This disc constitutes
a veritable feast for admirers of Earl Wild. All the performances
were recorded live in London (1973), Chicago (1979) and in Tokyo
(1983) and none has been released before. The programme is a
Wild speciality, Liszt, and the means at his disposal: a quicksilver,
dramatic, leonine control over rhetoric, a big, burnished malleable
tone and an incisive command of structure. This suits very well
as a description of his mature playing of the B minor sonata
– a piece not here - though we have more than one example of
his way with it on other Ivory releases. Instead we have more
than enough to demonstrate quite why he has been held in such
esteem – and awe – these many years. I should sound a mild cautionary
note about the recording quality from these venues first; there
can be a clangourous sound that, very occasionally, leads to
climax distortion. But I should add that these are, by and large,
rare moments and I can guarantee that, so swept up will you
be in some incendiary music making, that you won’t notice, still
less care.
Let’s start with
La Leggierezza in this extrovert, propulsive and intoxicating
reading. Yes, maybe he can push the rhythm in his driving torrent
but just listen to the brilliantine treble, the stunning technical
resource, and also the interpolated (Wild composed) coda, a
witty sign-off in the tradition of Leschetizky. Such leonine
magnificence is heard in Un Sospiro the changing performances
of which the assiduous Wild collector can trace back to a 1946
Stradivarius LP and thence forward to Etcetera LPs and CDs in
1987 as well as a Pearl disc from 2000. Funérailles receives a high wire and unremittingly
virtuosic traversal, magnificently contoured and strongly rhetorical
with an intensifying screwing up of tension. It’s only slightly
vitiated by a somewhat clangy piano attack, as preserved in
the recording, which can blunt the ultimate transmission of
that level of tension and power. For a more nuanced and less
Krakatoan performance try the Quintessence LP of the late seventies
or the Etcetera discs already cited. But there is really very
little to quibble with here, even given the octane frenzy Wild
exhibits with such panache. It’s a slight shame that Paysage
ends so abruptly – leading me to speculate an instant outburst
of applause (it does slightly break the spell) – and whilst
Ricordanza isn’t quite note perfect, should such considerations
trouble you, it has a truly noble poeticism throughout.
The Valse Oubliée
No.1 is full of flighty wit and colouristic skill and depth.
There’s some tape hiss in La Chasse but such is the dramatic
incision of the playing on offer, so reverberant are the flourishes,
that one feels oneself in some huge Vulcanic forge scorched
by the energy of the pianism. The two Petrarch Sonnets are examples
of super-Romanticism in action; more ascetic listeners might
find these and the recital as a whole too much red meat but
one always finds that Wild is ultimately on the side of the
Angels and generally doesn’t go in for trick inflations, texture
thickenings or the like. For readers who may blanch there are
always the rather more measured studio recordings; in the case
of the Sonnets for instance go to Etcetera for No.47 and to
a multiplicity of sources for No.123 – I’d recommend an EMI
disc of 1973 if you can get it or the Quintessence LP of 1978.
Such is the bravura of the playing that avenues like this open
up all the time.
Strongly recommended
then to Wildeans: to them goes the bravura, to them the poetry.
Sober sides may want to dip in first. Prepare to be gloriously
singed.
Jonathan Woolf
