Recorded about a year
apart over fifty years ago these new
transfers have come up sounding very
fine indeed. That’s the more valuable
in the case of the Beethoven, which
is the less well known and well remembered
of the concertos recorded by Horowitz.
In the case of the Rachmaninov we of
course have three commercial discs from
which to choose – should we wish to
choose – of which the Reiner was the
middle traversal.
Fearing the worst for
the Beethoven, a performance I’d not
heard in a long time, I was pleasantly
surprised. That kind of patronising
circumlocution tends to be trotted out
for Horowitz in this repertoire, a fact
for which, as Stephen Spender might
have put it, he often had only himself
to blame. True there are some distracting
accents in the opening run and throughout
and there are some Hofmannesque left
hand incursions to tease the balances
but in the main Horowitz resists the
temptation to force through his tone.
And yes the slow movement tends to be
a touch too rococo – really too decorative
– to plumb great depths or open out
Solomonesque vistas. But the finale
sports some big accents and a degree
of winsomely externalised show; also
a bit metrical in places. But on balance
it’s a nicely characterised and personalised
recording, sitting to one side of the
dynasty of recording hierarchies in
this work and not encroaching on it.
And a recording that all Horowitz watchers
need to get to know, along with the
sonatas he recorded.
The companion is terra
cognita and it’s also the more re-released
performance. Reiner once more conducts
the RCA Victor Symphony with enviable
control and Horowitz is at his quixotic
best. What can’t be gainsaid, no matter
how good the restoration, is the skewed
balance in which the beloved soloist
is elevated to the Empyrean heights
and the band to the cloakroom. Orchestral
counter themes emerge half submerged
and occluded and the connective tissue
between soloist and orchestra is therefore
all too often tentative in the extreme.
Of course there have been far worse
balanced recordings but this isn’t good
and can’t be made to sound good. Horowitz
himself fuses magisterial passagework,
gargantuan rhythmic caprice and stentorian
power – and just listen to the glittering
weight he evinces in the slow movement.
Yes, you should probably favour the
1930 recording over this and the Ormandy
in all but recorded sound (leaving balance
to one side) but you should in all seriousness
have the Barbirolli led live performance
on APR which is probably the most incandescent
you will ever hear and the same goes
for the companion Tchaikovsky. When
working with an accompanist with whom
he felt genuinely sympathetic (and that
excludes Toscanini and Reiner) Horowitz
was truly and imperishably unleashed.
Taken from LPs the
restoration work is here of a high standard
but you will find that little can avail
the Rachmaninov in respect of inherent
problems. No matter, comparisons between
decades are invariably instructive with
Horowitz and for all the frailties here
you should certainly get to know these
performances, especially at Naxos’s
price; it will cost me more to get to
and from work tomorrow than to buy this
disc.
Jonathan Woolf
see also review
by Michael Cookson
Vladimir Horowitz, piano 
