Despite the classic
status of this Rachmaninov performance,
and the relative neglect of the Beethoven,
I have to say I enjoyed the Beethoven
more. In both recordings Horowitz is
keenly partnered by the great Hungarian
conductor Fritz Reiner, shortly before
his tenure with the Chicago Symphony
Orchestra. These were some of Horowitz’s
last concerto recordings before his
nervous collapse in 1953 and subsequent
temporary retirement.
Listening to the highly-strung
performance of Rachmaninov’s
Third Concerto one wonders if the signs
were already there. This is the work
most associated with Horowitz, one which
he made his own, much to the bewilderment
of Rachmaninov. By 1951 it had been
in his repertoire for over twenty years,
and comparison with the first commercial
recording (conducted by Albert Coates)
and a live performance with Barbirolli
(on APR) reveals how much his conception
of the work had changed.
The relatively strait-laced
early version with Coates had given
way to an outsize personality on display
with Reiner, less Rachmaninov perhaps
and more Horowitz. The virtuosity is
truly impressive, and so is the way
that every corner of the work is explored,
with not a note passing without Horowitz’s
indelible stamp. And the stamp is dark
and diabolical at times. The sense of
chaos he conveys at 8’36" in the
first movement is remarkable. Also the
limitless energy and drive he gives
each phrase which propels the music
along like a jet engine. In fact the
performance is sometimes something far
greater than that of a pianist playing
a composer’s work. The Concerto was
by now so internalised in Horowitz’s
psyche that the distinction between
work, performer and performance is blurred.
It is a work of art.
The problem lies not
in the extraordinary moments, but in
the way these moments don’t always manage
to cohere. He doesn’t seem to have a
structural grasp of the work, so that
it ends up sounding fragmented. Tempos
fluctuate wildly, phrases are cut or
broken perversely, so that Horowitz
makes the music at times harder to understand
than it is. Take for example 3’46’’
into the 1st movement, where
he distorts the right-hand melody by
sharply slowing down and diminuendoing
in the middle of the phrase. Or try
1’36", an example of how Horowitz
fails to blend into the orchestral part
or the musical whole.
Over–projection also
at times mars the overall conception,
for instance at 6’55" (1st
movt.), where the left-hand melodic
entry is surely exaggerated. It doesn’t
help that the recording favours the
piano, nor that the piano tone is hard
and thin.
The performance of
the Emperor from a year
later is remarkably different. This
account contains heroism and poetry
in equal measure, and Horowitz’s playing
is supremely judged, direct and beautiful,
without any of the affectation which
sometimes tarnished his performances.
Here he lets the music speak for itself,
lending a classical poise to the proceedings.
Horowitz is alive to every nuance of
character. Some may find his tempi wayward
at times, or his clanging pedalled bass
notes vulgar (1st movt. octaves
at 18’52", 3rd movt.
at 2’00"), but who could not warm
to his ravishing entry in the slow movement,
full of beauty and calm, or the way
he inhabits fantasy, exhilaration and
pure rhythmic drive all within half
a minute in the final movement (4’10"
to 4’45").
Reiner secures some
beautiful playing from the RCA Victor
Symphony Orchestra – just listen to
the solos from 9’09" in the first
movement. He also creates wonderfully
clear textures so that everything can
be heard, and the sound quality here
is better than in the Rachmaninov, with
an excellent balance between soloist
and orchestra, though there is still
something of the harsh piano tone common
to many RCA Horowitz recordings of the
1940s and 1950s. The accompanying notes
are excellent too.
Alex Demetriou
see also reviews
by Michael
Cookson, Jonathan
Woolf and John
Quinn
Vladimir Horowitz (piano) 
