LISZT: PIANO CONCERTOS NOS 1 &

BRAILOWSKY PLAYS VIRTUOSO SHOW

Classical Music

An impressive performance, spacious, full-bodied, and last but not least, never forgetful of the warm human feeling prompting Mussorgsky's tribute to a recently and prematurely deceased friend.

After Barry Douglas's recent RCA concerto debut in the Tchaikovsky, now a solo recital—with Pictures at an Exhibition, long a cornerstone of his repertory, the principal work. It's an impressive performance, spacious, full-bodied, and last but not least, never forgetful of the warm human feeling prompting Mussorgsky's tribute to a recently and prematurely deceased friend. In view of Ashkenazy's own orchestration of the work, it is perhaps not surprising that he himself draws a wider range of colour from the keyboard, particularly its upper register glints; his characterization is just a shade more vivid, underpinned by a stronger sense of direction (Decca). But Douglas's tone is warmer—and full marks to the RCA engineers for reproduction so faithful.

Both artists use the Urtext edition, notably giving us an ff start to ''Bydlo''. Here I think douglas's slower tempo is a distinct advantage in evoking the ox-wagon's lumbering motion, just as his marginally brisker tempo for the finale is truer to the composer's allegro alla breve marking. But neither his quarrelling children in the Tuileries garden nor his gossiping market-women at Limoges have as much temperament as Ashkenazy's, nor is his witch as ferocious—or sinister in flight. Both players, in their different ways, rightly make the recurrent promenade episode very personal. But on its first reflective return I questioned Douglas's subdivision of each phrase into two, just as I wondered if the ensuing sad song of the troubador (here very much an unrequited lover at the castle gate) really needs his occasional yieldings of pulse. His exceptionally full, rich fortissimo, free of all edginess or clang, is of course a tremendous asset in the majestic finale—as it also is in the big climaxes of the Dante Sonata. Comparison with Brendel (Philips) in this work revealed Douglas less dramatically menacing, less intense. But in its less urgent way (and, incidentally, he allows himself all the time in the world for the middle section's bittersweet reflection), the reading is warmly romantic and expansive—with some ravishing softer sonority en route. You're certainly left in no doubt as to why Liszt included the word 'fantasia' in the title. If yielding phrasing in the Liebestod sometimes relaxes tension in pianissimo, textural strands are clearly defined and the climax itself is sumptuous.

-- Joan Chissell, Gramophone [5/1987]

Classical Music

Liszt: Transcendental Études, S. 139

Daniel Heide writes: "This complete recording of Franz Liszt's Petrarch Sonnets attempts to highlight the significance of his different versions of the three Sonnets 47, 109, and 123- possibly for the first time. Musicologists are baffled by the fact that Liszt wrote several versions of the same works. He even set the same texts to different music: not twice, but occasionally three or more times- an absolute exception in the history of music. This is both bewildering and rewarding: Liszt aficionados can embark on a treasure hunt through the scores. Just imagine our astonishment if Beethoven had modified his Piano Sonata Op. 13 in C Minor, Pathetique, several times in the course of his life, composing the initial movements each time in a different way while introducing new harmonic structures. That would have left us with three Pathetiques in parallel- a sensation!"

First recording by a youngest piano duo of sisters, who already won several competition. The recording is a real business card with music by Rachmaninoff, Liszt and Piazzolla. Technically impeccable and full of energy, they convey to the audience the enthralling emotions of Liszt and Rachmaninoff piano duo masterpieces.

BERNSTEIN FAVORITES- ORCHESTRA

Schumann: Fantasie - Liszt: Piano Sonata in B minor

Reviews of some of the original recordings that make up this set.

Fantasia on a Theme from Beethoven's Ruins of Athens, Grande Fantasie symphonique on Themes from Berlioz's Lelio
These are exuberant performances, overflowing with arch character and impish brio. Lortie doesn't merely phrase responsively; he deftly teases and articulates, so that even routine passage-work lifts into scintillant repartee, wittily met by Pehiavanian and The Hague Residentie Orchestra. For salient instance, this is the first time I've heard the young Liszt's hilariously slapdash, formally sprawling Lelio Fantasy actually . . . fantasticated. Leslie Howard's fine, sympathetic go at it with Karl Anton Rickenbacher and the Budapest Symphony (Hyperion CDA67401/2, 22:5), to take perhaps the most challenging comparison, seems literal and earnest after this nuance-rife take, couching coruscating roguery in feathery exquisiteness. Nor do Howard's broader tempos—timing in at 29:44 against Lortie's fleet 24:06—help to put this overlong jeu across. Chez Lortie and Pehiavanian, on the other hand, it is no longer a mere curiosity but a grandly empurpled Byronic narrative. Similar comparisons could be drawn piece by piece, but suffice it to say that in brilliant contrast to the workmanlike note-spinning that too often overtakes such ambitious intégrales, these artists approach music-making as a form of merrymaking, animating everything with irresistible verve. Sound is transparently immediate in a spacious aural frame. Enthusiastically recommended.

Adrian Corleonis, Fanfare [9/2000]

Piano Concertos
Volume 3 triumphantly concludes Louis Lortie's Chandos cycle of Liszt's works for piano and orchestra. Once again his mastery is as fluent as it is scintillating. Less heartstopping or intense than his finest rivals in the two concertos (Richter and Zimerman, and Argerich in No 1 only) his occasional distance lends enchantment, and his aristocratic brilliance brings a special distinction to pages inviting heaviness and theatricality. Listen to him unbending winsomely at 1.24" in the First Concerto or tossing aside the Allegro vivace with an almost winged bravura, and at 045" in the cadenza from the Second Concerto he shows a poetry and inwardness rarely achieved in such overt showpieces.

He does all that is humanly possible with the Third Concerto, which received its premiere in 1990, yet even he, alive to moments of authentic Lisztian rhetoric, can do little to erase one's sense of music in urgent need of revision. Likewise the Concerto Pathetique, judiciously arranged from a variety of sources, storms and rants with the sort of self-conscious drama that often came too easily to Liszt; never more so than in the allguns-blazing Allegro trionfante conclusion. But again, the performance is exemplary, the recordings of demonstration quality with a sensible rather than spectacular balance, and George Pehlivanian and The Hague Residentie Orchestra prove themselves admirable partners, even when they are hardly maestoso at the start of the First Concerto. Altogether this has been a most distinguished series.

-- Bryce Morrison, Gramophone [5/2002]

[André Watts] meets [the Liszt Sonata's] super-human demands heroically, and keeps faith with the introspective and contemplative facets of the work. The second version of Liszt’s Paganini Études finds Watts in audacious mood, and his bravura playing is masterful. Reminiscences de Don Juan, Liszt’s Mozartian fantasy, and the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 10 are effectively played by Charles Rosen, and remastered sound is pleasing.

-- Michael Jameson, BBC Music Magazine

A decade or so ago, a recital of Franck and Liszt from Murray Perahia might have caused some surprise. But one of the most refreshing things about this artist is his growing refusal to be typecast. The Franck (like all but two of the Liszt pieces) was recorded at The Maltings in Snape, a venue he knows and likes so well. This I enjoyed for its stylish reminders of the composer's long devotion to the Church—i.e. for a strain of simple devoutness, free from all heart-on-sleeve emotionalism, with which he invests the first two movements. The central choral is allowed an easy flow, and I liked his dynamic restraint in the first two statements of the chorale theme itself so as to leave plenty in reserve for the characteristically Franckian emergence from darkness into light as the work progresses. Discreet pedalling ensures that texture never clots in the fugue, and the homecoming is truly joyous.

The rest of the 60 minutes go to Liszt, and here my only slight (but only very slight) disappointment came in the Mephisto Waltz, recorded in UCLA's Royce Hall in Los Angeles. Needless to say it is played with all Perahia's customary command, finesse and what I can only describe as aristocratic musical discernment. Yet I still felt that just that last touch of devilry was missing on the dance-floor (even more piquant accentuation might perhaps have helped), and likewise the ultimate in lingering sensuous seduction in Liszt's "lascivious, caressing dreams of love". For the rest I have nothing but praise—starting with the cutting intensity Perahia brings to the melodic line in Petrarch's tale of unrequited love ("Sonetto 104"). By comparison, Louis Lortie on Chandos (in a less forward and less sharp-cut sounding recent Maltings recording) seems to shrink from this sonnet's acutest disquiet and pain—such as in the passage marked agitato, and then crescendo and rinforzando from about 3'46"-4'17" in track 5 of Perahia's disc. Perahia's liquidity in "Au bard d'une source" and shimmering whispers in the first Concert Study, "Waldesrauschen" (as spacious as Arrau's—now part of the Philips Arrau Edition) are wholly ravishing as sound per se, while "Gnomenreigen" in its turn brings reminders of that delicately scintillating brilliance that always gave him a place apart when gambol ling with Mendelssohn in concerto finales. His range of keyboard colour in the concluding Rhapsodic espagnole (the second and finer of Liszt's pair) is as ear-catching as are his rhythmic spring, his teasing caprice and his exuberant climaxes.

Full marks to his engineers for so faithfully capturing so wide a dynamic range—and, incidentally, to Sony for including so generously spacious a booklet (with full quotations from Lenau, Petrarch and Schiller).

-- Joan Chissell, Gramophone [10/1991]

"Feltsman's stakes a claim as one of the finest 'central' recordings of the Liszt Sonata. He is helped in this by one of the finest piano recordings I have heard from CBS. Given that his insight into lyrical and mysterious paragraphs surpasses Ousset's, that would seem to confirm his superiority. But it has to be said that every now and again he momentarily sacrifices dramatic continuity by mannered delays (track 1 at 1'21'', track 3 at 1'35'' and 2'23'') or softenings (track 3 from 3'20'' and at 7'27'')—the last of these seriously undermines what should be the most overwhelming climax of all. I mention these things not to dissuade anyone from hearing what I am convinced is one of the finest Liszt Sonatas on record, but just as a caution that is only one of the finest. In their own very different ways Brendel and Richter offer experiences of transcendence which Feltsman does not, or does not yet, reach out for. And Peter Donohoe on his recent EMI recording carries the listener through dramatic paragraphs with a far-sightedness Feltsman has yet to learn (Donohoe's cantabile is no match for Feltsman's though).

The remainder of Feltsman's recital is every bit as fine. The Petrarch Sonnets are exquisitely done, drawing the listener in by the power of their dreamily evocative lyricism. Incidentally, the gap of eight seconds between the last note of the Sonata and the first of the Petrarch Sonnets is quite inadequate. Just occasionally there are signs of the same premature easing-off which affects the late stages of the Sonata, and there is one textual reading—B flats from 1'47'' to 1'52'' in ''Sonetto 47''—which seems to me highly implausible. For a truly visionary account of ''St Francis preaching to the birds'' Lisztians must hunt down Ervin Nyiregyhazi's LP recording on International Piano Archives (IPA111); but Feltsman is still wonderfully eloquent. This is surely the finest of his recordings to date and it deserves to be widely heard."

-- Gramophone [5/1990]

A marvellously convincing performance that in its uninhibited way blows any cobwebs off one's impressions of this romantic masterpiece. Under Bernstein there is never boredom: only freshness and much excitement.

Slick, you may say from our side of the Atlantic, in a tone of old-world smugness, but what a lot there is to be said in a highpowered and quirky romantic symphony for the Bernstein touch and unlimited rehearsal time. After all Bernstein has something of the musical Byron about him, and Liszt himself was hardly a paragon of refinement.

Bernstein's is a marvellously convincing performance that in its uninhibited way blows any cobwebs off one's impressions of this romantic masterpiece. Under Bernstein there is never boredom: only freshness and much excitement. But that said one does have to tackle the inevitable question: how does Bernstein compare with Beecham ? Most of my detailed comparisons reveal exactly the contrast one would expect. In the grand enunciations of Faust's martial theme in the first movement Beecham has more swagger and panache : by comparison Bernstein seems to be driving too hard. In the delicate little passage near the beginning of the second movement where Gretchen counts the petals ("He loves me, he loves me not"), Bernstein sounds perfect until you hear Beecham. Beecham with his daring but controlled rubato conveys so much more the tentativeness, the expectancy of joy, and it is the same through much of that slow movement. The second subject, marked dolce amoroso, is so very tender in Beecham's hands, that Bernstein's idea of amoroso sounds comparatively extrovert afterwards. The latter's account of the Mephistophelian finale opens with more diabolical drive, but Beecham conveys more clearly that the first bars are a mere introduction (he comes closer to observing the instruction ironico) and when the gallumphing scherzando distortions of the Faust themes appear the Beecham panache again triumphs.

All of which suggests a clear preference in Beecham's favour, and there is no doubt that anyone who has grown to love the Beecham performance should remain with him. But Bernstein's freshness and directness have a cumulative effect whatever the detailed comparisons, and the choral ending is more expansive than with Beecham. Particularly if one does not trouble too much about what Bernstein did at a particular bar, it is a hair-raising experience he provides, and the recording, very reverberant but brilliant as well, is recognizably more modern than the Beecham. The coupling too may have an influence on choice, though for my money I find Orpheus more interesting than Les Preludes every time. Although listed I have left the DGG issue out of the comparisons: neither playing nor recording come anywhere near the other two.

One final comparison between Beecham and Bernstein: at the very opening when violas and 'cellos enunciate Faust's mystic theme (ranging over all twelve notes of the scale as Stuckenschmidt has pointed out) Beecham conveys a sense of reverie. This is Faust the philosopher, where Bernstein's reading conveys less of mysticism and magic than a confident magician after the manner of Dukas. But to go to the same theme when it returns after the development: there curiously the contrast is quite different. After the frenzy of the development Beecham somehow fails to relax completely, where Bernstein's extra tautness in the preceding argument allows a deeper sense of calm in the return to the home idea. But then when in the finale that same theme is hinted at, pizzicato over mysterious muted horns, it is Beecham who again shows a clear supremacy. It is a marvellous work whichever version you choose.

-- Edward Greenfield, Gramophone [reviewing the original LP release]