Not a few Tchaikovsky enthusiasts now place his Queen of Spades in front of the more popular Onegin as his most interesting and perhaps most inspired opera. It may not be so dramatically cogent nor so easy to assimilate but in a convincing performance the music, both for the voice and orchestra, touches a deeper vein of emotion and psychology than the earlier work, coming close to the Sixth Symphony in its autobiographical identification of desperation: Herman is the Pathetique literally personified. Such thoughts were reinforced by the performances given by the Kirov Opera of Leningrad (where the piece had its premiere) in this country last summer. The utter conviction of the staging and the larger-than-life characterizations reminded us that the great romantic tradition, pre-eminent in Russia, is not entirely dead.
Not surprisingly five of the seven complete sets in the history of the gramophone eminate from the Bolshoi, and each—to an extent—has carried the stamp of authenticity. The most recent (dating from 1974) has only been available here before as an LP import. It is by no means the most satisfactory of the five, but it has a good deal to commend itself to our attention, not least the stable and sensitive conducting of Mark Ermler, who indulges in none of the extremes of tempo and dynamics practised by the ultra-histrionic Termirkanov in the Kirov rendering (mentioned above). The Bolshoi orchestra are in fine fettle, with little or none of the watery brass playing encountered on earlier sets from this source, and the strings are as full-toned and plangent as we expect from Russian orchestras.
The best of the singing comes from the lower voices. Russia seems to be able to offer an unending supply of firm, sappy baritones, and Fedoseyev is among the best of them as the Yeletsky. His aria in the ballroom scene is one of the most grateful effusions in all Russian opera, on a par with Gremin's aria, and he utters it with generous tone and phrasing at not too slow a speed. Valaitis is a characterful and powerful Tomsky, more bass than baritone and so well contrasted with Fedoseyev. Again, there is a continuing tradition of rich, round mezzos to take the role of the Countess, and Valentina Levko is faithful to it, though I have heard the catalogue of the Countess's remembrances more pointedly delivered. Galina Borisova is a lively Paulina, but in her song in the second scene she doesn't efface memories of the superb Obukhova in the earliest Bolshoi recording dating from the 1930s.
Nor is the loud and unsubtle Atlantov anything like a match for the notable Nelepp, who took the role of Herman on the 1950s deleted Melik-Pashayev MK set, probably the best version to date (it also has Lisitsian as a nonpareil of a Yeletsky). I heard Atlantov in the part in Munich a couple of years ago by which time he had considerably refined his reading; here he sings in a monotonous forte, ignoring the frequent dolce markings, and only begins to take note of the need for vocal acting in the barracks scene, where his reading of Lisa's letter and his reception of the Countess's ghost evinces some inner feeling from him. Of course, his tenor is both strong and incisive so that the inordinate demands of the long role are mostly met in purely vocal terms, it is subtlety that is missing. A comparison between his and Nelepp's account of Herman's opening Romance shows the difference between insensitivity and poetry.
Milashkina, the Lisa, is also heard—in better and younger voice in the 1967 Khaikin version briefly available on EMI/Melodiya. Her big, vibrant soprano and her grand style are rather too mature here for young, impressionable Lisa, but as the work progresses one forgives her somewhat overblown manner for the sincerity and conviction of her portrayal heard to best advantage in her aria by the canal, and she goes to her death with the authentic panache of grand tragedy.
The recording is vividly described by JBS in his chapter on the work in Opera on record 2 (Hutchinson: 1983), where he suggested that it echoes ''like a great empty opera house''. The excessive reverberance is all the more obvious on CD. For all my reservations I enjoyed listening to this set and it deserves a welcome in the absence of anything more satisfactory such as the Khaikin or, better, the Melik-Pashayev appearing in the new format. The booklet includes a perceptive essay by JW on the opera.'