Gifford’s Debussy can
be heard at its best in "Des pas
sur la neige", the bleak landscape
spread before us in all its sadness
with its tolling two-note figure ever
pervasive. Gifford is a sensitive pianist,
undoubtedly, and he is also particularly
successful with the half-grasped forms
rising out of the mist in "Brouillards".
But there is more to
Debussy than that, and in other moments
I wish he would take us just a little
further. The "Vent d’Ouest"
is reasonably powerful but hardly dangerous
and, while Puck dances prettily enough
his feet remain on the ground. Above
all in the humorous pieces I felt short-changed.
The hapless serenader takes care not
to shock his lady with his expletives
and I well remember one of my own teachers,
the inimitable Alexander Kelly, a well-loved
figure at the RAM, improvising dirty
words to the middle section of "Les
collines d’Anacapri" in an attempt
to get me to enter into its woozy-boozy
music-hall spirit; Gifford is nice but
nothing like that. And I remember another
of my teachers, Colin Kingsley, for
long a stalwart on the Edinburgh scene,
telling me that I should make each new
chord in "La fille aux cheveux
de lin" sound as if I had discovered
it in that moment. More easily said
than done, but Gifford certain does
not go beyond an air of gentle restraint.
In a way Book II is
more disappointing still. It is sometimes
said that Debussy himself is less consistently
inspired here; the finest performances
counter this idea, revealing that he
has actually embraced a wider range,
which is therefore harder for one performer
to penetrate. Again, Gifford is pleasant
but too much is missing. After his well-managed
"Brouillards", "Feuilles
mortes" continues in the same way,
yet surely it should be straining towards
Franckian lyricism if it is not to hang
fire. The fairies dance reasonably exquisitely
at the beginning and end but they lie
down on the grass for a nap in the middle,
Général Lavine is an amiable
enough chap but hardly an eccentric
and the moonlight audiences seem scarcely
spellbound by what they hear – much
of this piece is woefully slow. A comparison
with Gieseking in any of these makes
Gifford sound rather pointless.
The recording seems
reticent in the same way, gentle in
the softer passages, reluctant to deliver
in the heavier ones, though at times
it is difficult to tell whether this
is not simply a faithful reproduction
of how Gifford plays (the tame "sff
sec" in b.10 of Général
Lavine must surely be laid at his door),
for just sometimes there are arresting
moments and when he finally comes out
of his shell in "Feux d’artifice"
the sound has sufficient body and brilliance.
Of course, Gieseking’s
is not the only way (but Gifford’s approach
has a controlled classicism which suggests
the comparison). Some time ago I welcomed
a set played by Fou Ts’ong which, by
presenting a more brightly lit, boisterous
view than usual, succeeded in saying
a good deal about the music. I can’t
find any special interpretative vision
here and, considering that the recording
was made over ten years ago I wonder
why it has turned up now. Surely we
need to hear Gifford’s latest thoughts,
if he is now able to probe more deeply
into the music (he has been working
with Joaquin Soriano since 1997 so surely
there must be more colour to his playing
nowadays?), or to forget about him if
he can’t. The booklet notes are unusually
detailed and contain much interesting
information, but that hardly affects
the situation. The timings, like virtually
everything else here, could have delivered
more (the Fou Ts’ong set has the Etudes
as well).
Christopher Howell
Duncan Gifford (piano) 
