Sergei RACHMANINOV (1873-1943)
Piano Concerto No.2 in C minor, Op.18 (1901) [34:11]
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Op.43 (1934) [24:43]
Martino Tirimo (piano)
London Philharmonic Orchestra/Yoel Levi
rec. 1982, Henry Wood Hall, London, UK
ALTO ALC1447 [59:00]
Where does one start when reviewing such an iconic work as Rachmaninov’s most popular piano concerto? One obvious answer is with Pristine’s remastering of the composer’s own electrical recording with Stokowski in 1929, but that is for the historical enthusiast and although it serves as a yardstick against which to measure subsequent performances, for recommendations to the general collector, one moves on to the stereo era. My own stand-bys have been Van Cliburn and Artur Rubinstein, both with Fritz Reiner, and Byron Janis with Antal Doráti; for a more modern, digital performance, one might turn to Daniil Trifonov and Yannick Nézet-Séguin with the Philadelphia Orchestra. All of those recordings and this one under review appear on the Musicweb International Recommends page. There is also the studio recording by Richter with Wislocki; absolutely marvellous playing, but slightly dated sound and for me the slow tempi sound mannered.
Martino Tirimo’s recording originally appeared on an EMI Classics for Pleasure digital, vinyl release in 1982 and was soon transferred to CD; as such, it will for many collectors of a certain generation have been the introduction to this wonderful warhorse – and of course, therein lies a problem: how to make so familiar a piece seem newly fresh. Tirimo’s opening seems very impressive – a big, grand, rumbling statement of those massive chords and the LPO under Levi respond in kind – but then I played Rubinstein with Reiner and entered a new dimension of intensity, which is bolstered by a much deeper, richer sound. Janis is at first more reflective and hesitant then stately, and the 1960 recording is showing its age, despite being on “Mercury Living Presence”; Van Cliburn is oddly slow and dissociated from the import of the melody and Reiner is also more detached, less emphatic – I had not noticed that before. OK; nobody can or should differentiate recordings solely on the basis on their opening minute, but using that as an indicator, Rubinstein and Reiner were already out in front and Tirimo and Levi trailing. It seems to me, too, that the all-important balance between conflict and harmony is best resolved by Rubinstein’s and Reiner’s symbiosis; there remains a certain calm detachment and imperturbability about the collaboration between Tirimo and Levi – where is the battle? There is no doubt that Tirimo’s technique is excellent, however: fluid, fluent and flawless; the dreamy, liquid central section of the first movement is especially lovely. However, it is no accident that the timings of the outer movements in both Rubinstein’s and Janis’ recordings indicate considerably more urgency; in that regard, I agree with Stephen Hough, who maintains that too many pianists linger unnecessarily over the famous melodies and lose their thrust. The indication for the first movement is indeed Moderato but it must still maintain tension and too much rallentando vitiates its dynamism; Rubinstein’s reprise of the Big Tune over the soaring strings about six and a half minutes in is so much more exciting.
The Adagio, too, can become flaccid and the dialogue between soloist and orchestra can disintegrate into discrete statements if one does not sense an intimacy in their interplay and Levi’s orchestral response sounds a little too detached from Tirimo’s lyrical line; Doráti, for example, secures a more cohesive interplay, his instrumental lines being more prominent and engaged with Janis – but then, if I move on to Rubinstein and Reiner, I find the perfect harmony. Tirimo’s cadenza is magnificent, however, and the finale, too, is deftly, expertly played; he and Levi do not underplay the climax which some find short-winded or underwhelming, so here it makes its mark. I can only cite as “evidence” for my preference for Rubinstein the fact that while I am riveted to his performance, my attention tends to wander when listening to Tirimo and Levi. To borrow some yoofspeak, my bad, perhaps?
Similarly, the immediacy of the sound and the extra pointedness of Rubinstein’s attack in the Paganini variations inclines me towards his account. There is no gainsaying the impressiveness of Tirimo’s prestidigitation but I hear more temperament in Rubinstein, whether it be in the dark melancholy of the Dies irae theme or the swooning sentimentality of the eighteenth variation. (My grandmother was constantly humming the tune, probably without knowing its origin – but it was the one her cow-horn-sailing-ship music-box played when you wound it up!) I find that Rubinstein and Reiner, not quite emulating Stokowski slathering on the portamento, nonetheless invest the music with more emotion and tonal variety and that their excess of feeling is not…well, excessive.
In the end, my attempts to separate all these great recordings are highly subjective; I can only say that for me, trying to weigh factors such as sound, interpretation and artistic cohesion, Rubinstein emerges as the favourite interpreter of both works; this Tirimo re-issue is fine but somewhat lacking in fire.
Ralph Moore
