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That's
right - after nearly 50 years as a mid-price label, Vanguard is
jumping to full-price with newly-remastered versions of its mid-1960's
recordings. If shelling out top dollar for 35-year-old performances
wasn't bad enough, to make matters worse, we get only 45 minutes'
worth of music in this case - barely more than half a CD. If this
new pricing strategy is Vanguard's way of making friends and increasing
sales, the company may need to seriously rethink its marketing policy.
On the other hand, if you want what is still one of the finest,
most thoughtful selections of Liszt Hungarian Rhapsodies ever recorded,
look no further.
 At
the same time, if you think you know Alfred Brendel's playing inside
and out from his long series of Philips recordings, guess again.
While not possessing the all-out wackiness and fire-breathing flair
of Georges Cziffra in his prime, Brendel in the 1960's was no slouch
in the charisma department; he was a considerably more extroverted
player at that time than what he later became. The recordings he
made for Vanguard, along with his Vox budget series of the complete
Beethoven piano music, caught him at an early peak, with a freshness
of approach coupled with spirited playing and well-thought interpretations.
There
is a definite degree of daring in the performances here, as well
as in the order of selections. Not many pianists would have the
courage to offer the Racoczy March as a program opener. That would
run the risk of making whatever follows anti-climactic. (It was
also probably one reason Liszt placed it last in the original collection
of 15 rhapsodies.) Here Brendel takes that chance with a smoldering
march that is equal parts patriotism and diabolos, with smoky bass
rumblings, pearly treble work and an inexorable building of tension.
You almost expect Mephisto himself to start leading the parade.
What
follows is anything but anticlimactic. If Brendel's Racoczy
March carried a slight whiff of brimstone, his Third
Rhapsody is heated with strong flames of passion. He plays the
piece as a love duet, opening with black melancholy in the bass
and feminine consolation in the treble passages that follow. Throughout,
Brendel shades delicately here, pausing there to let a passage hang
till it almost dissipates, and makes this rarely-played part of
the set a masterpiece of storytelling.
The
Second Rhapsody, probably the most famous piece that Liszt ever
wrote, is even more deftly colored than the Third. The usual rhetorical
flourishes are here - Liszt was nothing if not a showman - but are
tempered and augmented with subtle turns of phrase, occasional rubati
and pauses, and slowing to let the music breathe and resonate. He
starts the quicker friss section slowly, then accelerates, slows,
speeds again, but delicately, playing with the melodic line just
enough to give it added shape and shade, but with taste and never
with exaggeration. The cadenza Brendel supplies near the end of
the Rhapsody is playful, engaging and entirely in keeping with Lisztian
style, unlike the Godowsky-inspired lunacy Marc-Andre Hamelin perpetrated
on his recording (although that arrangement has its own perverse
charm, like a box of chocolates you keep hidden under the bed).
The
Thirteenth Rhapsody is handled with equal aplomb, as well as
a touch of beguilement. Brendel, in his subtle way, lets the music
bewitch us for itself, but like seduction itself, the performance
is not entirely predictable. Just as you think you know what is
coming next, he surprises you with different voicings or slight
tempo fluxuations. Nothing is overstated, and the approach is incredibly
effective.
The
unexpectedness continues in the Eighth Rhapsody. Brendel
takes it much slower than many pianists (7:20, compared to 5:37
for Cziffra and 5:59 for Roberto Szidon in his complete traversal
of the Rhapsodies), but the extra time literally opens up
the piece and allows it to bloom, adding an air of nobility and
scale. As a result, it sings - gloriously.
 The
Seventeenth Rhapsody came after Liszt (right) had stopped
directly quoting "Hungarian" material, instead writing
themes that synthesized their basic elements, as Bartók would
do many years later. This was actually the last of the Rhapsodies
to be written, in 1886, and is the most forward-looking of the set.
With a considerable use of fourths, ninths and augmented chords,
its bleak modernity, again, anticipates Bartók.
Brendel's
approach to this chimeral work is masterly. He starts gradually,
giving the melancholy its full due, following the melodic curve
of the phrases while not ignoring the dissonances in the bass figures.
Speeding up, he lets loose with left-hand chords like cannon shots.
By the time the bell-like final measures toll, we are left devastated.
The
final piece, the Csardas obstine, is more playful
than what precedes it, but is another of Liszt's late experiments
in minimal means to maximum effect. Ostinati, juxtaposed major and
minor thirds and a rigorous development of short motifs combine
to kaleidoscopic effect. Brendel's performance, again, is excellent,
bringing out the work's kinship to the Rhapsodies while not forsaking
its more modern elements.
The
sound on this disc is vastly improved over its previous incarnations.
The original LP sounded fine, but the first CD release was thin
and colorless. This time, the engineers have recaptured timbres
and nuances better than even on the LP. Except for a very slight
opaqueness, the recording could have been made only yesterday, and
the quality superlative - very much like what Philips currently
gives Brendel. Vanguard has also wisely chosen to reprint Brendel's
scholarly and exceedingly informative liner notes from the LP. Now
if they would only lower the price.
Bibliography:
Watson, Derek. Liszt (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989).
Conjuring
was never one of JONATHAN YUNGKANS
strong points, though he can make Ben & Jerry's ice cream disappear
very easily.
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respond to this article, please post your comments to classical@inkpot.com
846:
20.8.2000 ©Jonathan Yungkans
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