In all senses, the hero of this set is Mark Reizen. His recordings cover the years 1929 to 1980, surely one of the longest recording careers of all time, but this is not the full extent of a stage career that began in 1921 and ended with a touching appearance at the Bolshoi on his 90th birthday in 1985, when his singing of Tchaikovsky’s Gremin – his voice apparently still warm – was greeted by cast and audience standing to applaud him with love. That warmth is fully evident on this, the only recording he made of Boris. The Coronation scene is strongly and masterfully sung, the Clock scene with a growing depth of horror, exacerbated in the exchanges with Shuisky; and he unfolds the Death scene with true majesty, rising to a superb top E at ‘Ya tsar eshcho!’ (‘I am still your tsar!’). His performance is above all lyrical, and guided by a wonderful sense of phrasing: not for him the histrionics handed down from the unique Chaliapin, and his hefty Varlaam (in an appendix to this performance) is not a success, gravely and beautifully though he sings Pimen, his debut role all those years ago.
Reizen’s is by no means the only outstanding performance on this remarkable set, which includes notable contributions from some of the major Russian singers of the immediate post-war years. Maxim Mikhailov is a Pimen to rival Reizen, at the age of 55 here singing with marvellous gravity and wisdom. The third bass is Vassily Lyubentsov, even more of a veteran at 62 but still able to give Varlaam the sturdy jollity that Reizen misses. Among the tenors, there is a splendid Grigory from Georgy Nelepp, his high, clear voice in splendid estate, his characterization of this Pretender strong and suggesting determination and not merely obsession. In the Polish scenes he is a fine match for Maria Maksakova’s Marina, not one of the most luxuriant of sopranos (and missing something of the passion in her soaring melody), but lively and seductive. Ivan Kozlovsky set a standard for the Simpleton that has become tradition, though not all who inherited it can match the peculiarly haunted, haunting timbre that he brought to the role. Of another hue is Nikhander Khanayev, once a heroic tenor and at 57, his tone a little thin, still using vocal and dramatic wiles with artistry in one of his favourite roles, Shuisky. There are two appearances from the Hostess: on the supplementary recording Yevgenia Verbitskaya is a little strident in going for ‘character’ (she is much more successful as the Nurse in the main recording), and rather a better performance with less effort is achieved by Alexandra Turchina. Bronislava Zlatogorova is a Feodor both lively and touching.
Tending this distinguished group of singers with real artistry is Nikolai Golovanov. He was a marvellous ‘singers’ conductor’, here not only following their phrasing sensitively but making skilful allowances for voices in need of care. The recording was, of course, made at a time when Russian standards were erratic, but though the chorus and some of the orchestration suffers, the singers are well cared for and a vivid impression is given of their artistry. The booklet gives useful accounts of their careers, in French and in a clumsy English translation. There is no text, and only a brief French synopsis. For once, this should not matter too much: the set is for those who love the work enough to have their own modern set, and who love the tradition of Russian singing enough to want to seek out these fascinating, classic performances.'