Before his wretchedly early death Katchen had committed
a decisive part of his repertoire to disc. This 8 double CD set – more
to come – consists of a substantial part of that legacy, much of it
grouped together for the first time and in which Concerto performances
predominate. Volumes 7 and 8 are entirely given over to solo literature
but it makes an appearance elsewhere; Volume 3 for example gives us
the Schumann Fantasie whilst Volume 4 devotes one CD to Mussoursgky,
Liszt and Balakirev, all powerhouse virtuoso literature. Katchen possessed
a magnificent technique able to deal with almost all demands placed
upon it – his Islamey is one blistering case in point – but other more
individually subtle qualities infused his playing at every stage of
development – he signed a recording contract with Decca before he was
twenty.
Lucky the music lover who comes to Katchen through
these discs. There is much to savour. His runs in Beethoven’s First
Concerto are agile without ostentation; no paraded virtuosity impedes
the music’s flow though his cadenza sprinkles a number of wide dynamics
as it goes. Limpidity and a kind of stasis descends on the slow movement
from 5’10 – this was something of a Katchen specialty, suspension of
time at a still breathing tempo – with agile clarity in the left hand.
A grandly affirmatory finale establishes his Beethovenian credentials,
corroborated by the Second Concerto where his balanced and weighty playing
is aided immeasurably by Piero Gamba – a much-undervalued conductor
– shaping and moulding the orchestral exposition like a master. Katchen
responds in kind, with affectionate simplicity, though very occasionally
splintering the line. A marvellously tactful diminuendo ends the slow
movement. The finale is buoyant, witty, clear, warm and playful. The
B Flat rondo is shapely and sharply accented and meltingly phrased.
Light and shade in matters of dynamics elucidate the opening of the
Third Concerto; the close of the movement has nothing quite as forceful
as the classic Bishop/Davis but there is some fine inward and reflective
musing in the slow movement especially from 7’00 onwards; Katchen’s
momentum is accompanied by a subtle "delay", a delicacy of
touch and astute use of the pedal. A driving finale is, again, not quite
in the top echelon performances. The Emperor has grandeur but a strange
amount of rhythmic retardation in the first movement and some daringly
imposed diminuendos (try from 14’00 on). Plenty of stentorian grandeur
but a commensurate amount of carefully controlled orchestral values
too from Gamba. The slow movement wasn’t much to my taste; rather mannered
rubato and inflections from Katchen and as with so many pianists the
transition to the finale seemed somewhat sticky – listen to Kempff’s
stereo recording with Leitner to hear it should be done. But he is commanding
and abrasive here, showering a variety of attack, though straying rather
too close to the brash and overaggressive for me. Some more rhythmic
displacements again rather mar the performance. His Fourth Concerto
is a deeply human affair. Passagework is clear, so are some moments
of perhaps overemphatic and over theatrical phrasing. He plumbs no huge
depths in the slow movement but is attractive on his own terms. The
finale is animated by more excellent Gamba – vigorous and assertive
trumpets punch out the homeward road. The Mozart Concerto performance
with Peter Maag is vitiated somewhat by rather desiccated sound quality
– especially in the case of string tuttis. But there is much propulsive
playing here and perhaps in Katchen’s case rather too much propulsion
because he anticipates passagework in a way characteristic of him; he
could be guilty of rushing ahead of the beat and certainly does so here.
I also find a certain reluctance to let the music properly "speak"
that limits enjoyment. Maag catches the air of strange aloofness in
some of the string passages in the finale and brings some buoyant musicianship
to bear. I find Katchen on better form with Munchinger. The D Minor
is bouncy, the conductor eloquently flowing in the slow movement and
Katchen’s dynamic variance of real pedigree. A certain stolidity can
afflict the C Major Concerto but Katchen’s sense of dynamic line is
undeviating and ever alert to the gravity of the woodwinds’ theatrical
calls in the finale. The A Major Sonata is played with wit and strength,
with no crushing or overweening polish and absolutely no attempt to
show off.
Volume 3 is devoted to Brahms and Schumann. It begins
in undisguised magnificence with Katchen and Pierre Monteux in Brahms’s
First Concerto, one of the great performances of the work. It opens
in tempestuous fashion, implacable but soon yielding, Monteux, who had
played in a Quartet for Brahms, bringing out a myriad of subtle orchestral
details. Listen to the way, for example, he shapes the voicings of the
lower strings in the first movement and those almost quixotically beautiful
violins. There is throughout a fascinating sense of unease and insecurity
– listen from 11’30 until the reassertions and sureties of 12’15. Katchen
is serious and sensitive throughout Monteux’s masterly exhibition of
conducting; fire and power are his birthright as is the interior meaning
of a movement. The slow movement’s humanity rises to a peak in Monteux’s
control of the wind chorale and the finale’s fugal episode, trumpet
cries, orchestral pizzicato are all swept up by the conductor in galvanic
and triumphant brilliance; so too in a sense is Katchen. Excellent though
he is, he can’t help but be overshadowed by the veteran alchemist on
the rostrum. The Second Concerto is a let down. I recently reviewed
it on its appearance in the Decca Eloquence series (458 171-2) where
it was coupled with an on-off performance of the Brahms Paganini Variations.
Briefly it seems to me that Katchen is over nonchalant, rather too indulgent
and predictable (First Movement; 12’30). In the second movement I felt
Katchen’s left hand was a subversive element in his lyrical passages
and the rubato too tame. There is also the strange matter of Katchen
and Ferencsik never quite getting right the rhythm of the finale. The
Schumann Fantasie has moments of splintered phrasing and some slightly
brittle playing. Another under sung conductor, Argenta, is prominent
in Volume 4. He inspires some blistering orchestral playing – from the
LPO this time – in the First Liszt. Katchen is wispy and quicksilver
when needs be – the lightness and graded panache of his trill in the
second movement is memorable, whereas the sheer adrenalin and panache
of his playing in the finale is a joy to hear. Stoical but sensitive
in the A Major concerto he can also show his brittle mettle in the finale.
The Grieg is a decent performance. The strings of the Israel Philharmonic
are surprisingly adrift at a few conspicuous points, Katchen races ahead
once more, there’s also quite a lot of heavily insistent playing by
him in the finale – blistering maybe but not really exciting or convincing.
The second disc in this volume is given over to more virtuoso material.
I didn’t find the Mussoursgky comprehensively successful. There’s much
admirable playing per se but a sense of complete mastery is missing,
with playing that is either just too fractious or just too emphatic.
Throughout the rubato is a little too applied. There is also a conclusion
that simply misses the mark – complete with a bad edit (2’29) that doesn’t
much help and the textual tinkering at the end unconvincing. This is
not a criticism that can be easily levelled at the Liszt and Islamey
– some truly magnificent pianism here.
Gamba returns to join Katchen for Tchaikovsky One.
It opens at quite a slow basic pulse, well moulded by the conductor
but soon picks up speed without become breathless or histrionic. Katchen
is prepared to indulge little acts of quixotic rhythm and accenting
but elsewhere he is fleet and determined. An attractive performance.
The Prokofiev is commandingly played but a little lacking in the requisite
feeling. Katchen is joined by Georg Solti for the Rachmaninoff No 2.
We can hear immediately the intense precision of the strings (ignore
the atrocious edit at 3’20 in the First Movement) as also the extreme
amount of nervous tension in the winds and the violins’ scamper. There
is muscle aplenty here but also linearity at the expense of real creative
tension albeit Solti is – sometimes – almost uniquely responsive to
orchestral counter-themes. There is again something insistent and unrestful
about the impatient phrasing of the second movement and Katchen’s staccato-lyric
phrasing is unmoving, doubtless not at all helped by what seems an unsympathetic
collaboration. Solti is certainly impressive at bringing out the mordant
and corrosive brass at the opening of the Finale but Katchen is comprehensively
covered by the strings at the end of a movement that doesn’t really
seem to get anywhere. Things improve dramatically with Adrian Boult.
Delectable incident flecks the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini; this
is not the quicksilver kind of accompaniment Fritz Reiner provided for
William Kapell but it’s nevertheless full of pleasurable moments, Boult
bringing out flute and harp detail to the benefit of the orchestral
landscape. Katchen is splendidly warm without any recourse to rhetoric
or spurious point making. As indeed he is in the Dohnányi Variations:
how splendidly he plays from 8’20, pellucid music box filigree, and
Boult’s sophisticated crescendo-decrescendo accompaniment. It’s difficult
to think of a more unlikely pairing than Katchen and Mantovani in Gershwin.
True to form it doesn’t work. Mantovani always had a goodly sprinkling
of superb instrumentalists and freelancers in his orchestra – it was
long-term led by that illustrious violinist David MacCullum – but this
was not its finest half-hour. Bitter trumpet courses through the first
movement and some rather over cluttered string playing and textual amendments
disfigure it as well. There’s a solo trumpet blaring away like Harry
James on an off night in the second movement; perhaps best to draw a
veil on all this, little of which is Katchen’s fault. When it came to
the Rhapsody in Blue Katchen was joined by Kertesz and the LSO. The
clarinet aspires neatly to the Blues, the trumpets are tightly muted,
and just when you think Katchen is getting too monumental he speeds
away and masters the art of appearing familiar with the idiom whilst
not overplaying it. His chording becomes thunderous at 7’45 with some
brilliant scampering up and down the keyboard. I found the close slightly
disappointing – with some slightly gabbled fast-slow sections proving
just too abruptly contrastive for ease. He and Kertesz made a splendid
pairing in the Ravel Concerto for the Left Hand as they do in the G
Major. Fluently accented, sometimes curt but not brittle in the first
movement, rubato does occasionally harden in the second. Katchen’s playing
is undeniably masterful but there’s a lack of ascent and coalescence.
A splendid finale though. I admired the Britten Diversions, the composer
on the rostrum. From verdancy to crisp decay, imitative tone row and
repetitious string phrases – superbly effective – and the passionate
eloquence of the four-minute Adagio this is a true achievement. As is
the Bartok Third Concerto – vivacity and life-affirming playing in the
opening movement, stillness in the second achieved by timing, chordal
depth, pedal control and subtle use of the piano’s decay. His virtuosity
and musical intelligence are prominent in the finale, conducted with
equal virtuosity by Kertesz and the LSO.
Volumes 7 and 8 are devoted entirely to the solo repertoire.
Again qualities of probing intelligence, virtuosity controlled by understanding,
rhythmic elasticity and cantabile phrasing are prominently on show.
His Beethoven Sonatas are commanding edifices but the towering achievement
here is his 46-minute Diabelli Variations. This was recorded in two
3-hour sessions, during the course of which he gave three uninterrupted
performances. It’s undoubtedly the high point of these last discs dwarfing
even his achievements elsewhere. The Op 35 Chopin Funeral March Sonata
is limited in pleasure. Katchen evinces his tendency to run away at
climaxes and a rather poor sense of line in the first movement. The
sense of discursiveness and undue haste carries over to the second movement
and if the concluding movements are a real advance it still doesn’t
salvage the work. The third Sonata is much better. He captures the rise
and fall, the motoric exultation and sense of fantasy with exciting
musicality. The Fantasie-Polonaise is taken at a good basic tempo, full
of time for inflection and dynamics. The Polonaise is full of delirious
control. The smaller morceaux that complete the discs are cherishable
reminders of his intimacy and grace.
This is a set of major importance. He was a pianist
of significant gifts and as Cyrus Meher-Homji’s notes forcefully remind
us, pianism and musicality such as Katchen’s come but rarely and should
be embraced when they do.
Jonathan Woolf
DECCA 460 822-2
[2 CDs 149’59]