Much as Rimsky-Korsakov admired his own Snow Maiden – almost as much as posterity has – he saw that it needed cutting, and the so-called second version is really simply his abridgement of the 1882 score with recommendations for a little further cutting if need be. It is still a long work, with nearly three-and-a-half hours of music for a touching but not very dramatic story. A good deal depends upon Rimsky-Korsakov’s marvellous sense of orchestral colour, and upon his skill (as he perfectly fairly pointed out when planning a book on the opera) in drawing the various worlds of his fairy-tale with different musical devices – largely whole-tone harmony for the spirits of nature, a more straightforward idiom from Russian romantic opera for the humans who, as the plot of the tragic Snow Maiden reveals, cannot make real emotional contact with them, and a certain amount of Russian folk-song material to add to the colourful background.
Unfortunately, in the present recording, made for Sofia National Radio in 1985, too much of the orchestral colour stays firmly in the background. It is a scintillating score, also one marked with quiet subtleties that need careful balancing between single instruments and the voice. Not only are the rich colours muted and sometimes blurred here, but it is not always possible to make out what is happening behind the voice: for instance, the distant cor anglais and flute are barely distinguishable in Lel’s first song. Elena Zemenkova sings the Snow Maiden quite touchingly, phrasing sensitively though her voice is a little on the dry and edgy side, and there are nice performances of the shepherd Lel from Stefka Mineva, of Kupava from Stefka Evstatieva, and of Mizgir from Lubomir Videnov. However, Tsar Berendey is querulously sung by Avram Andreyev, and with too little authority; the most striking performance of the supernaturals comes, not surprisingly, from Nikola Ghiuselev as Winter. Stoyan Angelov is an attentive accompanist, but he does not take the chances which the composer gives him with some of the most captivating numbers; even the popular “Dance of the tumblers” is a trifle limp, especially for these vehement and even dangerous skomorokhi of Russian life and lore.
As with the same company’s recent Golden Cockerel, there is, culpably, no text in any language, merely a short essay, and a synopsis of some 350 words into the English version of which are inserted aria titles in German. Even a much stronger performance and recording of the work would not come near justifying this neglect of the listener’s legitimate needs. Let us wait for a new version, or in the hope that EMI will consider reissuing the Fedoseyev set, with Irina Arkhipova as Spring and Lel, which was welcomed by LS (11/77) with an enthusiasm I entirely share.'