CD review
Elena Ustinova (The Queen of Shemaka), Olga Shalaeva (The Golden Cockerel), Raisa Kotova (Amelfa), Boris Tarkhov (Astrologer), Viacheslav Voinarovsky (Tsarevitch Guidon), Alexei Mochalov (General Polkan), Vladimir Svistov (Tsarevitch Afron), Yevgeny Nesterenko (Tsar Dodon)
All-Union Radio and Television Academic Grand Choir, Academic Symphony Orchestra of Moscow State Philharmonic c. Dmitri Kitaenko
Melodiya MEL CD 10 01398 (2 discs 123 minutes)
For such a well-known piece, The Golden Cockerel has an extremely patchy recording history, and there never has been a recommendable version. The 2002 DVD, on TDK, with Kent Nagano from the Châtelet, is the best bet.
There is much to enjoy in this version, but be warned: unless you are a fan and know the piece, you will be lost. Revamped Melodiya packaging is compact and delightfully arrayed with the inevitable Bilibin images, but notes are skimpy and badly translated. There is no libretto, an inadequate synopsis, and no date or provenance for this recording, which I estimate to be around 1987, when Kitaenko was nearing the end of his tenure with the Moscow State Philharmonic (1976-90). It seems to have been released in the West, on black disc, for a very short time about then.
It is the playing and conducting that is striking. Kitaenko has a way with the idiom, and while relishing the impressionist textures, and delivering nuanced allure in spades, brings a lightness of touch to the lumbering humour of the asinine Tsar Dodon and points the laboured and intentionally mechanical sequences of his idiot court with humour and satire. The piece sounds like an opera-buffa with a sinister undertow, and benefits from the pace and lightness. Moments of acute instrumental characterization abound, such as the scene with the Tsar and his parrot: the cor-anglais phrasing is a humorous delight. There are a couple of strange accidents early on in the long scene with the Queen in Act Two, which one would have thought justified a retake. The recording quality is occasionally bizarre, and this seems to be intentional: there is an incipient echo effect that ‘enhances’ the sinuous chromatic Queen of Shemaka music – it’s not too annoying, but is surely over-egging the pudding. Otherwise the balance (for a Russian recording of this period) is clear, occasionally too spot-lit, but not boomy or congested, and the instrumental invention, essential to this work, registers well.
Nesterenko had a distinguished recording career, both in Russia and in the West, but he was never a histrionic interpreter in the Chaliapin/Christoff mould – his major asset was a honeyed plush velvet timbre. Here he is past his prime and his voice sounds dry. This does not seem a natural role for him and his attempts at characterization sometimes play havoc with intonation. The impossible tessitura of the Astrologer, written for a tenor-altino is manipulated cleverly by Boris Tarkhov; he gets all the notes, sometimes by resorting to a falsetto recorded in close-up, but his is not the right timbre for the role – phrasing is choppy and effortful, and the rueful lyricism essential to this role does not emerge. Best by far, is Elena Ustinova as the Queen of Shemaka: her soft-edged timbre and musical phrasing provide exactly the frissons required in this exacting music, and her intonation in the tricky oriental-scale roulades is pretty accurate – an occasional high D or E is uneasy, but not too disturbing, and she characterizes well, turning like a snake when required. The lesser roles are all very well sung.
Alternative CD recordings are hard to find. The only one currently available is live from the 1971 New York City Opera production (in English) with Norman Treigle and Beverly Sills. It’s a fun showbiz turn, but the opera is not a burlesque panto, and the cuts and awful sound are a trial. An older Melodiya recording from the early 1960’s comes and goes from the catalogue; it has better interpreters of Dodon and the Astrologer – Alexei Korolev and Gennadi Pishchayev – but an acidulous Queen, credits two conductors (?) and has a characteristic blaring Soviet-era mono recording. A 1961 RAI version from Rome, very hard to find, boasts Boris Christoff and a gorgeous Gianna d’Angelo, but the conductor seems to think it’s Parsifal and the experience is leaden. A mediocre 1985 CD from Sofia, recently available on Capriccio completes a dodgy bunch. Kitaenko’s is the best for the time being, but a new version is surely way overdue.
[first published in OPERA magazine]
JULIAN GRANT 2009