Celebrating Sergei Prokofiev at 100

Sergei Prokofiev was born 100 years ago--on April 23, 1891, to be precise. Now that is something worth celebrating, in contrast to the hokey 1991 festivities attendant on the death of Mozart 200 years ago. Which is not to say that this column plans to ignore Mozart. Far from it: The number of new, worthwhile Mozart releases during the last two months alone already precludes such a stand. Today, however, the spotlight will be on Prokofiev--and not for the last time in ’91.

The unlikely-to-be-topped Prokofiev Bargain of the Year is a two-CD Vox Box (521)--spotted at $10 retail in one of the chain stores--devoted to the composer’s major film scores in stunningly good performances by the excellent St. Louis Symphony under the direction of Leonard Slatkin, a more fiery musician a decade ago, when these recordings were born, than he is today.

The treasure of the set is the only currently available recording of the “Lieutenant Kije” suite in its original form, with the vocal solos--sung with splendid panache by bass Arnold Voketaitis--in the “Romance” and “Troika” movements. Having once heard it this way, and in as witty and energetic an interpretation as Slatkin’s, the strictly instrumental “Kije” sounds rather thin.

The very substantial remainder of the program comprises the irresistibly rowdy, relatively little-known “Ivan the Terrible” score and the familiar “Alexander Nevsky” cantata, with the handsome mezzo-soprano of Claudine Carlson and the enthusiastic if unidiomatic participation of the St. Louis Symphony Chorus in both.

Of Prokofiev’s five Piano Concertos--the first (1911) composed while a student in St. Petersburg, the last (1932) dating from the end of his long sojourn abroad--only the Third is a repertory staple, with the First and Second getting an occasional airing and the dour Fourth and downright arid Fifth all but absent.

Britain’s Chandos label, which began recording the Prokofiev instrumental oeuvre long before any talk of an anniversary, has found a pair of sympathetic interpreters for the concertos in the Soviet emigre Boris Berman, who plays Nos. 1, 4, 5 (Chandos 8791) and the Cuban-born American Horacio Gutierrez, long admired for his affinity for the virtuoso thrillers, into which category the Second Concerto fits.

Gutierrez is a less obvious choice for the fanciful and dashing No. 3 (paired with No. 2 on Chandos 8889), but he does them equal justice, with alert, polished assistance from the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra and conductor Neeme Jarvi, who participate in all five concertos.

Berman impresses with a combination of fire and reflectiveness in the brashly appealing First Concerto and he gets us through Nos. 4 & 5 with unflagging energy. Gutierrez, however, wins the palm here for the combination of grand-manner thunder and Chopinesque dreaminess he brings to the hugely challenging opening movement of the Second Concerto.

Neither pianist, happily, partakes of the cut-and-slash, obsessively percussive style once considered a built-in characteristic of Prokofiev’s piano music.

The Seventh (1942), the most popular of the composer’s nine sonatas for solo piano, is represented by four recorded interpretations, by as many Russian-born pianists, released in recent months.

Alexander Slobodyanik (on MCA 10107) starts with such speed and intensity that he has nowhere to go in the opening movement after its first five measures. He winds up simply bashing its brains out. But the slow movement has the requisite smoldering heat and the precipitato finale sustains the right kind of manic, motoric energy. Still, Slobodyanik offers more musicality, a more convincing balance of sound and emotion, in the remainder of his flashy program, which includes Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at the Exhibition” and Shostakovich’s “Fantastic Dances.”

Both Vladimir Krainev (MCA 68019) and particularly Boris Berman (Chandos 8881) build their performances of the Seventh Sonata more patiently, with greater architectural and dramatic acumen in their attractive Prokofiev programs, parceling out the climaxes in which the sonata abounds, creating tension and sufficient volume in the process.

Then there’s Vladimir Horowitz, whose re-released 1945 Prokofiev 7 remains the canniest of all, particularly striking in the finale, which he treats as a constant crescendo, imbued with more rhythmic and dynamic variety than his present competitors care to apply.

Horowitz’s program (RCA Victor 60377, mid-price) also contains an ear-boggling performance of Samuel Barber’s uncharacteristically ferocious Sonata, written for the pianist, Kabalevsky’s dinky Third Sonata and several shorter pieces, including the hair-raising Prokofiev Toccata in which Horowitz offers emotional terrorism cloaked in incomparable lushness of tone. Not to be missed.