Labor Records is a
label that has had more of a focus on
music and artists from the countries
of Albania and the former Yugoslavian
republics than other classical labels
in recent memory. They continue the
connection on this release: the first
volume of a series João Carlos
Martins is recording of left-hand piano
music. Martins has made quite a few
recordings for Labor, including the
complete works of Johann Sebastian Bach
for keyboard, an epic undertaking for
any pianist. With Martins, it was far
more of an epic undertaking than just
about anyone else. His career has been
one long series of health catastrophes
and comebacks, from a 1960s soccer injury
to his elbow that damaged the nerves
leading to his right hand, various operations
to improve mobility of his fingers,
and a mugging in Sofia that damaged
the brain cells controlling his right
arm. He attempted a comeback focusing
on left-hand repertoire, only to have
a tumour discovered that affected his
left hand. His story is one of grim
determination.
All of this, now that
it’s been documented in film, book,
and Internet and included here in this
review, makes me wish I enjoyed the
music on this CD more. The Ravel, compared
to other commercial recordings, has
a stilted quality, especially in the
orchestra; a wooden gait that, at the
concerto’s outset, takes far too long
to get off the ground, substituting
extremely low volume for real musical
tension. The National Orchestra of Monte
Carlo on Werner Haas’s recording for
Philips in the 1960s, by comparison,
has a great deal more lyricism and sweep.
It isn’t only with the orchestra, unfortunately,
that things feel laboured. The ending
cadenza, especially, lacks a sense of
tension in the moment or liquidity of
playing. Martins pokes hard at the keyboard
in this section and the overall feel
is harsh and confused. Of the pieces
represented here, the Ravel is least
successful.
Faring better is the
Scriabin Nocturne, but it still lacks
that gentle singing tone that makes
this piece shine. Where the right voicing
allows the melody to melt, it is given
more of a hard-edge and sadly loses
much of its delight. The Etudes that
follow, later works of Saint-Saëns,
are lighter - and often light-hearted
- works that likely will be of interest
to music-lovers in that they aren’t
often recorded. The feeling here is
much more comfortable, with a sense
of play and ease that was almost uncomfortably
absent on the Ravel and the Scriabin.
Particularly enjoyable are the two central
pieces, the Moto Perpetuo and
the Bourée. The lyrical
pieces on this disc suffer; the following
Elegie, like the Scriabin in
particular, lacks the liquid tone and
limpidity that would show this piece
to advantage.
Another piece that
may catch the eye of music-lovers is
Brahms’s own transcription of the last
movement of Bach’s Partita No. 2 for
solo violin. Considering Martins’ long-standing
work with Bach, this is an obvious end
to the disc, and here certainly the
tone is more assured, less laboured,
and concise, if not always comfortably
under control. There are also some strange
changes in the sound of the piano around
the five-minute mark, as if someone
threw a thick blanket over the piano
for a minute. This may be a tape flaw
or an edit, but the effect is distracting,
and it recurs more than once over the
course of the piece.
In closing, people
can look into this recording for the
less-often-encountered works presented
here such as the Saint-Saëns and
Bach/Brahms, but overall, the Ravel
and Scriabin can be found on far more
enjoyable terms elsewhere.
David Blomenberg
João Carlos Martins (piano) 
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