Mieczysław
Horszowski’s greatest public acclaim came when he was a child
prodigy and it was incredible that a child so young could play
so well, and in the last decade of his 95-year career, when
it was incredible that a man so old could still play so well.
In between that he was always “there”, frequently collaborating
with the greatest musicians of the day – Casals and the Budapest
Quartet come to mind – and he was one of the few solo pianists
who could get on with Toscanini. As far as the UK is concerned,
that’s about it, although I’m amazed to find him not listed
in the “Grove Concise Dictionary of Music”. Doubtless his name
meant much more in the United States, where he lived from 1940.
Even so, as a solo pianist he never seems to have had a long-term
contract with a major company, though an Amazon search shows
that he did set down quite a bit for Vanguard and other smaller
companies.
A
“pianists’ pianist” and a “musicians’ pianist”, I get the idea
he was very much his own man. By which I mean that the present
issue is not to be considered as evidence of past performing
styles – it shows that his Chopin was quite different from Rubinstein’s
or Horowitz’s and that his Debussy was quite different from
Gieseking’s. A tendency to split chords and to anticipate his
left hand, together with a total unconcern for double-dotting
and ornamentation generally in the Bach, suggests a pianist
of yesteryear, but his style is his own.
At
the time of these two Aldeburgh recitals he was around ninety
and it has to be admitted that his fingerwork, while mostly
still very spry, slips the odd note here and there. At a few
points he has memory lapses and invents his way back onto the
rails, though he does this so convincingly that I doubt if anyone
without a score would notice. Under pressure from full textures
his tone can harden, most notably in the last movement of the
Bach. For some reason the recording itself seems closer in this
work and this particular piece emerges as rather heavily aggressive.
However,
Horszowski still has a great deal to offer. 21st
century ears will find the opening of the Sinfonia rather strange,
shorn as it is of the baroque pomposity associated with the
“French overture” style. There’s not a double dot in sight.
Yet the tonal shading and expressive freedom he finds in the
following andante and again in the Allemande are beacons that
can shine in all ages. The Courante has a wonderful rhythmic
spirit, though with suggestions that the textures might have
been clearer still a decade or so earlier. This Bach is also
bedevilled by someone suffering from bronchial problems that
were evidently in a terminal phase, for he is no longer there
to bother us in the Mozart.
The
glory of the Mozart is its finale, given with a simplicity yet
a sense of joyous wonder that must surely bring a smile to the
dullest person’s face. Elsewhere, while he certainly does not
romanticize the music – you could say he humanizes it – he shows
a rare freedom and spontaneity.
In
the Chopin his right hand sings sweetly and with apparent total
independence from the left. Actually, the balance between the
hands favours the left hand more than one might expect. The
ear is drawn to the melody by its character, rather than by
the fact that it is stronger in tone. This lends the music a
degree of contrapuntal involvement we do not always hear. Op.27/2
is totally successful and wonderfully affecting. Its beauty
lies in its truthfulness rather than any deliberate shading
of the tone for pianistic effect, such as Michelangeli gave
us. Op.27/1 is only slightly less beautiful because the pianist
seems less in command in the dramatic middle section. Again,
one would wish to hear him playing this at least a decade earlier.
The
Mazurka is quite extraordinary, totally unlike any other interpretation
known to me. It just trips along gaily and gracefully, without
any attempt at melancholy except in just a short episode which
is made to appear parenthetic. I think I would always prefer
an interpreter who seeks out the more yearning aspects of these
pieces, but I would be fascinated to hear more mazurkas from
Horszowski. How, for example, did he deal with the infinitely
doleful op.17/4?
In
the Debussy, Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum is a little heavy
but Jimbo’s Lullaby is fascinating. Modern performers
– Rogé or Thollier for example – tend to seek out the melancholy
in this piece at a slow tempo. Gieseking was a little quicker,
finding more of a droll humour in it. Horszowski is quicker
still, expressing a sort of childlike wonder. He is not so refined
as Gieseking in Serenade for the Doll – I don’t know
of anyone who is – but again, it’s the sense of childlike wonder,
the sheer artlessness which strikes you. The same may be said
of the rest of the suite, though these movements were the two
highlights for me.
There
has been some debate as to whether today’s pianists have not
become to anonymous, influenced by the idea that the interpreter
should merely “serve” the music. Well, I don’t think Horszowski
imagined he was doing anything but serving the music and I don’t
detect any attempt to interpolate his own personality. The lesson
of his playing is that, if you’ve got a personality it will
shine through in everything you do. I feel sure all lovers of
the piano will find much to enjoy and much food for thought
in this souvenir of a pianist who carved out a quiet little
niche for himself in a world dominated by the likes of Rubinstein
and Horowitz. I suspect, though, that we would need to look
among recordings a couple of decades older to appreciate his
full capacities.
Christopher
Howell
Mieczysław Horszowski (piano)
