GLAZUNOV: Symphony No. 3 in D Major, Op. 33; Symphony No. 9 in D Major “Unfinished”; Symphony No. 2 in F-sharp Minor, Op. 16; Symphony No. 1 in E Major, Op. 5 “Slavyanskaya” – Royal Scottish National Orchestra/Jose Serebrier – Warner Classics 2564 68904-2 (2 CDs), 58:33; 77:48 ****:
Jose Serebrier (b. 1938) concludes his cycle of the Glazunov symphonies, and he does so in grand style. The D Major Symphony (No. 3) alone would warrant the price of admission, so the other works simply add frosting to a rather luscious orchestral delicacy.
Glazunov’s Third Symphony (1890), given the sheer number of musical allusions and color effects, both pays homage to and transcends his many Russian predecessors, Balakirev, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakov, and its dedicatee, Tchaikovsky. A degree of Wagner harmony and German polyphony have crept into the composer’s syntax, but the national oriental languor of the first movement, Allegro, several times nods to the C Major Balakirev Symphony and the formal design of German practitioners, Schumann and Mendelssohn. The second movement–airily rendered by Serebrier and his illumined Royal Scottish forces–reveals a skittish scherzo in the Borodin mode, the woodwinds and light percussion adding any number of passing colors to the flitting string work. In unusual meters–6/16 and 2/8–the music remains within F Major confines but with a decidedly Wagnerian flair, some of the galloping reminiscent of Berlioz. Horns and tympani color the secondary motif, a more somber affair that grabs onto the chugging ostinati, a technique Stravinsky uses in his own early, E-flat Symphony. Splendid execution throughout from Serebrier’s flute people, one doubling on piccolo.
Tristan hues the C-sharp Minor Andante, the large heart of the piece, the flute and oboe once more introducing a Russian folk-air to the suave mix from the divided strings. Tchaikovsky criticized this movement for its “longevities,” but the lyrical procession possesses undeniable pastoral beauty; and recall, the slow movement from Balakirev’s C Major Symphony has that same tendency to over-milk its sweet tune to excess. That Serebrier clarifies the thick tissue, often adding tempo rubato to the written score, makes this movement musically instructive, as well as innately compelling. The spirit of Rimsky-Korsakov motivates the last movement, Allegro moderato, a combination of percolating marches and Russian folk idioms. The RSO trumpets make their presence known, the music festive yet touched by the controlled, formal gravity we find in Brahms. The repetitive riffs in the woodwinds suggest Rimsky-Korsakov of the fairy-tale opera suites; then, in deference to Tchaikovsky, we have our obligatory, fugal development. The last pages, rife with pageantry, easily point to elements we will find in Gliere’s Ilya Mourametz Symphony. The elan vital of this realization–vibrant, enthusiastic, committed–provides exactly the stuff of what composers’ revivals are made.
The Unfinished Symphony No. 9 of Glazunov (1910) is a symphonic movement one likens to the A Minor Symphony of Borodin. Conductor Gavril Yudin completed the orchestration of the piano score in 1948. A slow introduction provides materials for the main theme. We often feel that technique rather than inspiration drives this music, but Serebrier approaches Glazunov with the passion of an acolyte, so we my be convinced that what we hear resounds with lasting quality. Fragmentary tunes over a pedal D will find better application in composers like Scriabin, who take greater harmonic, syntactical risks. Still, the movement carries us along with its sincerity and compositional fluency.
There are moments when Glazunov’s Symphony No. 2 in F-sharp Minor (1886) reminds me of Puccini’s version of the orient in Turandot. The declamations of the first movement resonate with Borodin elements and procedures, not the least of which is the main melody. Dedicated to the memory of Franz Liszt (d. 1886)–who had led the First Symphony in Weimar in 1884–the music gains rapid momentum in the first movement, brass and tympani active until the strings’ statement of the melody against a panoply of Russian colors. Dark episodes infiltrate the basically heroic pagan character of the Allegro section; and it is this “monumentalism” that heralds some of Gliere’s later Ilya Mourametz Symphony (1911). The coda takes us back to that “imperial” motif that invokes Turandot as much as it does the Russian steppe.
Thoroughly bucolic, the second movement Andante evolves a love song through a series of graduated colors, especially through the woodwinds and sloughing strings in tremolo. The music shimmers with evocations of the Caucasus, and we gravitate to thoughts of Ippolitov-Ivanov. Once more, the melodic shape takes its cue form Borodin’s “Bogatyr” Symphony in B Minor, the French horn and flute in fluent harmony. The sensuousness of the musical line suggests more than a passing familiarity with the Polovtsian Dances as well. A touch of Mendelssohn fairy dust or Balakirev bustle makes the Scherzi: Allegro vivace deft and light; but look to the scoring of the analogous movement from Tchaikovsky’s Manfred Symphony for similar filigree. The trio melody could have come from any Tchaikovsky ballet and just as likely, one of Glazunov’s own, ending quietly. The last movement quickly passes from its solemn Intrada to a full-blooded statement of three themes in the Russian national style. At least one theme shares similarities with the finale of Tchaikovsky’s “Winter Dreams” Symphony. A bassoon introduces another set of rounds for the full orchestra, the counterpoint kept light despite some trumpet declamations worthy of Boris Gudonov. The texture thins out in a way that appeals to both Borodin and Rimsky-Korsakov, the melody carried in the legato string line. The coda indulges in a heady mix of themes martial and virtuosic, the RSO in full throttle to celebrate a festival of triumphant colors.
The set closes with Glazunov’s declaration of his precocious genius, his First Symphony in E Major, Op. 5 (1882), the product of a sixteen-year-old composition student who had already mastered his native orchestral idiom. Glazunov’s immediate model is the opening to Schumann’s heraldic E-flat Symphony, “Rhenish,” with the upbeat fanfare and metric and harmonic downshift to the secondary theme. The plastic writing for strings, winds, and brass indicates the success Glazunov enjoyed in orchestration, having gleaned much of the color legacy of The Mighty Five. Whatever touches of piquant counterpoint and brief canonic passages succeed, they are the result of consultations with Balakirev. A drone sets off the spirited Scherzo whose kinship to the Polvtsian Dances or those from A Life for the Tsar are not merely coincidental. A clear reference to Rimsky-Korsakov’s Russian Easter Overture admits the trio section, based on a Polish martial tune. Serebrier’s RSO forces handle the rather frequent changes of tempo and registration with decisive aplomb. The Adagio casts an autumnal glow reminiscent of Brahms, except the color modalities belong to a landscape dominated by the Volga River. A kind of organ diapason emerges, tutti, from the melody; and we wonder why Stokowski did not record this audacious work. The motto from Beethoven’s Fifth sallies forth, perhaps an allusion to the several Tchaikovsky “fate” symphonies. The movement ends with a series of romantic warbles. A forceful, energetic Polish tune announces the Finale: Allegro, and the ensuing color treatment pays homage to Tchaikovsky’s layered gifts for clarion exclamations. The charming melodic filigree takes hints from Rimsky-Korsakov’s May Night Overture. The passing parade of musical homage must have warmed the hearts of Glazunov’s teachers; they certainly keep the RSO fired up.
At last, from Henry Wood Hall, Glasgow, an integral set of the Glazunov symphonies from interpreters who believe them all worthy of dissemination. Recorded 2-5 June 2009, with engineering by Alistair Barker, this series has already become required listening.
–Gary Lemco
