Prokofiev at 100: Pleasures and Treasures

Serge Prokofiev’s nominal big year--he was born 100 years ago--has brought no major recorded or scholarly revelations. But then there may be nothing of a sensational nature to reveal: no lost, great operas (no great operas, period), no clarifying Urtext of some heretofore inscrutable symphony.

The surprises of 1991 have involved refreshing views, from unexpected sources, of well-known or under-appreciated scores.

Recorded--and very well--in Bulgaria, with the Sofia Philharmonic and conductor Emil Tabakov providing sympathetic support, the Cuban-born American pianist Santiago Rodriguez gives a world-beating performance of the familiar Third Piano Concerto. It’s on the obscure, Maryland-based Elan label (2220).

The 38-year-old pianist--who attracted favorable attention locally substituting in recital for Ivo Pogorelich earlier this year--challenges the biggest-name recorded competition with the personal mix of temperament, physical strength, facility and wit he brings to the Concerto.

Sure, Prokofiev’s thundering octaves, motor rhythms and nasty-boy humor are there. The often unexplored gentler ironies and flashes of innocent spiritedness are, however, illuminated as well by this uncommonly perceptive artist.

A fleet, kinetic reading of Rachmaninoff’s D-minor Concerto from the same performers is the attractive companion piece.

Incidentally, one may not have to be Cuban to play Prokofiev’s Third with uncommon skill, but it seems to help, as witness Horacio Gutierrez’s recent edition on the Chandos label.

Cellists, given the paucity of major-composer solo repertory for their instrument, are obliged to play Prokofiev’s bland, latter-years Sonata in C. Audiences, based on this observer’s experience, are not necessarily obliged to listen.

It’s worth the effort when the Sonata’s protagonist is Nathaniel Rosen, a Los Angeles product too infrequently heard here.

Rosen’s bighearted, lush-toned, energetic reading, with the vital collaboration of pianist Pavlina Dokovska, moves the music to a higher plane--after the fashion of its dedicatees, Rostropovich and Richter, whose performance is preserved in a dim-sounding Monitor CD reissue.

The Rosen-Dokovska effort again comes from Maryland and Bulgaria (Elan 2226) and the coupling is again Rachmaninoff: his sprawling Sonata in G minor, enthusiastically, skillfully projected by this well-matched team.

One of Prokofiev’s less frequently encountered chamber works is his doom-laden Sonata in F minor. It was written in 1946 for violinist David Oistrakh, who played it at the composer’s funeral seven years later, while the rest of Moscow was obliged to line up at the bier of another prominent Russian--Joseph Stalin--who died on the same day, March 5, 1953.

The Sonata is handsomely served by the French brother and sister team of violinist Nell and pianist Ivar Gotkovsky. The recording again comes from Bulgaria, this time via the little, New York-based Pyramid label (13496).

The Gotkovskys’ blazing intensity exposes every jagged edge and black thought of Prokofiev’s most fiercely “modern” composition. Their unhackneyed program also includes his charming Solo Violin Sonata and works by Schoenberg, Webern and Stravinsky.

“Peter and the Wolf” has so long served as a showcase for celebrity narrators that its composer and librettist (in both cases, Prokofiev) have tended to receive secondary billing.

Prokofiev’s spirit fades into the murky distance as well--as does any notion that this work was created for children--when the cleverly disingenuous text is delivered with the sort of joyless orotundity inflicted on it by Alec Guinness in an RCA reissue (6718, mid-price).

Guinness’ expert but, as recorded, recessive foils are the Boston Pops under the direction of Arthur Fiedler in a presumed spectacular for kiddies fleshed out by enjoyable, blessedly talkless Fiedler-Pops versions of “Carnival of the Animals” and a “Nutcracker” suite.

In a rare “Peter and the Wolf” actually aimed at children’s sensibilities, the super-budget LaserLight label has made the inspired choice of Jack Lemmon as its narrator (15386, with Leopold Mozart’s “Toy” Symphony).

In contrast to Guinness’ disdainfully aloof theatrical recitation, Lemmon--speaking with a fine American actor’s clarity and emotional directness--is effortlessly chummy. Which means that he projects the image of a parent or friend affectionately telling a whacking good story to bright, receptive children.

Prokofiev’s wonderful score is in the reliable hands of conductor Pavel Urbanek and something called the Prague Festival Orchestra.