Google Astor Piazzolla and you’ll find many diverting YouTube 
                  clips, including one of the composer as soloist in his own Bandoneón 
                  Concerto. Picking items at random one is soon reminded of 
                  the vigour and variety of Piazzolla’s tango-inspired output; 
                  that’s encapsulated in Daniel Rivera’s coruscating account of 
                  Adiós Nonino, which has all the brio I hoped to 
                  hear in these arrangements by Argentine pianist Aquiles Delle-Vigne. 
                  Potential buyers need to be aware this is not a Naxos original, 
                  and was first released on an little-known label some twenty 
                  years ago. 
                  
                  The recording’s provenance shouldn’t be an issue, and it would 
                  matter even less if the performances were anything special; 
                  but the first of the Cuatro Estaciones Porteñas (Four 
                  Seasons in Buenos Aires) does not bode well. Rhythms are passable, 
                  but the piano sounds most peculiar; this is especially noticeable 
                  in louder passages, where the music is over-damped and diffuse. 
                  Even more distracting is the tendency for notes to crumble at 
                  the edges, not unlike the saturation one associates with cooking-grade 
                  tapes. Moreover, there’s a definite quaver to the piano tone 
                  at times, which is just bizarre. Sadly, the playing itself isn’t 
                  very distinguished either. Indeed, Delle-Vigne is so remote 
                  and his expressive range is so narrow that these individual 
                  seasons simply merge into one. 
                  
                  After such an uncomfortable start I did wonder if the pianist’s 
                  own arrangements would be any better. Perhaps the Balada 
                  para un loco (Ballad of a Madman) would give this recital 
                  a much-needed boost. To some extent it does; Delle-Vigne brings 
                  a degree of wistfulness to the opening bars but thereafter the 
                  music seems to collapse under the weight of its own introspection. 
                  As for that strange piano sound, it’s as annoying as ever. Not 
                  so much piantao, piantao, piantao (mad. mad, mad) as 
                  dull, dull, dull. And that’s true of the so-called ‘Angel suite’, 
                  where inwardness is replaced by diffidence. That said, there 
                  is more passion and fire in La muerte del ángel (The 
                  Death of the Angel), although it’s short-lived. Fine 
                  if you want to listen with the lights and volume turned low, 
                  but otherwise uninvolving. 
                  
                  The rhythms of Chau Paris (Bye-bye Paris) are 
                  nicely inflected; in fact, it’s one of the more successful and 
                  engaging arrangements thus far, despite Delle-Vigne’s frustrating 
                  aloofness. Oh, if only the playing weren’t so po-faced, and 
                  the portrait of band leader and tanguero Alfredo Gobbi 
                  so drably drawn. As for Piazzolla’s tribute to his late father, 
                  Adiós Nonino (Farewell Nonino), Rivera finds a vein of 
                  pathos here that simply eludes Delle-Vigne. That quality is 
                  also missing from La misma pena (The Same Sadness), although 
                  the perk of Picasso suggests wit and spontaneity are 
                  quite possible. But where are these qualities in the Parisian 
                  cheek of Sentido único (One-way Street)? 
                  
                  Major disappointments are rare, but this is one of them. Hand 
                  on heart, if this were a once-in-a-lifetime recital or an indispensable 
                  archive performance I’d happily ignore the poor sonics; but 
                  it’s neither of those things. Which begs the question: why did 
                  Naxos resurrect it in the first place? Frankly, I’m baffled. 
                  
                  
                  Dan Morgan
                see also reviews by Brian 
                  Reinhart and Bob 
                  Briggs