Michail Jurowski has been working his way through Russian-Soviet repertoire with a variety of orchestras for both CPO and Capriccio. His recent recording of Prokofiev’s The Tale of the Stone Flower (CPO, 11/98) was a useful alternative to Rozhdestvensky’s old Soviet LPs. But Cinderella is as ubiquitous on disc these days as it is in the theatre. And with all four classic recordings of the complete ballet currently available, competition is fierce indeed. I cannot say that Jurowski’s set is preferable to any of those listed above. Even on sonic grounds, it is a mite disappointing. Wind solos and percussion alike can seem just that bit too closely observed in a score that needs space to breathe, and Cologne’s Philharmonie comes across as surprisingly cramped.
Interpretatively speaking, Jurowski’s account is perfectly serviceable, but it is difficult to highlight individual numbers which might be said to score over rival versions. True, Jurowski does not make Pletnev’s mistake of rushing through the final stages, something I know many listeners have difficulty with. At the same time, it is idle to pretend that his Cologne orchestra handles these with the sensitivity of Previn’s LSO. The radical ‘unlayering’ of textural detail that is the hallmark of Pletnev’s approach elsewhere is nowhere in evidence. While Jurowski elicits some finely honed playing in the first and third acts, the second is oddly lacklustre and unrefined; there’s a particularly worrying degree of rhythmic instability as the ‘Mazurka’ gets under way (track 9). And if some of this music is overscored, shouldn’t there be more of an attempt to disguise the fact? The ‘Midnight’ scene, as so often on disc, is curiously lacking in gravitas: this ticking clock is bass-light, it does not threaten anyone in the world beyond fairy tales.
With so many Prokofiev ballets in need of a modern recording, one wonders why Jurowski should have opted to tackle Cinderella before, say, The Prodigal Son. Have I been too negative? At bargain price, this would look a much more attractive package, despite inappropriate Pre-Raphaelite artwork and a poorly translated booklet-note that attempts to drag politics into the argument at every turn: ‘The tiger who had once gone for the jugular vein had been robbed of his claws and jaws, not least owing to a perfidious decree issued by the Central Committee on the recommendation of an honourable comrade by the name of Andrei Alexandrovich Zhdanov.’ Is it really necessary to portray Prokofiev as a political naif lured to his doom by agents of the State? This is no more convincing than the alternative attempt to refashion him as a musical pamphleteer encoding messages of dissent. The truth, like the present performance, is greyer.'