Boris Giltburg, the Russian-born Israeli pianist who won the 2013 Queen Elisabeth Competition, is that genuine rarity: a pianist whose Rachmaninov is entirely idiomatic yet intensely personal in a way that yields fresh perspectives on this well traversed repertory.

His sense of rhythm is impeccable, with a chaste application of rubato that is organically derived from the life of the phrase. He is a master of the great surges and retractions of energy so specific to the composer. Giltburg’s pellucid sound is never forced; his large dynamic range has a soft spectrum, between mezzo-piano and ppp, which is infinitely calibrated and shaded. His eloquence derives from a poise and restraint that, while uniquely his own, is not unlike the aristocratic delivery that was the hallmark of Rachmaninov’s playing.

Without ostentation or fuss, he has examined these scores in every kind of light, lived with them and come up with a vision that, without being wilfully contrarian, is nevertheless something beyond received wisdom. I suspect that before long this vision will place him among the truly memorable Rachmaninov interpreters, an elect including Moiseiwitsch, Horowitz, Kappel, Richter and Cliburn. His originality stems from a convergence of heart and mind, served by immaculate technique and motivated by a deep and abiding love for one of the 20th century’s greatest composer-pianists.

– Gramophone

When I was young, there were three pianists whom I always hoped to be able to hear in person, Rudolf Serkin, Vladimir Horowitz, and Arthur Rubenstein. I finally heard all three, Horowitz only once. These were, of course, the most high-profile pianists living in the United States in the post-WW II years, and all three had prominent recording contracts to keep their names available.

I don’t suppose I have heard these (1962–63) recordings for 30 or more years, and revisiting old pleasures can be a disappointing experience. My youthful enthusiasm anointed Serkin as the ultimate keeper of Beethoven’s flame and relegated Rubinstein to the category of a good show. Time and experience tempered these judgments, as they must, and hearing Rubinstein live several times certainly gave nuance to what a “good show” ought to be. I think what finally did it was letting myself hear Rubinstein’s astonishing sense of line and delicacy of touch, which drew rather than propelled us through even the well-known bars of the “Moonlight” Sonata. I have always admired the way his playing makes each note suggest there is an obvious following one that will appear in its due course. Above all, in his playing there is the sense of the sheer pleasure he takes in it. By this I do not mean he is self-indulgent or willful or careless. On the contrary. Though I recall him as a good showman and though there was the occasional fluff, I always had the sense that when he sat down at the piano, Beethoven came first.

The sonatas here are the “warhorses” of the repertoire, of course, and there is good reason for that: they are sturdy stuff. But how many actually play the triplets of the first movement of No. 14 “with a most delicate touch,” as Beethoven asks of the whole movement, and make them go somewhere? How many can? Rubinstein does so and uses that to create an urgency only released by the arrival of the tune in m. 10, a melody, in turn, urged toward its resolution in m. 22. What sets Rubinstein apart for me is that he does this not by driving us through the music but by drawing us along with it: this is not Bach à la Beethoven. This is not to say that Rubinstein is all delicacy: subtlety need not be understated, nor passion overplayed. There is fire enough when called for, as in the last movement of the “Moonlight” Sonata, for example. In 29/6, James Reel called this playing “poetic,” and we have need of such poetry today.

FANFARE: Alan Swanson Reviewing earlier release

The fourth volume of what promises to be a complete Chopin piano music survey from Louis Lortie contains five nocturnes and the 19 waltzes. Lortie devises a running order that mixes and matches the works to achieve variety and contrast. For example, the youthful E-flat waltz (the one that Michelangeli often played as an encore) emerges like a ray of sunshine following the wistfully lyrical B minor Op. 69 No. 2, while the short, lightheartedly flashy posthumous A-flat waltz serves as a cameo-like bridge between the grand, multithematic E-flat Op. 18 and A-flat Op. 34 No. 1 waltzes.

In general, Lortie is at his elegant best. He lovingly lingers over phrases in the posthumous A minor waltz as if he’s reluctant to let the bittersweet phrases go. As with the B-flat minor Op. 9 No. 1 nocturne, Lortie’s E minor waltz is supple and small of scale, in contrast to more dynamic, surging interpretations. Lortie’s brisk, liberally-pedaled F minor waltz imparts a floating, almost weightless character to the work. Similarly, the flexible, well-proportioned A minor Op. 34 No. 2 waltz never drags, and the F major Op. 34 No. 3’s “dog chasing its tail” right-hand runs are doled out with remarkable evenness and control.

The A-flat Op. 42 goes swimmingly by any standard, although a wider dynamic scope and bigger climaxes would have elevated the performance from memorable to irresistible. However, Lortie illuminates the B major Op. 32 No. 1 nocturne’s dark undercurrents by way of pronounced yet logical modifications of the basic pulse. His uptempo way with the A-flat Op. 64 No. 3 waltz reminds me a little of Rachmaninov’s similarly paced, poker-faced interpretation.

Of the two Op. 37 nocturnes, I prefer Lortie’s G minor for its introspective simplicity. The G major is quite pretty on the surface (the beautifully pointed chromatically descending notes in the left hand, for example), but Ashkenazy’s greater breadth and more incisive right-hand double notes get more out of the music. One also could imagine additional rhythmic kick to the central mazurka section in Lortie’s sensitively shaded posthumous C-sharp minor nocturne. The smooth and discreetly resonant engineering complements Lortie’s artistry. All told, this release is an enticing, albeit lower-voltage, alternative to recent Chopin waltz cycles from Stephen Hough and Alexandre Tharaud, with a generous 83-minute total playing time.

-- Jed Distler, ClassicsToday.com

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