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Generally,
I prefer Vladimir Ashkenazy's early recordings over his later ones,
being fresher in interpretation and more interesting pianistically.
This is no exception. His opening solo in the Second
Concerto is extremely compelling, with those low repeated
F notes literally sinking into bedrock. He uses considerable rubati
in the first movement, which makes his playing seem all the more
spontaneous and never mannered. The way he lingers beginning at
4:10 is magical. He also gives a wonderfully pearly touch to leading
voices, such as the agitated section beginning at 5:17 and the conclusion
of this movement.
Ashkenazy
takes the initial tempo of the second movement more quickly than
I had expected - in this he is very similar to Rubinstein
- but lets that pulse slacken here and there with micropauses just
long enough to let the music to breathe readily while never losing
tension. The speed-up beginning at 4:13 feels very much "on
the wing" in a positive sense, and the slow-down at 4:42 emphasizes
the dreamlike aspect of this passage most beguilingly. The movement,
like the concerto as a whole, is full of touches such as this, with
never a misstep, along with a songfulness that is quickly making
this recording my personal favorite.
 While
Ashkenazy's conception of this concerto is unquestionably romantic,
his technique, while never calling attention to itself overtly,
is staggering, and never as overly-hard in tone as his playing would
become later. Altogether, this is a musical body long on poetry
but with a pianistic skeleton of steel underneath it. He nails those
final notes of the first movement with full conviction, and the
final arpeggios in the second movement are articulated with just
enough care to add considerably to the overall effect. This combination
of steeliness and poetry make the third movement more multi-faceted
and satisfying musically than in most pianists' hands.
Through
the entire piece, Kirill Kondrashin gives Ashkenazy equally spontaneous
and full-blooded support, eliciting gorgeous playing from the Moscow
Philharmonic. While there are some obviously Russian touches in
the orchestral playing, most notably in the "wah-wah"
vibrato of the trumpets and horns in the third movement - they are
more noticeable than obtrusive and do not detract from the performance.
The
Third Concerto on this disc is more stunning than the Second.
While never shorting the lyricism in this concerto - and this is,
if anything, one of Rachmaninov's most consistently lyrical works
- he plays with a combination of edginess and pianistic command
that is fully in keeping with the piece. Even when he allows the
music to pause in the first movement development, giving it a luxuriant
quality similar to Cliburn's, he never loses the thread of tension
running through this work.
He
also brings some interesting touches to the music, accentuating
the "skipping" rhythm beginning at 3:45 of the first movement
with subtle rubati and shaping the piano line with an almost vocal
inflection. "Almost" is an important distinction here.
Although Ashkenazy is extremely adept at maintaining a singing line,
the way he colors his passages suggests an orchestral approach,
so that in the first movement we hear winds from the piano complementing
the orchestral strings, and the evocation of massed strings just
before the orchestral strings take over. This orchestral approach
from the keyboard extends to the dramatic sections of the work,
as well as to the cadenza. (Ashkenazy plays the shorter, more quicksilver
of the two, the one that Horowitz and the composer played.)
My
only reservation with Ashkenazy's performance, as in his other recordings
of this work, is that he does not wring the last ounce of adrenaline
out of moments such as the first movement climax, just before the
cadenza. He is definitely playing heroically at those times, but
he does not quite match the demonic sharpness and bite that the
music demands. For that, Horowitz, Gieseking and Rösel
fare better. In all other respects, this is an eminently satisfactory
Third, with a great deal to recommend it. Anatole Fistoulari and
the London Symphony give excellent support, with phrasing as sensitive
and varied as the pianist's.
Adding
to the exceptional music-making is the 24-bit remastered sound,
with good clarity and an excellent large hall presence. Altogether,
this disc lives up to its billing as a Decca Legend and is a must-have.
Do not pass it up.
JONATHAN
YUNGKANS
is not a legend, but prefers to slip unobtrusively into record stores
to shop.
870:
15.2.2001© Jonathan Yungkans
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