There’s something deliciously retro about discs stored in a
sturdy cardboard box, each one encased in a separate sleeve;
even the smell brings back fond memories of much-prized LP sets
from the past. There’s an element of nostalgia in the performances
too, some of which haven’t worn terribly well. Avid collectors
of Brilliant’s bargain boxes will know these recordings have
a history, as all of them are culled from the company’s earlier
anthologies. Quite why such incessant packaging and repackaging
is deemed necessary in a saturated market is a mystery to me,
although I realise these boxes are aimed at classical newbies
buying music on a shoestring. That said, these collections have
a habit of appealing to veterans as well; is this one of them?
I regret not hearing the eccentric – and critically divisive
– pianist Sviatoslav Richter in a live performance. Listening
to these Schubert pieces – a very small part of his extensive
and diverse discography – I was struck anew by the sheer intensity
of his music-making. His is a total immersion that can so easily
be interpreted as self-indulgence. But there’s real magic here
too; every now and then Richter illuminates a phrase or articulates
a rhythm in a way that defies all criticism. If I had to single
out just one movement it must be the Molto moderato e cantabile
of D.894; there’s profound inwardness and aching lyricism
here, the music shaped and propelled with authority and power.
And what a lovely, mercurial quality he brings to the closing
Allegretto.
What an impressive start to this set, recorded in warm, detailed,
not-too-closely-miked analogue sound as well. Any caveats? Well,
there are sudden, quickly faded spurts of applause at the end
of D.894 and D.915, the latter sounding a little too stern –
studied, even. That’s certainly not an epithet I would use to
describe Jean-Philippe Collard’s Fauré. There’s a spontaneity,
a super-lightness of touch, to the four Valses-Caprices that’s
most appealing. The recording is rather more distant than that
provided for the Schubert; it’s shallower too, but the all-important
inner detail isn’t compromised. The rhythms of No.3 – in G major
– are especially well-sprung and there’s an irresistible charm
and point to No. 4 that had me reaching for the repeat button.
The ‘short pieces’ are delightful, all characterised by a sparkle
and delicacy that Collard brings out most admirably. The discreet
underpinnings of the left hand are as subtle as one could hope
for, and there’s a precise, beautifully etched quality to this
pianist’s playing that’s just as captivating. If there’s a highlight
it must be the will-o’-the-wisp Nocturne, which has seldom
sounded so evanescent. This is masterly playing indeed; ditto
the nicely turned Op. 32 Mazurka and elegant Romances.
But it’s the four-handed Dolly Suite that crowns this
most desirable selection. Bruno Rigutto is a sympathetic partner,
the music tripping off the keyboard with disarming ease. Be
sure to crank up the volume though, as this is even more distantly
balanced than the earlier pieces and IT can seem a tad under-characterised
at such low levels. Highlights? The mischievous, bright-as-a-button
rendition of Mi-a-ou and Le pas espagnol. Fauré’s
homage to Wagner is more overtly virtuosic, this well-matched
duo despatching it with commendable brio.
And now for the heavyweights, starting with Gilels’ live recordings
of Beethoven’s fourth and fifth concertos. He recorded the works
several times, most notably with Georg Szell and the Cleveland
Orchestra, and anyone familiar with his Beethoven sonatas will
know just how patrician – albeit uneven – these performances
can be. Regrettably, the G major concerto is spoiled by a bloated
orchestral sound and that curious, rather lifeless acoustic
one often gets from a packed hall. Masur isn’t terribly inspired
either, Gilels’ playing – and his piano – somewhat below par
as well. Factor in tuttis that sound congested and too short
pauses between movements and you begin to see why this version
of the Fourth is so disappointing.
In a recent review I remarked on how we ‘imprint’ on certain
recordings, which then become benchmarks against which all others
are measured. Stephen Kovacevich’s ‘Emperor’ with Sir Colin
Davis was an early infatuation of mine; it’s stood up well to
years of comparison and scrutiny, so Gilels and Masur have a
lot to live up to. Even allowing for the historic/archive nature
of this recording and the imprecisions of a live performance
– the opening has never sounded so spongey or perspectives so
strange – this is a non-starter. There’s none of the joyful
energy and bounce we usually hear in the Allegro, Gilels
effusive but dull; as for the graceful Adagio, it’s as
leaden as I’ve ever heard it, Gilels no match for the inspired
Kovacevich in his first entry or in the music that follows.
Poor orchestral intonation, peculiar balances and the piano’s
unpleasant twang in the trills doesn’t help either. A desperately
prosaic reading of what is one of Beethoven’s most poetic works.
Moving on, the Hungarian pianist Géza Anda’s reading of Schumann’s
Kreisleriana is beautifully poised and exceptionally
well recorded, the second movement especially memorable for
its gentle pulse and softly glowing colours. The studio acoustic
is quite lively, adding some brightness to the louder passages,
but that’s also an advantage in a score of such clarity and
detail; indeed, the recording hardly shows its age at all. One
of the many felicities of this magical performance is the unbroken,
singing line of the second Sehr langsam, Anda judging
the music’s dynamics to perfection. And there’s muscularity
too, notably in the vital rhythms of the last two movements.
That’s certainly true of the Apollonian-Dionysian dialectic
of the Davidsbündlertänze, Anda alternately playful
and imperious. There’s no denying the precision and power of
his playing, but some may find him a little short on charisma
at times. So, no real highpoints, and while I don’t share JW’s
enthusiasm for Anda’s way with this piece – review
– it’s still a good, solid performance, well recorded. One of
the real pleasures of these collections is that one is able
to hear these much-lauded artists in the company of those who
have followed since; perhaps Anda isn’t the transcendental pianist
he once seemed, but his Kreisleriana is very special
indeed.
Alfred Brendel – who retired from the concert platform last
year – is another of those iconic artists whose talents will
be reappraised in years to come. I must confess to some ambivalence
where this pianist is concerned, but hearing his first dainty
entrance in Mozart’s K.459 I began to wonder if my own reappraisal
was destined to begin here and now. Brendel’s playing certainly
has a doll-like charm and scale that’s most appealing, but one
needs to remember these recordings were made at or near the
start of his long career, and that he went on to record these
works with more august ensembles than the Vienna Volksoper band.
That said, this orchestra plays well enough here; indeed, these
original Vox/Turnabout releases are perfectly respectable, the
sound in K.459 a little wiry but not distractingly so.
The recording of K.466 is somewhat drier, the piano more backwardly
balanced; it’s a little fatiguing, too. And while K.459 doesn’t
sound quite as old-fashioned as I’d expected, K.466 does; it
certainly won’t appeal to those used to the transparent, period-influenced
performances we hear today. The blowsy, big-band style of the
Allegro is a case in point, and it’s a good snapshot
of this performance as a whole. As I said earlier, perfectly
respectable, especially in the context of this ‘beginner’s box’,
but not at all memorable. Brendel’s later versions of these
concertos with Sir Neville Marriner and the ASMF – available
as part of a big box from Philips – are infinitely preferable.
Halfway through and it’s more credits than debits – just – Collard’s
Fauré the best thus far. And if I’ve never really warmed to
Brendel I’d have to say the same about conductor Michel Plasson.
I’m invariably underwhelmed by his recordings, so it was with
some surprise that I found myself enjoying his bold but tasteful
version of Liszt’s first concerto, pianist Nelson Freire in
commanding form. The Dresden band sounds rich and full-bodied,
the piano ideally placed in the aural soundscape. This concerto
is less self-consciously ‘pumped up’ than the classic Zimerman/Ozawa
recording, and it’s none the worse for that. And what a relief
to hear a big orchestra in full flood, every section present
and correct.
Prolixity can be a problem with orchestral Liszt, but there’s
a pleasing economy of style and content in the first concerto
that makes it a very pleasing listen. The second suffers from
a degree of bloat, notably in the overbearing second movement.
That said, there’s a gorgeous dialogue between piano and cello
in the Allegro moderato, heralding some of the Abbé’s
loveliest music; Freire’s ardent rhapsodising is a joy to hear.
Unfortunately, Lisztian bombast is never far away, the following
movement the very antithesis of what’s gone before. Freire certainly
relishes the big moments, which leap out of the speakers in
a way that suggests over-enthusiastic knob-twiddling in the
control room.
Bracing stuff and as good an introduction to these works as
any. And if that’s not demonic enough there’s always the feverish
Totentanz. This is pure exhibitionism, and Freire et
al play this gaudy, unsettling danse macabre for
all it’s worth. Just listen to those maniacal runs, thrillingly
done, and to the gentler, more reflective episodes that follow.
As with so much large-scale Liszt, structures can seem a little
arbitrary, but that matters little when the devil’s in charge;
indeed, this blistering, overworked paraphrase on the Dies
irae will really make your system sweat. All good fun, and
very well recorded to boot.
Nikolai Lugansky’s Rachmaninov is very highly regarded, and
listening to these two sets of Études-Tableaux it’s not
hard to see why. His technique is simply staggering, the sheer
volume of sound he draws from the piano equally so. Fortunately,
he is not one of those pile-driving pianists who has little
feeling for colour or nuance, and that makes these turbulent
pieces much more rewarding than they might otherwise be. These
are among the most recent recordings in the box, which shows
in terms of weight and range; that said, there’s more than a
touch of stridency in the treble – in the ringing Allegro
con fuoco of Op. 33, for example – that’s a tad wearying
after a while.
Studies can be somewhat unrelenting, but as the Grave
in C minor and the Moderato in G minor demonstrate there’s
a welcome vein of lyricism here as well. The Op. 39 set is cut
from the same cloth, the opening Allegro agitato sounding
wonderfully florid in Lugansky’s hands. The sound s still inclined
to jangle in the climaxes, but then we are talking about expressive
extremes here. As these are incredibly bipolar pieces, veering
between quiet introspection and manic outbursts, it’s best to
listen to this disc is small chunks. Some may find Lugansky’s
powerful musical persona a little threatening at times, but
there’s enough thought and insight here to warrant a solid recommendation
from me.
We’re still in credit at this point, with just three CDs to
go. But seconds into the dreadful, boxy sound of Kissin’s Chopin
and we’re in danger of slipping into the red. This is one of
those awful, scrappy Soviet-era performances, full of bleat
and bluster, that I simply can’t abide. In more sympathetic
surroundings, Dmitri Kitaienko is everything this recording
isn’t – his recent Tchaikovsky Manfred is a case in point
– and Kissin’s youthful pianism is soulless and self-regarding.
The screeching harridan of a second concerto is much, much worse;
indeed, a more charmless pair of readings it would be hard to
imagine. Nul points for this one, I’m afraid.
Before moving on to the next disc I must say I’m perplexed at
the thinking behind this and similar anthologies. I accept these
are super-budget ssues, so licensing costs will limit the range
of talent available. That said, there’s nothing remotely second-rate
about Collard’s Fauré or, to a lesser extent, Richter’s Schubert
and Anda’s Schumann. To lump these together with Gilels’
dreary Beethoven and this awful Chopin strikes me as self-defeating;
even if this box is intended for newbies these performances
don’t begin to show how good these works – and artists – really
are.
Not too many reservations about Artur Pizarro’s light and bright
survey of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies. Played on a Blüthner,
with its distinctive, agile sound, these showpieces emerge with
a freshness and clarity that’s most engaging. Pizarro handles
Liszt’s sophisticated rhythms and harmonic subtleties with real
authority and style, although there are moments when a weightier,
better-defined piano sound would be preferable. In fact, the
recording is prone to jangle in the extreme treble, and climaxes
can sound a tad clinical. That said, the inner detail of these
flashing gypsy scores is laid bare, and that brings its own
musical rewards. Best of all, Pizarro isn’t a virtuoso cast
in the relentless, self-regarding mould, which makes this one
of the better discs in the set.
After all that glitter and go, Hélène Grimaud’s low-key Rachmaninov
may come as something of an anti-climax. There’s a winning thread
of lyricism in this performance that makes up for its general
lack of fire. This soft-centred approach is also evident in
a rather diffuse recording and the conductor’s relaxed tempi.
Grimaud is no stranger to this piece and has since recorded
it with Ashkenazy and the Philharmonia (Teldec); this Brillliant
release – from a Denon original – only hints at what was still
to come. The Ravel G major concerto is much more to my liking;
affectations aside, Grimaud is adept at capturing the work’s
air of cool Gallic sophistication. There’s plenty of urgency
and point from the RPO, but that Ravelian shine becomes a glare
at times. On the whole, the recording is fine, but it’s the
soloist who impresses, especially in the delectable Adagio.
A pleasing sign-off to this anthology.
Opening the ledger to check the final accounts I’d say Pizarro’s
Liszt and Grimaud’s Ravel help to keep this set in the black
– but only just. As a one-box introduction to these pieces I
suppose it will have some appeal, but even at this super-budget
level it’s much too variable.
Dan Morgan
Track-listing
CD 1 [73:23]
Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828)
Piano Sonata No. 6 in E minor, D.566 (1817) [20:01]
Piano Sonata No. 18 in G major, D.894 (1826) [45:02]
Allegretto in C minor, D.915 (1827) [7:23]
Sviatoslav Richter (piano)
rec. 3 May 1978. Venue not given
CD 2 [75:07]
Gabriel FAURÉ (1845-1924)
4 Valses-Caprices (?1882-1894) [26:15]
8 Pièces Brèves, Op. 84 (1869-1902) [17:37]
Mazurka, Op. 32 (c. 1878) [6:18]
3 Romances Sans Paroles (?1863) [5;53]
Dolly Suite, Op. 56 (1894-1897) [13:48]*
Souvenirs de Bayreuth (?1888) [4:12]*
Jean-Philippe Collard, *Bruno Rigutto (pianos)
rec. 1970-1983, Salle Wagram, Paris, France
CD 3 [71:55]
Ludwig van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827)
Piano Concerto No. 4 in G, Op. 58 (1806) [33:02]
Piano Concerto No. 5 in E flat major, Op. 73 'Emperor' (1809-1811)
[38:43]
Emil Gilels (piano)
State Symphony Orchestra of the USSR/Kurt Masur
rec. December 1976. Venue not given
CD 4 [57:27]
Robert SCHUMANN (1810-1856)
Kreisleriana, Op. 16 (1838) [27:32]
Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6 (1837) [29:39]
Géza Anda (piano)
rec. May 1966, Studio Rosenhügel, Vienna, Austria
CD 5 [61:00]
Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791)
Piano Concerto No. 19 in F major, K.459 (1784) [30:03]
Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor, K.466 (1785) [29:57]
Alfred Brendel (piano)
Orchestra of the Vienna Volksoper/Wilfried Boettcher
rec. 1959-1967, Vienna, Austria
CD 6 [52:47]
Franz LISZT (1811-1886)
Piano Concerto No. 1 in E flat major, S124 (1849/1856) [17:35]
Piano Concerto No. 2 in A major, S125 (1839/1861) [20:35]
Totentanz, S126 for piano & orchestra (1849/1859)
[14:37]
Nelson Freire (piano)
Dresdner Philharmonie/Michel Plasson
rec. dates and venue not given
CD 7 [63:57]
Sergey RACHMANINOV (1873-1943)
Études-Tableaux, Op. 33 (1911) [25:01]
Etudes-Tableaux, Op. 39 (1916-1917) [38:56]
Nikolai Lugansky (piano)
rec. 1992, Concert Hall of the Russian Academy of Music, Moscow,
Russia
CD 8 {63:05]
Frédéric CHOPIN (1810-1849)
Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, Op. 11 (1830) [35:06]
Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor, Op. 21 (1829-1830) [27:59]
Evgeny Kissin (piano)
Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra/Dmitri Kitaenko
rec. 27 March 1984; venue not given
CD 9 [74:36]
Franz LISZT (1811-1886)
Hungarian Rhapsodies, S244 Nos. 1-19 (1846-1886)
Artur Pizarro (piano)
rec. 1-6 March 2005, Potton Hall, Suffolk, UK
CD 10 [55:04]
Sergey RACHMANINOV
Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op. 18 (1900-1901) [33:39]
Maurice RAVEL (1875-1937)
Piano Concerto in G major (1929-1931) [21:25]
Hélène Grimaud (piano)
Royal Philharmonic Orchestra,/Jesús López-Cobos
rec. 16-17 June 1992, Abbey Road Studio, London, UK
No booklet. ADD/DDD 
