IVANOVS: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 3

Presentación del Álbum

A rather conspicuous note on the back of the CD case of this issue prompts you to wonder why someone at Naxos appeared overly eager to identify the influence of César Franck in the Ivanovs' Second Symphony and that of Alexander Scriabin in the Third. While a fair portion of the music here is derivative, and indebted to the sources noted, Janis Ivanovs (1906-83) was still very much his own man. His problem is that he was an arch-conservative. So charges of banality and musical irrelevance will follow him as surely as they follow George Lloyd and Howard Hanson. But all three composers will survive them.
Ivanovs' music is imbued with a flowing loveliness in the melodies, an adeptness in orchestration, and a nationalistic pride in his Latvian homeland. In his excellent notes, Ludvigs Karklins tells us that the composer often sought inspiration in the folk songs of the Latgale district of eastern Latvia. The Second Symphony (1937) is well crafted, with a second-movement Andante of ravishing beauty that lingers in the mind long after the performance ends. If the outer movements are not quite on that exalted level, they are tuneful, colorful, and worthy panels in the artistic whole.
The Third Symphony (1938) possesses a slightly more sophisticated musical language and unfolds in more subtle orchestration. There's not a dull moment in this work, and it's consistently tuneful, with melodies that are quite direct and undeniably infectious. The strings often do Ivanovs' thematic bidding here, though the horn and clarinet make significant contributions, too, and add to an utterly enchanting atmosphere of wonder and mystery. There is a disarming innocence (but not naïveté) about the whole work: the music spews neither acid nor bombast at your ears, but offers instead a harmoniousness in which conflicts are not so much violently resolved as acquiescent to the generally tranquil mood. The Scherzo may test this assessment a bit, but in the end its bite is rather painless, its ultimate effect one of colorful mischief. In sum, this is a thoroughly enjoyable work that should be better known.
This is the first volume in a projected series that will encompass all 21 symphonies of Ivanovs. On the evidence here, one can conclude that it portends an interesting cycle for the consumer. Dmitry Yablonsky reads these scores with insight, and his Latvian players perform with commitment and idiomatic spirit. These are recorded premieres, and Marco Polo lavishes upon them superb sound.

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