Views And Reviews: Polovtsian Dances
“Like Rimsky-Korsakov, Borodin started in a non-musical profession. Unlike Rimsky, he remained a "holiday composer". An eminent chemist, musically he merely dabbled until, in 1862, Balakirev persuaded him to take his hobby seriously,’’ writes music critic Paul Serotsky.
Borodin (1833-87) – Polovtsian Dances, from "Prince Igor"
Like Rimsky-Korsakov, Borodin started in a non-musical profession. Unlike Rimsky, he remained a "holiday composer". An eminent chemist, musically he merely dabbled until, in 1862, Balakirev persuaded him to take his hobby seriously. Just as his foundation of a School of Medicine for Women was his greatest professional achievement, so Prince Igor was his musical masterpiece – though you might think otherwise, considering the chaotic state in which he left it. Even such a seemingly simple matter as the order of the acts is still open to argument (as witness, for example, the Kirov recording).
After Borodin's death, Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov took on the job of completing it. Rimsky-Korsakov came in for a fair bit of stick over his similar devotions to Mussorgsky, but not so with Borodin, stylistically much closer to Rimsky than the distinctly rough-hewn Mussorgsky. The main damage (if that's the right word) is due to Rimsky's greater flair for orchestration, immediately apparent when you compare the Polovtsian Dances with any bit of "pure" Borodin. Yet, as Ian Denton (the Slaithwaite Phil’s former president) will readily explain, there is plenty of evidence of improvements in other areas as well, notably the scintillating cavalcade of tunes right at the end, which Ian argues is "pure" Rimsky-Korsakov.
Much of the impact of the four sections depends on strong masculine/feminine contrasts. The first, prefaced by coiling woodwind, needs no introduction from me, at least, not if you know Kismet! The second is a vigorous orchestral dance, based on the woodwind opening, its thematic repetitions – with wonderfully varied scoring – tracing an arching climax. After a brief hiatus, a terrifically noisy third section lifts the roof. The dying clamour is supplanted by the almost manic dotted rhythm of the final, and longest section. The pulse does not slacken through a reprise of the first section, before the dotted rhythms take over again to build up to that resplendent final cavalcade.
The chorus is usually omitted, which I feel is a great loss. The words are of no particular importance (the Dances are a divertimento), but the sound is. My bet is that Rimsky saw the chorus as an extension of his prodigious orchestral palette, something to maximise the "oriental splendour". If you are familiar only with the concert version, boy, are you in for a treat tonight!
© Paul Serotsky
