PROKOFIEV: Violin Sonata No. 2 in D Major, Op. 94a; Violin Sonata No. 2 in F Minor, Op. 80 – Mikhail Simonyan, violin/Alexei Podkorytov, piano – Delos

by | Jan 7, 2009 | Classical CD Reviews | 0 comments

PROKOFIEV: Violin Sonata No. 2 in D Major, Op. 94a; Violin Sonata No. 2 in F Minor, Op. 80 – Mikhail Simonyan, violin/Alexei Podkorytov, piano  – Delos DE 3385, 51:09  [Distrib. by Naxos] ****:


Mikhail Simonyan (b. 1986) is the new enfant terrible of Russian violin playing, and he impresses with his vibrant virtuosity in the two Prokofiev sonatas, with their respective extroverted lyricism (D Major) and gloomy introspection (F Minor). Both sonatas, as we well know, had David Oistrakh as their inspiration; although, in the case of No. 2 (1943), it had an independent existence as a whirlwind, transparently fleet flute sonata. Even given the D Major’s classical lines, Simonyan infuses it with a heady, rasping energy, supported by some incisive, glacial attacks from keyboardist Podkorytov. The Presto movement charges us with a luminous, fiercely rugged muscularity, a breakneck vitality. The Andante immediately applies a soothing, angular balm on the caustic impressions we carry from the prior scherzo. The last movement belies its wartime origins and sizzles with a punctuated march close in spirit to the composer’s Love for 3 Oranges. The severe, block chords in Podkorytov’s piano attest to his studies with the eminent colorist Oxana Yablonskaya. The Oistrakh influence permeates Simonyan’s conception: the phrasing, the noble, arched melancholy, and the headlong passion of his approach.

The F Minor Sonata (1938. 1946) assaults us with gloomy textures and motifs, a grim progression that carries not so much the ferocity of the Second World War, but its spiteful pathos. The “freddo” (“icy”) marking Prokofiev indicates for the first movement Simonyan takes quite literally, often using his glissandi and muted (“con sordino”) effects as cruel, razor cuts in the midst of a Russian blizzard. The Allegro brusco need not apologize to Bartok for its savage, punishing furies; the spirit of dissolution is abroad, a Devil’s Trill without tears, even quoting a bit from Stravinsky’s L’Histoire du Soldat. Whatever the sad, even morbid atmosphere of the Andante, Simonyan caresses the modal, metrically askew phrases with whatever pity he can muster for a fallen humanity. Some diaphanous piano effects from Podkorytov to counter the throaty, anguished melancholy from the violin part. The last movement, Allegrissimo, casts civilization into the cruncher, a furious ride into the abyss. Savage, contrapuntally tormented, only momentarily calmed by nostalgic impulses, this music projects a most unhappy Prokofiev: no wonder Oistrakh performed this sonata at the composer’s funeral. Our two young artists meet its wintry winds head-on, no holds barred. Quite an audacious first experience for this reviewer, music for the Bela Lugosi or George Zucco in us all.

–Gary Lemco

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