John Browning died
in 2003 at the age of seventy. A relatively
recent reissue of his 1958 Capitol debut
album – on EMI Full Dimensional Sound
67017 – brought together Bach-Busoni,
Liszt, Chopin, Schubert and Debussy,
amongst others, repertoire that is faithfully
mirrored in this four CD edition from
MSR. All the volumes are available separately.
Venues range from the
College of William and Mary, Williamsburg,
Virginia, to the American Theatre, Brussels.
The dates of recordings span Denver
in 1950 to a Virginia recital in 1964
and all the recordings derive from Browning’s
own collection. The ground covered includes
much adjacent to that Capitol debut,
his Barber sonata, some fine Rachmaninoff,
Scarlatti, some Iberian muse and much
else besides. Naturally the recording
quality is very variable.
The most poignant of
all is the first volume, which was recorded
on the evening of the 22 November 1963,
the day of the assassination of John
F. Kennedy. He asks the audience for
permission to change his programme,
to ask for no applause, and to inform
them that there will be no intermission.
As would befit such an austere and shocking
recital his Bach is appropriately slow.
He asks the audience to stand for Ich
ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ and
plays it as a tempo that he doubtless
would not have essayed in other circumstances.
The Chopin Fantasy is eloquently shaped
and contoured, moments of visceral dynamism
balanced by liquid reflective passages.
His Chopin sonata, a poignant choice,
finished the truncated recital and receives
a performance of rhythmic incision and
unsentimentalised gravity. After he
has finished he stands and leaves the
platform to utter silence, the sounds
of his footsteps on the wooden stage
his only accompaniment.
The second volume contains
more Chopin but presents an admirably
eclectic mix from recitals in 1950,
1958 and 1964. The bulk of the disc
however derives from an undated recital
without location. The 1950 sound is
splintery but one can still appreciate
his dynamic and leonine playing as a
very young man – he was seventeen and
prodigiously gifted – as he essays the
Chopin Etude in C minor and Francis
Hendriks’s Etude. He was also capable
of considerable sensitivity in this
sort of romantic repertoire as he evinces
in the Nocturne – limpidly done and
quite slow in parts. He’s more equable
colouristically than his hero Horowitz,
especially in Rachmaninoff – though
to be fair he makes no attempt to ape
the older man’s expressive qualities.
In tempi and matters of dynamics he
doesn’t aspire to Horowitz’s brand of
combustible magnetism. His Barber sonata
is a fascinating document because he
was one of the pianists who followed
in Horowitz’s wake in this work and
his status as the premier exponent of
the concerto has long clung to him.
The sonata performance is undated but
bristles with energy and perceptive
awareness of structure. The fury and
the filigree are both there, the slow
movement convincing in all its moods,
the finale - "a strict fugue"
as Browning announces from the stage
– dramatic.
The third disc is all-Beethoven,
coupling the Diabelli variations with
the Tempest Sonata. The recording
here is rather unhelpful inasmuch as
it tends to blunt attacks. Still, we
can hear Browning’s quite slow and parodically
heavy first variation – very different
form a modern master of the genre such
as Craig Sheppard who tends to a less
Schnabelian approach. There are powerful
reserves of tonal weight in the slower
variations, such as the Grave e mesto
of variation fourteen. But there also
occasions where impetuosity seems to
get the better of him, as in the blurry
articulation of the Andante of variation
twenty. The Fughetta of No.24 sounds
rather objectified but the impression
as a whole is strongly positive.
I listened to the Browning
performance of the Tempest on
the same day that I auditioned Frederic
Lamond’s old 78 set made in 1928. Browning’s
performance was made only twenty-seven
years later but the difference between
the rapid, staccato imperatives of Lamond
and the legato warmth and leisurely
control of Browning were still striking.
The veiling of tone in the opening movement
is something that pianists of Lamond’s
generation would not have countenanced.
The final volume is
entirely devoted to the baroque and
classical. The Italian Concerto is a
touch unbalanced, the first two movements
tending towards stolidity and the finale
capriciously fast – though contrapuntally
things are clear. It’s a shame that
the Organ Prelude and Fugue is the earliest
of the recordings here (1958) because
there’s some muddiness in the sound
that can detract from the grandeur of
Browning’s playing. That doesn’t trouble
the sole example here of Browning’s
Haydn, his sonata in D major, No.50.
Were one tempted one could contrast
his performance with that of Nadia Reisenberg
who recorded her set of Haydn sonatas
in America at the same time that Browning
was recorded. Browning plays this with
great strength and purpose but his textures
aren’t as clear as hers and his touch
sounds over emphatic. Interesting to
hear her break her chords in the second
movement’s introduction, whereas Browning
sounds almost gauntly Beethovenian.
Similarly his Mozart sonata does sound
rather impatient and whilst he imparts
a degree of tension into the Adagio
his chording is apt to remain emphatic.
There’s more light and shade in the
finale than Browning finds and his virile,
masculine playing is rather one-dimensional.
Browning had rather
an erratic recording career and his
legacy on disc surely doesn’t do justice
to his great gifts. This is a heart-warming
selection and shows just what a powerful
and impressive musician he was. The
notes are rather too concise for those
for whom he is just a name – I think
a collection of recollections and fuller
biographical details were apposite for
a collection culled from his own tapes.
Still, these discs will give a strong
insight into the younger Browning’s
sensitive musicianship.
Jonathan Woolf