Everybody loves a story: we grow up at our mother’s knee with tales of the supernatural and at journey’s end we witness – supposedly in a flash – the entire narrative of a life lived. In between we are gripped by one fantastical plot of a TV drama series after the other, the more improbable and implausible, the better. If you seek crazy combinations of characters and settings from the world of make-believe, look no further than the skazki (fairy-tales) and folklore of Old Mother Russia. Throughout the 19th century and beyond Russian composers have repeatedly drawn on such narrative content for inspiration.
Rimsky-Korsakov based his opera about Tsar Saltan (the actual title is much, much longer and the plot one of the most complicated in all opera) on one of Pushkin’s skazki. The suite played by the Mariinsky Orchestra and conducted by Valery Gergiev in the second of their two Cadogan Hall concerts normally consists of three kaleidoscopic interludes. Here the opera’s most famous piece, “The Flight of the Bumblebee”, was inserted as a bonus before the final passage, which like the two preceding ones kicked off with a vividly played trumpet fanfare. This stylistic device of repetition was one aspect of technique which Rimsky’s pupil Stravinsky put to good use in the spread chords that begin each of the four movements that make up his Violin Concerto. In its glittering parade of orchestral textures the Rimsky suite is also the perfect template for what came a decade later in Stravinsky’s first major ballet, The Firebird. The performance of the suite was like opening a jewel-case packed with brightly coloured precious stones: each glistened and shone with the delight of individual discovery.
Russian woodwinds are often more characterful and less homogeneous than their western counterparts: the flutes had a peppermint-like clarity, the oboes hints of salted herring and pickled cucumber, and the clarinets and bassoons the satisfying richness of pirozhki (baked fruit buns). Had Rimsky lived quite a bit longer, I reckon he’d have given Korngold a run for his money in creating sumptuous and atmospheric film scores. If authenticity is what you crave in this kind of music, Gergiev and his players certainly fulfilled the brief.
Magic birds which are the agents of redemption (in Tsar Saltan it is a swan) enable the composer in question to take the listener on a flight of fancy and carry the narrative line. Gergiev chose to conduct the last of the three separate suites Stravinsky created from his original ballet, the 1945 compilation consisting of eleven items. Even with a platform full of additional players, ensemble was tight. With his standard accoutrement, a toothpick, and his two fluttering hands, Gergiev often achieved a chamber-like delicacy in this understated reading of the Firebird, eschewing power and volume in favour of subtlety and intimacy. At the very end of the concert we remained in the spooky realm of the supernatural in the orchestral encore, Lyadov’s creation of the witch Baba-Yaga.