There is a very welcome trend nowadays for the piano world’s
future superstars to record the complete Rachmaninov preludes.
The 24 preludes are amongst my favorite cycles in the piano music
canon, and to have so much attention lavished on all of them-not
just the well-loved preludes in C sharp minor, G minor and G
major-is a real luxury. In 2000 Santiago Rodriguez, a Cuban pianist
whose talents are sadly not given the recognition they deserve,
recorded an urgently expressive, generally strong cycle on Elan.
Marietta Petkova completed the cycle for the Challenge label
in 2007, although I have not yet heard her account. Eldar Nebolsin’s
Naxos traversal in 2008 was very impressive indeed, combining
considerable technical ability with a lyrical demeanor that made
Rachmaninov’s fireworks poetic - you might even say subtle.
And now Steven Osborne, one of Hyperion’s core group of
super-talented pianists, arrives with his own traversal of all
twenty-four. Osborne’s performances on this label have
all been well received, although my favorite of his recordings
is a recital of piano music by Nikolai Kapustin, a living Russian
composer who writes jazz in classical clothing. My roommate summarized
Osborne’s stature aptly when he walked into the room as
I was playing this Rachmaninov album. “Who’s the
pianist?” he asked. When I told him it was Osborne, he
responded, “I knew it was somebody really good.”
This is a very intelligent and well-thought-out presentation.
Osborne envisions them, as his liner-notes explain and his performance
bears out, as an essentially unified series which is primarily
a vehicle not for flashy playing and loud, clattering chords,
but for lyricism and melancholy. Even the fastest and angriest
of the preludes, in Osborne’s hands, is basically introspective
by a composer who is emotional but never sappy. As a result,
the B flat prelude is not a race to the finish line, the C sharp
minor is rather more high-minded than a cascade of mighty chords,
and the G minor is less ferocious in Osborne’s hands than
in Horowitz’s or Richter’s or the composer’s.
In other words, the power Osborne projects is emotional, not
physical.
Osborne’s vision holds together remarkably well, and it
appeals to me more and more every time I listen. Initially, for
example, the soft edges of Op. 23 No. 7 left me wishing he would
be more assertive, but repeat hearings have helped me understand
how this playing serves the greater vision. Sometimes I will
be in the mood for a truly monstrous Op. 23 No. 5 (the famed
G minor), and when that time comes I can put on Rachmaninov’s
own recording. Osborne’s view is different, but he knows
what he is doing and has the elegant style to do it.
On the other hand, perhaps these pieces do call for more contrast
at the risk of structural disunity. When I listen to Constance
Keene’s admittedly highly idiosyncratic recording, now
long out of print and somewhat of a collector’s holy grail,
I notice the extreme staccato of Keene’s Op. 23 No. 3 (D
minor) prelude, and the way the abrupt chords make the piece
seem icy and forbidding. What better way to contrast it with
the lyrical magic of the D major prelude that follows? One of
my very favorite pieces in the set, Op. 32 No. 4 (E minor), receives
a performance by Osborne that is simply too cool and distanced
compared to nearly everyone else. The G sharp minor, another
of my favorites, features the nigh-impossible accompaniment articulated
with phenomenal ease and fluidity, but the main ‘story’ lacks
the last bit of tension that Wladyslaw Szpilman and Earl Wild
bring. Wild and Rodriguez also add a dash of nervousness to the
opening of Op. 23 No. 1 which I have come to expect in performances,
but which is missing here.
As a performance and as a vision, this really is a success. Osborne
is at his very best, as one would expect, in the more lyrical
moments: the D major really sings, even more than on Eldar Nebolsin’s
Naxos recording of last year. He is miles ahead of the comparatively
terse Rodriguez. The way that Osborne controls the slow, steady
decrease in drama and tempo from the G minor prelude through
the end of Op. 23 speaks of a great understanding of the cycle
as a structural whole.
I cannot really recommend this as a first choice, and if you
have never heard the Rachmaninov Preludes or need to buy your
first recording of them, you are still better off with Vladimir
Ashkenazy or the incomplete sets by Sviatoslav Richter and Earl
Wild. But those who are used to fire-and-brimstone readings will
want to hear this alternative take. Osborne’s performances
are intelligent, thoughtful, and eloquent; they are not meant
to be the last word on the subject, but rather a useful contribution
to an ongoing artistic discussion of what we are finally realizing
is one of the deepest, most varied bodies of work in the romantic
piano repertoire. Rachmaninov lovers will want to give this album
a listen, although its rewards are best enjoyed after repeated
hearings.
One last word: the sound quality is stellar. Listening to the
beautiful tone of Osborne’s piano, captured with such clarity
and warmth by engineer David Hinitt, was a great pleasure all
by itself.
Brian Reinhart
Steven Osborne (piano) 
