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Times have seldom been
better for Curzon admirers. This is
the first of Decca’s two boxes devoted
to him and is full of important things.
Meanwhile his appearance in Philips’
‘Great Pianists of the Century’ series
unearthed previously unreleased Mozart
concerto performances. Dutton and Pearl
have both issued some of his earlier
commercial sides in recommendable transfers.
Since this hypercritical pianist refused
release of such a wealth of material
it’s fortunate that a good slice is
now being liberated. Similarly German
companies are busy issuing his live
performances – Orfeo to the fore – whilst
in his native country the BBC has been
steadily unveiling some impressive broadcast
or live recitals.
This timely box is
part, I hope, of a continuum of appreciation
for a musician of heartbreaking probity.
If Solomon was outwardly imperturbable
then Curzon was his emotional opposite
and there were times when tension seeped,
sometimes dramatically, into his playing.
Yet at his greatest – and he was frequently
at his greatest – his legacy is one
of a pianist operating at the profoundest
reaches of imagination and intensity.
The record, for once, speaks for itself.
His Emperor with Szell
(1949) preceded the perhaps better-known
traversal with Knappertsbusch – certainly
the later recording has been more widely
available. But Curzon and Szell always
produced strong results together, the
conductor for ever exploring sinewy
orchestral strands and responding to
his soloist with immense understanding
(whatever their serio-comic crypto-scowling
relationship may have been). The conductor
sculpts the opening paragraphs with
unusual perception and encourages brassy
tuttis; both musicians explore the dichotomy
between the public and private in this
concerto (not invariably the province
of the Fourth) and employ a candid series
of dynamics to reinforce the drama.
As a performance the first movement
is less obviously weighty than Schnabel’s
but Curzon and Szell certainly explore
detail with acute judgement. Elsewhere
one can but appreciate the string veil
of the slow movement and the clarity
of the exploration of the melodic lines
in the finale. As with Solomon’s two
commercial recordings, Curzon’s Tchaikovsky
B flat minor reading is musicality itself
– no false heroics (none would be expected
from him). The stress is on naturalness,
integration, architectural assurance,
poetry and rhythmic litheness.
The second disc contains
Schubert - the Four Impromptus D935
and the D major Sonata D850 in this
famous and indeed incomparable 1964
recording made in Vienna. The Impromptus
retain a veil of surface noise but such
as is rendered insignificant by Curzon’s
sense of narrative and delicacy. The
F minor contains multitudes in his hands
whilst the A flat minor’s voicings are
perfectly natural and full of unforced
lyricism. The Sonata receives an astounding
performance. The first movement has
a rigorous (but not imposed) equipoise
between inwardness and dramatic projection
and the slow movement’s con moto indication
is taken with acute and heartfelt judgement.
The ardent legato is matched by a sense
of space and chordal weight. How superb
his rubati are in the Scherzo and how
adept a wit he was – the humour and
the subtlety being indissoluble. The
impish generosity of his Rondo finale
– at a delicately sedate tempo – crowns
a Schubert recording for the ages.
The Franck-Falla-Litolff-Rawsthorne
disc gives us much admired performances.
The Franck is generously hued and his
Litolff glints in the sun. The colouristic
ambience and atmosphere of the de Falla
are met with considerable verve and
imagination. Whilst this is not necessarily
a work some might associate with Curzon
the fact remains that he recorded it
twice; his earlier 1945 recording was
again with Jorda. With the poetry there
comes profound delicacy of expression
and a sense of tonal exploration, and
depth. He premiered Rawsthorne’s Second
Concerto in 1951 and recorded it shortly
afterwards with Malcolm Sargent and
this performance now receives its inaugural
CD transfer here. Of course there have
been recordings of the Concerto since,
in better sound, and recorded in the
light and knowledge of the greater totality
of Rawsthorne’s compositional output.
But it is still astonishing how fluently
and affectingly Curzon catches the poetry
amidst the curve of its sparky insouciance
and how adamantine he is when he drives
through the Allegro molto second movement.
The final disc gives
us two never before released Mozart
Concertos with George Szell leading
the Vienna Philharmonic in the Sofiensaal
in 1964. K488 and K595 formed part of
his stereo discography of course – and
live performances have been issued and
continue to be issued, which is a gift
to posterity and partial, incomplete
recompense for the complete cycle of
Mozart Concertos that Curzon declined
to make. Why weren’t they issued? I
have to say it’s a mystery to me, though
Curzon’s critical antennae quivered
with an intense fear of imperfection
and of the merciless glare of posterity.
I found them both sublime experiences,
the high point reached in the Adagio
of the A major where Curzon and Szell
explore the profoundly moving movement
with ravishing introspection. There
is a plethora of detail here, from the
avuncular horns in the opening of the
B flat major to the triumphant realisation
of the passagework in its finale. These
are, by any consideration, important
and memorable additions to the corpus
of Curzon’s work and any admirers should
be encouraged to acquire the box on
the strength of this single disc alone.
The transfers are fine
– the Impromptus’ surface noise doubtless
resulting from the (presumed) loss of
the masters. Max Loppert’s notes are
admiring and analytical in equal measure
and thus thought provoking. The artistry
contained in this box was hard won but
undeniable. As I said times have seldom
been better for admirers of this artist
and this volume establishes itself,
at a stroke, as a bedrock recommendation.
Jonathan Woolf
Clifford Curzon (piano) with accompaniments
as above 