The Yale Review

1 9 4 Y R E C O R D I N G S I N R E V I E W J A Y N O R D L I N G E R On the market today is a rash of new piano recordings – there always is. The recordings keep coming, even as the pianists keep coming. Of course, many of the ‘‘new’’ releases are reissues: remasterings , reimaginings, repackagings. But we also have genuinely new items from musicians long deceased. And some of the reissues are genuine, attention-grabbing rediscoveries. In the following pages, I propose to consider five pianists, three of them departed, two of them alive and kicking – one of them just starting out, and really kicking. But we will begin with Horowitz, that inescapable pianist – and one we would not want to escape. In the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s, he hired an engineer to record his Carnegie Hall recitals. These recordings were just for his private use. But now they are public, some of them, on a series called Carnegie Hall Presents. The recordings were lifted from acetate discs and are hissy, sometimes harsh. But Horowitz comes through, unmistakably. There are two CDs from him on this series thus far – and we will have a look at the second (Sony Masterworks 88697546042). This disc opens with Schumann’s Fantasy in C, Op. 17. Horowitz, as you know, had a special relationship with Schumann. And many of the pianist’s 1 9 5 R classic traits are evident here: that fabulous sense of line; that singing piano, or pianissimo; that forte, or fortissimo, that arrests or stuns but does not bang. To the middle section of the Fantasy, Horowitz gives a nobility that makes you sit up straight. And to the final section he lends a reverence – not a trait commonly associated with Horowitz, frankly. Then we hear him in Balakirev ’s Islamey, that anthem for Russian pianists, yesterday and today. This traversal is quirky, featuring some strange accents. It is also utterly stylish, and very, very fast. This is followed by Chopin’s Barcarolle, which captures Horowitz in a ‘‘liberal’’ mood. That is, he is exceptionally free with rhythm, more free than he usually was, in this piece and others. In any event, he demonstrates his amazing ability to float – an ability of particular value in a barcarolle . We, his listeners, can hardly believe that keys are being pressed, or that the piano is a percussion instrument. Finally, we get a Liszt ‘‘légende,’’ St. François de Paule marchant sur les flots (speaking of floating). In brief, Horowitz summons all he has, musically and technically. Liszt himself could not have played this piece more impressively. Of course, Horowitz could play badly – very badly, and he knew it. He made no bones about it, or few bones. I myself heard two Horowitz recitals, live. The first was almost shockingly poor. The second was thrillingly and redeemingly great. He was inconsistent, and that was part of his excitement : the mercuriality. Undoubtedly, he is well represented on disc – you might even say over-represented, over-recorded. Redundantly recorded. The catalogue fairly groans with him, and he must be making a fair amount of cash for his label, Sony (né Columbia, later CBS). Is there room for yet more discs, particularly ones that show Horowitz in his familiar repertory? Yes, when they are as good as this Carnegie Hall disc. I must say, it made me miss the old wizard all over again. Murray Perahia, in mid-career, went to see Horowitz, in search of a new kind of pianism, apparently. Perahia had long been a poetic, refined, tasteful pianist – in the mold of Myra Hess, Dinu Lipatti, or Clara Haskil. But, like those other pianists, he also had plenty of technique, plenty of fire. Still, he wanted to be a bigger, more heaven-storming, more Lisztian pianist – more of a Horowitz . Some of us think he ruined himself, or at least spoiled himself: he started to pound, bang, and do other uncharacteristic things. 1 9 6 N O R D L I N G E R Y In any case, we are all responsible for our...