When Great Pianists Irritate The Rest Of Us

When Great Pianists Irritate The Rest Of Us

OK, I’ve got to say it:  Sometimes the “Great Pianists” disappoint me.  I guess I’m thinking of some of their older recordings, when they were young and quite sure of themselves.  Take Rubinstein, for example, a great master if there ever was one; yet what a difference between some of his earlier recordings and the ones he made towards the end of his career.  I cringe when I hear some of his recordings from the early years; yet among his best recordings are the Brahms B-flat Concerto, with Ormandy—I love the cover art of the two older gentlemen—and his last recording playing the Brahms D-minor in Israel with Zubin Mehta conducting. 

Maybe it’s youthful ardor versus wiser maturity, a road all or most of us must take. Or maybe it’s something else, something more inherent in the artist himself.

Take Vladimir Horowitz.  With Horowitz there’s a hyper nervous energy that drives him like a whip. He just can’t play fast enough or simply enough notes at once.  Many of his recordings reflect musical vision that surpasses that of practically any pianist after him and probably before.  His Schumann Fantasy from the Return To Carnegie Hall concert soars with eagles and lulls you with the most achingly intimate finale one could possibly imagine.

Yet on his recording with Ormandy of the Rachmaninov 3^rd, (there are actually two, if I’m not mistaken, one from 1951 and the other from 1978) all I was hearing was acrobatics.  He might as well have been an Olympic athlete, except you could hear the wrong notes and almost visualize the errors he made on the mat, er, keyboard.

The tone is dry and harsh; the concept more overdone baroque than underplayed romantic.

On the recording I heard (judging by the sound, I’m guessing it was the 1951 version), Horowitz made the orchestra disappear, which I guess was a result of the way the engineers miked the recording.  When you can actually hear the orchestra, they sound like a bunch of mice scurrying about.  My guess is Ormandy would never let anyone other than Horowitz get away with making HIS orchestra play like that.  The closing octaves sound as though he can’t wait to get this whole experience over with—and truthfully, that’s how I felt too.

Of course I may just be mentally comparing this recording with the one by Emil Gilels and Andre Cluytens, a fantastic performance in which the orchestra and the piano are perfectly matched in passion, sound and concept. 

So maybe it isn’t a question of age.  At least not all of the time.  I’m sure that age brings about maturity (with most of us), and with that comes richer musicality.  That was definitely the case with Rubinstein.  But with Horowitz, there’s just no accounting.  His Scarlatti sparkles; his Schumann soars.  But his Rach Third just runs away, and that’s a shame.


(c) 2016 by Boaz D. Heilman