Search - Vladimir Horowitz, Chopin, Beethoven :: Vladimir Horowitz III (Great Pianists of the 20th Century series)

Even with the end-of-century hindsight Philips's mammoth piano pantheon affords, Vladimir Horowitz merits the maximum number of volumes (three) allotted to any single artist. And there's still a giant fan base willing to declare him the "greatest pianist" (whatever that means) of the 20th century. The series has magnificently culled from the enormous recorded catalog to include portraits of the quintessential as well as the lesser-known Horowitz. Volume I allows you to trace this legend's evolution, from start to finish of a remarkably lengthy career, in interpreting one composer: Robert Schumann. This third volume does something similar with Chopin (filling up the first disc), while also including one of Horowitz's signature pieces, the Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 3, and a once-reigning "Emperor" that has since been more or less crowded out of the field. Chopin may well be among the more controversial areas of "Horowitzian" interpretation, particularly apt at showing up certain stylistically dated qualities--or perhaps it's that we'd like to think ourselves more immune to the thrills of pianistic hyperathleticism and showy dazzle (witness the hurly-burly at the end of the middle section in the Opus 10, No. 3 Etude, from 1951). Already in the tinny mono of 1934's "Black Keys" Etude, there's an indelible sparkle, the pride of a lionized and risk-hungry young star. But for all the extroverted demeanor Horowitz brings to Chopin's poetry--who can after all resist the firestorming confidence and stage effects he brings to the A-flat Polonaise (from a 1945 recording)?--the artist also grew to encompass a subtler, more fractured, and more hauntingly interior view, as in the C-sharp Minor Etude (from a live Boston performance in 1980). The solo pieces make a fascinating contrast with the two concertos, both led by Fritz Reiner. The Beethoven, curiously, ends up sorely lacking some of the very Horowitzian qualities that get overdone elsewhere--too tame in the rondo above all--but it's still a vastly compelling interpretation with a regal, broad view of the first movement and much gentle poetry in the Adagio. Horowitz was indeed the first ever to record the Rachmaninoff Third, and the kaleidoscopic 1951 account included here still holds its ground for virtuosity, burning intensity, and musical conviction. All told, this finale to the Philips portrait of the artist is appropriately many-faceted--full of insights for the initiated and an engrossing introduction if you're just discovering this crucial figure. --Thomas May