Two Hungarian
composers,
two virtuoso pianists, and yet two different fates. One is
justly celebrated, one is unjustly neglected. Such is the cruel
judgment of posterity that Franz Liszt (1811-1886) despite his
apparent vulgarity is one of the most performed and recorded of
pianist-composers while Erno Dohnanyi (1877-1960) despite his
craftsmanship is all but ignored by concert pianists and
recording labels. The difference is this: while Liszt was an
innovator, Dohnányi was an imitator. There’s little doubt as to
who was the guru, and who was the acolyte.
This
may sound harsh but one just needs to hear Liszt’s
Transcendental Études alongside Dohnányi’s Concert Études.
Liszt (right) took two or three revisions, over decades, to
craft his originally rudimentary studies into the definitive
Études as we know them, the end product being undoubted
gems. One admires them as tones poems; the transcendental
virtuosity merely a means to an end. Dohnányi’s Études
sound like very clever finger studies for which the mastery of
virtuosity is the primary aim. Some may balk at this comparison
as being unfair, one between apples and oranges. But now lay the
Dohnányi beside Liszt’s shorter sets of Concert Études,
the ones that include La leggierezza and Un sospiro
or Waldesrauschen and Gnomenreigen. Game, set and
match to Liszt, again.
Having said that, there
is much to savour in David Korevaar’s selection of Dohnányi,
which is varied and an excellent introduction to the composer.
Chances are most listeners are limited to Dohnányi’s witty and
well-crafted Variations on a Nursery Tune for piano and
orchestra; this CD goes a few steps further by revealing
Dohnányi’s Hungarian-ness. There’s no denial that his is a more
cosmopolitan view to indigenous Hungarian music compared with
Bartok or Kodaly’s bare-bone and much less ornamental approach.
Dohnányi’s music sounds like its dressed up for a more
international audience who might find the original too stark or
parochial for their palates – goulash served up for New
Yorkers rather than natives from Budapest, if you will.
Ruralia
Hungarica is Dohnányi’s (left)
response to the accusation that he wasn’t Hungarian enough. This
seven-movement suite uses authentic Hungarian folk music and its
movements are concert showpieces (à la Brahms and Liszt)
rather than note for note transcriptions. There is enough
melancholy (with the ubiquitous imitations of the cimbalom)
alternating with swashbuckling exuberance to sustain interest. I
cannot help raise a smile listening to the pentatonic fantasy
that is the second piece (Presto, ma non tanto). It uses
no less than four folksongs and sounds as if it could have been
written by a Chinese composer! Ruralia Hungarica exists
in versions of certain movements for violin (or cello) and
piano, as well as for full orchestra, suggesting that maximum
mileage was to be had on these charming and innocuous pieces.
In the Variations on
a Hungarian Folk Song, Dohnányi out-Brahmses Brahms.
The chorale-like theme is somewhat unmemorable but the ten
ensuing variations bring out a wide range of colours and
nuances. Just topping 11 minutes, it hardly outstays its
welcome. Then come the contentious Études – all flash and
spark but little actual warmth. The coruscating Étude No.6
in F minor (also referred to as Capriccio) has
acquired a life of its own, having been recorded by Horowitz (on
RCA Victor) and Stephen Hough in his scintillating The Piano
Album (on Virgin Classics). Korevaar’s reading matches the
best of them. In the delightful but trivial Pastorale (Hungarian
Christmas Song), Dohnányi’s charisma and pianism wins me
over in a way that Liszt’s Weihnachtsbaum (Christmas
Tree) suites have never done so.
David
Korevaar (right), an American in his early forties must be
commended for his enterprise. His playing is rock solid,
virtuosic in the service of the composer (anything less will
never do) and full of character. I remember a Chesky recording
of Korevaar’s teacher Earl Wild playing the piano music of
Nikolai Medtner, from a time before Medtner piano discs became
fashionable. I dare say that Korevaar does for Dohnányi what
Wild’s disc did for Medtner, and can only hope for a rediscovery
and reappraisal of Dohnányi’s art of pianism.
There are many
excellent recordings of Liszt’s Transcendental Études,
notably by Lazar Berman (on Melodiya), Georges Cziffra and
Vladimir Ovchinikov (both EMI Classics) and Freddy Kempf (BIS),
all of which marry poetry, drama and virtuosity to a degree that
makes the listener forget they are studies. Young Italian
pianist Alessandro Ambrosoli (born 1969), the latest to join the
queue, is thankfully is not cowed by the technical and
interpretive challenges.
Listening to all 12
Études at a stretch can be a test of, and despite Liszt’s
ability to vary and moods and colours in each number, caution
would still be advised. In Ambrosoli’s set, there is a sense of
the Études being performed in a single sweep, as if in a
“live” recital. There is no let up in the level of spontaneity,
and no étude sounds as if it is played cold. The
variation in mood and ambience brought about by each number is
also distinctly palpable. Ambrosoli takes 62 minutes to complete
the entire set (the revered Lisztian Jorge Bolet clocked in at
something like 75 minutes) and does not come across as
over-rushed.
Dipping
into the sine qua non numbers, there is much to marvel.
There is sufficient drive to make both Mazeppa and
Wild Jagd gripping rides on horseback (although both are
differently inspired), and the gossamer pianissimo
flickerings in Feux follets are something magical to
behold. For the ability to spin a yarn with imagination and
fantasy, Ambrosoli’s takes on Ricordanza and Harmonies
du soir do not want for much. All these easily make one
forgive and forget the minor slips in Vision and
Eroica, all no doubt committed and captured in the heat of
the moment. But what moments!
Interestingly, there is
a photograph of Ambrosoli with his teacher Lazar Berman in the
booklet and a ringing endorsement by the master-barnstormer
himself. There is every reason why both teacher and student can
be proud of this achievement.
This is a second piano
disc on KNS Classical that I have reviewed that could have done
with some editing, especially of fluffs that will come back and
haunt the alert listener. When one begins to expect the clinker
while listening to this disc or another with the same
repertoire, it becomes a real problem. Perhaps the label might
wish to rethink its no-editing policy (if there is one).
Sometimes, technical accuracy can be achieved without
sacrificing spontaneity or the sense of being there yourself.
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