PROKOFIEV COMPLETE SYMPHONIES BY MARIN ALSOP - PART 3

Prokofiev’s Symphony No 4, Op 47, was largely derived from the ballet L’enfant prodigue and written in the autumn of 1929 and spring of 1930. A response to a commission for the fiftieth anniversary of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, it was first performed in Boston on 14 November of the latter year, to a relatively luke-warm reception. The composer was able to make use of music that had not been used in the ballet and to provide symphonic development of the material, as he made clear to Koussevitzky, who had commissioned the work and had reservations about this re-use of earlier material. The work was revised in 1947 and re-issued as Opus 112 in its new form, lengthened and enriched in orchestration by the addition of a piccolo clarinet, piano and harp. 

 The symphony, in both versions, starts with a newly composed and later extended introduction, leading to music associated with the riotous friends of the second episode of the ballet. This is followed by a lyrical and gentler second subject, a melody introduced by the flute. Following the principles of tripartite first-movement form, the earlier material is developed, to return in a varied recapitulation. The second movement is based on the final episode of the ballet, the return of the Prodigal Son, with the father’s love for his son given again at first to the flute, with increasing prominence for the piano and harp. The seductress provides the substance of the third movement, her music now further developed to suggest a scherzo and trio. The final Allegro risoluto has material from the first scene of the ballet, duly developed, and secondary material that suggests a march in its insistent rhythm. The motor rhythm of the coda leads to a reminiscence of the opening of the symphony, now transformed, as the work comes to an end. 

 The Prodigal Son was the fourth and last ballet-score that Prokofiev wrote for Dyagilev. The commission, offered in the autumn of 1928, was eventually accepted, after some hesitation, but once agreed, it was completed in a remarkably short time. Dyagilev’s collaborator Boris Kochno provided a scenario based on the biblical parable of the Prodigal Son and the finished work, after rehearsal in Monte Carlo, opened on 21 May 1929 at the Théâtre Sarah-Bernhardt in Paris. Choreography, lacking the realism Prokofiev expected and earning his dislike, was by Balanchine and the décor was by Georges Rouault, after Matisse had refused the undertaking. The part of the Prodigal was danced by Serge Lifar and that of the seductress by Felia Dubrovska. The programme of this last season for Dyagilev’s Ballets russes began with Stravinsky’s Renard, conducted by the composer, followed by Prokofiev’s ballet, which he conducted himself. These were succeeded by Auric’s Les fâcheux and the Polovtsian Dances from Borodin’s Prince Igor. The Prodigal Son shared the success of the programme and the season continued in Berlin and London. In August, however, Dyagilev died in Venice, where he was accompanied by Lifar and Kochno. His death ended a remarkable era in Russian ballet and a career that had brought commissions from Stravinsky, Debussy, Ravel, Poulenc and other composers, with parallel collaboration from some of the most distinguished artists and dancers of the time. 

 Kochno’s scenario is in three scenes and ten episodes. The Prodigal Son leaves home, meets friends and then the seductress, followed by a dance for the men. In the second scene the Prodigal Son is seen with the seductress, drinks and is robbed, waking up to remorse. In the final scene the spoils are divided and the Prodigal returns home, to be welcomed by his father. The moral point of the parable, the reaction of the elder brother, is omitted. 

 The first episode, The departure (the Prodigal Son leaves his father and his sisters), contrasts a vigorous and angular Allegro risoluto with a gentler clarinet melody, leading to a lyrical Andante espressivo. The first two elements return in contrast and the episode ends with the clarinet melody. The meeting with the boy’s friends is at first dominated by the motor rhythms that are a common feature of Prokofiev’s writing, but there is a place for equally characteristic lyrical melody. The seductress is given sinuous woodwind melodies and there is contrast in a steadier gait, a reminder of the idiom of the Classical Symphony. Trombones introduce the men’s dance, leading to an Allegro brusco and typically angular writing. The scene of the Prodigal Son and the seductress has an introduction coloured by the bassoons, leading to music that recalls the themes associated with the two characters. Drunkenness brings again the music of the boy’s friends and the robbery is introduced by a passage for two clarinets and bass clarinet, to be joined by the strings and other instruments. The scene ends with waking and remorse, introduced by a sober viola melody. Motor rhythms and syncopations mark the division of the spoils, with echoes of the robbery itself. In the return of the Prodigal, as he drags himself home to the presence of his father, there is much to express the latter’s love for his son that was lost and is now found again.

 

PROKOFIEV COMPLETE SYMPHONIES BY MARIN ALSOP - PART 2

The Scythian Suite had originated in music for a ballet Ala and Lolly, depicting the ancient Slavic people, commissioned by Sergey Dyagilev to a scenario by Sergey Gorodetsky—only to be rejected on grounds of being undanceable. The composer then reworked the incomplete score into the present suite, which received an equivocal reception at its première in Moscow—conducted by the composer—on 29 January 1916. A scheduled performance in December was cancelled as the large orchestra needed more players than could be found owing to their being mobilized for the war effort, though not before the influential critic Leonid Sabaneyev had penned a scathing review of the non-existent hearing. Subsequently, the suite found some popularity as a showpiece in the repertoire of international orchestras, where it has remained.

The first movement, The Adoration of Veless and Ala, opens with hectic activity on brass and percussion, rapidly broadening into a surging processional for the whole orchestra. This duly subsides until a low murmuring remains in the depths, then flutes and harp unfold a sensuous theme that gradually draws in the strings with their whirling ostinato patterns. More ominous elements soon come to the fore, but the music retains its unworldly calm through to a quietly undulating close. The second movement, The Enemy God and the Dance of the Spirits of Darkness, launches straight into an aggressive dance with brass and drums much in evidence, while this is succeeded by a hectic string fugato alternating with a bizarre episode for woodwind, tuned percussion and string harmonics. Aspects of all three ideas are brought together in a climactic resumption of the earlier dance, now even more uninhibited as it surges to its brazen ending.

The third movement, Night, starts in near inaudibility on upper strings, against which the woodwind and tuned percussion share a chaste theme that takes on a more ominous import as the harmonic texture fills out and a mystical aura envelops the music. Greater rhythmic activity on woodwind and strings presages a short-lived climax with menacing figures heard on brass, though the initial calm is restored as the music returns to the ethereal realms whence it came. The fourth movement, The Glorious Departure of Lolly and the Procession of the Sun, commences with scurrying activity in the lower strings, settling into a quirky martial rhythm with resourceful writing for woodwind and percussion. This takes on a more rapid dance-like motion, building to a brief climax before alighting on a chord for strings. Against this suspenseful backdrop, gently rotating patterns on woodwind, brass, harp and percussion gradually expand into a resplendent apotheosis which brings about the dazzling conclusion.

The symphonic sketch Autumn was written in 1910 and first performed on 19 July the following year at Moscow’s Sokolniki Park, where it was conducted by the composer. Unlike the earlier Dreams [Naxos 8.573353], where the influence of Scriabin is uppermost, this work looks to that of Myaskovsky in its dark-hued textures and an underlying air of resignation. Prokofiev revised it in 1915 then again in 1934, retaining a fondness for the piece throughout his life. The piece begins with sombre gestures in lower woodwind and strings, establishing a steady motion that largely persists throughout. Speculative activity from upper woodwind adds to the prevailing restive mood, then more aggressive gestures from the strings presage an increase in expressive tension—upper strings assuming the foreground with a soulful melody (made up from those fragmentary gestures) that acts as the work’s main climax before it returns to the earlier ambivalence. Woodwind and brass pursue a tentative dialogue, though the final word is given to strings as the music pensively heads into the depths from which it emerged.

The Third Symphony came about through Prokofiev’s desire to salvage music from his opera The Fiery Angel, on which he worked throughout the mid-1920s and which was accepted for staging at the Berlin State Opera. This failed to materialize (a complete performance did not occur until 1955), and after a concert hearing of the second act in June 1928, the composer reworked portions of the opera in symphonic terms. The resulting symphony (dedicated to Nikolay Myaskovsky) was premièred in Paris on 17 May 1929, Pierre Monteux conducting.

The first movement opens with clamorous gestures from the whole orchestra, whose nagging underlying rhythm persists as the music subsides into a darkly expressive theme for the lower strings. This unfolds at length and takes in variants for oboe and upper strings before reaching a brief pause. From here a second theme emerges on strings, more rhythmically defined than its predecessor, and which is increasingly disrupted by lively activity on upper woodwind and brass. From here an increasingly strenuous development of both themes ensues, gaining all the while in emotional intensity as the initial rhythm re-emerges and the music duly builds to its climactic reprise in a powerful restatement of the first theme on strings with elements of the other ideas, culminating in glowering brass chords then a manic burst of activity on brass and percussion. This dies down to leave the first theme sounding on upper woodwind and strings, against a mesmeric backdrop of interlocking rhythmic patterns lower in the texture—which latter coalesce into the ostinato rhythm from the outset, thereby providing an ominous close.

The second movement begins with chorale-like textures on strings, against which woodwind intone a plaintive theme whose blissful refrain (often decked out with harmonics on strings) reappears at key junctures. The central section conjures a more anxious note with glinting gestures on upper strings that merge into a searching theme on woodwind then strings, but solo violin restores the earlier poise as the initial theme is restated on woodwind. The refrain then appears once more as the music moves eloquently if questioningly to its conclusion.

The third movement starts with strident activity on strings and brass, soon heading into an arresting texture where multi-divided string harmonics evoke an intangible and malevolent atmosphere. At length solo flute is heard, supplicatory chords presaging the central section which focuses on a plangent melody for woodwind and upper strings before opening into some of the work’s most lush textures. At length the string harmonics resume and tension increases, the supplicatory chords this time leading into a coda of stark splendour on brass.

The finale is launched with grinding chordal activity on brass and strings, the motion soon increasing as strings unfold a theme of mounting desperation against assaultive gestures on brass and percussion. Suddenly this activity ceases to leave woodwind and strings musing plaintively on earlier motifs, denoting an element of calm to offset the intensity elsewhere, but this latter inevitably returns in the guise of the earlier ‘desperate’ theme then on to the opening chordal gestures—imbued with a finality that engenders the seismic closing bars.

PROKOFIEV COMPLETE SYMPHONIES BY MARIN ALSOP - PART 1

Without doubt one of the most influential composers of contemporary Russian music, Serge Prokofiev composed seven symphonies in his lifetime. Lets take a look at each CD.

Sergey Prokofiev was born on 15 April 1891 at Sontsovka. His precocious musical talents were fostered by his mother and his first compositions emerged when he was only five. In 1904, on Glazunov’s advice, his parents allowed him to enter St Petersburg Conservatoire, where he continued his studies until 1914 and also quickly left behind the influence of older teachers such as Liadov and Rimsky-Korsakov, arousing enthusiasm and hostility in equal measure. During the First World War he was exempted from military service and after the Russian Revolution he was given permission to travel abroad, first to North America, where he took with him several major scores that were soon to establish his reputation in the West.

Unlike Stravinsky and Rachmaninov, Prokofiev left Russia with the idea of returning home. His stay in the United States was at first successful: he often appeared as concert pianist and fulfilled prestigious commissions for such as the Chicago Opera. By 1920, however, he had begun to find life more difficult and relocated to Paris, renewing contact with Dyaghilev for whom he wrote several ballet scores. He spent much of the next sixteen years in France, though he returned periodically to Russia where his music received qualified approval. By 1936 he had decided to settle permanently in his native country, taking up residence in Moscow in time for the first official onslaught on music that did not accord with the social and political aims of the authorities. Twelve years later his name was included in the notorious ‘Zhdanov decree’. Despite partial rehabilitation, his final years were clouded by ill health and his death—on 5 March 1953, barely an hour before that of Stalin—went largely unnoticed at the time.

As with his older peers Myaskovsky and Stravinsky, Scriabin was a brief yet potent influence on Prokofiev: nowhere more than in Dreams – the ‘symphonic tableau’ he wrote in 1910 and whose première, at Moscow’s Sokolniki Park in the summer of 1911, was coolly received. Undulating lower strings immediately denote the sombre mood of this piece as a whole, out of which woodwind then upper strings sound a note of greater warmth before sinking back into the depths. The process is then repeated, while clarinet then oboe emerge with a highly searching melodic line that also draws in trumpet and horn as the expressive range opens-out accordingly. A brief climax ensues, after which the music winds down gently to an expectant pause. From here cor anglais—drawing on woodwind writing heard earlier—initiates a more restless activity, unfolding in heady waves of sound towards the main climax with its radiant harmonies across the entire orchestra. This gradually subsides in a return to the initial mood of sombre uncertainty, thereby taking the work back to its starting-point where it concludes.

Prokofiev was no stranger to symphonic composition (writing Symphonies in G and E minor as a student in 1902 and 1908, and the first version of his Sinfonietta in 1909) by the time he completed his First ‘Classical’ Symphony in the summer of 1917. He wrote it without the aid of a piano and scored it for an orchestra similar to the later symphonies of Haydn and Mozart, whose spirit it evokes in melodic if not harmonic terms. The composer directed the première in Petrograd on 21 April 1918, thereafter leaving the Soviet Union for almost two decades.

The first movement begins with a lively theme whose opening flourish is complemented by suitably pert woodwind writing, making way for a second theme with graceful strings and artful woodwind in ideal accord. There is no exposition repeat, with the development starting in the minor then focussing on an animated discussion of the first theme before this reaches a bracing climax with the second theme shared excitedly between upper and lower strings. The reprise then deftly curtails the former and makes the latter even more ingratiating: there is no coda, the opening flourish returning as an effervescent close. Halting lower strings open the second movement, over which violins unfold an easeful melody that draws in woodwind as it pursues its tranquil course. Stealthy gestures from lower woodwind and pizzicato strings now begin a gradual crescendo that opens-out across the whole orchestra before subsiding into equable exchanges between woodwind and strings. The main melody is then obliquely reintroduced as the music delights in some subtle tonal slide-slips before alighting on the home key and reaching its conclusion with those halting lower strings. Instead of a minuet, Prokofiev substitutes a gavotte whose strutting rhythm is as commanding as it is humorous. A capering trio section follows, equably shared between woodwind and strings, then the gavotte returns quietly on woodwind before heading to its teasingly understated close. The finale sets off with an energetic theme on upper strings decked out with excited woodwind comments, the latter coming into their own during the whirling second theme and plaintive codetta. The exposition is repeated in full, then the development excitedly utilizes motifs from all three themes before a reprise which finds additional pathos in the second theme and codetta, though the pervasive hectic gaiety is not to be denied its resounding last word.

By the time of his Second Symphony Prokofiev was settled in Paris and intent on writing a piece in the vanguard of musical modernism. While consciously modelled on the format of Beethoven’s final (Op. 111) piano sonata, the present work is hardly a summation—being the result of nine months’ concerted effort to create music made (in the composer’s words) “of iron and steel”. The première, given in Paris on 6 June 1925 and conducted by Serge Koussevitzky, was a failure—the composer admitting he was left none the wiser than the audience by its dense textures and assaultive manner. Many years later he contemplated a revision in three movements, but his death put paid to any such intention and the work was left to find its way out of obscurity to the modest number of performances it enjoys today.

The first movement (its sonata design audible behind the onslaught) commences with strident trumpet fanfares and charging strings that have the first theme—its hectic progress forcefully abetted by brass and percussion. A syncopated transition on strings, with dextrous activity on piano and woodwind, builds remorselessly to the second theme—a tumultuous processional whose vehement progress rapidly dies down in lower strings towards glowering brass chords. What amounts to a development opens with sepulchral activity in double basses, their martial rhythm soon spreading upwards through the strings before taking in the whole orchestra for a veritable riot of activity that culminates in the return of the first main theme. The reprise as such follows a similar course to that of the exposition, with incessant activity on strings and woodwind underscored by ominous anticipations of the ‘processional’ theme on lower brass. This duly assumes the foreground, though this time its progress is curtailed by the return of the first theme in a frantic coda which itself climaxes in a sequence of baleful brass chords.

The second movement—twice as long as its predecessor—is a set of variations on a theme written in Japan almost a decade before. Over restlessly undulating lower strings, this theme unfolds pensively on woodwind before moving to strings as the texture becomes denser and more luminous—a climactic discord on piano leaving matters unresolved. The first variation [8] continues this subdued mood, with the outlines of the theme often obscured by accumulating activity on woodwind and strings, before the second variation [9] brings a greater animation with its ricocheting gestures on woodwind and strings—these latter building to a forceful climax on brass then dissolving in fugitive activity at the end. The third variation [10] is a scherzo whose aggressive exchanges between the sections of the orchestra frequently conceal the theme’s steady unfolding in the depths, while the fourth variation [11] brings an abrupt change of mood: this ‘slow movement’ of the sequence opens with alluring string harmonies before woodwind enter to intensify its often mysterious and withdrawn manner—the music exuding a mood of subdued anguish before reaching a calmly restive close. The fifth variation [12] centres on driving rhythmic ostinatos such as propel matters towards a violent confrontation between the strings and brass, which latter recall the manner of the opening movement and thus endow the work as a whole with a degree of unity. This is further underlined by the sixth variation [13], whose unyielding march rhythm is itself redolent of the earlier ‘processional’ and with much of the ensuing detail related to what had gone before: gradually and inexorably, these disjunctive layers of activity coalesce into a pile-driving march which gains all the while in power and intensity before this culminates in a series of hammered chords on full orchestra. These are summarily dispersed at the close, thereby preparing for the return of the theme much as it first appeared—and with any resolution left in abeyance by the spectral final bars.