I
must admit to a liking for Aldo Ciccolini’s playing. His
recordings of the work of Erik Satie were the ones which
seemed to have the most verve and élan out of the versions
I used to cherry-pick from my father’s collection. His unaffected
but sensitive style equally suits the often deceptively simple
sounding Lyric Pieces by Edvard Grieg.
As
far as I can tell, this is the only complete recording of
these infinitely attractive works currently available, and
as such has an inherent value to serious collectors and record
libraries. I can say from the outset that nobody need feel
concern about the quality of either the playing or the recording,
both of which are very good indeed. Taking the recorded sound
first, the piano is set in an acoustic with acceptable resonance,
and at a distance which gives a sensible perspective to the
listener. The piano sound is indeed very classy, but as the
title suggests, the music demands more lyrical expressiveness
than shuddering bass notes or ethereal resonance – the art
is in the playing, and Ciccolini is no slouch when it comes
to melodic phrasing, legato and alert characterisation.
One
disc which should be on any piano collector’s shelves is
the classic 1974 recording which Emil Gilels made for Deutsche
Grammophon. His is of course a selection of the Lyrische
Stücke, but the grand master’s surprising application
to the cause of Grieg’s miniatures resulted in a classic
album which is still largely unsurpassed in the quality of
playing. Comparing extracts from a complete edition against
edited highlights is a little unfair, but what I am interested
is in the area of interpretation. Take the beautiful and
justly famous Arietta which opens Op.12. Ciccolini
forms an elegant structure, which rises and falls in sympathetic
rubati, phrasing forward in the first half of the melody,
reigning in just a fraction in the second, shaping the melody
just as you can imagine Grieg might have wished. Gilels is
just that little more detailed, adding in little micro-rubati
which add a strange richness to the simple lines, without
disturbing the flow or basic rhythm. Gilels takes as his
second choice the opening Berceuse of the Op.38 set,
and listening to Ciccolini first we find a gorgeously expressive
line in the opening, the notes in the melody falling almost
invisibly behind that of the accompaniment – Errol Garner
in classical mode. His central section has nobility and poise,
and after that surprise of contrast from the composer we
are lulled back into repose with the same cradle-rocking
movement. Gilels is a good 34 seconds quicker than Ciccolini
but seems little quicker, gaining little fractions of time
however with a tiny shortening of the syncopated rhythm at
the end of each bar. He leaves less time between sections
as well, and his central section is gentler, and with closer
microphone placement we get a generally more intimate feeling,
until you realise that his climax is delayed, being placed
at the height of the development section, which falls into
that golden-section slot two thirds before the end of the
piece. Ciccolini holds back at this point, the peak of this
melody being more the top-of-the-stairs for him, rather than
that of a Norwegian mountain top.
It
is quite remarkable how such different interpretations can
stand side by side, and still be found to work on their own
terms. At no point did I feel that I was missing anything
with Ciccolini, but the differences in character between
the Russian and the Italian temperament mean that pianists
will no doubt argue passionately about the rights and wrongs
of either approach. If you are in any doubt, dip into some
numbers like Petit oiseau in op.43 (Disc 1 track 20)
which flies superbly. In fact, I can find very little to
fault Ciccolini anywhere. Comparing op.47 no.2, Feuille
d’album I suppose there is a little of the ‘fat note’ syndrome
in his slightly heavy melodic touch, but with the folk element
hinted at in this delightful piece there could be more than
a little method in his mood. Gilels is lighter in general,
but his pictures are more romantic – the sepia edged with
flowers and beautifully kept, rather than well-thumbed and
appreciated by all on a regular basis. Mélodie op.47
no.3 carries on from this on Gilels’ collection, so it is
interesting again to hear how both players sing with the
extended lyrical line, Gilels portraying the line in a more
vocal way, Ciccolini a touch more orchestral with the accompaniment,
and with a more emphatic rubato toward the end of phrases.
Ciccolini is admirably nostalgic in the later opus numbers,
and while I now discover I haven’t gone into discs two and
three at all I can promise even more delights and deeper
insights in the works which emerged from Grieg’s own advancing
years.
Coming
in at around the £20 mark this three CD set has to be considered
something of a bargain as a new recording. Cascavelle cannot
really be said to have given this set much of a luxury feel,
with informative but brief booklet notes, no information
on the recording venue and little about the player. The presentation
is not helped by pictures of Aldo looking as if he’s still
waiting for the cheque to arrive. This is however more than
just a safe recommendation, with Ciccolini’s passion in the Melancholy of
op.65 no.3 still ringing in my ears, and the refined joy
of the Wedding Day which concludes that set, confirming
his place as one of the great pianists of our time.
Dominy Clements
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