Sunday, December 21, 2008
When the great pianist Dinu Lipatti died in 1950 at the age of 33, he had never left Europe. However, his few recordings have been supplemented by broadcast performances and released worldwide, securing him a legendary status in the pantheon of pianists. These historical documents still reflect a mere fraction of his active repertoire: Lipatti performed 23 works for piano and orchestra (he practiced two of his sixteen ‘active’ concertos daily), ranging from the Bach-Busoni D Minor to Bartok’s Third. While we now have a total of nine concerted works represented on disc, in the studio Lipatti recorded only two concertos from the standard repertoire, the Grieg and Schumann, in addition to his own Concertino in Classical Style. This CD unites these three performances on one disc for the first time.
Lipatti first performed the Grieg Concerto as a 16-year-old on November 3, 1933, so it was a work he knew intimately when he recorded it at EMI’s Abbey Road Studios on September 18 and 19, 1947. This marvellous recording reveals Lipatti’s synthesis of the highest level of musicality with transcendent technique. While this concerto has often been dismissed as a showpiece, Lipatti’s reading is a superb model of how virtuoso works can be played with impeccable style. (One can imagine how gloriously Lipatti might have played the Tchaikovsky B-Flat Minor Concerto, a work that EMI memos reveal he had agreed to record with Karajan in 1949.) His massive yet clear sound, which is particularly appreciable in the opening chords and in the cadenza, is evidence that Lipatti was an extremely powerful pianist before Hodgkin’s Disease tightened its grip. His lyrical poise, rhythmic certainty, and luscious tone contribute to this recording being one of the all-time best-sellers of this work.
At the beginning of 1948, Lipatti wrote to his teacher Florica Musicescu to tell her of the wonderful reviews that his recording of the Grieg Concerto had received, adding, “Now Columbia want me to record the Schumann (which I studied in the summer of 1945) in April with Karajan on the podium. If such an opportunity thrills me, as you can well imagine, the concerto frightens me somewhat. I’m afraid of not being sufficiently ‘Schumannian.’” Lipatti played the work in public for the first time in Basel on March 16 before the London sessions of April 9 and 10, which were followed by a concert performance April 11 at the Royal Albert Hall. The recording has been hailed as a marvel and like its partner the Grieg is still held up as a standard by which others are judged, and yet Lipatti was not entirely satisfied. “I came across one unexpected complication: a remarkable but super-classical conductor who, instead of helping my timid romantic gestures, held back my good intentions.” If the tempi are on the brisk side, there is nevertheless a sense of unbridled optimism in the performance; Lipatti’s golden tone lovingly highlights melodies, and arpeggios are emboldened by his masterful accenting. The recording would be among the last to capture Lipatti full of such innocent exuberance – six weeks after these sessions, his health worsened considerably, and his later recordings are tinged with a darker sense of foreboding.
Lipatti’s Concertino in Classical Style was first performed by Lipatti and Charles Münch in Paris on April 30, 1938, when Lipatti was still studying at Cortot’s École Normale de Musique. The conductor Hans von Benda invited Lipatti to record the work in Berlin in January 1943, and their concert performance a week prior to the January 14 sessions was warmly received by the normally frosty audience. Despite the dim recording having been made before Lipatti was in his prime, one notices his lush tone, deft fingerwork, and clear phrasing. The syncopated middle section of the third movement foreshadows the central section of the Adagio religioso of Bartok’s Third Piano Concerto (1945), a work Lipatti would later champion. The recording is a fascinating insight into both Lipatti’s early years as a pianist and his potential as a composer.
(c) Mark Ainley
The great pianist Dinu Lipatti might have been forgotten today if he had not left a small but significant legacy of recordings. Before his death of Hodgkin’s Disease at age 33 in 1950, Lipatti recorded but a few hours of music for EMI’s sublabel Columbia. Almost 60 years later, this output has been heard internationally, supplemented by a handful of broadcast recordings, and Lipatti’s discs continue to be bestsellers. More than half of Lipatti’s solo recordings were made when he enjoyed a period of remission in July 1950, mere months before his death December 2nd. Recorded in a small radio studio in Geneva, these performances are justly acclaimed for stunningly sensitive playing and highly refined musicality, yet they suffer from compressed piano sound and overly close microphone placement. Lipatti’s sessions at EMI’s Abbey Road Studios in 1947 and 1948, on the wonderful Steinway 299 used by great pianists such as Cortot, Schnabel, and Moiseiwitsch in their legendary recordings, provide the clearest insight into his pianistic aptitude. While much of his solo output consists of works that fit on a single 78 (with the notable exception of the Chopin Third Sonata included here), each work in his discography is a gem. This CD unites all of Dinu Lipatti’s issued solo recordings made in EMI’s Abbey Road studios, with a bonus track of his first commercial recording, a four-hands performance with his composition teacher Nadia Boulanger that was recorded in Paris on February 25, 1937.
Lipatti said that he loved the music of Bach above all others, and he was an ideal interpreter of this composer’s contrapuntal works thanks to his ability to highlight melodies so distinctly that each voice could be heard independently. Lipatti was particularly known for his performance of Myra Hess’s arrangement of the Chorale “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring”, which became the leitmotif of his life: it was the first work he played at his first recital (as a tribute to his recently deceased composition teacher, Paul Dukas) and it was the final work he played before the public at his last recital. While it is generally believed that Lipatti played this work only as an encore, he also sometimes began his programs with it. The recording here was made September 24, 1947, the sixth of seven attempts starting February 20 that year to achieve a satisfactory result. Walter Legge wrote that Lipatti only reluctantly agreed to this performance’s release in Italy and Switzerland in order to satisfy the demands of his admirers, but the disc was in fact distributed internationally – the copy used for the transfer on this disc was pressed in the UK.
In addition to the works of Bach, Lipatti also regularly programmed the works of Scarlatti in his recitals. He played at least a half dozen of the sonatas but only recorded two for EMI – another was recorded in Bucharest in 1941. Both the E Major and D Minor Sonatas feature glowing tone, crisp articulation, and rhythmic certainty.
Lipatti’s fame is primarily as an interpreter of Chopin, due in large part to the international release of his acclaimed 1950 cycle of the Chopin Waltzes. His earlier recordings of this composer’s works do them both even greater justice, thanks to the full-bodied piano tone and luscious phrasing he achieves on the Abbey Road Studio’s Steinway. His Chopin B Minor Sonata from March 1 and 4, 1947 is a monumental performance that highlights the composer’s advanced harmonic structures and powerful melodies, superbly underlined by Lipatti’s unique phrasing and accenting – it is little wonder that this performance won the Grand Prix du Disque in 1949. His September 24, 1947 recording of the Waltz in A Flat, which served as a ‘filler’ for the last 78 side of the Grieg Concerto recorded earlier that month, demonstrates a more virtuosic bravura approach than his 1950 performance. The D-Flat Nocturne from February 20, 1947 is an example of sensual melodic phrasing and spacious pacing. The Barcarolle, recorded April 21, 1948, was not sanctioned for release by Lipatti and was issued posthumously – despite some phrasing that is relatively less polished than his approved recordings, this interpretation is elegant and magisterial.
Lipatti was a supreme interpreter of Liszt, and it is regrettable that only the Sonetto Del Petrarca #104 has survived from his commercial sessions (a 1946 Columbia recording of La Leggierezza made in Zurich at Lipatti’s first session for EMI has never been located, though a magnificent 1947 BBC broadcast performance has been issued). His dramatic emphasis and heroic approach combine with poetic sensitivity to create an incandescent performance of great power and intensity.
Lipatti’s vibrant voicing of chords served Brahms’ music extremely well, and it is a shame that he made no official solo recordings of his oeuvre (though some wonderful test recordings from 1936 and 1941 survive). His 1937 performance of selected Brahms Waltzes, played four-hands with his composition teacher Nadia Boulanger, is full of rhythmic vitality and harmonic depth. In Lipatti’s first commercial recording, we can hear that the 20-year-old pianist already possessed the qualities for which he was to become internationally known a decade later.
Lipatti’s disc of Ravel’s Alborada del Gracioso is perhaps the only recording with which he was fully satisfied. A marvel of polyphonic textures and technical wizardry, this vibrant interpretation is filled with dazzling fingerwork and stunning feats of virtuosity. The double-note glissandos near the end of the work are played with such speed and dynamic control that, as producer Walter Legge wrote, it is scarcely possible to believe that they were played by the human hand. This single performance is enough to demonstrate that Lipatti was not the ‘weak’ pianist that stories about his illness would lead us to believe – he in fact ranks amongst the most technically accomplished virtuosi of the piano.
It is challenging not to wish for Lipatti’s recording career to have progressed differently. Quite why EMI continued to record this great artist in ‘encore’-style works after the success of his Chopin B Minor Sonata is unclear. (Nevertheless, it is a shame that some April 1948 sessions at which Lipatti was scheduled to record Debussy’s La Soiree dans Grenade, de Falla’s Ritual Fire Dance, and two Scarlatti Sonatas were cancelled.) By the time the rather introverted pianist requested to record Schumann’s Etudes Symphoniques as reported in EMI correspondence dated April 21, 1948, it was too late – that date marked what would be his last session in London, his health later deteriorating and preventing further trips to London from his Swiss home. (It was only in 1950 that Walter Legge would arrange sessions in Geneva – he overturned suggestions in 1949 to record Bartok’s Third Concerto and the Chopin Waltzes in Switzerland.) If different repertoire choices had been made for Lipatti’s recordings – Beethoven’s “Waldstein” Sonata and Ravel’s Tombeau de Couperin were in his repertoire at the time – we might have a fuller representation of who he was as an artist. The performances on this disc, however, reveal transcendental playing of a uniquely gifted musician, a prince of pianists who might have been king.
(c) Mark Ainley
Saturday, December 6, 2008
I listened to the tape, and didn't quite know what to make of the music - but it became clear as I listened that this was some stupendous playing. I found myself unable to multi-task as I listened, as the playing was so magnetic, intense, and intoxicating that I could barely grasp what was happening, but I knew that it was something extraordinary.
The faded, muddled recording had been made by one Ray Edwards, who was then manager of the big Tower Records classical section in New York, at a concert held on a barge off the Brooklyn Bridge. He had had the foresight to set up a microphone with a Walkman and captured a performance that might have disappeared into the ethers. Instead it opened up the world of a pianist who might have continued to be even more unknown to the musical world than he already was.
I listened dozens of times to the tape, poring over nuances that seemed impossible to achieve by hand. I was reminded of Dinu Lipatti's incredible glissandi in 'Alborada del Gracioso'...there were technical feats in this live Villa performance that made the hair on my neck stand on end. He could hold a melodic note as a flurry of other notes cascaded downwards, and a few moments later tie that note over to the last note in that flurry without breaking the line of the melody or the filigree passagework (5:49 to 5:52 in the first movement). Like Lipatti, he was capable of phrasing a note so that it fit into the accompaniment *and* the main melodic line, so that you could hear its dual function (4:06 to 4:09, among others). He could highlight the palpable difference in vibration between different chords, and handled harmonic shifts with uncanny timing and nuancing (3:46 to 4:02 in the first movement). His accenting was phenomenal, with an ability to give a subito that did not break the line (7:20). He not only had a comprehensive architectural overview of the work, but had technique to achieve what seemed impossible and yet which might easily go unrecognized by the listener (the descending 6-note motif is consistently voiced throughout the work). And then there is that volcanic sound, only just discernable through the distortion of the amateur recording.
I excitedly called up Gregor, who raved about Joseph's playing, stating that he was one of the greatest Liszt pianists ever and was languishing without a career, despite the adoration of luminaries like Alicia de Laroccha and Jessye Norman. I couldn't understand how such an incredible musician could be unknown.
Within a year I would pay a visit to New York, and Gregor arranged for me to meet Joseph. We talked a lot about interpretation and performance, and about this incredible Rachmaninoff Second Sonata. He had learned the work for a concert for Bargemusic, an organization that presented small concerts - a stupid move, he said, since the work was fiendishly difficult and he was only going to play it three times. He had also researched the various editions of the work and sought to find the best approach to the work, eventually arriving at the same conclusions as Horowitz, and hoped that people wouldn't think he just copied Horowitz because he hadn't.
We talked about many pianists and saw eye-to-eye (or heard ear-to-ear?) on all the greats. We had a moment listening to Lipatti where I became aware of his ear for detail. There is one spot in the live recording of Chopin's First Concerto where Lipatti accents the second beat in a bar featuring a massive run of notes, an unusual effect; we were listening to this passage, and immediately after that nuance, Villa turned to me and said "Ooooh, niiiice...". No one I had played this recording for had ever pointed out that particular effect that Lipatti achieved.
Villa's playing was full of that attention to detail, but was more wildly passionate than Lipatti's highly controlled approach. He had a combination of Lipatti's architectural overview, Hofmann's explosiveness, Friedman's singing line...the comparisons could go on, but essentially he was unique.
I had the opportunity to hear Joseph at the Bargemusic concert being held shortly after we met - unfortunately he played no solo music, only chamber music. His playing was of course wonderful but the chamber music did not provide the full opportunity for his titanic pianism to shine. This had been the same Barge where that incredible concert had taken place. How I wished I could have traveled back in time...
Joseph died a few years later, on April 13th, 1995, at the age of 46 (New York Times Obituary). Stephen Hough wrote a beautiful tribute to him on his website. A number of live recordings survive and plans are underway for a compilation of his best performances. Stay tuned for more details.
In the meantime, a copy of the Rachmaninoff Second Sonata can be found on youtube (thanks to whoever put it there!) - it is audio only, as there is no video of this performance. I am warning you - it is not for the faint of heart: it is an intense piece of music and the performance is of incredibly raw emotional expressiveness and probing musical depth, and the sound is not ideal, but it is eminently worth examining if you are a fan of the piano. Of the thousands of hours of piano recordings that I possess, this is one of the few amazes me time and time again. It is supreme playing of a musician of the highest order, and I consider this to be one of the greatest piano recordings ever made.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
In early June 2008 I was in Montreux visiting Jacques Leiser (http://www.jacquesleiser.ch/), a renowned artist manager who was responsible for Richter's first recordings in the West and Michelangeli coming out of retirement. Leiser's interest has for many years been helping young pianists make a name for themselves, and he is always looking for new talent. After a morning full of interesting discussions, just before we were heading for lunch, he asked me to listen to a recording of a young pianist playing some Chopin Etudes from the Op.25 series.
We started listening and the playing was very good...but I was also very hungry and wanted to go for lunch. But as the recording continued, the playing deepened. By the third Etude I was getting more intrigued. The middle section of the fifth was magnificent. The following etude in thirds was truly outstanding. And then came the 7th.
This is an unusual etude, a slower work that is more poetic and less technically taxing than the rest - but the true skill that this etude tests is musicality. And in this performance, the young pianist excelled. The maturity was incredible - he would pause at the end of a significant phrase without rushing into the next in a way that was completely natural, like a person might pause to truly reflect on what they had just said in conversation. While some pianists might do this in a way that an actor would pause, self-consciously, just like an affected socialite might pause in conversation for effect when they actually know what they will say next, the artist here - for that's what he is - was disarmingly authentic in his expression. I was floored.
The playing continued to deepen as the cycle continued, and my appetite became less important. The left-hand octaves in the Butterfly Etude were highlighted in a way that Hofmann had done in his Golden Jubilee concert, but more lyrically. The final three works in this book were dispatched with phenomenal technique without ever losing the lyrical line - the middle section of #10 had the same dramatic focus as #7.
The recording I was listening to was a concert recording that was 3 years old, and the pianist was 18 years old at the time. His name is Alessandro Deljavan.
After our much-needed lunch, Leiser played me some more of his recordings. The ending of the Schumann Fantasy, recorded at the Clara Haskil Competition in 2007, was extraordinary. His Debussy had rich colours and crystalline tone. For these magnificent performances, he was eliminated from the competition. I have no idea who won - which says something about the nature of competitions.
Deljavan is a student at the International Piano Academy Lake Como, where a number of young headliners have trained: Piotr Anderszewski, Ingrid Fliter, and Constantin Lifschitz are among its graduates. The long list of graduates, however, also includes several unknowns. It is to be hoped that Alessandro will not be one of these but will instead be among its most successful graduates. Given the praise he has received from some top teachers (Fou T'song among them), the potential is there.
The forces behind the music market can be crippling for true artistry - I will be discussing some pianists, known and not, whose careers were seriously hindered by various factors while some less talented colleagues prospered. (Just why Lang-Lang is such a superstar is likely the topic of several future postings.) It is to be hoped that Deljavan will triumph over any such obstacles and become the star that he truly is.
Sound clips of Alessandro available on his website http://alessandrodeljavan.com/ - click Audio and Video in the right-hand column
Sunday, August 17, 2008
I was on one of my Saturday jaunts in Montreal in the late 80s, searching through record stores for used LPs and magazine stores for whatever might seem interesting. I stood in a shop flipping through Gramophone and a short review jumped off the page at me. In it, the writer was talking about a 2-LP set by a French pianist called Marcelle Meyer, saying that her clear, direct approach seemed to be in alignment with how we knew Ravel's playing to be based on his piano rolls. While it was years later revealed that Ravel in fact did not play those rolls (most were played by Robert Casadesus), I was intrigued and decided to search out the records, which were in EMI's historical 'References' series. I had heard of Cortot, Lipatti, Schnabel, Fischer, Long, and the other pianists in this series - why was Meyer unknown to me?
Record distribution being what it was in Canada (and what it still is), the Ravel set was not available anywhere I looked, but a 2-disc set of Chabrier piano works played by Meyer was. I bought the set at a small fortune (about $30) and went home to listen. I had never heard music by Chabrier other than the famous orchestral work 'Espana', but this music was...different. I couldn't explain it but it was astounding. And the playing...Indeed, I could imagine Meyer's Ravel - her tone was crystal clear, with an unusually glassy-sounding instrument, and her phrasing was elastic. In particular, a short piece called Feuillet d'album struck me for its unusual fusion of delicacy and directness:
This was exceptional playing, and I looked far and wide for the Ravel records - nowhere to be found. With no internet back then and limited funds, bringing them in from overseas was not an option. Eventually a friend who worked at the CBC had the discs copied for me on cassette - and sure enough, the playing was the revelation I expected (even if 'Alborada' was still nowhere near Lipatti's), although the sound was regrettably more muffled than in the beautifully clear Chabrier recordings.
Then Gramophone carried an ad featuring a gift CD of Meyer playing all the Debussy Preludes for anyone buying 3 References CDs. I bit the bullet and phoned up some British suppliers and bought the CDs in order to get this gift, and what a gift it was. The story was that Meyer had prepared the Preludes under the watchful eye of the composer, and this late 1950s recording was somehow never released until this CD. (I recently found out that a test pressing had been found in the collection of her elder daughter - the record had never been released because Les Discophiles Francais went bankrupt before it could be issued.)
I was of course thrilled when in the 1990s 3 sets featuring a total of 15 CDs of her recordings were issued. Everything she played was a revelation.
And the more I found out about her, the more fascinated I was. She had been active in the creation of new music in Paris throughout the 1920s, personally working with artists like Satie, Stravinsky, and Ravel. Having participated in the premiere of Satie's Parade in 1917, she worked with Cocteau, Picasso, and Diaghilev; Debussy was present at the premiere and the story goes that he worked with her on his Preludes before he died the following year. She premiered La Valse with Ravel at the second piano...she was one of the four pianists to premiere Stravinsky's Les Noces...she was the muse of the six progressive composers known as Les Six - and a portrait entitled "Le Groupe des Six" features her in the center, despite her not having been an official member of the group. Picasso wanted to paint her (she didn't want to pose), she was photographed by Man Ray, and Chanel gave her her couture designs.
Even with all those first-rate connections, and with magnificent artistry, she never quite had the career one would imagine. Quite why is still a mystery to me. She did put motherhood in an important position, and she spent lots of time with her two daughters. Her second husband was a Mussolini supporter and there is talk that this impacted her career, but most of what has been written on the subject is exaggerated: stories she had to leave France after the War and that she wasn't invited back are patently false, as concert programs and radio broadcasts attest. It could be that her playing and unusual repertoire appealed to a smaller audience, and that the recordings she made for Discophiles Francais in the 40s and 50s reached fewer people than if she had continued recording for HMV. Whatever the reason, she was a pianist of exceptional musical and technical ability and an important figure in the musical world.The French label Tahra released a CD of previously unpublished 'live' recordings of Meyer a few years ago, including a Chopin Barcarolle (she recorded no Chopin commercially, and it is a wonderful performance) and the most incredible performance of Falla's Nights In The Gardens Of Spain. Meyer studied with Ricardo Vines, a pianist close to Ravel, Debussy, and Falla - in fact, it was he who suggested the format that Nights would take. Meyer undoubtedly learned some secrets from Vines, as her approach is unlike any other I have heard: at times she seems almost to be playing two tempi at the same time, and her figurations bring out the Spanish element of the music with unparalleled colour and vibrancy.
And now, a single set of 17 CDs contains all of her known commercial recordings, including alternate takes and recordings from the 78 era of works she later recorded on LP. I thought I had already heard the most miraculous playing until I listened to her 1947 take of Debussy's Prelude "La terrasse des audiences au claire de lune" - her timing is incredibly spacious, each note lingering just the right amount of time, and her tone is luscious, together infusing this performance with an air of sacred mystery. It is miraculous to be able to listen to a performance by someone who knew the composer and these works so intimately:
Friday, August 15, 2008
I started looking for his records, and sure enough, his playing was captivating. My ears were not yet well trained to recognize what he was doing that made his playing so extraordinary, but there was a groundedness to his interpretations that held me. The story of his tragically young death in 1950 at the age of 33 from Leukemia (more accurately Hodgkin's Disease) was no less intriguing. His recordings of Bach, Mozart, and Chopin - those that I could get my hands on - demonstrated a level of spiritual certainty and calm mastery of pianism.
I was not prepared for what I heard when I found his one recording of a work by Ravel, however. I had never heard 'Alborada del Gracioso' before, but was stunned by the incredible virtuosity of Lipatti's interpretation, one that features a technical command that one would not have thought possible from any pianist, let alone one who was supposedly so ill. In particular, three glissandi near the end of the work left me speechless:
This was clearly not the anemic pianist that was written about in the liner notes to his recordings! He was achieving the impossible here: the dynamic control was phenomenal, in particular in the third glissando, where he goes from a raging fortissimo to a delicate pianissimo. And if you look at the score, these are not just straight glissandi: they are double-note glissandi played with the right hand. Most pianists play them at half the speed and without much dynamic variation. Lipatti was obviously, before his illness took its grasp, a stunning technician as well as a brilliant musician. I began to wonder if his illness led him to record works that didn't tax his strength and if his recorded output therefore perhaps did not fully represent his abilities, and I also wondered if concert recordings of a wider repertoire existed.
While I did discover that some concert performances had been found and released, I was still surprised by how relatively few there were; most also either duplicated works he recorded in the studio or composers whose works he had recorded. When I read in an essay by his wife that he had played the Beethoven Waldstein Sonata at the same broadcast session that had yielded an issued recording of the Enescu Third Sonata, I decided to take action - he had never made a commercial recording of Beethoven, and the Waldstein was my favourite - and I started writing to European archives and collectors to see what I could find.
Although I did not find the Waldstein (not yet, anyway), I did manage to locate a performance of Bartok's Third Piano Concerto and to get a tape by visiting the German radio station that had recorded the broadcast. This was an important find as Lipatti had not commercially recorded any 20th Century piano concertos other than his own Concertino In Classical Style. But more on the Bartok later. On the same 1990 trip to Europe, I visited the National Sound Archive (as it was then known) in London. I decided to search through the card catalogue not just under Lipatti's name but under the works he had performed in case something had been misfiled. And I hit the jackpot.
Under Liszt, I found a card indicating a performance of Lipatti playing Liszt's La Leggierezza to be found on tape 101W. Lipatti had recorded the work in 1946 but the master records had warped and it was never release; it turned out that this tape was not that recording, but rather a BBC broadcast performance recorded off the air by an amateur. I would eventually co-produce a 2-CD set that would include this performance with the cooperation of the BBC and the NSA.
Lipatti's interpretation here is spell-binding and shows his enormous command of pianistic technique and his ability to play in both a heroic and poetic manner. One of the aspects of his interpretation that I find so unique is how in the rapid runs in the clip below, he accelerates as he approaches the upper notes of the runs while also getting softer, giving the phrases an almost circular feeling:
In 1991 I visited a Swiss collector, one Dr. Marc Gertsch, who had obtained many items from Lipatti's widow's collection - concert programs, photos, personal items...and some recordings. Among these was a performance of the Liszt First Concerto, a work Lipatti never recorded commercially. He had recorded only the Schumann and Grieg Concertos, and his interpretations are magnificent and definitely bear witness to his incredible technique and musicianship; however, to hear Lipatti in such a virtuosic work as the Liszt E-Flat would give a very different impression of the artist. The acetate discs were worn and I did not get to hear the work at this time (Gertsch did, however, give me a monogrammed shirt of Lipatti's - a rather morbid gift which I nevertheless appreciated). Gertsch was eventually convinced to have the records remastered and then released by my colleague Werner Unger, then owner and director of the 'archiphon' label.
In this Liszt performance too, despite the poor sound quality, one can hear Lipatti demonstrate phenomenal technique applied musically, and that sense of 'how could it be done any other way?'. In this cadenza from the Allegro Animato, Lipatti brings a brooding, sinister atmosphere through rumbling bass effects and arched phrasing in the melody. One would expect all pianists to play it this way and yet I have never heard this section played with such an ominous atmosphere:
The sad story of Lipatti's illness and early death, and the limited repertoire he recorded commercially, have together painted an image of a pianist that is more restricted than he in fact was. As the recording clips above demonstrate, he was not only a musically grounded artist, he was a stunning virtuoso with tremendous strength and bravura put to the service of music.
I will be featuring more rare Lipatti performances on this blog in future posts. You can also read more about Lipatti on my website at http://markainley.com/music/classical/lipatti/index.html