SHOSTAKOVICH: Violin Concerto No. 1 in a minor; GLAZUNOV: Violin Concerto in a minor – Nicola Benedetti, v./ Bournemouth Sym. Orch./ Kirill Karabits – Decca

by | Aug 22, 2016 | Classical CD Reviews

Nicola Benedetti lends her suave virtuosity to two Russian staples of contrasting temperament.

SHOSTAKOVICH: Violin Concerto No. 1 in a minor, Op. 99; GLAZUNOV: Violin Concerto in a minor, Op. 82 – Nicola Benedetti, violin/ Bournemouth Sym. Orch./ Kirill Karabits – Decca 478 8758, 59:05 (7/1/16) [Distr. by Universal] ****:

The story of the Shostakovich Violin Concerto No. 1 (1948, Op. 77; rev. Op. 99) – delayed its publication and premiere for eight years (1956) because of political and personal intrigues – has now become familiar fare to students of the composer. Rostropovich blamed dedicatee David Oistrakh for “an act of cowardice” for not bringing the work out in its prime, just at the moment when the Zhdanov decree made of Shostakovich a pariah, fired from his post at the Leningrad Conservatory. The violin part – on which Oistrakh devoted technical advice – remains extremely demanding, to the point that after a grueling Passacaglia and equally punishing Cadenza, the Burlesque had followed immediately on its heels without a break. Oistrakh begged Shostakovich, “Please, Dmitri Dmitreyevich, consider giving the orchestra the first sixteen bars so I can at least wipe the sweat off my brow!” Shostakovich yielded, conceding, “Of course, why hadn’t I seen that before?”

Benedetti admits that having seen a video of Oistrakh, she can well-appreciate the huge, rolling nature of his sound that so much influenced the composer. The opening Nocturne: Moderato (rec. 9-10 April 2015)  has a moody introspective cast, likely another example of the Mahler aspect of much of Shostakovich. Benedetti calls the movement “a labyrinth in which you journey but you never arrive.” Conductor Karabits lights the oft-gothic landscape with etched contributions from his Bournemouth woodwinds. The melodic curve of the movement assumes the character of a specter’s roaming amidst threats and shadows, a miasma redolent as much of Bartok as Mahler. Benedetti ascends to a high note in harmonics whilst harp and celesta offer bleak consolation.

A savage contrapuntal Scherzo erupts, several times quoting the DSCH anagram of the name “Shostakovich.”  Really a kind of hallucination, the movement careers in wild arabesques to which the woodwinds add their own dementia. At key points, we hear the ominous rhythm Shostakovich applies in the Cello Concerto No. 1. The emotional heart of the Concerto lies in the martial, funereal Passacaglia, a form that somehow invests Shostakovich with an aesthetic confidence.  Set in f minor, the theme runs for 17 measures, broken down into two-measure units. Benedetti plays first the major arpeggios and later, the taxing double-stopped octaves that echo Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, aware of the “rigidity and grandeur” demanded of her. Beneath the intimacy and softness there lurks a threat of mortality in each bar. Eventually, the writing becomes less turbulent, and Benedetti remains with unison plucked strings. The Cadenza, too, opens with simple arpeggios, but Benedetti mounts an upward journey that involves personal pain on many levels, the DSCH motif’s moving in relentless tension.

The Cadenza hurtles us forward into the Burlesca – all homage to Bartok – in which Benedetti and conductor Kababits make the most of their rhythmic synergy. Says Benedetti, “This music requires a drive. . .that pushes forward without rushing.” A kind of mad gypsy flavor invests this performance, cruel and captivating. The Passacaglia rears up once more, a mockery of itself in clarinet, horn, and xylophone. The dervish dance whips forward with Benedetti’s relentless bravura in each stroke, moving with ineluctable fury to the Presto coda.

After the throes of Shostakovich, the sweetly lyric 1904 Concerto by Alexander Glazunov appears like a balm to the walking wounded. The scale of the Benedetti/Karabits collaboration seems on par with the classic models from Milstein, Rabin, and Marcovici. Silk and flowers define the music, which permits the principals a degree of rubato and tenuto that work elegantly well. After a moving Andante and cadenza, the trumpets announce the rondo tune that invites rusticity and pageantry, at once. If the work lacks profundity, it maintains a charming humanity, which this performance preserves.

—Gary Lemco