From frivolity to tragedy: a Philharmonia triptych from Soviet Russia

A concert of music by three eminent Soviet composers, but emphatically a programme of two halves in terms of quality. Shostakovich’s Suite from Cheryomushki is four movements from his 1958 comic operetta based upon the housing crisis in Khruschev’s Russia, in which Muscovites contend for coveted apartments in the new Cheryomushki estate. A Spin through Moscow is skittering Shostakovich in frantically frivolous mode, conductor Santtu-Matias Rouvali notably encouraging the athletic Philharmonia strings with fast tempi. Then followed a waltz which gave us our first saxophone solo of the evening, beguilingly played by Simon Haram. 

Subsequent movements offered little more by way of invention, but plenty more of the skilful playing, especially from leader Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay. Writing to a close friend, the composer dismissed Cheryomushki as “boring, unimaginative, stupid”, and perhaps not everyone would rush to correct him on this over-severe judgement. But it rarely rivals his best work, and some of it sounds almost untypical. (But maybe it was all by the now forgotten Wolfgang Amadeus Shostakovich, since the programme booklet gave the Russian composer’s dates as 1756-1791!)

The world is not so full of fine concertos for saxophone in the classical idiom that it can ignore Alexander Glazunov’s Concerto in E flat major for Alto Saxophone and String Orchestra of 1934. By then the instrument was 94 years old, but composers had not exactly queued up to write for it. So it might seem surprising that this 15-minute single movement work is a rarity in concert. It opens with an Orthodox Russian chant-like theme which soon yields to the saxophone offering music more akin to dance. Glazunov rarely displays much melodic distinction, but soloist Jess Gillam nonetheless charmed in the songful passages and dazzled in the virtuoso ones, her brilliant leaps, trills and runs in the cadenza ensuring a warm reception, and an encore. For that Gillam returned, now with a soprano saxophone, to perform with some of the Philharmonia string players, Sørensen’s lively reel Shine You No More. The clamorous reception befitted Gillam’s near national treasure status.

Prokofiev drew upon his full-scale ballet Romeo and Juliet for three suites, from which conductors have often drawn further, mixing up movements to make a larger set of excerpts, encompassing the whole narrative of Shakespeare's play. We were not told who selected these particular items from the three suites, but it was as successful (and as limited) as several others. Its 45 minutes made a fine second half, the Philharmonia’s playing sounding as if from a theatre pit, vividly dramatic, ultimately tragic. When the music was violent we heard swords clash, when lyrical we overheard whispered endearments at a Veronese balcony. In the words of Galina Ulanova, who first danced Juliet, “His music lives for me, it is the very soul of the dance.” By the end of the interval I had forgotten all the music of the first half, but even now I want to hear only Prokofiev’s fabulous score. If you want to hear it all, The Royal Ballet revives Sir Kenneth MacMillan's celebrated production next year.