Landscapes
Domenico SCARLATTI (1685-1757)
Sonatas in D minor, K9; in E, K20; in D, K96; in A, K322 [15:18]
Federico MOMPOU (1893-1987)
Paisajes (1942-1962) [9:59]
Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828)
Sonata in A major, D.664 (1819) [19:09]
Isaac ALBÉNIZ [1860-1909]
Iberia, Book 1 (1905) [17:22]
Andrew Tyson (piano)
rec. 2019, Teldex Studio, Berlin
ALPHA 546 [61:55]
I remember a discussion on Radio 3’s CD Review some years ago about young pianists in which Andrew Tyson’s name cropped up as ‘one to watch’. I’ve carried out some due diligence in preparation for this review and can only concur. His first disc of Chopin preludes emerged on the Zigzag label (ZZT 347- this label now seems to have been swallowed up by Alpha); while I haven’t heard this debut it seemed to divide the critics who were either entranced or mystified by Tyson’s idiosyncrasies. I dipped my toe in the water by streaming the follow up recital (ALPHA 277) which sandwiched Ravel’s Miroirs between early (No 3) and late (No 10) Scriabin sonatas. It blew me away; not only for Tyson’s very communicative and singular (rather than mannered) approach to the repertoire but also for Alpha’s blisteringly natural piano sound. It was recorded at the Temple Saint-Marcel in Paris; for the new issue Tyson has returned to the popular Teldex studio in Berlin, the location for his Chopin disc.
One inevitably feels sniffy about catch-all, often meaningless album titles like ‘Landscapes’ but it does work here and is neatly justified by Tyson’s own programme note, which starts in an art gallery in Tokyo, involves a brief but intelligent précis of Mompou’s aesthetic (Paisajes translates as ‘Landscapes’) and then considers each of the four composers’ works in turn. There is an obvious Iberian connection to bind them all bar Schubert, indeed his early A major sonata ploughs a more generic Mitteleuropa pastoral furrow. The recital starts and ends with Scarlatti; four selected sonatas are alternated between the three other works.
On this evidence, Tyson is an ingratiatingly spontaneous Scarlatti player, prone to unpredictable but likeable flights of fancy and certainly fit to rank in this repertoire with the likes of Pletnev or Sudbin. His lightness of touch enables the D minor sonata K 9 to exhale beatifically, swift as his playing is. K 20 in E is given in the ‘romantic’ treatment by the Polish virtuoso Carl Tausig. Tyson is rapid and effortlessly virtuosic, his articulation crisp and precise. Similarly, the slow and swift repeated notes in the D major sonata K 96 are dispatched with terrific élan, but here this young American conveys a detailed, mercurial narrative flow which logic suggests should encompass a duration somewhat in excess of 4:47. Scarlatti’s A major sonata K322 concludes the disc in an account that is simultaneously edgy and elegant. Tyson’s embellishments seem organic rather than showy.
The Paisajes are among Mompou’s most picturesque constructions, and it is good to hear them here rather than the more familiar Cançons i danses or the pieces from Música callada. Tyson’s reading of La Fuente y la Campana combines assertiveness with a hazy mystery, whereas in the more literal, watery sounds of El Lago he imparts a layered quality to the sound, which is faithfully caught by the engineers in what is another outstanding piano recording from this source. The much later Carros de Galicia (Oxcarts of Galicia) is altogether rougher hewn, and more astringent in its onomatopœia; it is as sharply dissonant and rhythmically ambiguous a piece as Mompou ever wrote. Tyson is utterly unfazed by such modernism, and seems far more assertive than fellow travellers such as Mompou himself (Brilliant Classics) or Stephen Hough on Hyperion, but the wider range of timbres he conjures from this piece (which are more often than not communicated in a static, consistent dynamic) hardly detract from the sun-drenched aura of the set as a whole. It’s a big deal to hear Mompou without the preciousness (arguably Stephen Hough’s pioneering Mompou disc on Hyperion was the first to legitimise such an approach – although his leisurely account of El Lago seems to make Tyson’s appear rapid by comparison).
Schubert’s deceptively uncomplicated A major sonata D 664 is played with a breezy abandon. Some might consider Tyson’s occasional rhythmic sidesteps to be a tad exaggerated in the Allegro moderato first movement, but on the whole he is tastefully adventurous in his interpretative choices rather than wilfully provocative. Some of this familiar music seems a little more portentous to my ears than is usually the case. Schubert’s all-too-brief central Andante seems especially touching. I was slightly less convinced by the final Allegro, which just seems a tad too bold and stop-start, but there is a unique style and freedom to Tyson’s playing that even here is far from unlikeable, The skittering runs at the heart of the movement are thrillingly dispatched, while Schubert’s apparent allusions to ländler are pronounced with urbane, rather than especially rustic charm.
And so to the first book of Iberia. Until Hamelin’s account of Albéniz’s magnum opus, collectors had been indoctrinated for decades into assuming that Alicia de Larrocha was the only pianist worthy of the work. While I wouldn’t wish to be without her 1972 Decca account (448191-2) my encounters with Rafael Orozco’s recording on Auvidis/Naïve (V4663) convinced me that others could actually convey yet more in the way of poetry and atmosphere, a view reinforced by Hamelin (review) and more recently by Artur Pizarro on Linn (CKD 355 - I was fortunate enough to catch this massively underrated pianist in an unforgettable performance of Iberia at Snape Maltings prior to its release). His reading of Book 1 suggests that Andrew Tyson is a match for all these interpreters. His Evocación is unusually swift, but still seems magnificently shaped. His limpid rather than rushed pianism paints dustbowl shades in an account which is wistful and comfortably warm. While Alpha’s marvellous piano sound matches Hyperion’s for Hamelin (whose shimmering account is at the other extreme in terms of duration), Tyson’s daringly fleet playing still manages to extract abundant local mystery. In El Puerto he imagines a vibrant townscape which teems with life and love until the sun goes down. The march at the outset of El Corpus en Sevilla is rather stiff and angular, but as the procession gets into its stride Tyson injects some thrilling flamenco flavours that match Hamelin without ever losing the glowing melodic thread that weaves in and out of the piece. In this longest single movement on this disc, this pianist’s appreciation of the multi-faceted architecture of El Corpus in every bar mirrors his carefully layered building of Scriabin’s last sonata on his previous recording.
In a world that’s hardly underpopulated with fine young pianists it seems to me that Andrew Tyson is the real deal. He has much to say about every piece I have heard him play to date – and while I might find the odd gesture or choice unusual or disarming there is coherence and humanity in his vision and consistency in his execution. His interpretative flair and technical security certainly merit the superlative sound the Alpha engineers have fashioned here. And there’s nothing predictable about either of the programmes he has conceived for the label to date. As we approach the end of a year chock-full of piano winners, here’s another. Enjoy!
Richard Hanlon
