Surging passion and great nobility from the grand old man of the keyboard - a must for Richter fans.

Now that Arrau, Serkin and Kempff are gone, the great Russian pianist Sviatoslav Richter has suddenly become a grand old man of the keyboard and we realize that he is coming up for 80, having been born in 1915 and made his debut as long ago as 1934. As it happens, Brahms's three piano sonatas were the work of a very young man (he was still under 21 when he composed the Third) and Richter here plays the first of them which, while not up to the standard of No. 3, is still a better piece than the rather grandiloquent Second. And very good his playing is.

The tempo of the initial Allegro is so deliberate as perhaps to seem cautious, but there's nothing uncertain about Richter's playing technically (in his seventies it is still secure) or, for that matter, tonally. The recording, from a 1988 live recital in Germany, is short of richness, but at least it is clear. Indeed, there is much to enjoy, not least the delicacy and fine texture of the playing—and make no mistake, there's no shortage of power, either, as in the development section of the first movement and, later, in the scherzo and perhaps especially the finale, where the awkward right-hand leaps in the opening theme still hold no terrors for the pianist. This is, none the less, a thoughtful reading rather than a virtuoso one and to be appreciated as such; for a sample of Richter's quiet but invariably telling eloquence, try the Andante based on the melody of an old German love song—marred, however, by some background creaks and clatterings of which a particularly loud example comes at 3'26''.

The four Liszt pieces are also unfailingly interesting, although once again the recording (in another location) leaves something to be desired. Occasionally, as in the E major Consolation, the playing sounds a touch impatient, but its authority is such that one still enjoys it. The Hungarian Rhapsody No. 17 is a late work, published in 1882; it is striking in its bold invention and, having started in D minor, ends on B flat. Here, and in the 13-minute Scherzo and March (1851), Richter's playing is electric if not altogether poised. Harmonies du soir, which comes from the Transcendental Etudes but requires virtuosity only in its command of tone and texture, ends the recital effectively as a magnificent piece of pre-Debussyan impressionism: there is surging passion and great nobility here. And yes, I know, a few tiny smudges too, e.g. in the colossal passage after the six-minute mark. But who cares? Not I, anyway. Despite my occasional reservations, this issue is a must for Richter fans.

-- Christopher Headington, Gramophone [4/1992]