Prokofiev's Cantata for the Twentieth Anniversary of the October Revolution - Gergiev Prom

Sergei Prokofiev's  Cantata for the Twentieth Anniversary of the October Revolution, Op 74,  with Valery Gergiev conducting the Mariinsky Orchestra and Chorus. One Day That Shook the World to borrow the subtitle from Sergei Eisenstein's epic film October : Ten Days that Shook the World.  Prokofiev's Cantata was dynamite in many ways. It's an explosion of sound so overwhelming that it needs to be detonated in a performance space as vast as the Royal Albert Hall for full effect. It was also dynamite  because it was modern in musical terms, while purporting to celebrate increasingly regressive Soviet values.  For a while, the Revolution espoused progressive ideas like futurism and modern art,  Eisenstein was probably able to get away with radical innovation ten years after 1917. Twenty years later, Prokofiev was not so lucky. His Cantata was suppressed until Prokofiev and his nemesis Josef Stalin had died, ironically within days of one another.  Now, a hundred years after the Revolution, we can perhaps assess its impact on Russia and the world.  And with Gergiev and the Mariinsky Orchestra and Choir, we probably had the best possible interpreters.  

Eisenstein's film, made ten years after the Russian Revolution of 1917, depicted ten critical days in the struggle, starting with the return of Lenin, culminating with the creation of a new Soviet government dedicated to ideals of peace and equality.  Prokofiev's Cantata unfolds in ten sections, highlighting themes in the revolution, some with explicit texts, others in more cryptic orchestral form. Prokofiev prefaced the Prelude with a quote from Marx and Engels A Communist Manifesto, "A Spectre is haunting Europe, the Spectre of Communism".  Marx and Engels, though, were writing in 1848 when communism was no more than theory.  Prokofiev, on the other hand, had personal experience of what a communist revolution could mean.  One wonders if he's praising the system or hinting at something darker.   

In the second section, the choirs intone "Philosophers have simply explained the world in different ways. The point is to change it". Another equivocal statement that can be read in different ways. Perhaps the setting hides a clue to meaning. Male and female chorus members sing lines that overlap one another,  propelled by strict rhythm like the pounding of machinery.   Rising anthems in the orchestra suggest patriotic pride, but they're cut apart by an Interlude with jagged angles, and ominous crashing percussion. Perhaps we're in some huge, infernal machine.  In the section titled "Marching in Closed Rank", the voices in jerky lockstep, the rhythms are even more pronounced, highlighted with crashing cymbals and brass.  The text quotes Lenin,"...we are singling ourselves out as a special group who have chosen the path of struggle, not the path of compromise". 

Yet Prokofiev follows this with a tiny Interlude of  haunting quietness before the voices return, the women apart from the men.  The revolution has started but its outcome is by no means certain.  Thus rushing, frantic figures, passages where the singing is so fast that, with less articulate voice, the line might collapse. Psychologically true: Trumpets call, metallic bells are beaten. We even hear the hint of ships' bells underlining the reference to "Kronstadt, Vyborg , Revel" (where the Navy mutinied).  We even hear the wail of a klaxon - a touch of Edgard Varèse? Though it's probably a natural response to the images of machinery and violence.  The suggestion of gunfire hangs heavily over the orchestra.

Victory, at last? The women's voices sing a serene hymn, whose sweeping lines mihght evoke traditional hymns of harvest.  The men's voices join in.  ""The machinery of oppression has been toppled". Yet still Prokofiev paints mechanical processes into his music - the regular tread of machines and processes, the singers clapping their hands in joyless rhythm, the percussion section stamping their feet.  A single voice rises from within the closed ranks of the men's choir.  "We need the measured tread of the iron battalions of the proletariat". The combined choirs sing a secular hymn of unquestioning obedience to Lenin and his values.  The words quote Stalin, whose loyalty to Lenin might not have been as pure as the text suggests.

A section marked "Symphony" follows - flying figures, trumpets and flutes leading forward, the suggestion of pipes and drums, then a semi-pastoral melody, the strings singing as if they were describing fields of corn and a bumper harvest.  But grim ostinato intrudes: the timpani growl and the orchestra flies off again in frantic tension.  Perhaps in this extended section, with its sophisticated textures and inventive contrasts, Prokofiev is expressing that which cannot be voiced in a totalitarian society.  The choirs return, singing in unison, men alternating with women, singing a chorale to words by Stalin, praising the Constitution of the Soviet Union. But in a totalitarian state, constitutional procedures don't guarantee a thing. You could end up in a gulag, as Lina Prokofiev discovered.

So is Prokofiev's  Cantata for the Twentieth Anniversary of the October Revolution glorious propaganda? And, if so, for whom and for what purpose? In musical terms it's a lot more sophisticated and subtle than the blatantly crude texts suggest.  Was Prokofiev playing a dangerous double game? We may never know, but the Cantata is a lot more than kitsch  

Prokofiev's Cantata received its first public performance in 1966.  The following year, the Soviet Republic marked its 50th anniversary with a reissue of Eisenstein's October: Ten Days that Shook The World. A new soundtrack was added, specially written by Dimitri Shostakovich. It';s thrilling stuff,. These thoughts absorbed me while listening to  Gergiev and the Mariinsky Orchestra perform Dimitri Shostakovich Symphony no 5 in D minor, written at the same time as Prokofiev's Cantata  This was a wildfire hit with the regime, rehabilitating him in their good books.  Throughout his career, Shostakovich played cat and mouse with the system, not always in the best interests of his music.   This performance was so good that Gergiev rehabilitated it for me: it's not usually my favourite., but this was good.  Gergiev's  also a champion of the music of Galina Ustvolskaya.  Initially, she was in Shostakovich's inner circle but eventually their paths turned apart.  Ustvolskaya's music was so uncompromising that it compromised her status in society.  Who knows what Prokofiev would have made of her?  The Prokofiev that might lurk within this Cantata, that is. Keeping Prokofiev and Shostakovich apart,  Tchaikovsky's  Piano Concerto No. 3 in E flat major with soloist Denis Matsuev.

National Youth Choir of Great Britain Prom : Walton Prokofiev Karabits

Kiril Karabits conducted the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra  and the National Youth Choir of Great Britain in a Prom featuring Beethoven, Richard Strauss and William Walton's Belshazzar's Feast but the gem was a miniature, Prokofiev's cantata Seven, they are Seven op 30. If Seven, They are Seven could ever be a "miniature", that is. Though it runs barely seven minutes it's so concentrated that once heard, it's never forgotten.  Valery Gergiev conducted it with the London Symphony Orchestra in March 2007, nearly lifting the roof off the Barbican Hall.  At the Royal Albert Hall, with its cavernous capacity and raised dome, it might be less of a bone shaker, but is still an experience.  An ideal vehicle for the National Youth Choir of Great Britain to let rip.

The text for Seven, they are Seven is taken from a Mesopotamian script describing the beginning of time, when seven demonic gods control creation.  Malevolent gods, and violent.  Since Prokofiev was writing in 1917, we can reasonably assume he wasn't writing about Tigris and Euphrates 5000 years ago, but about Russia at a time of upheaval.  A loud crash, followed by a scream in which the whole choir can indulge in force. The piece is written for tenor, but relatively few have the dark timbre and forceful projection to carry off its vocal extremes, pitted against a huge orchestra and choir. David Butt Philip  manages well, his voice carrying over the thumping ostinato behind him. One man against the forces of hell.  The choral line is equally dramatic: repeated lines, some thumping, others wildly angular, wavering like flames and winds.  Suddenly the volume drops. Cymbals crash, timpani rumble. Butt Philip sings sotto voce, intoning mysterious prayer.

From a rarity to a hardy perennial, William Walton's Belshazzar's Feast. The setting is again ostensibly Babylon, but the real reason for including it in this Prom was to give the Choir another chance to shine.  And they did! The freshness of younger voices adds to the sense of excitement: Walton's score is quasi Hollywood, maximizing excess, with brass bands thrown into the heady mix.  Biblical as its context may be, it's hardly pious, but very much a piece of its time (1931) when the jazz age still prevailed and the Bright Young Things partied like there'd be no tomorrow,  Belshazzar's having a rave.  "Babylon was a great city" sang James Rutherford, enumerating the treasures: "...chariots, slaves and the souls of men". Singing with unbridled delight, the choir seemed to be having a good time.  "Praise thee !, Praise thee !"  But as we know, parties don't last forever.  Ominous sounds from the orchestra. The King sees a hand writing on the wall "Mene, mene tekel upharsim". The  "Hebrew" sound of trumpets. the choir emphasising the baritone's words with dramatic finality "Slain !" Slain!"  Then we're back to zany 30's celebration. "Hallelujah ! Hallelujah!" Flamboyant riffs give way to ecstatic swoons.  "And the Light of the Lord shall shine on us".  Yet more ecstatic Hallelujahs. "Make a joyful noise!"  The photo above, from the choir's 2016 Prom,  illustrates the vibe so well.

Dangerous ! BBC First Night of the Proms 2016

The Marseillaise on the First Night of the Proms 2016, a powerful start to the BBC Proms season, acknowledging the atrocities in France. Most of the Royal Albert Hall audience stood up in tribute.  Terrorism is a global issue even when perpetrators act alone. Nations united are stronger than nations alone. Perhaps that message is lost on some, and the BBC will get it in the neck from vested interests who'd like to replace public services with commercial control, who look for any excuse to accuse the BBC of "bias" real or imagined.  Tonight, the BBC placed humanity above political manipulation. The BBC is a more effective ambassador for British integrity than schemers and selfish policies ever could be.

This First Night of the Proms was obviously planned ages ago, but we cannot but reflect on how it relates to current events.  Music doesn't exist in isolation, and we'd be much lesser people if we didn't care. Hate and division have always been part of the human condition. In Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare wrote about implacable rivalries, and the pointless waste of young life.  Beautiful as it is, Tchaikovsky's Fantasy Overture ' Romeo and Juliet' would be nothing if we overlooked the tragedy behind  Especially niot after that Marseillaise and the images of dead bodies we've been seeing today.

The image of Elgar as jingoist persists even though from what we know of the composer, the image is far from the truth. Elgar's Cello Concerto is anything but "pomp and circumstance";  it's poignant and deeply felt. It was written after the death of Alice, his wife and muse, but also after the end of the First World War, in which millions of others were killed, not only in war but through famines, epidemics and ethnic cleansing. In those circumstances victory could not but be tinged with sorrow, In any case 1914-1918 was the beginning of a much wider, global conflict that didn't end until 1945, and a radical new approach to ending conflict. Perhaps we should reflect more on the years of idealism after 1945 than on endless squabbles.  In this performance, with Sol Gabetta as soloist, I was particularly moved by the quieter moments, ie the lento, which "spoke" with more depth than a short movement usually gets.

First Nights of the Proms often feature blockbusters, since their size suits the cavern that is the Royal Albert Hall. Prokofiev's Cantata Alexander Nevsky was ideal material, featuring as it does massed forces of a scale that the Soviet Union could produce when it needed to make major propaganda impact.  I've written extensively on Sergei Eisenstein's monumental film Alexander Nevsky and the role Prokofiev's music played in it. Please see HERE and HERE for more.  In this performance, Sakari Oramo, the BBC SO, the BBC Symphony Chorus, the BBC National Chorus of Wales and soloist Olga Borodina let rip with intense ferocity.  Perhaps a little on the wild side, but rightly so, because this is impassioned music.  The Russians under Alexander Nevsky were fighting for their very existence. In 1938, when the film was made, the irony of the plot was not lost.  The Soviet Union didn't trust the Nazis any more than Nevsky trusted the Crusaders.  Although the forces used in the Battle on the Ice were small by modern standards, the conflict was epic, a fight to the death with Nature itself creating havoc. Human history isn't pretty but if we don't learn, we're lost.

Prurient Prokofiev Fiery Angel Bayerische Staatsoper

Sergei Prokofiev The Fiery Angel at the Bayerische Staatsoper, Munich, brilliantly conducted by Vladimir Jurowski.  As an opera, The Fiery Angel poses difficulties, but as abstract music it works so well that Prokofiev adapted it to become his Symphony No 3. Musical values dominate the score, adding depth to a narrative that poses as many questions as answers. Renata is clearly mad.  Her obsession with Madiel dominates her life to the exclusion of all else. She assume Madiel is an angel but her delusions are sexual. rather than spiritual. So why does a seemingly strong personality like Ruprecht get sucked int the maelstrom? Listen to the orchestra, though, for the music makes madness seem quite plausible.  Jurowski is in his element. He's more elegant than Gergiev, and wilder than the eminently sensible Neeme Järvi, though you need to hear all three.

The Fiery Angel is Prokofiev's Faust. Hence the litany of occult mumbo-jumbo that explodes in the First Act, heralding the entry of the Fortune Teller (Elena Manistina) a gorgeous camp caricature who disappears for the rest of the opera.  This occultist laundry list tumbles out of the score like madcap music: the composer isn't bothered what the words means, because they sound good, as words. Later, when Renata (Svetlana Sozdateleva ) and Ruprecht (Evgeny Nikitin) think they've summunoed up a spirit, loud knocks burst forth from the orchestra in almost joyous delirium, as if Prokofiev is suggesting that the gullible will hear signs in anything.  

Less succesful, though, is the staging, directed by Barrie Kosky, with sets by Rebecca Ringst.  The Faust theme is universal, so in principle there's no problem with changing the 16th century rooming house into an ultra deluxe modern hotel, though you wonder how  a nutter like Renata got in.  M\ybe everything's in her head, anyway. Perhaps we're in Renata's dream world, since, when the scene moves to Cologne, the room stays the same. Some audiences won't notice, seduced by chintz and fake rococo furnishings.  Renata's ravings become predictable after a while, the part being written for high-flown hysteria.  Sozdateleva is fairly young, but doesn't quite capture the Lulu-like innocence that so entrances Ruprecht. She can act well, though, twitching like a lunatic resisting restraint, her eyes rolled back as if the Devil himself were swallowing her soul.  The score doesn't give Ruprecht all that much to do, vocally, so a talent like Nikitin doesn't get to show what he can really do.  

When the opera descends into the demonic, things liven up. Again, the orchestral interludes are paramount, illustrated here by dancers, wonderfully costumed by Klaus Bruns.  Ladies appear in evening dress, revealed close up as muscular men, covered in tattoos. A visually magnificent introduction to the appearance of Agrippa von Nettesheim (Vladimir Galouzine) another well-cast cameo.  

The dancers return in the tavern scene, where .the Faust references are vivid. Kevin Conners' Mefistofeles is brilliantly conceived, with an amazing costume which suggest a clown gone mad.  Fabulous three-corner hairdo, like the horns of Satan. Again, there's not a lot to sing, but Conners acts well, moving in tight ensemble with the dancers, who this time are devilish grotesques. A pity, though, that Kosky's prurience gets the better of him. Mefistofeles's penis (not Conners') hangs out from his pants, and later he sodomizes Renata and eats "her" penis as a sausage. This may be true to the morbid sexuality in the opera, but I'm not altogether sure that Prokofiev would have taken it so literally. It's all a bit schoolboy, detracting from the otherwise good characterization in the costume.  

Igor Tsarkov sang Faust, elegantly though oddly garbed. Again, this may well be a good reading of Prokofiev's intentions since the roles of Faust and Mephistofeles are ironically reversed.  

In the final Act, even Ruprecht is disposed of, more or less, and the narrative centres on Renata, now in a convent. The dancers now are nuns, dressed as Jesus, blood pouring from their crowns of thorns.  Kinky, but then a lot of religious imagery is kinky if you think about it.  Even after her exorcism, Renata is still condemned as an agent of Satan.  The poor girl gets screwed in every way.  Sadly, Kosky seems to enjoy the sex bits too much to grasp the cynical detachment of Prokofiev's sardonic irony. The costumes are great, but I think I'd prefer a less infantile interpretation and one that picks up on other levels of the opera.

Now I've watched Kosky's Handel SAaul at Gl6ndebourne on film, where you can see the close ups. Live it would have been imporessive because you see the giant floral feast and display, and the pretty costumes. But close up you see the diussiapation - which is true to meaning - but yet again Kosky's obssession with grim, joyless sex. Two naked old men, groping each other, one asproutuing breasts the other feeds on. Yes, it's an image, but overdone and rotesque. plus the same ewarth floor as in Castor and Pollux ! Cet P was OK because it is about sex. But the same critics who raed about that adored Saul ? Go fiure.

Please also see my piece on Boito Mefistofele also from Munich, which was excellent - René Pape, Opolais, Calleja

Jurowski 's case for Prokofiev proved?

In this Prokofiev - man of the people? season at the Royal Festival Hall, Vladimir Jurowski has been examining Prokofiev's career after his return to the Soviet Union, placing his later music in context. On 28/1/12,  he presented two rarities, one a premiere,  focussing on Prokofiev as dramatist.  It was a winner. Thrilling music, but also an indication of what the composer might have meant about reaching the people.

Popular art need not be populist. Film was a revolutionary art form because it reached the masses, even those who didn't realize that what they were watching was "art". Eisenstein was an artist, but used mass media to get his messages across. What better way for a man like Prokofiev to use his art to reach millions who might never enter a formal concert hall? In the west, people are perplexed that anyone should leave "freedom" for Communism, but at the time, many intellectuals were idealistic. Stalin was the price they had to pay. Similarly, many Chinese intellectuals returned to China when the country was in need. It was moral imperative, and then the Cultural Revolution.. Maybe it's just not a concept everyone for themselves societies can grasp, but it's not without honour.

"I serve Russia, not myself" to paraphrase Ivan the Terrible in Eisenstein's masterpiece, with score by Prokofiev.  The Tsar's primary duty is to serve the people, even if he's bloodthisrty and immoral. Although Soviet censors may have balked at Ivan the Terrible Part II, it doesn't show the tsar as villain so much as an individual motivated by ideals, although he's become twisted with power and intrigue. Curiously, Ivan is an artist, a "man of the people" in his own way.

The world premiere tonight was Levon Atomyan's 1961 version of Prokofiev's score for Ivan The Terrible , condensed into less than an hour.  It was approved by the Union of Soviet Composers (one judge being Shostakovich), but Atomyan had a stroke and the work remained in his archive.  Although there is another arrangement, by the conductor Abram Stasevich, who recorded the original sound track, Atomyan was a close friend of Prokofiev and influenced his return to Russia.

Atomyan's arragement doesn't follow the narrative in the film, but reshapes the soundtrack in symphonic form in seven movements. While we hear the magnificence which represenst Russian glory, what comes over more prominently is a gentler. more human Ivan.. After the belligerance of the first section, there's a folk song about a beaver who is hunted down for his pelt. Folk melody, perhaps, but brutal. Prokofiev wanted the singer,to sound  "as senile as possible, as though holding a cigarette between the lips, as though  through a comb", I wouldn't say that was what Ewa Podleś sounded like, for at 60, her voice is still naturally warm and rich,  It's the song Yefrovsinya, the Tsar's aunt later sings to her own son,  as she plots the Tsar's downfall.

The song of the Oprichniks, the Oprichnina appears in full in the seond part of the film, but  its savage pulsating staccato occurs throughout the soundtrack, In this arrangement it's the third segment, enmphasing the primitive power of Ivan's terrifying hitmen.  Andrey Breus sang the baritone part, supported by the male voices of the London Philharmonic Choir. One should feel fear and revulsion. but the music is so infectious, you're almost drawn into it, which is rather worrying. But then, that's what mobs are like.

The 4th and 5th movements describe Ivan's marraige to Anastasia, the "swan", whose beauty and purity stand in contrast to the intrigue around them. Would he have turned out differently if she hadn't been murdered? The film links the poisoning of Anastasia to the murder of Ivan's mother, which made the young boy determined to be strong.  Atomyan adds Ocean Song for contralto and orchestra, which doesn't appear in the film, but fits the story well, and connects to the song Yefrosinya sings to her son. A vivid depiection of the attack on Kazan, complete with cannons, and the chorus singing a hymn to Russian glory. The gory elements in the film are played down, the orchestration emphasizing quirky good humour.  Eisenstein, Prokofiev and Stalin were all dead by 1958, when Ivan the Terrible Part II was unbanned, but the ideas were still dangerous. Atomyan's finale, the Magnifcation for chorus and orchestra, is straightforward glory on Russian themes. It's a watering down of the original for practical/political reasons, but is rousing and entertaining. Populism rather than art.

Atomyan's mediocrity makes one all the more appreciate the courage and artistic integrity of Eisenstein and Prokofiev.  Fabulously lively playing from the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Jurowski made his point, with glory!

Simon Callow and Miranda Richardson narrated Prokofiev's Incidental Music to Egyptian Nights. This was an experimental theatre project, directed by Alexander Tairov in 1934, before Prokofiev made his final committment to return to the Soviet Union. Tairov mixed passages from Shakespeare, George Bernard Shaw and Pushkin to create a story that covered Cleopatra's life from youth to death. Prokofiev's score runs to 44 numbers, played with verve by the LPO. But all attention was on Callow, who created one figure after another - Julius Caesar as old rake, Caesar as ruler and betrayer, Mark Antony and the Irish-accented fig seller who brings Cleopatra the asp.  Callow was wonderful - no stilted RADAisms that some actors might use, but warm, natural, imposing and funny by turns. The script's clunky,  but Callow saved it. Richardson's Cleopatra was fun too, though her part's more safe. Although the piece runs for exactly the same time as Ivan The Terrible, the strange hybrid form tends to drag and confuse. But the point is that Prokofiev realized it was "experimental" even as Stalin's purges were kicking in.

Excellent booklet notes. I wish I'd beem to more in this Prokofiev - man of the people? series. Can't wait til Simon Morrison's book on Lina Prokofiev is published later this year. Lina was the one who really sacrificed herself for Russia. Please see my other posts on early art  film, music for film, political film, suppressed composers etc.

Пир Ивана Грозного

Пир Ивана Грозного - the Dance of the Oprochniks from Sergei Eisensteins' Ivan The Terrible Part 2, music by Sergei Prokofiev. This is a crucial scene. The Tsar, long driven mad by conspiracies around him, is locked in a struggle with his aunt and the boyars. The Oprochniks are his personal henchmen "Tied to him by blood". But as Ivan says, so is his formidable aunt, whom he admires for whacking his men with her staff when they confronted her. The film is stark black and white, to heighten the extreme contrast, and evoke the Tsar's possibly schizoid paranoia. It also means sinister, creeping shadows, stark contrasts between the luxury of the court and ascetic monks. . Ivan slides snake like through maze like corridors, his beard pointing forward, his cloak leaving a wake of menace. Ludicrously stylized shots, but which have purpose : no one acts independently in this world til the director cries "Action" and the actors suddenly stiffen into pose, eyes dilated, hypnotized by fear. There's a masque about fiery angels whom Nebuchadnezzar of the Chaldees could not burn in his furnace. (a pun on Prokofiev's Fiery Angel?) God will prevail over evil rulers. Ivan knows there's a plot to assassinate him so he invites his cousin Vladimir to a party and gets him drunk. Suddenly the film turns into colour. Early technology means the film bleeds red, which is rather appropriate. The Oprochniks dance and sing. Note the "female" mask and outfit. Something terrible is about to happen.

Lt. Kijé 1934 full download

http://www.archive.org/details/LieutenantKizhe1934Restored

Lieutenant Kizhe (Kijé) aka The Tsar wants to sleep. This is the full movie, directed by Alexander Faintzimmer in 1934, with a score by Sergei Prokofiev. To get English subtitles, press on the tiny CC icon on the right of the screen. Don't worry too much as most of the gags are visual. As long as you know the gist of the story, it's fun. I didn't realize that I was following it in Russian until half way. Note how the dialogue and music are sparsely applied, more like European art film at the time, not like Hollywood scores where the music sometimes overwhelms the action.

Knussen Myaskovsky Goehr Barbican

Big publicity for the Prokofiev - man of the people? concert at the South Bank, but the smart money was at the Barbican to hear Prokofiev's contemporary, the rarely heard Nikolay Myaskovsky. Ten years older than Prokofiev, Myaskovsky (1881-1950)  knew the brief period when the Soviet Union represented the futurist modernity. A sensitive aesthete with an upper class background, he cloaked himself in inscrutable reticence, which helped him survive the excesses of Stalinism. Oliver Knussen's striking performance of Myaskovsky's 10th Symphony with the BBC Symphony Orchestra showed how much more there is to Myaskovsky than his relative obscurity might suggest.

Myaskovsky's inspiration was Pushkin's story of the Bronze Horseman, where a man, whose lover has died in a terrible flood, rages against fate. The huge bronze statue of Peter the Great comes off its plinth and hunts the man down.  Even in Pushkin's time, that could be read as a protest against unfair authority. In 1927, as Stalin was consolidating power, it was shockingly brave of Myaskovsky to choose such a subject.

Furthermore, Oliver Knussen's striking performance brought out the modernist elements in the score much more sharply than Evgeny Svetlanov did in the only readily available recording. One of Knussen's specialities is Futurist music. He underlines the contrast between the "little man" and his beloved, represented by solo violin (Andrew Haveron) and the overwhelming forces against them. Indeed, Myaskovsky was particularly moved by Alexander Benois's illustrations of the story (see above) so Knussen's dynamics carry weight. Rolling waves of brass and timpani vividly evoke the waves of the flood, engulfing the strings, Stark alarums, trumpets screaming anguish. Savage discords that thwack down all opposition. Nothing romantic or populist about this music. Maybe Prokofiev needs to be heard in context with Myaskovsky.

It's Alexander Goehr's 80th birthday this year, honoured by a special BBC commission, When Adam Fell. Numerous composers in the audience, as Goehr is an important figurehead. It's nicely orchestrated. Goehr himself connects it to one of his best known works, The Deluge, using texts by Sergei Eisenstein, evolving like collage in film. Another Prokofiev connection! Knussen, that master of erudite programming must have chuckled. When Adam Fell is lighter and more scintillating, all bright, sparkling sounds, percussion reduced to two desks of marimba and bell-like effects. References, too, to Bach's chorale Durch Adam's Fall ist alles verderbt. (photo Elan Tal)

Goehr studied with Hanns Eisler in East Berlin, who had worked with Schoenberg, as did Goehr's father Walter. Again, Knussen's programming genius came up with Schoenberg's Chamber Symphony no 1, which like Goehr's new work eschews percussion.  Full circle, a subtle tribute. Not the usual version this time, but the revison for large orchestra created in 1935 which fleshes out the same basic structure with extra voices. The BBCSO trumpets and horns had a great time, vivacious! One of the joys of the original is its audacious compression, which gets lost with larger forces, but Knussen made it lively and cheerful. Several big names in the audience drifted off after the Goehr piece, but Goehr himself stayed on to listen. Afterwards, his face was lit up with happiness. A good man!

For concision and clarity, though, Niccolò Castiglioni usually surpasses anyone else. Knussen adores him, partly because they have a similar irreverent sense of humour. Castiglioni's music is the perfect antidote to those who think classical music is ponderous and dull, but it isn't performed as often as it should be because it's technically demanding. In another flash of wit, Knussen chose Castiglioni's 1963 Concerto for Orchestra. Again, no timpani. Just as Schoenberg's Kammersymphonie used a small orchestra in big music, Castiglioni uses a  big orchestra for music of aphoristic compression. Most of Castiglioni's music is written for soloists or small ensemble, but Concerto is unusual in that it's written for vast forces.  Just as Goehr's When Adam Fell quotes from his earlier work The Deluge, Castiglioni's Concerto quotes the first bars of his most famous work Tropi. "Full of light and fantasy and crazy gestures", says Knussen "in an accelerator tunnel ...little fragments which start to multiply". Quick flurries of high pitched sounds, interspersed with silences that Knussen carefully beats out with his baton, so you "hear" the pulse of the work continuing uninterrupted.  A very long chord, wavering brass lines, single note interjections from the clarinet, then the whole ensemble storms forward, trumpets blasting like the horn of a train speeding out of control. Silences again, tiny flurries, more clean brass chords, repeated as echoes, and sudden stop. "You know what I'm going to say" said Knussen grinning, because he often reprises works he really loves. Lots more on Castiglioni and Knussen on this site like THIS 
LISTEN TO THIS CONCERT on BBC Radio 3 til Friday

Prom 21 Prokofiev Alexander Nevsky - full movie download

It's the 13th century and the Mongols are invading Europe from the east, and Teutonic Knights are invading Slav lands from the west. Novgorod is an idyllic city, open to the waters on one side, vast steppes behind. Clean, pure living. Alexander Nevsky, Prince of Novgorod, Man of the People, is out fishing with his people as a good Soviet hero should. This is the classic film directed by Sergei Eisenstein, for which Sergei Prokofiev wrote the music. At BBC Prom 21, Andris Nelsons (a Latvian) is conducting Prokofiev's Alexander Nevsky Cantata.

This is one of Sergei Eisenstein's masterpieces, made in 1937.  Note date and place.  Despite Stalin's repressive anti-modernism, Eisenstein manages to create a modernist icon by playing along with Stalinists stereotypes. One of the glories of this film is the stylized design, totally in tune with western avant garde film at the time. The Soviets can't wipe the Church out of history, so Eisenstein neutralizes it by depicting it in stylized art deco. See the neatly dressed peasants and priests. Then the Teutonic Knights at Pskov, dehumanized aliens in bizarre helmets. Look at the bishop in black, among monks in white. Or the mad monk in black who plays a portable organ to remind us that Religion Is a Drug. (it's powered by monks with bellows).

Wonderful camera angles, long sweeping lines, even clearer in this film than in Battleship Potemkin. Panoramic scenes, shot from heights to maximize scale. Fabulously choreographed crowd scenes and battles. The Battle on the Ice is magnificent! This is propaganda elevated to High Art.

Prokofiev The Gambler full broadcast tonite!

Prokofiev's The Gambler is being broadcast on BBC Radio 3 tonight, 1800 London time.Online and international.  Great production shots, synopsis etc.

Listen to it because audio only, it's easier to appreciate the opera for what it is. It's difficult to stage because Prokofiev was trying to turn what is essentailly a symphonic poem into a drama. He's also expressing his own complex feelings about Russia at the time of great upheaval. Yet he's got to mesh it with the original story. First act introduces the characters at length, but action happens in the Third Act.  In theory you could  save time by listening to the Third Act's dramatic music, but understanding the context is important. The people the opera depicts are a shallow, superficial bunch, you're meant to dislike, not identify with. This again isn't operatic convention, which makes the drama seem oddly inert. But The Gambler can't be judged like more mature, conventional operas, which is why it confused the critics earlier this year. Still, it's interesting enough heard on its own terms. In fact it will probably be better appreciated next time round, when people get their heads around it. Certainly, I'm planning to go to the revival in 2011. This is what I wrote about the premiere earlier this year. Incidentally, John Tomlinson was very proactive creating his role, a lot of the ideas are his.

Prokofiev, suppressed modern? Alexander Nevsky

Hearing The Gambler at the Royal Opera House last week was an excellent experience because it showed Prokofiev at the start of his career. It gives perspective on his later, more popular work. Prokofiev, after all, chose to return to Russia instead of seeking a profitable career in the west, like Stravinsky.

Admittedly, the early Soviet era was idealistic, and for a time even encouraged modernist, radical art. Inevitably though, Prokofiev had to bend to Stalin. He, too, is a "suppressed composer" not really so very different from Hartmann and some Germans under the Third Reich.

Depressing irony, given that Russia and Germany were locked in a struggle to the death. In this context, it's bracing to watch Alexander Nevsky, the film by Sergei Eisenstein, with music by Prokofiev. The Soviets and Nazis were implacably opposed despite their unsteady pact that collapsed when Hitler invaded the USSR. The film, made in 1938 has a clear message: The Russian people won't give in.

Obviously, as a propaganda film, it's polarized. The Teutonic Knights are shown in costumes that dehumanize them . They wear helmets with cross-shaped slits that make them look like fools with leaky buckets on their heads. There's even an evil monk playing an organ, like the Phantom of the Opera. In one frame four knights line up: the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The wars between the Slavs and the Teutonic Knights were horrific, as was the invasion to come. So the shots of Germans throwing babies into fires is pointed.

In the film, religion is specially singled out as evil. Lots of shots of crosses, white robes, ceremonies, far more detailed and explicit than the stylized Russian churches, glimpsed in the background. Only at the end, there's a splash of Russian Orthodox images, when the dead heroes are brought into town. But it's clear that the war wasn't won by the church. The message of this movie isn't just anti-German. It reminded Soviet audiences that all religion is "the opium of the people". And, as one peasant cries, "You can't trust the rich, they'll sell out to anyone".

Alexander Nevsky, by contrast, is pure. He won't join the Mongols though they offer him glory. "Better to die in your own land than leave it." Interestingly, Alexander and his men sport Lady Gaga haircuts, more blonde and "Aryan" than the Nazis, who hated Slavs. Let's not forget, the Soviets didn't like Jews.

Einstein's crowd scenes are magnificently filmed. Wide angle frames, panning out over horizons, so you can watch battle formations move in choreographed diagonals. Many shots where the horizon is in the bottom quartile of the screen, vast expanses of sky above.. Stalin didn't like "modern art" but what Eisenstein is doing is extremely modernist. almost abstract art. Indeed, everything is so clean and stylized it's like art deco - no blood, guts and mud here. When the Russians tear their prisoners apart, the camera recedes. Even the Battle on the Ice isn't particularly icy or grim, it's more like ballet. Or an Expressionist movie. Eisenstein created the genre.

Prokofiev's music had to be shaped to fit the movie, so he couldn't write without restraint. The soound quality on the film transfer is so awful, you can barely hear the orchestra. Listen, instead with a CD to hand. Then you realize how Prokofiev disguises discordant, awry rhythms behind scenes where such music will be "appropriate", like the Battle on the Ice, which criss-cross themes that evoke the idea of warring forces. The fanfares of Russian horns don't sound ostensibly "modern" if you're looking at men in medieval robes blowing primitive horns. In the last scene, Prokofiev's music's fairly straightforward, but Eisenstein's directing isn't. He shows a panorama of Russians holding spears upright, like a forest stretching endlessly,, a spiky and quirky image. "He who comes to Russia with a sword shall perish by the sword". The Soviets probably loved the film on this level, but Eisenstein and Prokofiev undercut the propaganda with something more subtle.

Roulette in Sound : Prokofiev The Gambler ROH

The word “Casino” spelled out in glittering lights. Prokofiev’s The Gambler has arrived at the Royal Opera House, London. In Roulettenberg, all life is concentrated on one singleminded object: Greed. Prokofiev’s music doesn’t waffle. Gambling is a compulsive mania. Prokofiev’s notes pound out at a manic pace, figures whirring and swirling like a perpetual motion machine. A roulette wheel in sound.

Orchestras are often compared to powerful machines: here, Antonio Pappano turned the Royal Opera House orchestra into a precision engine, all its elements whirring together, making Prokofiev’s score come alive vividly. Pappano gets such animation from his players that the mad ride feels exhilarating. In the last Act, Alexei’s at the table, but all the gamblers are willing him on. It’s a form of mass hysteria. Prokofiev’s music reaches fever pitch, as though caught up in an adrenalin rush. Yet Pappano keeps a tight rein. For all the wildness, discipline prevails, for the machine, like Fate, is relentless.

This tension between the “machine” of compulsion and the “freedom” of nature runs throughout the opera. The hotel runs like clockwork, an unnatural cocoon where everything’s provided. Yet there is an outside world. Dostoyevsky deliberately uses “international” characters, Frenchmen, Germans, Russians, Englishmen, to remind us that the spa is a vacuum that pulls people in from other lives.

Why, one wonders, does Paulina need Alexei to prove his love for her by provoking the Baron and Baroness? They aren’t gamblers, but what do they represent? In Dostoyevsky, they’re in a park, “civilized nature” in a mountain resort. In Richard Jones’s production, the park becomes a zoo. Dramatically this is wonderful, because it makes the distinction clear. Wild animals are on display – but which are the ones in cages? A seal does tricks for the tourists (congratulations to the dancer in the seal suit!) Nature is “tamed”, forced into meaningless routines.

Richard Jones’s hyperbright, comic book idiom is ideally suited to The Gambler because it highlights the anti-naturalism of the spa. The lighting is extreme because it’s artificial. The Jazz Age staging is stylized, dissociated from tradition. Significantly the most “sympathetic” characters, Alexei, Pauline and Babulenka (Roberto Saccà, Angela Denoke and Susan Bickley) wear costumes which hint at Russian folk embroidery (Nicky Gillibrand). Perhaps it means something that Babulenka decides to return to Moscow and the “villages” she owns, and take Paulina with her. Alexei, too, is a "wild card", the unpredictable cog in the machine. Maybe he represents a primeval Russian "type"that can't be suppressed ? Unlike the vapid cosmopolitan patrons of the spa.

Saccà and Denoke are vivacious, but Susan Bickley’s Babulenka is a delightful surprise. The General has gambled on her dying, but she defeats the odds. Bickley’s voice is fluid and vigorous. This Babulenka really has been rejuvenated by her flutter at the tables, so when she’s crushed, it feels even more tragic.

The message of the opera is pretty clear. No-one beats the odds, no-one escapes fate. Yet the characters are not pawns. The General (John Tomlinson) and the Marquis (Kurt Streit) emerge as real people, not stereotypes, so their demolition is moving. Tomlinson’s voice is ageing, but he handles the trickier vocal passages with aplomb. His acting is superb, giving the role levels that could easily be missed. Everyone knows Blanche (Jurgita Adamonyte) is a gold digger but Tomlinson makes us realize that the General’s deluded because he’s a needy person within. As his aunt says, bluntly, “You’re no General”.

Kurt Streit’s Marquis is an even more enigmatic figure. Beneath that calculating coolness, he too is driven by forces he can’t handle. Streit’s voice expresses personality, expanding the role beyond the text, which in itself reveals little. Streit shows why the Marquis keeps lapsing into French. It’s not “because” he’s French, but because he’s archly trying to distance himself from others. Pauline saw something worthwhile in him, but he can’t do emotional involvement and needs to slip away.

The subsidiary roles in this opera are important, because they extend the drama, like ripples in a pond. Mark Stone’s Mr Astley is a mystery figure: perhaps the next Marquis? John Easterlin’s Prince Nilsky will be dumped by Blanche when his money runs out. The vignettes are wonderfully achieved – proof that the Jette Parker Young Artists scheme pays dividends. I loved the witty counterpoint of the Tall Englishman (Lukas Jakobski) and the Fat Englishman (David Woloszko).

Interestingly, Jones organizes the crowd scenes in long, narrow lines, reiterating the idea that life in a casino is shallow. But full marks for Prokofiev. He builds many elements into his score, replicating the cosmopolitan nature of Dostoyevsky’s story. A man near me heard Gershwin. The music certainly has the sharp timing and hyperbole of film. In the dissonances and especially in the dramatic scene where Alexei’s on a winning streak, I thought of Berg. When you think about when the Gambler was written, it starts to make sense. At the time, Prokofiev, caught up in the world of Stravinsky and modernism was experimenting with new forms of expression. Later, the Soviets weren't so sympathetic. Not all opera has to be Verdi. Thirty years later Stravinsky's Rakes Progress is an experiemnt in stylized structures

The key to The Gambler, I think, is to remember that it's a study of obsessive, irrational behaviour. Hence the nature of the music and sparse, didactic form. The opera is almost more like a play in its pace and texture. The plot is not difficult to follow. It's much clearer than the novel. It might be an idea to watch one of the movies based on Dostoyevsky. I've only seen the Karel Reisz film from 1974 but it left a huge impression on me.