is imbued with sufficient reverence to portray the priest. In contrast, the dark gusto put into “Varlaam’s Drinking Song” about the slaughter at Kazan is wonderful fun, and Christoff’s final, gleeful shouts cap off the aria perfectly. His scenes as Tsar Boris—the child murderer and tyrant—are simply marvelous, vested with the range of emotions and vocal effects necessary to his conflicted character. Boris’ act 2 monologue is masterfully thought out, with Christoff subtly coloring his voice to convey the Tsar’s growing depression and guilt. The “Farewell and Prayer” and “Death Scene” alone are worth the price of admission—Christoff’s dramatic portrayal of the terrified, dying Tsar is utterly convincing. He yells, rages, gasps, pleads, and sobs, yet is at once both tender and noble. In addressing his son, Christoff’s Tsar sings with sincere warmth and lyricism, and one is almost convinced that the Tsar is a genuinely loving father. His death is gripping and realistic (you can almost see his death-throes), and his final surge of pride (“I am still Tsar!”) is a spectacular bit of singing. It is all even more remarkable in light of the fact that Christoff was a relative newcomer when he had recorded some of these excerpts, and had not yet sung the role of the Tsar on stage.

The other Mussorgsky cuts are fine as well. “Dositheus’s Aria” from Khovaschina has the religiosity which was lacking in the Pimen monologue; “The Flea” has just the right balance between humor and the diabolical (one must remember that the singer takes on the role of Mephistopheles). The two songs accompanied by Gerald Moore (“The Field Marshall” and “The Spirit of Heaven”) aptly demonstrate his comfort in the genre of art song.

The various arias of other composers show off Christoff’s ability to effortlessly change character. “Prince Galitsky’s aria” from Borodin’s Prince Igor sounds genuinely carefree. “The Song of the Viking Guest” from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sadko is suitably majestic (though I might prefer an even larger voice singing it), with the orchestra’s dark, weighty sound vividly painting a backdrop of the high seas. Christoff’s performance of “Prince Gremin’s Aria” from Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin is very tender and is easily the loveliest version I have heard of it—the sense of a mature man of the world rediscovering youthful love is touchingly evident.

It’s worth noting that many of the arias and songs on this disc are in direct competition with recordings by Chaliapin (the Mussorgsky in particular), and, while Christoff has the advantage of later, better sound, aficionados might still prefer Chaliapin’s versions. However, in many cases, Christoff’s renditions surpass those by the Russian master, and the “Song of the Volga Boatmen” is a case in point. While Chaliapin’s recordings are indispensable, I would never be without Christoff’s performance. Christoff invests the traditional Russian song with a near “operatic” sense of drama—heavy, angry, powerful, full of dynamic contrast, gradually building to a furious climax which is sung in such an unapologetic and over-the-top manner that one cannot help but be swept away by his performance. “The Siberian Prisoner’s Song” is perhaps even more dramatic—after hearing it, Christoff’s artistic sensitivity may never be doubted. It is a truly beautiful interpretation, demonstrating the range of colors in Christoff’s voice (including his ravishing mezza voce), as well as his complete emotional investment into the tragic content of the text.

In all, this is a magnificent album. Entirely worthy of the Great Recordings of the Century moniker, and at this price ($8-$14 on Amazon.com), it’s a steal, too. If you have never heard Christoff in this repertoire, you need to. Get it.

Rating: A+