TCHAIKOVSKY The Queen of Spades • Algis Zhuraitis, cond; Julia Varady ( Liza ); Liudmila Shemchuk ( Polina ); Elena Obraztsova ( Countess ); Vladimir Atlantov ( German ); Aleksandr Voroshilo ( Tomsky ); Bodo Brinkman ( Yeletsky ); Yoshihisa Yamaji ( Chekalinsky ); Karl Helm ( Surin ); Bavarian St Op Ch & St O • ORFEO C8111121, analog (2 CDs: 134:33) Live: Munich 11/21/1984

TCHAIKOVSKY The Queen of Spades • Gennady Rozhdestvensky, cond; Hasmik Papian ( Liza ); Christianne Stotijn ( Polina ); Irina Bogacheva ( Countess ); Vladimir Galuzin ( German ); Nikolai Putilin ( Tomsky ); Ludovic Tézier ( Yeletsky ); Vsevolod Grivnov ( Chekalinsky ); Sergei Stilmachenko ( Surin ); Paris Natl Op Ch & O • ARTHAUS 107 317 (2 DVDs: 178:00) Live: Paris 2005

Tchaikovsky: Pique Dame
DVD; Color
Arthaus Musik
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I wonder why English-language publications persist in referring to this opera as Pique Dame , which is actually the German version of the title, and not, as some might think, the French, which is La Dame de pique . We could go out on a limb and use the Russian title, Pikovaia dama , but if not we should stick to our own language and call it The Queen of Spades.

One of many powerful moments in this opera occurs at the end of the first scene, when the impecunious army officer German (pronounced “GYAIR-man”), having learned that the object of his adoration is betrothed to another, and in the midst of a violent thunderstorm, rages, “She’ll be mine. MINE! MINE! Or I’ll die!” He does not mean that he’s going to pine away from unrequited love. He means they will have to kill him to stop him from getting what he wants. This episode was the invention of the composer and his librettist, his brother Modest, and is not in the Pushkin tale from which they adapted their scenario. In Pushkin, German’s seduction of Liza, a downtrodden ward and companion of the Countess with no prospects for a brilliant marriage, is purely opportunistic, a means of gaining access to the secret of the three cards that will bring boundless winnings at the gambling table. Tchaikovsky’s setting of the above lines is devastatingly effective, and in a good performance the impact is electrifying. One feels profound sympathy for the character’s desperation and seemingly hopeless quest but at the same time recognizes that this man is very dangerous and unbalanced, frighteningly destructive and self-destructive.

Vladimir Atlantov, who sings German in the Orfeo recording as well as several others, has always had the vocal and dramatic resources to bring off this episode with maximum force, to make it as stunning and frightening as it should be, and he has never been more hair-raising than in this live 1984 performance from the Bavarian State Opera. Elsewhere in the performance he continues to project the extremes of passion without departing from singing tone. He is terrifying in his confrontation with the Countess—no wonder the old woman suffers a fatal attack. Unfortunately, this recording has serious problems elsewhere that preclude a general recommendation. In the first place, there are the cuts. In the opening scene, the exuberant chorus in praise of the weather (“At last God has sent us a sunny day!”) is dropped, ineffectively replaced by a brief orchestral interlude based on its thematic material. The second-act pastorale is also omitted, depriving Tchaikovsky of the opportunity to entertain us as well as those on stage with his imitation 18th-century music. While some might argue that this episode is not central to the drama, its theme of true love triumphing over the lure of riches has an obvious parallel to what is going on between German and Liza, and in any case I want to hear this music.

Except perhaps for Elena Obraztsova as the Countess, riveting in her portrayal of an exhausted, disillusioned old woman who has outlived her time, no one else in the cast approaches Atlantov’s level. As Liza, Julia Varady is only a partial success. She copes with the language better than the other non-Russian singers in the cast but still has difficulties with the troublesome hard and soft consonants, and her enunciation is often unclear. She lacks the fullness, power, and hefty chest voice of Russian sopranos who have taken this role, and to me her voice doesn’t sound right for the part. In her exquisite duet with Polina in the second scene of act I, her voice doesn’t blend well with that of Liudmila Shemchuk, and the two are sometimes not in perfect coordination. She is more effective in her final scene, with an impassioned and moving delivery of her aria and the increasingly desperate exchanges with German that follow. Aleksandr Voroshilo’s voice seems too light for the role of Tomsky, and his first-act narration of the Countess’s dubious past makes little impression. The German singers in the roles of Yeletsky and Surin and the Japanese one who sings Chekalinsky suffer from poor pronunciation and are at best vocally undistinguished. Conductor Algis Zhuraitis favors urgent pacing for the most part. The effect is often exciting but sometimes merely hurried, as in the opening of the first-act prelude, which lacks the brooding intensity it should have. The orchestra plays with precision and incisiveness under his direction, but choral numbers can be somewhat disorderly. The sound is good, if a bit dry and lacking in spaciousness. The brassy balance of the orchestra enhances its frequent angry outbursts. No libretto is provided.

Atlantov is also featured in recordings led by Seiji Ozawa (RCA) and Mark Ermler (Philips, available from ArkivMusic, also available on a Melodiya release). The former features brilliant playing by the Boston Symphony under the conductor’s precise but somewhat aloof and unyielding leadership, and also splendid choral work, Russian pronunciation aside. Atlantov once again delivers a powerful performance but in this 1991 recording shows some signs of vocal wear. Sergei Leiferkus (Tomsky) and Dmitri Hvorostovsky (Yeletsky) make solid contributions. The remaining roles are taken by non-Russian singers, including such eminences as Mirella Freni (Liza), Katherine Ciesinski (Polina), and Maureen Forrester (the Countess). These three predictably sing very well but with imperfect and often unclear Russian pronunciation. (Fortunately for Forrester, much of her solo singing is actually in French.) The Ermler recording is a 1974 Bolshoi production with a fine all-Russian cast, including a superb Tamara Milashkina as Liza. Ermler takes a broader, more flexible and more relaxed approach than Zhuraitis or Ozawa, but one not lacking in urgency, and he shapes the score convincingly. This is the only recording among those discussed here that includes all three verses of the Liza-Polina duet, a number one would want to prolong as much as possible, especially when so gorgeously rendered as it is by Milashkina and Galina Borisova. Yeletsky’s declaration of love for Liza is so beautifully sung by Andrei Fedoseyev that one wonders how she can resist. The recording hardly shows its age, as sound quality is very good, spacious, with a natural perspective and appropriate balances. The rival Kirov/Mariinsky company, again on Philips, also has a strong cast and persuasive leadership in this 1992 performance. More expansive in his approach than any of the above conductors, Valery Gergiev exercises tighter control than Ermler and imposes greater precision on his forces. He probes for detail in the score, which is rewarding even if it sometimes comes at the expense of momentum, and secures clarity in complex textures. His deliberation also serves to underline the brooding atmosphere of the work. Gegam Grigorian is impassioned, dramatically effective, and technically secure as German. If not quite a match for Atlantov in vocal weight and power and less crazed in his portrayal, he sings with much beauty of tone and is more persuasive as a potential lover in his appeal to Liza in the bedchamber scene. Maria Gulegina turns in a fine performance as Liza, although I still prefer Milashkina in this role. Olga Borodina as Polina and Irina Arkhipova as the Countess also stand out for their excellence. Another fine recording, the late-1960s Bolshoi production conducted by Boris Khaikin that was once available on EMI/Angel and MHS LPs, has as far as I know never been reissued on CD.

The DVD performance led by Gennady Rozhdestvensky was previously issued and apparently still available on the TDK label, and in that guise was reviewed by Henry Fogel in Fanfare 31:4. I am in full agreement with his characterization of this Paris production as “a truly awful conception.” Like many contemporary operatic stagings, rather than seeking to realize the events of the drama as they are laid out in the libretto, it overlays the scenario with a superfluous “concept,” placing the action in an insane asylum where German is reliving his past experiences. Since one of these experiences is suicide, it is difficult to understand how one can relive it. The stage action makes no sense at all in terms of the libretto, although there has been some fiddling with the latter in a futile attempt to render things more intelligible, and those not already familiar with the opera would have no idea what is supposed to be going on. It is painful to see the drama trashed in this fashion, and I doubt that even water-boarding could persuade me to watch this again. I am less enthusiastic than was Fogel about the musical side of this performance. Rozhdestvensky favors deliberation to an even greater extent than Gergiev, but here it yields fewer dividends, and the performance often just seems too slow. The smooth, blended orchestral sound and lack of rhythmic energy take the edge off Tchaikovsky’s vivid orchestral writing. I have heard Vladimir Galuzin (aka Galusin or Galouzine) sing the role of German most impressively, but in the Paris performance he seems vocally at less than his best. By casting him as an asylum inmate rather than a flawed hero, the production saddles him with a consistently lugubrious vocal delivery and visual antics that are rather sickening to watch. Hasmik Papian sings superbly as Liza and displays considerable acting skill. I would really like to see her in a sane production. Irina Bogacheva, once the Kirov’s answer to the Bolshoi’s Arkhipova and Obraztsova, does well as the Countess. Nikolai Putilin is a good deal less effective as Tomsky than he was for Gergiev more than a decade earlier, displaying noticeable vocal wear. Christianne Stotijn (Polina) and Ludovic Tézier (Yeletsky) sing very well, with few noticeable pronunciation errors. Unlike its competitors, this performance stretches onto a second DVD, despite cuts (the same first-act chorus dropped by the Orfeo recording and a couple of smaller excisions).

Those who want to see the opera as it should be staged have their choice of performances by the Bolshoi and Kirov (Mariinsky) companies, both of which are compelling. The former, a 1983 performance on a Kultur DVD, once again features a forceful Atlantov and radiant Milashkina, along with Obraztsova as the Countess, under the capable leadership of Yury Simonov. Sound quality is something of a drawback here, with dynamic compression that sometimes robs climaxes of their power and masks orchestral detail in heavily scored passages. The sound does seem to improve about halfway through the performance. The Kirov DVD is not the same performance as on the CD recording, although both apparently date from roughly the same period. Grigorian, Gulegina, and Borodina duplicate their respective roles, but different singers are featured in the other major parts. In his review of this release (26:3), James Camner criticized the camerawork, but I don’t see it as a major problem. Both of these stagings are of course traditional and realistic and include some iconic St. Petersburg scenes. For audio and video quality and recording production values, the Kirov version has a strong edge, but I have a slight preference for the Bolshoi staging and performance.

Extensive listening for this review has confirmed and amplified my sense of this opera’s greatness. The essential recordings on both CD and DVD are those of the two renowned Russian opera companies. If forced to limit myself, I would choose one performance from each. Other versions are optional, but the egregious Paris production should be shunned. Daniel Morrison