Having said that Michael Korstick’s recording of the ‘Italian’ 
                  Années de Pèlerinage II left me wanting more (see review), 
                  here is more, and very good it is too. Jumping straight into 
                  the Années de Pèlerinage III which is the main meat of 
                  the programme, Korstick expands nicely into the Angelus! 
                  opening, giving the music its sense of pious introversion, 
                  but also powering the notes with a feeling of passionate faith. 
                  Aux Cyprès de la Villa d’Este and its third movement 
                  partner have an enigmatic tonality but a great deal of potent 
                  atmosphere, which Korstick delivers with a good deal of depth. 
                  The expression of the trees as timeless but not immobile sentinels 
                  is strong, and Korstick’s technique and remarkable clarity in 
                  the humungous climax is breathtaking. 
                    
                  The rippling and virtuoso jeux d’eaux of the central 
                  movement portrays the fountains at the Villa d’Este, and Korstick 
                  creates his impressionistic imagery through a superb evenness 
                  of touch, not pulling the music around to impose extra layers 
                  of expression which almost invariably end up sounding artificial. 
                  This sparkling movement is immediately undercut by Sunt lacrymae 
                  rerum, a funeral ode which connects this third volume to 
                  the other two. This is another powerful piece which goes further 
                  than expressing the meaning behind Virgil’s quote, “There are 
                  tears in all things, and mortal things touch the heart.” The 
                  anger and anguish in the work also relates to the tragic consequences 
                  of the Hungarian uprising of 1849, and Michael Korstick lives 
                  each note of Liszt’s fury and pain. The texture of sound in 
                  the bass notes is something quite incredible, and this continues 
                  into the equally grim Marche funèbre. This dark work 
                  was written in response to the killing of Maximilian I by insurgents 
                  in 1867. As Charles K. Tomicik points out in the booklet, it 
                  seems remarkable to think that Liszt had already “bid farewell 
                  to tonality and classical form” at the same time when Brahms’s 
                  struggles with his first symphony still had another nine years 
                  to go. The cycle ends with Sursum corda or “Lift up your 
                  hearts”, a return to the E major which opens the entire Années 
                  de Pèlerinage, and a reinforcement and extension of the 
                  ecstasy which concludes the previous Marche funèbre, 
                  which expresses “In magnis et voluisse sat est” (In great things 
                  it is enough to have shown one’s will). 
                    
                  We’re forgetting the ‘filler’, which is the not insubstantial 
                  Venezia e Napoli supplement to volume 2 of the Années 
                  de Pèlerinage. The lyrical Gondolier charms us with 
                  his song on the sparkling and gently rocking waters in the first 
                  of the three movements. The dramatic central Canzone is 
                  an operatic transcription of “Nessun maggior dolore, Canzone 
                  del gondolier net Otello di Rossini. This movement has a direct 
                  transition to the final virtuoso Tarantella, based on 
                  a theme by Guillaume Louis Cottrau. The word ‘transformation’ 
                  is more appropriate for these transcriptions and adaptations 
                  of themes and melodies, with Liszt’s original piano writing 
                  generating something with entire worlds of expression of its 
                  own. Korstick’s explosive but always controlled technique is 
                  again breathtaking in the last pages of that Tarantella. 
                  
                    
                  David Owen Norris pointed me in the direction of Jeno Jando’s 
                  Naxos recordings of Liszt during one of BBC Radio 3’s ‘CD Review’ 
                  programmes, and I’ve been having a listen to 8.550550 which 
                  covers Années de Pèlerinage III. This is indeed very 
                  good, but I’m not convinced it’s better than Korstick. The Angelus! 
                  is charming but a bit matter of fact, the Aux Cyprès 
                  movements are sonorous and impressive, but lacking in intensity 
                  – and so it goes on. I’m not one to look a gift horse bargain 
                  in the mouth, but with no coupling and at 45 minutes only, this 
                  is a volume 3 to add to the others but not necessarily the steal 
                  it might seem in isolation. The CPO booklet has useful photographs 
                  of some of the locations which made such an impression on Liszt, 
                  and the booklet notes are well written. 
                    
                  With recordings of the utmost clarity and a sometimes startling 
                  veracity of piano tone and colour, these recordings are to my 
                  mind some of the most attractive Liszt I’ve ever heard, and 
                  I have nothing but admiration and wonder for Michael Korstick’s 
                  achievements in this repertoire. 
                    
                  Dominy Clements