Franz LISZT (1811-1886)
Piano Sonata in B minor, S178 [31:52]
Berceuse, S174/ii [9:37]
Années de Pèlerinage. Deuxième Année: Italie, S161 - Sonetti del Petrarca
Nos 47, 104 & 123 [20:37]
Réminiscences de Norma: Grand Fantaisie after the opera by Vincenzo
Bellini, S394 [16:33]
12 Lieder von Franz Schubert, S558 - No 12 Ave Maria [5:28]
Benjamin Grosvenor (piano)
rec. 19-22 October 2020, Queen Elizabeth Hall, London
Reviewed as downloaded from digital press preview
DECCA 485 1450 [84:29]
Love or loathe Liszt, I suspect the Sonata in B minor would secure
most votes as his greatest composition, at least for the piano as a solo
instrument. The composer’s inspiration brings a more consistent and
disciplined focus on seriousness of intent, expressive range and formal
development not always found elsewhere in his huge output. Even given the
large number of notes written for the keyboard by his illustrious
predecessors, Liszt must surely be one of the most prolific note-scribers
for the piano in the history of music. The Sonata stands in
splendid isolation demonstrating how less can be more, and as the channel
from Beethoven and the early Romantics through to Brahms, Debussy,
Rachmaninov, Scriabin, Ravel and beyond. Not until his very late works did
he pare down his music again to discover a new way forward.
An inescapable Everest of the repertoire, the sonata has always been a
challenge. Recordings have been legion, but few pianists have successfully
gone the extra mile to comprehensively explore the ascent and descent,
while also providing the context of the all-encompassing view from above
and below – in Liszt’s case Life and Death, Heaven and Hell, Sacred and
Profane, with points in between revealed by his special brand of smoke and
mirrors.
Uncannily, Benjamin Grosvenor’s scrupulous articulation of just the two
opening unison bass octaves immediately offers prime bait for the whole
journey. A pulse is jolted as though waking in the coffin described in
Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Premature Burial’ published in 1844, nine years
before the completion of the sonata. Grosvenor unerringly fires a chemistry
that is interpretatively cogent, flexible and breathtaking in technical
assurance. His clarity of texture, weighting of chords, balance of inner
voices, nuance of phrasing, telling use of pedal or complete lack of it
when appropriate, plus an acute sensitivity to Liszt’s extremes of contrast
explore the whole range of the keyboard to produce a major miracle.
Revisiting long-standing yardsticks by Arrau, Brendel (both
Philips/Universal) and Zimerman (DG) finds Grosvenor charting the cyclic
framework and nourishing the broad expressive spectrum of the work with a
freer, more diverse and contrasted palette. The only match I could find for
this exalted level of prowess and spontaneity is the early Horowitz
recording from 1932 (Warner). Even with the Russian’s slight textual
amendments and a few inaccuracies, both pianists tap into the prime energy
of the Lisztian melting-pot like no other. Except perhaps for the unique
Cortot in 1929 (Warner), who still demands to be heard ‘warts and all’ for
possibly the most free-wheeling recreative diabolism the sonata has ever
enjoyed. The composer would surely have been on his feet had he lived to
hear it – and not heading for the exit sign.
The sonata is followed by the rarely heard second version of Berceuse from 1863, which takes its cue from Chopin, but in
considerably more sombre mood. This is followed by an astutely-chosen
selection of the composer in other guises – Italian travel guide to Love
via three Petrarch Sonnets, master of the operatic paraphrase and song
transcriber. In all these works, Grosvenor consolidates his Lisztian
empathy with insight and integrity whatever the idiom, and always at the
service of the composer. The poetry of the Petrarch Sonnets is both ardent
and sensitive. Even with something as outlandish and extravagant as the Réminiscences de Norma, a silk purse of transcendental magic is
conjured from a potential sow’s ear, echoing Liszt’s tribute to Bellini as
well as spotlighting the great paraphraser himself. The transcription of
Schubert’s Ave Maria is beautifully voiced with what sounds like a
sleight of three hands, supreme with no hint of saccharine, and all
captured in sound of sovereign clarity to match that of the pianist.
This is Benjamin Grosvenor’s first recording to feature the works of just
one composer. The notes tell us that he was introduced to the music of
Liszt by his maternal grandfather, himself a pianist and member of the
Liszt Society. Sadly, both maternal grandparents passed away early last
year, but due to lockdown Benjamin was unable to play the Ave Maria arrangement requested by his grandfather for the
funeral. The new album is dedicated to both his grandparents’ memory.
Ian Julier
