PROKOFIEV Romeo and Juliet: Suites Nos. 1, 2: Excerpts. Cinderella: Excerpts. L’enfant prodigue: Suite. Scythian Suite. The Love for Three Oranges: March; Scherzo • Ernest Ansermet, cond; O de la Suisse Romande • DECCA ELOQUENCE 480 0830 (2 CDs: 132:16)

PROKOFIEV Symphonies: No. 1, “Classical” (2 recordings); 1,2 No. 5; 1 No. 6 1 • Ernest Ansermet, cond; O de la Suisse Romande; 1 Paris Conservatory O 2 • DECCA ELOQUENCE 480 0834 (2 CDs: 111:39)

PROKOFIEV Violin Concertos: No. 1; No. 2. Piano Concerto No. 3 1 • Ernest Ansermet, cond; Ruggiero Ricci (vn); Julius Katchen (pn); O de la Suisse Romande • DECCA ELOQUENCE 480 0837, mono 1 (71:56)

Three-fifths of the way through this batch of CDs, I was prepared to say that Prokofiev simply wasn’t Ansermet’s cup of borscht. The collection of ballet suites made me revise my assessment: as with his recordings of Tchaikovsky (reviewed elsewhere), the “absolute” music seems to leave him cold (or vice versa ); yet he and his often less-than-polished orchestra consistently rise to a higher level in the ballets.

In these five discs, Eloquence assembles all of Ansermet’s recordings of Prokofiev for simultaneous release, as it has done with his Brahms, Tchaikovsky, and others. (Actually, the company falls about a minute and a half short of its claim here; there is also a mono version of the March from The Love of Three Oranges that is not included.) The single disc of concertos was probably born more of obligation than of musical impulse; both Ricci and Katchen were Decca “house” artists, and L’Orchestre de la Suisse Romande (OSR) was the company’s most-recorded orchestra of the time. The violin concertos were recorded in 1958; Ricci and Ansermet both seem unsympathetic toward the mostly lyrical First Concerto, especially to a listener imprinted, as I was, on the 1935 premiere recording by Szigeti and Beecham. Ricci’s strategy of choice is the slash-and-burn method: in the first-movement development, where the second theme is embedded in the violin’s nonstop 16th-note figuration, Ricci fails to connect the dots, so to speak, so that the whole thing sounds like a tuneless, accompanied etude. Further, I find his sound not particularly attractive, with an unpleasantly rapid vibrato; the recording, usually an asset during the days of Decca’s “FFSS” sound, is a liability here, with the violin too prominent throughout, not only throwing off the music’s balances but also reproducing clearly every unattractive sound that Ricci produces. (Reviewing a two-disc “Decca Legends” selection of the contents of these five CDs in Fanfare 24:2, David K. Nelson is more generous; curious readers may want to consult his review as a counterbalance to the present one.) Ansermet’s contribution seems to consist of a rather metronomic underpinning, with little opportunity for musical interaction between soloist and orchestra. The Second Concerto offers more of the same; the better overall impression of the interpretation results mostly from the somewhat more aggressive nature of the music.

The Third Piano Concerto, a mono recording from 1953, has some of the same liabilities. Katchen’s piano is so closely miked that you can hear just about every note—but, who wants to, particularly in the under-inflected rendering of the solo part? The lack of contrast in his playing, and in Ansermet’s conducting, makes this a sort of non-interpretation; it’s not easy to make this virtuoso romp seem uninteresting, but this reading comes close.

Ansermet recorded the “Classical” Symphony twice, first in Paris in 1953, then in Geneva in 1961; the two performances are very similar. The work, of course, radiates youthful exuberance and a sort of tongue-in-cheek wit, and calls for considerable orchestral virtuosity; in Ansermet’s hands the first two movements are downright ponderous, and it’s only in the Finale that the music comes to life. As James Miller observed with regard to Ansermet’s Ravel recordings in the May/June issue, his interpretations typically changed little over the years. In 1953 the timings of the four movements are 4:41; 4:15; 1:22; 4:14; eight years later they are 4:42; 4:20; 1:27; 4:09, for a net gain of six seconds! Annotator (and Fanfare colleague) Raymond Tuttle’s attempts to rationalize the tempos of the first two movements seem labored; it simply seems that Ansermet didn’t have a “feel” for this piece.

The Fifth Symphony is one of Prokofiev’s psychologically richest works. It has its moments of mock pomposity, of deep seriousness (the third movement, much of which comes from the same sound world as Romeo and Juliet ), and its share of good, clean fun (the tempo marking of the finale is Allegro giocoso ) and naughty nose-thumbing (like the raspberries that end the second-movement Scherzo). In this 1964 recording, Ansermet responds best to the work’s seriousness, but is disappointingly deadpan in the rest. This is also a ruthlessly demanding score that audibly strains the technical capabilities of the OSR; it can’t stand up to comparisons with virtuoso orchestras like the Philadelphia (Ormandy: Sony, 1957; the 1975 RCA version is too tame) and Cleveland (Szell for Sony, and Maazel for Decca in 1975).

The Sixth, recorded in 1951, is difficult in other ways. The first two of its three movements are slow, the first in particular seeming to express a deep sense of desolation through its spare textures and extensive use of unaccompanied lines doubled in octaves. Unfortunately, these elements expose some of the OSR’s greatest weaknesses, particularly the unattractive sound of its double reeds. Further, the entire reading is sabotaged by Decca’s digital remastering, which is exaggeratedly harsh in the higher frequencies, a problem not present on the original LP. And again, Ansermet and his orchestra suffer in comparison with Ormandy, who had made the premiere recording the preceding year.

The two-disc set of ballet excerpts begins with Ansermet’s LP-length group of selections from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet Suites. A few bars of the opening movement, “The Montagues and the Capulets,” are all we need to know that this is music-making of an entirely different order. The 1961 sound is spacious but detailed, with impressive bass response—certainly demonstration-quality for its time, and as good as all but the best new recordings. Tempos and balances are completely convincing; gone are any signs that Ansermet might lack sympathy for the music. Even the playing is somehow more secure: for example, the fierce violin passages in “The Death of Tybalt” hurtle forward with great precision. The two longest movements given, “Romeo and Juliet” (that is, The Balcony Scene) and “Romeo and Juliet before Parting,” are as genuinely expressive as anything Ansermet recorded. At over 45 minutes, this is a more generous sampling than we usually get; the 10 extracts, given in score order, make for an entirely acceptable representation of the ballet for those who don’t care to take in the full score—for that, the Maazel/Cleveland recording, also for Decca, is my preferred version. The main item on the second disc, also from 1961, is a comparable set of 11 numbers from Cinderella , totaling 42 minutes; the deeply expressive language of Romeo and Juliet would of course be inappropriate here, but Prokofiev’s music is mostly high-level stuff in his conservative vein. The only complaint here is that Ansermet chose to end with “Cinderella’s Waltz—Midnight,” rather than include the ballet’s closing “Apotheosis,” a dramatically unsatisfying conclusion.

Filling these two discs are Prokofiev’s Suite from The Prodigal Son and the Scythian Suite , which were originally paired on an LP recorded in 1966. Again Ansermet and the OSR give performances of great power and security. There isn’t a great deal of competition for these works; the Scythian Suite is Prokofiev in his enfant terrible stage, and the somewhat later suite he crafted from the complete score of his fourth ballet is rarely played. The “encores” are the two little excerpts from the 1924 opera The Love of Three Oranges , originally issued in a collection of shorter works by Russian composers.

Eloquence has made some subtle changes in the production of its “Ansermet Legacy” CDs: Tuttle’s notes for all three items editorialize more than those of the early volumes; of course, they almost always find extraordinary virtues in the performances. My favorite, regarding the Scythian Suite : “Ansermet’s performance is so vivid . . . that it might cause listeners to hallucinate colours and shapes.” Well, perhaps, with the additional administration of certain non-prescription pharmaceuticals. A more felicitous touch is the illustrations of album covers on the last pages of the booklet: first, those of the three items reviewed here, headed “Ernest Ansermet’s complete Prokofiev recordings for DECCA,” including typed (i.e., visible with the naked eye) lists of contents and catalog numbers; and second, for the true collector, photos of the original U.K. and/or U.S. LP album covers. (The cover photo for the Scythian Suite/Prodigal Son LP even shows the “Promotional Copy” sticker at the bottom. They must not have actually sold many copies of this one: my own copy also has such a sticker!) Other current releases, such as the Tchaikovsky sets, have similar illustrations. If only they didn’t have to be so tiny!

Recommendation? For Ansermet collectors and admirers, all five discs, of course; remember, Eloquence is a budget label. For Prokofiev fans, the ballet set. Next up: French symphonies, Haydn, and Mozart. Vivat Eloquence! Richard A. Kaplan