Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953)
Piano Sonatas Volume III
Piano Sonata No 6 in A, Op 82 (1940)
Piano Sonata No 7 in B-flat, Op 83 (1942)
Piano Sonata No 8 in B-flat, Op 84 (1944)
Peter Donohoe (piano)
rec. 2014, Turner Sims Concert Hall, Southampton, UK
SOMM Recordings SOMMCD259 [70]
As long ago as 2013, Dan Morgan gave a very warm welcome to Volume I in this series in which Peter Donohoe played the first five of Prokofiev’s piano sonatas (review). Inexplicably, the succeeding two volumes seem to have passed us by. Vol II contained Sonata No 9 and the surviving fragment of No 10, plus the two Sonatinas, Op 54 and the Cello Sonata, played by Raphael Wallfisch (SOMMCD 256) while Vol III includes the three so-called ‘War’ Sonatas. It’s high time, then, to make partial and belated amends by considering Vol. III.
It’s convenient to label the sonatas in question the ‘War Sonatas’ because they were written during the Second World War. In his excellent booklet essay, Robert Matthew-Walker points out that, having “conceived the idea of a trilogy of piano sonatas” Prokofiev began to note down ideas for all three during a family holiday in the northern Causcasus. However, he also reminds us that the holiday took place in 1939, while the Soviet Union and Germany were discussing what became, in August of that year, the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, which solemnly declared peace between the two countries. It was not until 1941 that Hitler reneged on this and launched a surprise attack on the USSR. Consequently, I infer that a lot of the work on these sonatas, including the completion of the Sixth Sonata, was done while the Soviet Union was standing back from the World War and so the label is slightly misleading: the sonatas were not entirely war-time works unlike, say, Shostakovich’s Seventh and Eighth symphonies. Even with that caveat, though, Prokofiev must have been aware that he was living in troubled times and there is no denying the turbulent and powerful nature of much of the writing in these three sonatas.
The Sixth Sonata, which Prokofiev himself premiered in 1940, is cast in four movements. The first movement (Allegro moderato) is an imposing composition. I can’t better Robert Matthew-Walker’s reference to “contrasting fire and lyricism”. In Peter Donohoe we have a pianist who is ideally equipped for the powerful statements but he’s equally successful in the calmer passages. In describing the latter as ‘calmer’ I feel that’s a bit superficial on my part; there’s always tension in the music, even in these episodes. There follows an Allegretto which has a dance-like character; indeed, the music put me in mind of some of the numbers from Romeo and Juliet. Donohoe articulates the rhythms expertly. The third movement is marked Tempo di valzer lentissimo. This is deep music. Prokofiev’s trademark lyricism is well in evidence but I sense quite a dark hue. Donohoe does full justice to the introspective nature of the music and when the climax arrives, he projects it powerfully. The finale (Vivace) is a virtuoso, helter-skelter piece, which is toccata-like; as such, it’s a perfect foil to the preceding movement. Donohoe’s thrusting performance is absolutely precise and he gives the music all the impetus it needs. There are one or two calmer passages and, my goodness, the listener needs them – as, I’m sure, does the performer. This exciting performance rounds off a magnificent account of the sonata.
The other two sonatas both use a three-movement structure. The first movement of the Seventh is marked Allegro inquieto – Poco meno – Andante. As those varied markings suggest, the movement contains contrasting elements. It opens with drive and purpose, ideally projected by Donohoe. When the pulse slows the sub-surface tension is readily apparent; I’ve written in my notes that in this episode the music is pensive but perhaps brooding would be a better choice of word. A much faster section follows; here, the notes seem to tumble over each other, though Donohoe’s playing has excellent clarity. A quiet section then comes as something of a surprise – Donohoe plays it with great delicacy – before the movement ends with a return to very fast music. The central slow movement again has a succession of markings: Andante caloroso – Poco più animato – Più largamente – Un poco agitato; once more, we can therefore anticipate a varied movement. Robert Matthew-Walker makes a very helpful point about the first of those markings, suggesting that the use of the word ‘caloroso’ (warmth) is “here applying to phrasing and an innate sense of self-communing”. He also refers to “a sense of great inner struggle”; in that latter point he’s referring to the sonata as a whole and whilst I wouldn’t disagree for a moment, I think that description is especially apt for the slow movement. The beginning of the movement is deceptively calm but soon there’s a perceptible increase in power; even when the volume reduces the tension does not. This is a magnificent movement and as I listened, I felt that Donohoe’s magnetic pianism was drawing me along from one bar to the next. I can only describe the finale as a ‘wow’ movement. It’s marked Precipitato but that really doesn’t do the music justice. Prokofiev here treats us to an unrelenting, virtuoso movement akin to a toccata, The music is urgent from the very start and the driving, irregular rhythms are given added bite by the use of 7/8 time. The movement is a virtuoso tour de force, which is meat and drink to Peter Donohoe. It seems a bit superficial to describe the movement as exciting because I’m sure that there are dark undercurrents. Nonetheless, thrilling is the only way to describe Donohoe’s terrific performance.
The Eighth Sonata opens with a substantial movement which, at 12:31 in this performance, accounts for nearly half of the playing time of the entire sonata. This first movement opens Andante dolce; the music is lyrical but darkly introspective. When the next section – Allegro moderato – arrives, the music seems to be full of fast notes but gradually Prokofiev moves into a broader, much more powerfully rhetorical episode; all this is hugely demanding of the pianist, as is the entire movement, to be honest. Eventually, the music reverts to a return of the opening mood; hereabouts Donohoe almost gives the impression that he’s making the music up as he goes along, so fluent is the playing, but, in reality, he has a very firm grip of the structure and knows exactly where he’s leading his listener. After a brief, turbulent episode, it’s almost a surprise when the movement achieves a subdued conclusion. The middle movement (Andante sognando) is a slow, waltz-like creation. Here, Prokofiev seems to strike a note of sentimentality but one is always conscious of dark undercurrents. One needs to hear this contrast after the rigours of the preceding movement. It’s a lovely little interlude and Donohoe plays it with great subtlety. The finale begins in a very athletic fashion. There follows an Allegro ben marcato passage; here, the insistent rhythms eventually produce a potent climax, after which in Donohoe’s hands the music flows very naturally into a gentler section. From this, a return to the opening material grows organically. Donohoe ensures that the conclusion is a tour de force of energy. He is more than equal to the varied challenges of this movement.
As I hope I’ve indicated. These are richly imaginative sonatas. It’s hard to imagine better advocacy than they receive here from Peter Donohoe. He’s superb in the many virtuoso passages – the Precipitato of Sonata 7 is a highlight – but he’s equally convincing in all the gentler episodes. I found his accounts of all three of these remarkable works were compelling.
The recorded sound is excellent in all respects. Producer Siva Oke and engineer Paul Arden-Taylor have recorded the performances very truthfully. Robert Matthew-Walker’s essay is full of useful background and perceptive commentary.
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