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Linking
the works on this recording, other than the sense of occasion (more
1978 and 1979 'live' performances from the Concertgebouw archives),
is what the notes call a sense of romantic fantasy for the two major
works presented. No one, for my money, has been better at capturing
the innocent wonder of Schumann's Fantasiestücke than
Argerich. That fervent imagination has always been as strong an
asset in Martha Argerich's playing as her digital prowess, and one
of her most endearing traits as far as I am concerned.
 Just
as the Fantasiestücke allow Schumann's dual compositional
nature to come to the fore, Argerich's 1978 performances shows a
contrasting turn to the studio version made two years earlier (EMI
63576 - mid-price, with the Fantasie in C). While the calm
and isolation of the studio facilitates the timeless, daydream-like
quality in which Eusebius thrives, the presence of the Concertgebouw
audience encourages the stormier Florestan to romp and roughhouse
more openly. Even so, an amazingly large amount of Eusebius's naďve,
almost childlike awe thrives quite well there also.
Argerich
allows "Des Abends" to sing gently while the longing sighs in "Warum?"
are as quietly heart-tugging as ever. More passionate sections such
as "Aufschwung," and boisterously humored ones like "Grillen" and
"Fabel," gain in strength and intensity from the live setting; even
though the studio version may be less harried in some passages,
the extra charge in electricity is a worthwhile trade-off. If "Traumes
Wirren" still goes by in too fast a blur for my comfort after repeated
hearings, it is still extremely easy to become caught up in the
moment.
Throughout,
Argerich's technique shines like a rapier in the sun, cutting cleanly
and sharply into the heart of these eight pieces. Like a master
swordsperson, there is nothing showy, but rather a near-balletic
play of rhythms and passagework as she hits every note exact, no
matter what speed she plays. Her tone flashes and glimmers but never
takes on a hard or heavy edge, and even as fast as the music parries
before us, she phrases its movements deftly and colors them with
an innumerable variety of touch and hue.
This
musical fencing extends itself to Maurice Ravel's Sonatine.
Cooler colored, more classically framed but no less engaging than
what preceded it, one would normally expect this piece to show itself,
to paraphrase Schumann's comment on the Beethoven
Fourth Symphony, as a slender Greek maiden between two giants.
But the maiden more than holds her own here, with a trace of steel
hidden amid her silks.
This
polished glint soon manifests itself in the opening Móderé,
though the slower measures still capture some of the diaphanous
quality of Ravel's writing. The central minuet moves in a swirl
of colors, and as the dance progresses, Argerich steadily slows
the tempo, allowing the music to unfold like a page from a fairy
tale. The final Animé is very much so-a whirlwind of movement,
slightly brusque in a couple of its more animated measures but otherwise
shimmering in luminosity, kaleidoscopic in continually changing
colors and as consoling as a soft caress in its less agitated moments.
 Argerich's
steeliness is even more apparent in Gaspard de la Nuit,
with mixed results at first. Ondine is too tense to build
atmosphere or drama, with a climax at 3:19 that comes across more
as a sudden vomiting of notes than anything to which the playing
has naturally led. The final flourish of the movement, at 4:48,
comes off a little better, but the measures immediately seem to
lose balance. Usually the adrenaline of a live performance works
as a positive factor for Argerich, but here the opposite is true.
In
Le Gibet, the uneasiness that sabotaged Ondine works
here in its favor, adding desperation to the yearning I normally
hear in the theme. The spookiness resulting from this combination,
heightened further by the repeated B-flat tolling like some spectral
bell, is enough to stand the hair on the back of your neck on end.
Scarbo
dances furiously in Argerich's hands, with the dark intensity of
her playing as much exorcism or incantation as it is characterization.
From the second set of chords, the depth of sound she brings forth
from the keyboard seem as though she is conjuring the imp directly
from the bowels of the earth. Even the quieter interludes quiver
with a tension that refuses to let go of her or the listener, and
only when the final measures fade can we breathe a sigh of relief.
The
sound in all three performances is roughly the same as in the previous
live Concertgebouw discs-reasonably full and clear enough for details
to shine, even with some tape hiss. There are audience noises, most
notably at the beginning of the Schumann, but the engineers adjust
for it and the occasional coughs are generally not loud enough to
intrude.
As
a record of a larger-than-life event, one that is becoming increasingly
rare these days, this disc is a must for Argerich fans and piano
aficionados alike. Even with my qualms about Ondine, I would
rather hear playing that takes chances like the ones captured here
than the bland, timid and sometimes needlessly fussy efforts that
pass from most other pianists' hands today.
JONATHAN
YUNGKANS once spotted a chocolate gremlin in a candy
store window and found it too scary looking to want to eat.
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respond to this article, please post your comments to classical@inkpot.com
xxx:
9.5.2001 ©Jonathan Yungkans
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