One of the great and perhaps unexpected benefits of the CD era has been the publication of rare historic recordings to an astonishing degree. Recordings that were never released during the LP era have been remastered and issued on CD; it is indeed a collector’s dream to be living at this time when the great performances of the past are more accessible than ever before. Decca’s Eloquence label has been doing a marvellous job with releasing some fine rarities, most recently presenting the complete Decca recordings of an artist who had escaped my attention: the Russian pianist Nikolai Orloff.
In my 30 years of collecting I never came across an LP of this pianist’s recordings (if I saw one, it certainly didn’t capture my attention) and biographical information online is limited to say the least. Fortunately my friend and colleague, the eminent pianophile Jonathan Summers of the British Library Sound Collections, was commissioned to produce the notes for this wonderful new CD. Some of the biographical highlights of this artist:
Born in 1892, Orloff came from a famous Russian family and graduated with the Gold Medal from the Moscow Conservatory in 1910 after studying piano with the legendary Konstantin Igumnov and composition with Taneyev. His first public appearance was the premiere of Glazunov’s First Piano Concerto in 1912, and after some years teaching in Russia he would tour abroad in 1921 with Glazunov himself before settling in Paris the following year. His London debut took place in 1924 while he would first appear in the US on a tour held in late 1926. Some high-profile performances in New York include a ‘Musical Morning’ with Rosa Ponselle and Giovanni Martinelli and a Carnegie Hall recital. He would move to Scotland in 1948, where he died a the age of 72 in 1964.
Orloff did not produce recordings at the height of his career, his first discs being made for Decca starting September 1945 when he was 53 years old. This wonderful reading of Chopin’s First Impromptu – leisurely, elegant, and fluid – was recorded at his first session:
The only large-scale work on the new Eloquence CD of Orloff’s Decca recordings is his 1945 recording of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No.1, with the National Symphony Orchestra conducted by Anatole Fistoulari. While the microphone placement results in the piano sounding set rather ‘back’, the playing is mesmerizing for a similar reason: Orloff doesn’t push his way to the front as do most pianists, eschewing the more overtly showy aspects of the work with a very musical approach, characterized by lyrical phrasing, more regulated dynamics (there is never a hint of banging), and beautiful tone – an approach not unlike the 1925 acoustical recording by his compatriot Vassily Sapellnikoff, who had played the work with the composer himself. The last movement of the concerto is a fine example of how Orloff’s more sensitive approach can reveal hidden dimensions in frequently-played showpieces:
This is not to suggest that the playing is lacking in excitement: Orloff’s traversal of Chopin’s Etude in C-Sharp Minor Op.10 No.4 featured here, for example, features thrilling fingerwork at a terrific tempo and is played with great gusto. However, moments of abandon are beautifully tempered with deliberate musical choices, such as his ending this vivacious etude with chords that are musically voiced and not played fortissimo:
This wonderful CD clocks in at just over an hour and is an important addition to the discography of great pianists of the world, bringing to light the art of a forgotten artist of the past whose modest and musical approach – and more limited commercial output – has unjustly led to his being less remembered than many of his contemporaries. Between the Tchaikovsky First Concerto and a group of Chopin solos on this disc, we get to hear some very refined and elegant pianism from a long neglected artist.
One of the great and perhaps unexpected benefits of the CD era has been the publication of rare historic recordings to an astonishing degree. Recordings that were never released during the LP era have been remastered and issued on CD; it is indeed a collector’s dream to be living at this time when the great performances of the past are more accessible than ever before. Decca’s Eloquence label has been doing a marvellous job with releasing some fine rarities, most recently presenting the complete Decca recordings of an artist who had escaped my attention: the Russian pianist Nikolai Orloff.
In my 30 years of collecting I never came across an LP of this pianist’s recordings (if I saw one, it certainly didn’t capture my attention) and biographical information online is limited to say the least. Fortunately my friend and colleague, the eminent pianophile Jonathan Summers of the British Library Sound Collections, was commissioned to produce the notes for this wonderful new CD. Some of the biographical highlights of this artist:
Born in 1892, Orloff came from a famous Russian family and graduated with the Gold Medal from the Moscow Conservatory in 1910 after studying piano with the legendary Konstantin Igumnov and composition with Taneyev. His first public appearance was the premiere of Glazunov’s First Piano Concerto in 1912, and after some years teaching in Russia he would tour abroad in 1921 with Glazunov himself before settling in Paris the following year. His London debut took place in 1924 while he would first appear in the US on a tour held in late 1926. Some high-profile performances in New York include a ‘Musical Morning’ with Rosa Ponselle and Giovanni Martinelli and a Carnegie Hall recital. He would move to Scotland in 1948, where he died a the age of 72 in 1964.
Orloff did not produce recordings at the height of his career, his first discs being made for Decca starting September 1945 when he was 53 years old. This wonderful reading of Chopin’s First Impromptu – leisurely, elegant, and fluid – was recorded at his first session:
The only large-scale work on the new Eloquence CD of Orloff’s Decca recordings is his 1945 recording of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No.1, with the National Symphony Orchestra conducted by Anatole Fistoulari. While the microphone placement results in the piano sounding set rather ‘back’, the playing is mesmerizing for a similar reason: Orloff doesn’t push his way to the front as do most pianists, eschewing the more overtly showy aspects of the work with a very musical approach, characterized by lyrical phrasing, more regulated dynamics (there is never a hint of banging), and beautiful tone – an approach not unlike the 1925 acoustical recording by his compatriot Vassily Sapellnikoff, who had played the work with the composer himself. The last movement of the concerto is a fine example of how Orloff’s more sensitive approach can reveal hidden dimensions in frequently-played showpieces:
This is not to suggest that the playing is lacking in excitement: Orloff’s traversal of Chopin’s Etude in C-Sharp Minor Op.10 No.4 featured here, for example, features thrilling fingerwork at a terrific tempo and is played with great gusto. However, moments of abandon are beautifully tempered with deliberate musical choices, such as his ending this vivacious etude with chords that are musically voiced and not played fortissimo:
This wonderful CD clocks in at just over an hour and is an important addition to the discography of great pianists of the world, bringing to light the art of a forgotten artist of the past whose modest and musical approach – and more limited commercial output – has unjustly led to his being less remembered than many of his contemporaries. Between the Tchaikovsky First Concerto and a group of Chopin solos on this disc, we get to hear some very refined and elegant pianism from a long neglected artist.
One of the great and perhaps unexpected benefits of the CD era has been the publication of rare historic recordings to an astonishing degree. Recordings that were never released during the LP era have been remastered and issued on CD; it is indeed a collector’s dream to be living at this time when the great performances of the past are more accessible than ever before. Decca’s Eloquence label has been doing a marvellous job with releasing some fine rarities, most recently presenting the complete Decca recordings of an artist who had escaped my attention: the Russian pianist Nikolai Orloff.
In my 30 years of collecting I never came across an LP of this pianist’s recordings (if I saw one, it certainly didn’t capture my attention) and biographical information online is limited to say the least. Fortunately my friend and colleague, the eminent pianophile Jonathan Summers of the British Library Sound Collections, was commissioned to produce the notes for this wonderful new CD. Some of the biographical highlights of this artist:
Born in 1892, Orloff came from a famous Russian family and graduated with the Gold Medal from the Moscow Conservatory in 1910 after studying piano with the legendary Konstantin Igumnov and composition with Taneyev. His first public appearance was the premiere of Glazunov’s First Piano Concerto in 1912, and after some years teaching in Russia he would tour abroad in 1921 with Glazunov himself before settling in Paris the following year. His London debut took place in 1924 while he would first appear in the US on a tour held in late 1926. Some high-profile performances in New York include a ‘Musical Morning’ with Rosa Ponselle and Giovanni Martinelli and a Carnegie Hall recital. He would move to Scotland in 1948, where he died a the age of 72 in 1964.
Orloff did not produce recordings at the height of his career, his first discs being made for Decca starting September 1945 when he was 53 years old. This wonderful reading of Chopin’s First Impromptu – leisurely, elegant, and fluid – was recorded at his first session:
The only large-scale work on the new Eloquence CD of Orloff’s Decca recordings is his 1945 recording of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No.1, with the National Symphony Orchestra conducted by Anatole Fistoulari. While the microphone placement results in the piano sounding set rather ‘back’, the playing is mesmerizing for a similar reason: Orloff doesn’t push his way to the front as do most pianists, eschewing the more overtly showy aspects of the work with a very musical approach, characterized by lyrical phrasing, more regulated dynamics (there is never a hint of banging), and beautiful tone – an approach not unlike the 1925 acoustical recording by his compatriot Vassily Sapellnikoff, who had played the work with the composer himself. The last movement of the concerto is a fine example of how Orloff’s more sensitive approach can reveal hidden dimensions in frequently-played showpieces:
This is not to suggest that the playing is lacking in excitement: Orloff’s traversal of Chopin’s Etude in C-Sharp Minor Op.10 No.4 featured here, for example, features thrilling fingerwork at a terrific tempo and is played with great gusto. However, moments of abandon are beautifully tempered with deliberate musical choices, such as his ending this vivacious etude with chords that are musically voiced and not played fortissimo:
This wonderful CD clocks in at just over an hour and is an important addition to the discography of great pianists of the world, bringing to light the art of a forgotten artist of the past whose modest and musical approach – and more limited commercial output – has unjustly led to his being less remembered than many of his contemporaries. Between the Tchaikovsky First Concerto and a group of Chopin solos on this disc, we get to hear some very refined and elegant pianism from a long neglected artist.
We are truly living in the most amazing time to be enjoying historical piano recordings: the offerings that are now available were an absolute dream even just a decade or two ago, let alone in the LP era or before. I recall how remarkable it was when CDs were first sold in the 1980s that historical recordings began to be released at an unparalleled rate, and fortunately this trend has continued. And the discoveries that have been made in recent years have been remarkable too. So here, in no particular order, are the mostly ‘historical’ piano recordings made available in 2018 that most struck me.
One of the most incredible releases of the year – and in fact of all time – is Marston’s incredible set devoted to the private recording of Sergei Rachmaninoff playing through his Symphonic Dances at the piano in Eugene Ormandy’s living room in late 1940, a few weeks before the orchestral work’s premiere. I knew that a Rachmaninoff discovery had been made though I was told that I would need to wait for the details, and when Marston approached me to ask if I would produce the promotional video for the set, I was thrilled to learn what had been found – and of course once I heard the playing, I couldn’t have been more amazed. I literally lost sleep for the first two nights that I had the recordings, waking up in the middle of the night to listen again to the stunning playing, unlike anything else we have of the great Rachmaninoff. It has been reported that many who heard him in concert stated that his playing in commercial recordings was different than what they had heard, and this discovery reveals what they are pointing to: soaring phrasing, dynamic and tonal shadings of remarkable refinement, and rhythmic tautness are simply some of the amazing qualities on display… and hearing the composer sing along while he plays is incredibly insightful as well.
Also included in the set is another recording very close to my heart: Benno Moiseiwitsch’s 1946 BBC broadcast of Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. I had first obtained this on cassette in the late 1980s and shared it enthusiastically with my contacts, including Gregor Benko and Bryan Crimp; the latter then sent it to Moiseiwitsch’s daughter, who had never heard it before and said she thought it was her father’s greatest reading of the work, while Benko stated that it could be his favourite recording of anyone playing anything. A few years ago, the performance was released on the Testament label and it turns out that the source for that was a copy of a cassette that could be traced back to me! – but at long last the source material was located, and the performance now sounds as good as one could hope for… and the playing goes well beyond that.
Here is that promotional video that I produced for the set:
Another Marston release included some private recordings that were also somewhat ‘Top Secret’ for quite a while, something I was involved with for a decade leading up to their eventual release: the first of the new iteration of Landmarks of Recorded Pianism included unofficial recordings made by Dinu Lipatti in repertoire he didn’t otherwise record. In 2008 I first learned of a collector in Brooklyn who had these Lipatti discs but we were unable to actually obtain the records until he died a few years later, and unfortunately most of them were unplayable by that time. But what playing the ones we salvaged reveal! As in the Rachmaninoff release, we hear another side of Lipatti’s playing, much bolder and more impetuous than his more reserved and ‘careful’ studio accounts for the British Columbia label. I tell the tale of these discs in this interview with Jed Distler (starting just around the 29-minute mark), and the two Brahms performances that are released can be heard in the program too:
Here is the promotional video I produced for the set, which includes photographs of the discs that show the unfortunate damage they had suffered:
It is not just the Lipatti on this set that makes it worthwhile: one of the other incredible recordings that I find thoroughly remarkable is a performance by one Josef Labor of part of a Beethoven Sonata movement. Labor was born a mere 15 years after Beethoven died, and the blind pianist-composer (who taught Schoenberg and Mahler’s wife Alma) plays in a style that is truly a throwback to another era of pianism and music-making, very different to our current sensibilities but absolutely spellbinding if we truly wish to consider ‘authenticity’ to a composer’s intentions. When playing this to a group of students who were taken aback by the rubato and dislocation of hands, I asked if there was any guarantee that we would like a recording of Beethoven playing should one be found – and if not, if we somehow think that ‘our way’ is better… what does that mean to the art of interpretation? A must-hear set for lovers of fine piano playing!
Marston ends the year with a 7-disc set devoted to the playing of Sidney Foster, a remarkable pianist and teacher whose playing is vividly remembered by those lucky enough to have heard him. Unfortunately he recorded very little and many of his faculty recitals were marred by poor microphone placement or other sonic interference. His pupil Alberto Reyes, a longtime subscriber to and supporter of The Piano Files, has written and spoken eloquently about his great mentor, and played a significant role in this release in addition to writing the marvellous notes accompanying the CDs here, which feature some stupendous playing by the great pianist. You can listen to Reyes and Jed Distler in conversation with some Foster recordings here:
This glorious concert performance of Chopin’s Fourth Ballade, while not note-perfect, is musically and pianistically of stupendous musicality and insight. Sublime pianism and music-making!
I have been involved with the release of Jascha Spivakovsky recordings on the Pristine Classical label (writing the release notes and brainstorming compilation sequencing) and 2018 saw the release of three more CDs in the series. All of these are to my ears extraordinary, so it is hard for me to choose a single one of these releases as being ‘better’ than the other. One reading that does stand out is the Italian Concerto by Bach in Volume 6 of the Bach To Bloch series demonstrates a capacity to terrace lines and present cohesiveness of structure in a manner remarkably similar to that of Dinu Lipatti – and be sure to check out the embedded player in the link to Volume 6 to hear the first movement of a stupendous performance of Schumann’s Piano Sonata No.3.
The APR label has long played an important in releasing historical piano recordings and this year saw a stellar set of issues, from the virtually forgotten Walter Rehberg to overlooked early recordings by the never-forgotten Wilhelm Backhaus. Rehberg is a pianist I only came across via YouTube while operating my Facebook page and it’s incredible that a three-disc set of this artist should now be available – I don’t know that a single LP devoted to his artistry was ever produced. This 1937 recording of Liszt’s Les jeux d’eaux a la Villa d’Este gives an example of the superb musicianship to be heard in this pianist’s readings:
The Russian-born pianist Mark Hambourg recorded a great deal but has not been well represented on LP, and although some CDs of his playing have been produced, they have covered a mere fraction of what he recorded. APR’s two-disc set devoted to Encores and Rarities recorded between 1910 and 1935 features a wide range of repertoire. While some of the playing will be more spontaneous and devil-may-care than modern ears are used to, there is equally astoundingly beautiful and subtle pianism that can leave the listener quite breathless at the sumptuous playing:
Wilhelm Backhaus had a career that covered six decades with the gramophone, from acoustic discs in 1908 to his final live concert in 1969, but many of the German pianist’s earlier performances have been bypassed in favour of later ones, though more ardent pianophiles are aware that it is was he who recorded the first complete account of Chopin Etudes in 1928 (one that was unfortunately almost impossible to find in the LP era). That cycle is presented together with other recordings made between 1925 and 1937 of a wide range of repertoire in APR’s must-have two-disc release that shows the pianist’s true versatility: one fine example is this fiery traversal of Moszkowski’s Caprice Espagnol Op.37, the kind of showpiece that would not be associated with the pianist in the final decades of his career.
Another pianist whose recordings have languished is the Italian pupil of Busoni, Carlo Zecchi, who would later turn to conducting. The pianist’s early recordings feature some truly devil-may-care readings that have long been cherished by collectors in their previous rare LP or CD incarnations. APR’s set includes all of these amazing performances, including a superb Bach Brandenburg Concerto No.5 and some of the most dazzling Liszt you could ever hope to hear (the video below comes from an earlier remastering of the Paganini-Liszt Etude No.4).
A wonderful end-of-year release from Rhine Classics includes two fantastic sets devoted to the Italian pianist Pietro Scarpini. A wonderful pianist not well represented on records, Scarpini was an elusive figure who played with marvellous tonal colours and disarming directness. One six-disc set focuses on works by Busoni and Liszt (including a stupendous Busoni Piano Concerto in glorious sound) while another two-disc set features his Mozart: glowing, sumptuous, forthright playing of two piano concertos and some solo works (the clip below is from an unofficial source with sound that is inferior to the new release):
One release hot off the presses distinguishes itself as the only video in this selection of the year: a filmed concert performance of Beethoven’s sublime Piano Concerto No.4 in G Major by Australian pianist Bruce Hungerford. This is the only known film footage of Hungerford in performance and when the master pianist’s devoted disciple Donald Isler learned of its existence via the Facebook clip shared by Meloclassic below, he negotiated the release of the entire concert on his own label KASP Records. Hungerford’s playing is indeed stupendous and in enjoying the performance I realized that I had only ever heard the artist in solo repertoire. An important addition to the pianist’s discography (as are the live recitals released on the same label) and of great interest to piano fans. This excerpt of the cadenza and end of the first movement is a fine example of the playing on this wonderful DVD:
The Australian pianist Bruce Hungerford (1922-1977) plays the cadenza in the first movement of the Beethoven fourth piano concerto in 1964. He was sadly killed in an automobile accident like few others such as Werner Haas, Ossy Renardy, etc.
Posted by Meloclassic on Tuesday, October 17, 2017
I went through most of the year without having realized that Decca had put on CD the complete Debussy recordings of Dutch pianist-composer Hans Henkemans, whose playing I first encountered in the last decade while scouring YouTube pages searching for clips to share on my Facebook page.(Unfortunately, I also missed the fact that Decca have put out Alicia de Larroccha’s complete recordings for that label – I’ll have to report on those later but I’m sure they’re superb.) Henkemans was tasked with recording the first complete cycle of Debussy piano music for the newly founded Philips label in Holland when the label was founded in 1951, and while some of these performances made it to CD, this is the first time that the complete set is available, and there is indeed some stellar playing here. While there are a few readings that I found less convincing (L’Isle joyeuse, for example), there is a lot to love: the pianist’s luscious tone, with beautifully defined articulation fused with wonderful pedalling, help the relatively forgotten musician forge some fascinating interpretations, and the overall recorded sound is stupendous – well beyond what one might expect from the time.
Another Debussy performer who made it to CD in 2018 (which was the 100th anniversary of the composer’s death) is Marius-François Gaillard, who is heard in Arbiter’s fascinating compilation Debussy’s Traces alongside other neglected pianists (and the composer himself in his only disc recordings, accompanying soprano Mary Garden). Gaillard’s earthy but evocative readings make him a fascinating addition to the pantheon of Debussy interpreters. There is more than one way to play great music and it is fascinating to hear those who were contemporaries of the composer play in a style different to that which has come to be the norm.
While this is not a comprehensive listing of all of the ‘top’ releases of the year, these are among those that I have found very satisfying and which I hope will bring you great pleasure as well.
I’m looking forward to what 2019 will bring… and I can tell you that Lipatti lovers will soon be thrilled by a new presentation of a familiar recording whose release was delayed until early this year. Stay tuned – and happy listening!
I had never heard the name of Evlyn Howard-Jones until I stumbled across some YouTube uploads of a few Bach Preludes and Fugues that were played with extraordinary beauty. It turns out that this British pianist recorded eight of these works in what was ostensibly to be the first recording of the complete Well-Tempered Clavier, shared by several pianists: the Columbia label had recorded Harriet Cohen playing the first nine Preludes and Fugues on October 11-12, 1928, and then Howard-Jones recorded the next eight on October 8, 1929 and February 19, 1930. It is believed that Harold Samuel was intended to record the remainder of Book 1, but the project folded when HMV merged with Columbia.
These performances have to my knowledge received no LP transfer and it was only a single Biddulph CD released in 1995 (LHW 023, long out of print) in transfers by David Lennick that featured both Cohen’s and Howard-Jones’ landmark recordings. Previous uploads have only included Preludes and Fugues 10 through 16 as the online source for No.17 had some technical glitches, but I fortunately located a copy of the full set and am therefore making Howard-Jones’ complete contribution to the project available in a single upload.
It’s most unfortunate that Evlyn Howard-Jones is so forgotten and that his recordings are so hard to come by, as the playing on these discs is absolutely magnificent: a beautifully polished sonority, wonderful use of the pedal to add tonal colour without loss of clarity, transparent voicing, fluid phrasing, and refined dynamic shadings.
Howard-Jones recorded the Delius Five Pieces that were dedicated to him, as well as a number of other works by various composers. Here is a recording of him in Three Preludes by Delius:
All of the recordings by this neglected pianist should be made available for collectors – he was truly an extraordinary artist! He was a popular teacher as well as conductor, highly praised by students and colleagues alike, yet today he is so obscure that locating a single photograph was surprisingly difficult. Let us hope that this fine musician will once again be known to lovers of great piano playing!
The issue of status in the classical music world is no different than in many artistic realms. Many of the top names are truly great artists, while others are not – and there are many greats who never make a big name for themselves, or who do for a while but then disappear from public view. One of the areas of focus in my work with historical piano recordings has been finding recordings by pianists who were exceptional musicians and performers but who didn’t have a career that their talent and musicianship warranted, careers that other less skilled performers might have enjoyed.
One such musician who I only came across in 2017 was close friends with and greatly admired by two of the pianists I’d first come to love when I began my exploration of old recordings. Horowitz and Rachmaninoff both adored this artist and considered her not just a close friend but a phenomenal musician. It was in fact Horowitz who in 2017 somehow brought her name back to a wider public, when all of a sudden one day on YouTube a performance appeared of Horowitz playing a movement from Mozart’s Sonata for Two Pianos with one ‘unknown’ Gitta Gradova. Piano fans went completely wild over this private recording (made in Gradova’s home on January 6, 1950) of a work that Horowitz didn’t record commercially – there are additionally no two-piano recordings in his discography in addition to this recent discovery, hence its tremendous interest to pianophiles.
Mozart’s Sonata for Two Pianos, 3rd mvt. with Vladimir Horowitz and Gitta Gradova
The playing on the part of both pianists is absolutely wonderful – and of course the question everyone was asking (other than ‘are there any more recordings of them?’) was ‘Who was Gitta Gradova?’ I did some quick searching online and found that her son Thomas Cottle, a psychologist and author, had penned a book about his mother and uploaded some details about her on the internet. I immediately ordered the book and had an engaging email exchange with Cottle, who was grateful to hear that this recording had generated such interest and that his mother was being appreciated by specialists in the field.
Gradova was, despite her Russian-sounding name, born and trained in the US. She was born Gertrude Weinstock in Chicago to Russian immigrants (she was their only American-born child). Her musical talent was discovered early and she trained with Esther Harris Dua in Chicago until at the age of 13, when she was sent to study with (and live with!) none other than Sergei Prokofiev.
Her home was a hub for the musical elite visiting Chicago: Rachmaninoff, Horowitz, Toscanini, Levant, Milstein, Kogan, Heifetz, Marian Anderson …. all dined and socialized there, visiting both during her relatively short career as well as after her name had faded from the public. Some of the time Paul Robeson spent hiding from the authorities was in Gradova’s house (it seems that it was her son’s telling his schoolmates that the famed singer was at their home that led him to then hide elsewhere). But Gradova was not just socially well connected with the top musicians of her time – she was also widely praised by top-tier musicians for her astounding pianism.
In December 1940 Gradova gave a sensational broadcast performance with the New York Philharmonic under John Barbirolli playing Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. It is worth noting that she had a very close relationship with Rachmaninoff: he admired her playing and visited her home in Chicago regularly, and Gradova visited him in Switzerland too – and it is interesting indeed that she spent the summer with him in 1935, when he was writing the Rhapsody, given that the only known surviving broadcast recording of Gradova is of this composition.
The December 8 concert – the third of three performances that week – was broadcast nationwide on the radio. Gradova’s son recounts that Horowitz telegrammed her two weeks in advance stating that he had arranged for her to use his own orchestral concert grand piano. Gradova stayed with Horowitz and his wife in their Manhattan apartment and Horowitz coached her. Prior to one of the performances on their ride to Carnegie Hall, according to Horowitz’s pupil Gary Graffman, Horowitz’s manner of encouraging her involved phrases like ‘under no circumstances can you stop, for stopping is provincial’ – causing undue stress both to Gradova and Horowitz himself. But one would never know it listening to her amazing playing in the surviving recording.
Regrettably, the extant transcription discs did not capture the entire reading: while there were often two recording devices that were ‘cutting’ the records of such broadcasts so that no music would be lost, that seems not to have been the case on this occasion, so there are several shorter sections of the work that are missing at times when the discs would have required changing. This is truly unfortunate as the playing is absolutely stupendous. From the very first notes, Gradova’s magnetic pianism is immediately apparent and indeed in the first variation she already approaches things very differently from any other reading I’ve heard: the notes making up the melody in the variation at 0:27 are often played very detached, but Gradova varies her accents and dynamics such that she creates a long line out of these separate notes, phrasing the melody rather than simply punctuating each note without a contextual relationship to the others.
Gitta Gradova plays Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini – December 1940 New York broadcast
Gradova retired from the concert platform the following season. It seems that her husband had pressured her to move on from ‘this career business.’. Some of her famous friends attempted to convince her to return to active musical life, among them Prokofiev, Rubinstein, Elman, and Heifetz – but to no avail.
She would, however, stay involved in musical circles behind the scenes, the elite continuing to visit her long after her retirement (it was on one such visit in 1950 that she and Horowitz recorded the Mozart Sonata movement above). The impact that her withdrawal from concert life had on her well-being and the family dynamic was unfortunate: she had a fiery relationship with her son, the two regularly ending up in explosive arguments and virulent insults. It was only after a significant period of time that she would admit that she had regretted retiring.
Gradova finally had plans to come out of retirement late in life, and at the age of 80 in 1984 she was booked to play Rachmaninoff’s First Piano Concerto with James Levine conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra the following year. Tragically, she died three months prior to the concert.
Gradova never made a commercial recording and all that we have are the incomplete 1940 New York Philharmonic broadcast and a handful of private recordings, some of which are posted below. It is to be hoped that more performances of this great musician will be found and made available, as she truly was a remarkably communicative musician and brilliant musical mind. One wonders indeed how many other brilliant musicians who didn’t leave behind even a handful of private recordings might have not left a legacy in either the form of concert performance or recordings (some are featured in other articles on this website). While there is less of Gradova than we would hope, we can consider ourselves fortunate to have even this glimpse into her artistry.
In the readings below – on a sadly very out-of-tune piano and wavering sound on the source material (it sounds as though she is playing a honky-tonk piano in a Wild West saloon) – Gradova demonstrates tremendous fluency and facility, with precise fingerwork, seamless phrasing, and gorgeous tone appreciable despite the subpar piano and recorded sound. In the Mussorgsky Gopak we hear rhythmic vitality, centred tone, and tautly-voiced chords, while the Arensky Etude Op.36 No.13 is notable for its elegantly-shaped runs and a beautiful long melodic line in the left hand.
Moussorgsky ‘Gopak’ and Arensky Etude Op.36 No.13
While I am not a fan of piano rolls (player pianos through which a perforated roll ‘cut’ by the performer reproduces – to some extent – their performance), this particular one is very well achieved, and after listening to the poor-quality sonic recording of the Arensky above, we can glean a little more in hearing this rendering:
The Chopin performances also demonstrate intelligent and supple shaping of melodic lines and a natural rubato that never compromises the rhythmic pulse.
Chopin Valse Op.64 No.2 and Mazurka Op.67 No.4
It is to be hoped that all existing performances of Gradova will be compiled, mastered, and made available for piano fans – she was clearly an astounding musician, one whose artistry could still have an impact on musicians today were her artistry more readily accessible. In the meantime, the recordings which we have are a fascinating insight into a sadly forgotten pianist and the realm of Romantic pianism.
Prior to his performance of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.21 in C Major, K467 at the Lucerne Music Festival on August 23, 1950, a concert that would be his last appearance with orchestra, Dinu Lipatti was interviewed by Henri Jaton. Swiss Radio archives only possess excerpts of this interview, in which Jaton reminisces about the interview while playing portions of it. However, the entire interview does exist in private hands, and the text is published here complete for the first time. I will first post the audio link on YouTube for the excerpts and a translation of these excerpts, and further down you can read my translation of the entire unedited interview and hear the performance of the Mozart Concerto from that concert.
HJ – Participant at the Lucerne Festival in a concert on the program of which was an important work of the French symphonic repertoire, Lipatti offered me as regards this work, that is Roussel’s Fourth Symphony, the pertinent observations which follow:
Its importance seems rather significant in view of the fact that it brings forth a new element. In its particularly French writing, it seems to me, if I am not mistaken, to reveal a certain Franckist influence. And by this I would say that there is a certain indirect influence of German polyphonic writing. I like it. I cannot judge it completely as one hearing alone is not sufficient to allow me to fully grasp a work, but I like it in that there is a line that is maintained, particularly in the second movement, which is homogeneous yet concise. It seems to be that this is a work destined to be heard by the public at large while bringing pleasure to those who study it and who read the score.
HJ – An ideal interpreter of Mozart’s works, Dinu Lipatti then discussed the nature of the evolution that one finds throughout the cycle of Mozart’s piano concertos:
There is, in my opinion, an even more significant evolution in the polyphonic symphonic writing between the piano and the orchestra in the Mozart Concertos than there is in the solo piano part. It seems that he leaves the Italian influence to touch upon the Germanic. I am thinking now of the last Concerto in C Major of Mozart, which brings to mind in an irresistible manner the first works of Beethoven.
For me, the pianistic characteristics of Mozart’s writing changed less than his general polyphonic approach in the structure of the piano concerto.
HJ – Lipatti brought his elegance to the point that he wrote his own cadenzas for the Mozart Concerto that he was performing that night, and on the subject of which he remarked…
I write my own cadenzas, but only for those Mozart Concertos which do not have any. Otherwise I would not allow myself to act with such impertinence.
If I could improvise them in concert – alas, we can no longer, not having such training in our century – I would obviously prefer to do so. Not being able to do so, I aim to construct a cadenza by improvising it on paper, if I may express myself this way. That is to say, keeping all of the elements of the concerto, not departing from the style as much as possible, yet adding new, post-Mozartian acquisitions, if I may express myself this way, in the pianistic writing. For a cadenza is after all the act of a soloist who is playing, in 1950 on the theme of Mozart, that which comes to him.
The sound of the modern piano has almost nothing in common with the sound of the piano of Mozart’s time. And I find that one must bring into a cadenza the ornaments, the technical advances which have since been acquired, all the while conforming to the composer’s style as regards the harmonic writing.
HJ – In this final interview [sic – Lipatti did one more], I paid hommage not only to the pianist whom we all admire but also to the composer, who revealed his intentions as regards the balance he aimed to achieve between the piano and orchestra in one of his best-received works, the Danses Roumaines:
In the Danses Roumaines, I gave the piano a supporting role, as the orchestra is very large, and in these dances I don’t consider the piano to be anything other than a piano obligato. If, as I hope, I write a piano concerto in the near future, I will aim to do the opposite: that is, have a small orchestra, one of each wind instrument so that each soloist has the freedom to express himself fully, but also so that the piano might have its noble role, that given it by Chopin, from which we ought not to depart today under the pretext of having too large an instrumental ensemble at its side.
HJ – And finally, my dear listeners, we cannot listen without deep emotion to the plans that Lipatti had envisioned as regards his work as a composer. We can even better comprehend the immense loss that we have suffered and the extent to which the death of this artist have robbed us forever of the tremendous joy that he provided us with his endless generosity.
As regards my personal output – I was very ill these past few years – I have composed very little. I have a Quartet for Wind Instruments, a few Melodies, which are almost nothing in terms of production, but this winter I hope to be able to compose more prolifically.
Here is the translation of the complete interview:
HJ: My dear listeners, on the occasion of the rebroadcast of the 2nd orchestral concert of the Lucerne Festival, I had the pleasure of allowing you to hear Ernest Ansermet in person. Today, I am delighted to have been able to bring here, in front of the microphone and by my side, Dinu Lipatti, who will be the soloist in this, the 5th orchestral concert of the Lucerne Festival. Before asking Dinu Lipatti his impressions of the programme, of the works that you will be hearing, I would like to let him know that I believe I can speak for you all in expressing our joy at seeing him today on a path that will lead him to a complete recovery. I will address myself now, ladies and gentlemen, to the composer Dinu, whose output is already deemed important, and ask him his impression of the first work on the program, that is to say Roussel’s Fourth Symphony. My dear Mr. Lipatti, what do you think of this work and what do feel is its place in contemporary French symphonic output?
DL: Its importance seems rather significant in view of the fact that it brings forth a new element. In its particularly French writing, it seems to me, if I am not mistaken, to reveal a certain Franckist influence. And by this I would say that there is a certain indirect influence of German polyphonic writing. I like it. I cannot judge it completely as one hearing alone is not sufficient to allow me to fully grasp a work, but I like it in that there is a line that is maintained, particularly in the second movement, which is homogeneous yet concise. It seems to be that this is a work destined to be heard by the public at large while bringing pleasure to those who study it and who read the score.
HJ: You just mentioned the Franckist influence. Do you not find that it manifests quite clearly? There is perhaps even a co-relation in the tonality of A Major in the last movement of the symphony.
DL: Yes, exactly. It is that which made my think of it a little bit.
HJ: Do you not see a kinship, even a close one, with the finale of the famous Sonata for Violin and Piano?
DL: Yes, yes, now that I think about it, I believe that there is a rather strong connection.
HJ: My dear Mr. Lipatti, perhaps you would allow me to address myself more directly to the pianist Lipatti. As I see that you have programmed a Mozart Concerto, may I ask you, who knows the Mozartian repertoire so well, if we can detect an evolution as regards the pianistic writing in the Mozart concertos, starting from the first ones, for example, up to those from the final period, the B-Flat Major, the C Major which you will be performing?
DL: There is, in my opinion, an even more significant evolution in the polyphonic symphonic writing between the piano and the orchestra in the Mozart Concertos than there is in the solo piano part. It seems that he leaves the Italian influence to touch upon the Germanic. I am thinking now of the last Concerto in C Major of Mozart, which brings to mind in an irresistible manner the first works of Beethoven.
HJ: But the pianistic writing, the virtuosic elements, do they seem to be built and constructed in the same way in all of Mozart’s Concerti?
DL: Yes. It seems to me that he is rather devoted to his earliest writing. For me, the pianistic characteristics of Mozart’s writing changed less than his general polyphonic approach in the structure of the piano concerto.
HJ: Yes. And I think that you must have deeply analyzed this pianistic writing since, I believe, you are the composer of the cadenzas of the concerto that we will hear, those of the first and last movements?
DL: Exactly. I write my own cadenzas, but only for those Mozart Concertos which do not have any. Otherwise I would not allow myself to act with such impertinence.
HJ: And to what guidelines do you refer, in general, for the composition of a cadenza? Have you taken the principle of improvisation that was the traditional approach of the time, or is it for you a thoroughly deliberate structure, a pre-determined design?
DL: If I could improvise them in concert – alas, we can no longer, not having such training in our century – I would obviously prefer to do so. Not being able to do so, I aim to construct a cadenza by improvising it on paper, if I may express myself this way. That is to say, keeping all of the elements of the concerto, not departing from the style as much as possible, yet adding new, post-Mozartian acquisitions, if I may express myself this way, in the pianistic writing. For a cadenza is after all the act of a soloist who is playing, in 1950 on the theme of Mozart, that which comes to him.
HJ: And yet I believe that you have also kept in mind the nature of the present-day piano, from which you have drawn more varied possibilities.
DL: Precisely. The sound of the modern piano has almost nothing in common with the sound of the piano of Mozart’s time. And I find that one must bring into a cadenza the ornaments, the technical advances which have since been acquired, all the while conforming to the composer’s style as regards the harmonic writing.
HJ: This awareness of the piano is above all the balance of the piano with orchestra. It seems to me that you already demonstrated this earlier in your Danses Roumaines, which you yourself performed a few years ago, if I remember correctly, under the direction of Ansermet. What would you say was your technique of balancing the solo instrument with the orchestra in this case?
DL: In the Danses Roumaines, I gave the piano a supporting role, as the orchestra is very large, and in these dances I don’t consider the piano to be anything other than a piano obligato. If, as I hope, I write a piano concerto in the near future, I will aim to do the opposite: that is, have a small orchestra, one of each wind instrument so that each soloist has the freedom to express himself fully, but also so that the piano might have its noble role, that given it by Chopin, from which we ought not to depart today under the pretext of having too large an instrumental ensemble at its side.
HJ: You have been speaking of your Danses Roumaines. Have other works followed in its wake?
DL: Alas, very few. As regards my personal output – I was very ill these past few years – I have composed very little. I have a Quartet for Wind Instruments, a few Melodies, which are almost nothing in terms of production, but this winter I hope to be able to compose more prolifically.
HJ: We are delighted to hear that. To conclude, if you would permit me, Mr. Lipatti, to ask about something more current. I believe that at the rehearsal I saw you looking particularly satisfied with the orchestral accompaniment. What do you think of the festival orchestra which, it seems to me, must have a certain degree of flexibility since, as you know, it changes conductors for each symphonic concert?
DL: It is just that which surprises me, which amazes me, as this orchestra, which is in fact a makeshift orchestra as regards its formation, has such stunning homogeneity and integration. For me, the accompaniment of the Mozart was a dream – Karajan accompanied me admirably, and I find that this ensemble gives the impression of being a permanent fixture, as if they worked together the entire year. It’s a wonderful orchestra in all respects.
HJ: Well then, my dear Mr. Lipatti, I do not wish to rob you of your time and I think that you will certainly need to rest before the upcoming concert. I thank you on behalf of all our listeners today, and I am convinced, ladies and gentlemen, that after having heard such a clear and lively explanation of tonight’s programme, that listening to Dinu Lipatti perform will bring you even more pleasure.
I was delighted to be asked to write the liner notes for a new DG Eloquence CD featuring Hungarian pianist Andor Foldes’ Mozart Concerto recordings (available here) – five of them made in the decade between 1954 and 1963, spanning the pianist’s 40s (he was aged 40 to 49) – along with his reading of Beethoven’s rarely-played Choral Fantasy. Foldes was not a pianist who was particularly on my horizon and I am happy to say that in researching him and listening to these (and other) recordings, I came to appreciate much more greatly his pianism and the principles behind his playing.
Below are the notes for the newly issued CD:
‘Put a little smile on the face of the music.’ Andor Foldes is in rehearsal, encouraging orchestra members to capture the jubilant atmosphere of Mozart’sC major Concerto, KV 467. ‘Not so seriously,’ he cautions in his charming Hungarian accent, shaping his words with the same lilt and buoyancy that characterise his playing. Foldes was very serious, however, when it came to the role of the interpreter: the highly intellectual musician believed that a concert artist is not merely a performer but a ‘re-creator of great music’, stating that ‘in the realm of notes, where the little black dots reign supreme, we need an interpreter, a musical performer who translates the composer’s thoughts into the language of the particular instrument for which they are written.’ The duty of interpreter, Foldes espoused, is to reveal in performance the composer’s actual thoughts and thereby bring to life the spirit of the music.
Foldes noted that a composer’s thoughts and intentions are inevitably filtered through the personality of the performer, which accounts for the wide array of approaches one can hear amongst musicians. ‘It is not that they want to be different, but because of differences in their musical background, mental make-up, taste – even their blood pressures – we always get hyphenated performances. We can never hear only Beethoven: we listen to Beethoven-Schnabel, or Beethoven-Toscanini, or Beethoven-Heifetz.’ Not that this need be an issue when a performer was inspired and informed: Foldes wrote that when in his native Hungary he attended a concert of the legendary cellist Pablo Casals, the performance ‘was not all Bach, Beethoven and Falla – but Casals, Casals and Casals again. But did this diminish my enchantment? Not a bit. It was great. It was unforgettable.’
Foldes’s observation that innumerable factors shape performers’ interpretations was accompanied by a belief that musicians need to evolve continually over the course of their careers. In a 1968 interview, he noted that he ‘would be very sad indeed’ if his playing had not changed in the 45 years he had thus far been presenting Mozart’s music in public: ‘as one grows and works and plays [it] many times in many places with many orchestras under many different circumstances, one does get a little nearer to what is essential.’ He added that ‘each performance is an exciting thing, it is a living thing – it is something which happens today, and every day is different.’
His views on evolution and spontaneity in performance were at odds with the permanent nature of commercial studio recordings, a challenge of which Foldes was very much aware. ‘Recording a disc is one of the most difficult tasks for a performing artist … [as] what is recorded is there for eternity … It must be a version that will stand the test of time, and yet not be “set in stone”; it must capture the essence of that intuitive moment, and yet convey the definitiveness imposed upon it by the very nature of the situation.’ Yet as evidenced by his extensive critically-lauded discography for the Deutsche Grammophon label, which covers a wide array of solo and concerted works, Foldes clearly valued recordings and therefore sought to bring as much aliveness and spontaneity to his readings in the studio as he did to performances before an audience.
Foldes is less lionized today than many of his contemporaries in spite of his having had a distinguished international career spanning seven decades; concertgoers and record collectors, however, remember his artistry with great fondness and respect. The versatile musician was not only a prolific concert performer and recording artist but also a pedagogue, teacher, transcriber, and writer. While he programmed contemporary works by Stravinsky, Thomson, Poulenc, Barber and Copland, his repertoire extended back to Bach and his live appearances and recordings featured a wide array of classical compositions. Foldes gave his first public appearance at the age of eight playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto in B flat major KV 450 with István Kerner leading the Budapest Philharmonic, and Beethoven followed the next year when he performed hisFirst Piano Concerto.
It is with these two composers that we explore Foldes’s artistry in this volume, which features alongside Beethoven’s Choral Fantasy the five Mozart concertos he recorded for Deutsche Grammophon in the decade from 1954 to 1963. In these vibrant readings made at the midpoint of the pianist’s career (when he was aged 40 to 49), the musician’s quest for evolution and vitality is evident: Foldes plays consistently with breathtaking simplicity, presenting this divinely inspired music with disarming directness.
The 1955 recording of Mozart’s Concerto for Two Pianos in E flat major KV 365with fellow DG artist Carl Seemann finds both pianists playing with transparent textures and rhythmic buoyancy in the outer movements, sumptuous phrasing serving their lush treatment of the second movement. In Foldes’s 1963 account of the Concerto No. 15 in B flat major KV 450 – the work that had 41 years earlier launched his public career – the youthful simplicity and enthusiasm characteristic of Mozart’s idiom is presented with clear voicing, elegant phrasing and rhythmic buoyancy.
The 1957 reading of the ever-popular C major Concerto KV 467 finds Foldes highlighting the joyous mood of the faster movements (‘not so seriously!’) with upbeat phrasing and crisp articulation, adding spontaneity and his personal stamp with his own cadenzas and Eingang improvisatory passages (as was the custom in Mozart’s time). He envisioned the second movement depicting ‘a magic lake in which a black swan is swimming – it comes and by the time is disappears the movement is over’ – and the pianist’s fluid phrasing and beautiful dynamic nuancing paint a sonic portrait of this imaginary scene.
The earliest recording presented in this collection is the 1954 account of the G major Concerto KV 453, which reveals to perfection Foldes’ singing sonority and seamless legato; his crystalline trills, fluid arpeggios, and deftly-defined finger-work in the first movement are particularly beguiling. His 1963 reading of the Concerto No.25 in C major KV 503 features beautifully burnished lines and attentive balance between melodic and harmonic elements, the interplay between orchestra and soloist being remarkably cohesive.
The 1955 recording of Beethoven’s Choral Fantasy completes the reissue across multiple releases of Foldes’s studio readings of Beethoven’s works. He highlights the power of the score with golden tone and transparent voicing, never resorting to exaggerated displays of force. His insightful approach, together with the wonderfully coordinated ensemble with orchestra and choir, makes this traversal a reference recording of a frequently overlooked masterpiece.
Describing his experience as a youth in Hungary hearing Bruno Walter play and conduct a Mozart concerto, Foldes stated that all in attendance ‘were happy, so obviously happy, in the service of a higher power – Mozart’s spirit’. Fortunately for posterity, Foldes has done similar justice to both Mozart and Beethoven in the accounts presented here (Mozart-Foldes and Beethoven-Foldes, as he himself might express it). Andor Foldes puts a smile on the face of the music as well as in the ears of the listener.
Given that it was the existence of a recording of Rachmaninoff playing his own Second Piano Concerto that woke me up to the magic of historical recordings, I couldn’t be more excited when I heard rumours that an unofficial recording of Rachmaninoff had been found. And when Marston Records, prior to their public announcement, asked me to help create an introductory video and do some online promotion as I had for the Landmarks volume that included some previously unknown Lipatti recordings that I helped locate, I was beyond delighted…. and once I heard the actual playing itself, I was absolutely mesmerized. It was even more incredible than I had expected.
A summary of the recording that has been found is told – and samples included – in the video I produced:
The playing on display in the entire performance of the Symphonic Dances is thoroughly remarkable: soaring phrasing, expansive rubato, gorgeous dynamic shadings, magical pedal effects… everything even beyond the very high standard of Rachmaninoff’s brilliant studio recordings. As Ira Levin discusses in his wonderful essay in the booklet, it raises questions about the different style of playing he may have had in concert from what we are familiar with in his officially sanctioned studio-produced discs. You can read Levin’s terrific essay ‘A Musician’s Reaction’ about two thirds of the way down at this link on the Marston website (click the Liner Notes tab under the photo), after Richard Taruskin’s remarkably informative exploration of this recording:
This is quite simply one of the most important historical recordings ever to have been located and its release on September 4, 2018 is something that all musicians should look forward to with great anticipation.
The music world has known many very individual artists, whose strong personalities and unique character informed their playing. One such pianist was the regrettably short-lived Polish-born pianist André Tchaikovsky, whose early death at the age of 46 was a serious loss for the musical world, and whose posthumous wishes were as unique and headline-grabbing as his artistry.
The Polish musician was not born with the surname of the famed Russian composer by which he would later be recognized. Born Robert Andrzej Krauthammer in Warsaw on November 1, 1935, the pianist would go through a name change as a young boy when his grandmother attempted to hide his Jewish origins by forging documents such that he would become Andrzej Czajkowski. It was successful for the young boy’s survival (although he and his grandmother were rounded up in the Warsaw Uprising in 1944 and sent to the Pruszków transit camp, they were released in 1945) – however, his mother would die in Treblinka. While his official bio would state that his father had died, this was not true: his father had, in a sense, died to him when he later disowned his son for wanting to be a musician instead of a doctor or lawyer, leading them to cut all ties.
Czajkowski studied piano at the Lodz State School under Wanda Landowska’s former pupil Emma Altberg before going to Paris to study with the great pedagogue and pianist Lazare-Lévy. He returned to Poland in 1950, studying with Olga Iliwicka-Dąbrowska at the State Music Academy in Sopot and with Stanisław Szpinalski at the State Music Academy in Warsaw. When he placed eighth in the fifth International Chopin Competition in 1955, he went to study with renowned Chopin specialist Stefan Askenase and then won the third prize in the Queen Elisabeth Competition in Belgium the following year.
This upload of a recording from the 1955 Chopin Competition prize winners’ concert, a reading of Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantaisie Op.61 that features lovely tone and attentive phrasing, albeit without the full boldness of touch and tensile strength of phrasing that would become characteristic of his later playing:
Czajkowski would change the spelling of his last name to the more familiar Tchaikovsky and in 1957 got a recording contract with RCA, for whom he would record a series of discs totalling a mere three hours, now finally rereleased in a complete box set for the first time. Unfortunately the Ravel Gaspard de la nuit from his debut disc is pitched sharp on both the LP and the latest CD transfer (it’s unclear if the piano was sharp or if the tape simply ran at the wrong speed). Over the course of 3 years he produced a mere 4 LPs, with a significant amount of material remaining unreleased (and apparently still considered unfit for release at when the CD set was put out early in 2018). Fortunately the released performances are of the highest standard, with stunningly refined musicianship throughout.
One anecdote surrounding his recording of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.25 with Fritz Reiner and the Chicago Symphony on February 15, 1958 is rather amusing. While in rehearsal for the recording, Tchaikovsky made the offhand comment that he had never performed the work in public before, which sent Reiner into a fit of anger: “How dare you record a work with me that you haven’t played!” It clearly didn’t matter that Tchaikovsky was playing brilliantly (or that he could learn a work and play it to perfection instantly) – Reiner was furious and there were fears that the session would be canceled. Fortunately, it was not and they recorded not only that Mozart Concerto but also the Bach Concerto in F Minor BWV 1056 (on the same day), and Tchaikovsky would return within a few years to play Prokofiev’s Concerto No.2 in Chicago under Reiner’s baton.
While a broadcast recording of Tchaikovsky playing that work has not been found, there is film footage of him playing the Third Concerto from around the same time: this April 15, 1962 TV broadcast with the Swedish Radio and Television Orchestra conducted by Sixten Ehrling is absolutely superb, with Tchaikovsky highlighting elements usually played percussively, instead burnishing them and playing with a wonderful fluid tone throughout:
Tchaikovsky’s quirky character would make things challenging for his career. Arthur Rubinstein was a huge supporter and would arrange for Tchaikovsky to be represented by his manager, the legendary Sol Hurok – but Tchaikovsky would find it stifling to be under the wing of such a famous pianist and his management, so he soon left and moved to Europe. There too he would consistently demonstrate erratic behaviour that didn’t particularly endear him to everyone, although those who recognized his genius would tolerate some of his eccentricities. On one occasion when still based in the US, he stated would not play his upcoming concert in Boston unless someone came to tuck him into his hotel bed (this is not a euphemism for anything less innocent than it sounds – that was literally all he wanted). Hurok’s office did indeed get someone on a train to go to his hotel to do that. (When one considers that he lost his mother so young and was living the career that led to a separation from his father, his request is in fact rather sad and moving.)
On a later occasion in London in the early 1970s, a manager’s assistant found Tchaikovsky about to leave the hall at which he was scheduled to give a BBC broadcast ten minutes before the start time. She thought he was heading out for a cigarette, but when she approached him, he smiled rather innocently while saying sort of sweetly, “I’m going home. I can’t play this concert.” The assistant and André’s secretary were busily wringing their handkerchiefs to shreds while trying to talk some sense into him, and while the assistant can no longer remember what she said to convince him to stay and play, she was successful. Such eccentricity was borne out of a deep-seated desire to do his best, which led him to want to play fewer concerts than management sometimes desired: he got into a rather sharply-worded disagreement with his London manager, who wanted him to play more concerts, but Tchaikovsky would not budge on the numbers.
He was always concerned about the validity of his interpretations, and his April 23, 1972 Queen Elizabeth Hall concert reveals to what extent. He had programmed Bartok’s Out of Doors Suite and told his friend and colleague Radu Lupu, who planned to attend the recital, that the concert started 30 minutes later than it actually did because he knew that Lupu was familiar with the work and didn’t want him to be present when he played it (it was the first piece on the program). He also asked for the house lights to be dimmed lower than usual so that no one would be able to follow with a score had they brought one with them. Below is an upload of that performance (audio courtesy of the andretchaikovsky.com website), one of only two extant recordings of the pianist playing Bartok – despite his concerns, Tchaikovsky played with tremendous musicality and authority, demonstrating the clarity of texture, rhythmic vitality, mindful shaping of phrases, intelligent balance of voices, and rich array of tonal colours that made his playing so distinctive. Even with the massive fortissimo of the opening, his playing is not tonally harsh.
One of the signs of a great performer is being able to make one hear familiar music as if for the first time without distorting it by doing something ‘new’ or ‘different’ just for the sake of it. Tchaikovsky’s 1974 reading of Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini – a work he didn’t record commercially (in fact, he recorded not a single work by the composer) – is a performance that points to this capacity. The playing throughout the work is superb, but it is particularly that famous 18th variation that is thoroughly remarkable: usually the pianist plays the variation softly and tenderly before the orchestra comes in with more passion and at a louder volume – but Tchaikovsky had the orchestra sustain the lower dynamics with a gentler treatment of the beautiful melody, which is absolutely mesmerizing and musically very effective. (It was not just on this occasion that he did this – a broadcast recording from two years earlier features the same treatment of this variation.) That variation begins at 15:07 below, with the orchestra entering at 16:08 (though of course the entire performance should be heard).
At the same concert as the Rachmaninoff Rhapsody, he played the Ravel Concerto for Left Hand, another work he had not recorded commercially (his first commercial LP featured Ravel’s Gaspard de la nuit), and his refinement and precision were ideally suited to the composer’s music. This performance too features staggering musicianship, revealing Tchaikovsky’s tremendous power at the keyboard and the depth of his musical mind, with wonderfully spacious phrasing, beautifully forged lines, and magnificent tonal and dynamic nuancing.
Tchaikovsky had a broad repertoire yet unfortunately recorded very little for posterity. In addition to his four discs for RCA in the late 1950s, he recorded a series of records for Columbia in Europe in the 1960s, several of which would remain unreleased. He did not record any Beethoven, however, despite the depth that his burnished yet powerful sound, shaping of his phrasing, and clarity of textures could bring to the composer’s music. This October 12, 1976 broadcast recording of the Sonata No.31 in A-Flat Major Op.110 is remarkable for its exquisite singing tone, soaring yet fluid phrasing, and the magnificent interplay between lines in the left and right hands, along with the brilliant manner in which he highlights primary and secondary subjects. To think that if it were not for an existing radio broadcast and the internet, this recording would likely be lost!
Tchaikovsky would sadly leave us at too young an age: on June 26, 1982 he succumbed to stomach cancer at the age of 46. In death he was as eccentric as in life: he requested that his skull be bequeathed to the Royal Shakespeare Society for use on stage in their productions. Indeed, he finally did take on his role as the late Yorrick in a production of Hamlet (with David Tenant in the title role) but the controversy around the use of a real skull led to its no longer being used. Fortunately, however, the pianist’s musicality is still centre stage for music lovers: his complete RCA discography is available for the first time in a complete set, and a selection of wonderful broadcast performances is available on a superb disc on the great Meloclassic label, and he was the subject of a 2015 documentary (which I have regrettably not yet been able to see) – it is certainly to be hoped that more performances by this great artist will become available. Those wishing to explore more of this great pianist should investigate the superb memorial website andretchaikowsky.com, which is a model website for its comprehensive presentation of the pianist’s life and art, with every available extant recording being available for streaming (the broadcast recordings presented here derive from their sources), along with concert programs and other memorabilia – deep gratitude to those who are so admirably preserving his memory.
Many thanks to Laura Miner for sharing her recollections of Tchaikovsky from her time working with him in the 1970s.
Below is a broadcast of The Music Treasury from June 17, 2018, in which the host Gary Lemco and I present a number of commercial and broadcast recordings of a wide range of repertoire from Bach to Prokofiev (including a couple of the performances linked in this blog post).
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