Sergei RACHMANINOV (1873-1943)
Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op. 18 (1900-01) [34:52]
Cinq Morceaux de fantaisie [19:45]
Vocalise† [6:07]
Two Pieces for 6 Hands‡ [5:52]
Alexandre Tharaud (piano)
Sabine Devieilhe (soprano)†, Alexander Melnikov (piano)‡, Aleksandar Madžar
(piano)‡
Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra/Alexander Vedernikov
rec. January 2016, Liverpool Philharmonic Hall (Concerto), February 2016, Salle
Colonne, Paris (others).
ERATO 9029595469 [66:36]
If I were pressed, without thinking too long and without adding caveats, to name
the most interesting pianist living today, as did a colleague of mine just
recently, I would—and did—name Alexandre Tharaud.
It is, however, hard for me to suppress entirely the urge for nuance. So, I
would - and did - add that I consider Tharaud an ideal performer especially in
miniatures of all sorts. There are pianists for every occasion, and some I
enjoy, or imagine enjoying, in certain repertoire more than in other, like for
example loving Grigory Sokolov in small encores, but not clambering to hear him
in a Beethoven sonata. Similarly with Tharaud: Will travel, beg, plead to hear
him in small self-contained masterpieces such as he has recorded mostly and most
successfully, from Rameau to Chopin to Satie, with liberal stops at Bach and
Scarlatti and Poulenc. But to imagine him, say, in Rachmaninov’s Second Piano
Concerto, why, that is absurd!
It is fair to say, then, that this recording of Rachmaninov’s Second Piano
Concerto caught me by surprise. On the upside, this might be Tharaud’s first
recording that I did not approach with unreasonably high expectations… only
secretly high expectations, and conceding that I might possibly be bored. And
now this: Like a swimmer, gently easing himself into the waters, luxuriating in
the balmy wetness, Tharaud wades as deliciously lightly into this warhorse as
only the composer himself (review)
and Steven Hough (Hyperion -
review), but also sweetly and tenderly as no one else. While the right hand
bubbles on the surface; we are afforded an under-water view of the bass line,
and the feet—if you will—stepping gingerly and steadily forward. Tenderness and
grace continue to be the hallmark of the performance, whether in moments of
Saint-Saëns-like lightness or Debussyesque contemplativeness, or rare moments of
bluster that we have come to associate with the Rachmaninov of these allegedly
thunderous concertos. Alexander Alexandrovich Vedernikov and the Royal LPO
accompany passionately, and (yet?) in a rather unobtrusive way.
I first listened to this through very analytical in-the-ear headphones. I was
therefore not sure if I particularly liked what struck me as a warm, fuzzy,
slightly wooly recorded sound of the concerto. That impression of the recording
dissipated to some extent when I listened to it on speakers (also on the
analytical side): Now it merely sounded warm and generous, with an especially
gorgeous ring to the piano, although a clearer punch to the orchestra would not,
I should think, have done harm to the recording. Perhaps that contributes
somewhat to the orchestra staying a little in the background (impression-wise,
not aurally).
The concerto is certainly the headliner on this disc, but it hardly is the only
ingredient; for me, maybe, not even the main attraction. Tharaud continues to
explore more off-beat Rachmaninov and, voilà, we are back to miniatures. There
are Cinq Morceaux de fantaisie, better known through the second of the five, the
C sharp minor Prelude, usually singled out. Put into proper context, it is less
a warhorse, more part-of-a-landscape. Tharaud, not out to shatter the piano in
the Prelude’s opening chords, keeps the hesitant rhythm of the opening phrase
for what follows. This strikes me as a more interesting way of playing it than
hesitating just on entry and then pearling off something relatively light. In
the former category you might put Ashkenazy (Decca), who starts with heavy,
long-ringing opening bells, followed by a swift
do-not-worry-about-your-attention-span run, or the not too dissimilar Nareh
Arghamanayan (gorgeously recorded on Pentatone). The tempi are rather telling:
Tharaud takes 4:16, Ashkenazy 3:49. For something completely different, try Olga
Kern’s gorgeous study in contemplative slowness (5:05, Harmonia Mundi), heavier,
less liquid, with more contrast, and pay-attention-or-you-loose-me detailing:
fascinating if you let her indulge you.
The Vocalise is probably more often heard in transcription (especially
Rachmaninov’s own for orchestra, and those for cello and violin by Heifetz,
Rostropovich et al.) than the original piano/voice version. This happily means
that the actually vocal version has not become such a cliché. Sabine Devieilhe
sails through this deceptively simple sounding gem with touching clarity and
tasteful vibrato.
Tharaud says adieux with Rachmaninov’s two pieces for piano, six hands,
allegedly written for three sisters of his acquaintance in the countryside. I
wish to think that—like Mozart with his deliberately pinky-intertwining pieces
for four hands—he composed the pieces to rub shoulders, literally, with two of
those sisters perched to either side of his. These are rare pieces, also very
well done, for example, by the father, wife and son Ashkenazy team, and by Oleg
Maisernberg, Brigitte Engerer and Elena Bachkirova (Harmonia Mundi, alas, undone
by a distant, brittle sound). Here they are lovingly treated as if they were
major works, with Alexandre Tharaud flanked by Alexander Melnikov and Aleksandar
Madžar on his right and left. First the brooding lyrical Romance and then the
circus romp Waltz for you to hop out of the recording on the other end. And
perhaps back again, once or twice, for another ride.
Jens F. Laurson
