Mstislav Rostropovich

The history of the Russian chamber ensemble of the middle of the 20th century, in all possibility, did not know a more intricate yet remarkable brilliant group of musicians than the celebrated trio of Emil Gilels. Leonid Kogan and Mstislav Rostropovich. All to different in their essence were these three artistic individualities – these three virtuosos, spoilt children of fortune, who were brought together at various stages of disclosure of their outstanding talents. At that, there was not a great difference between their respective ages – Gilels was born in 1916, Kogan was born in 1924 and Rostropovich was born in 1927. Nonetheless, whereas Gilels was already able to reconsider and revise in many ways his principles of work, departing further and further from a pure demonstration of capabilities of his breathtaking technique, Rostropovich and Kogan were still passing through their lengthy period of thrill over their virtuosic powers, affecting their audiences in a straightforward manner.

Mstislav Rostropovich is one of the few musicians who can create a larger-than-life experience through the combined forces of exceptional music, a beautiful instrument, and uncommonly facile communicative skills. In his performances of Bach's transcendent masterpieces for solo cello, Rostropovich finds a perfect balance between a romantic, rhapsodic interpretation and one that emphasizes the purely formal "aridity" of Bach's structures. Although it's nearly impossible to isolate one or two highlights, the Sarabande and Prelude from Suite No. 5 are among the most profoundly moving cello performances you will ever hear–the closest we probably will ever come to experiencing through music the soul of both Rostropovich and Bach.

"The greatest cellist of modern time" – well, who could argue with a statement like that? After all, Mstislav Rostropovich is a supreme virtuoso, a charismatic performer, and a sublime interpreter and virtually every one of his recordings is as good as it gets for the repertoire.

On one end of the continuum, there is Dvorák's Concerto in B minor for cello and orchestra, a composition that is among the composer's best known and has become a cornerstone of the instrument's repertoire. On the other end, the Piano Concerto in G minor, a work that had difficulty garnering acceptance even during the composer's lifetime and is still looked upon with less favor than other concertos written in the same period.

Mstislav Rostropovich did more for the advancement of the cello than probably any other artist since Pablo Casals. Even after his sad passing in 2007 at the age of 80, is musical influence is felt not only in the cello community, but among orchestral musicians as well. This Deutsche Grammophon DVD is among the many tributes to Rostropovich that have surfaced over the short time since his passing. It features the Schumann Concerto and Bloch's Schelomo with Leonard Bernstein and the Orchestre National de France and Strauss' Don Quixote with Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic. All of these performances are given their first DVD release here. Schumann and Bloch are given intense, riveting performances by Rostropovich and orchestra alike. Any other cellist who played with as much force and aggression would be accused of overplaying, but with Rostropovich the intensity and conviction of his playing are what make the entire performance.

Maxim Vengerov's splendiferous Strad pours reedy-rich tones from its lower register and sings the sweetest high notes this side of Jascha Heifetz, without the least hint of an undesirable sound or mistuned note. Vengerov's impeccable technique and mature musicianship consistently place him at the top of today's young generation of violinists. Here he plumbs Prokofiev's emotionally charged concerto and finds its unadorned essence–especially memorable in the sensuous slow movement and the exuberant finale.

Take two of the twentieth century’s greatest instrumental soloists, put them together at the service of Beethoven in a live recital, film it and you get what we have here – an historic musical document that is both important and inspirational.
This single concert was recorded at the Usher Hall during the Edinburgh Festival in 1964 and the West was still getting used to being able see and hear these sensational Soviet artists in the flesh. Until the late ’fifties they had been virtually locked behind the "Iron Curtain".

The famous Russian director Sergei Eisenstein held Prokofiev the film composer in the highest regard, and to couple their two celebrated collaborations, Ivan the Terrible and Alexander Nevsky, in a two-disc set is therefore entirely appropriate. Ivan the Terrible, however, is a problematic score. Assembled by Abram Stassevich after the composer’s death, the oratorio lacks the large-scale balances and tensions of Prokofiev’s own Nevsky cantata, relying on narration to hold the structure together. This substantial English version by Michael Lankester, intended to ‘compensate for the lack of visual image’, is well projected by Christopher Plummer. Rostropovich directs a vivid performance of Alexander Nevsky, and only the rich tone of Russian voices is lacking. The LSO plays brilliantly, while the recording does full justice to one of Prokofiev’s finest scores.