An unmissable collection on Warner Classics

LISZT TO START WITH

I think it’s fair to say that Liszt’s only piano sonata virtually defines the genre for the Romantic era. For me, recordings-wise, Clifford Curzon (Decca) offered an unforgettably thoughtful first port of call, then Horowitz’s dashing and technically dazzling 1932 HMV recording was reissued as a ‘Great Recording of the Century’, and that was it – until I discovered Alfred Cortot’s version, the work’s first-ever recording, set down in 1929. Here at last was the Wagnerian sweep that I’d heard in my head and heart but never experienced either or on disc or ‘live’: Cortot seemed to embrace the entire work as a single gesture, with never a rest that lacked musical meaning or a misplaced nuance. In a phrase, Cortot’s Liszt B minor was – and for me still is (in spite of such giants as Barère, Gilels and Richter) – the greatest ever recorded. But then Cortot as a young man was an ardent Wagnerian who conducted the Paris première of Götterdämmerung. That was in 1902 whereas in 1905 he formed a trio with violinist Jacques Thibaud and cellist Pablo Casals that soon established itself as the leading piano trio of its era. The entire run of their recordings – Haydn, Beethoven (the ‘Archduke’), Schubert, Mendelssohn and Schumann – is included in the newly reissued Alfred Cortot Anniversary Edition (40 cds, previously on EMI but now on Warner Classics 5054197471940, c£90.00) which, in the celestial realms of great piano collections must take its place alongside Rachmaninoff’s, except that, happily, there’s a lot more of it.

PRÉLUDES BEYOND COMPARE

Like his Beethovenian contemporary Artur Schnabel, Cortot didn’t prioritise digital accuracy. Where other pianists were squeaky-clean he might stumble, sometimes in the least demanding passages. His mind was obviously elsewhere, a location accessible by invitation only, and fortunately for us we’re on the guest list. Wherever Cortot forged his emotionally exhausting lightning tour through Chopin’s Op.28 Préludes (four times represented, from the 1920s to the 1950s) took unrest as a given. Cortot reveals Chopin’s breathless confessional as a single, whistle-stop journey, from aching melancholy (E minor), to the songful B minor, the grandly assertive E major, the galloping G sharp minor, the stormy E flat minor, a storm that threatens at the centre of the otherwise peaceful D flat major Prélude (popularly known as the ‘Raindrop’), a passage where interestingly on his 1926 and 1942 versions (but on in 1933) Cortot adds a rolling bass embellishment as if to suggest retreating thunder. The lightning B flat minor Prélude proves that when in the mood Cortot could go like the clappers (this must be among the fastest – and, in general, the most accurate – renditions ever recorded, specifically in 1933). The F minor and G minor Préludes cast a threatening spell, the C minor, pious nobility, while the closing D minor seems to recap everything that has gone before, albeit without much in the way of hope for the future. At least that’s Cortot’s slant on the piece.

SONATAS TO SAVOUR WALTZING IN STYLE

The 1933 account of the Second (‘Funeral March’) Sonata may lack Horowitz’s overcast sense of melodrama (specifically in 1950, RCA) but the windblown finale works wonderfully well. Cortot’s way with the B minor Sonata (best in 1933) is like the Préludes a masterly lesson in how to employ rubato, how to chart the rise and fall of a phrase or calculate an effective diminuendo. The Largo must surely be among Chopin’s greatest single movements and Cortot’s handling of the diminuendo from 5:21 is magical. The Fourteen ‘standard’ Waltzes (the 1934 set) were my own introduction to Cortot’s art some 60 years ago and I was mesmerized, as I was again today when listening to them yet again. The brilliant E flat leaps energetically, the C sharp minor alternaties a delectable lilt with excitable swirling interludes and the F minor can’t quite escape the melancholy that sits at its heart. Cortot is alive to these and many other aspects of this wonderful music.

BUTTERFLIES AND MORE

Cortot’s love of Chopin was possibly equalled only by his love of Schumann. Both composers are healthily represented in the Edition, again in multiple versions, but only one of Schumann’s Op. 2, Papillons (1935), written when he was 21. I shan’t attempt a detailed resumé of these dozen ‘butterflies’ save to say that Cortot chases from one to the next while capturing their very different colours and moods, much as he does for Chopin’s Préludes. Davidündlertänze is another favourite, in spite of the smudges that stain the third section ‘mit humour’. The pay-off is the delightful ‘envoi’ that closes the work, handled by Cortot with disarming charm. Beyond Schumann comes a sequence of Schubert Ländler equalled in my experience only by Ignacy Friedman (though the specific selection isn’t the same). Returning to Liszt, Cortot’s account of St. Francis Walking on the Water is truly inspirational (only Claudio Arrau comes close as part of a live recital) and if Bach’s Organ Concerto No. 5 in D minor after Vivaldi opens as if it’s escaped from Bartók’s rather less amiable-sounding suite Out of Doors, the central Sicilienne is a perfect example of Cortot’s singing tone. Then, beyond a warming Purcell sequence, we hear the perfect three-minute ‘demo’ of Cortot’s art ‘Des Abends’ from Schumann’s Fantasiestücke, Op. 12 (recorded in 1937). That’s on Disc 16, track 30. There’s some memorable Debussy to relish too, including the First book of Préludes and Children’s Corner – Cortot’s approach so much more playful than his equally distinctive German contemporary Walter Gieseking. Then there’s Ravel (a wonderful Sonatine), Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieueses, Weber’s Second Sonata, a complete set of Bach Brandenburg Concertos directed by Cortot who also offers a memorably Gallic account of the Fifth Concerto’s first movement cadenza, duo sonatas with Jacques Thibaud and numerous shorter pieces.

WORDS, MUSIC AND CORTOT TEACHING

And the rest? Debussy songs with Maggie Teyte that once heard remain definitive benchmarks for all time. Has anyone captured the sensuality of ‘Le chevelure’ from Chansons de Bilitis as comprehensively as do Teyte and Cortot? If they have I’m unaware of the recording. As to Schumann’s Dichterliebe although there’s a rather beautiful (and officially unissued) post-War recording by Cortot and Gérard Souzay, the 1936 78s with baritone Charles Panzéra (unfortunately the year of recording has slipped off the jacket copy) shares laurels with the great Danish tenor Aksel Schiøtz and Gerald Moore (Danacord) as being among the most moving versions you’re ever likely to hear. Beethoven sonatas (Nos. 8, 14, 23, 25, 26, and 27) make an appearance at the end of the set in recordings taped between 1958 and 1960, lecture performances where listening to Cortot’s lilting voice is virtually as enjoyable as hearing him play (which he does rather well for much of the time as it happens). The very last track is a speech in memoriam Dinu Lipatti.

COMPARING EDITIONS

Needless to say I cannot recommend this set highly enough but how does the Warner presentation differ from its 2012 predecessor on EMI? Certainly the superb transfers – effected by Art and Son Studio – are, so far as I can tell, exactly the same, and I can’t offer higher praise than that. So is François Anselmini’s excellent booklet note (which doesn’t fight shy of dealing with some tricky wartime political issues). What has changed is that the new box is far sturdier than the old and the actual disc information has been transferred from the booklet to the rear of each card cd dust jacket. EMI offered the same information in a thicker book but the actual CDs were slipped into plain wrappers, which made locating a disc more difficult if your discs had somehow fallen out of order. I think the newer presentation is in general superior.

HEIRS AND MEMORIES

Did Cortot have any heirs? To be honest, I don’t think so. Samson François came close and Benjamin Grosvenor is on a similar wavelength but he’s still young and we’ll have to see where his career – and artistic development – take him. Otherwise Cortot’s unique brand of musicianship did not survive his death on the 5th June 1962, except via recordings.

In closing there are two musicians who shared my love of the musical past who I feel prompted to remember. The first is my late, dear friend John de Grey who was at our wedding almost 52 years ago, and who had himself briefly studied with Cortot. The other is Menahem Pressler, lost to us more recently but whose wisdom on all matters pianistic would certainly have been stimulated by this wonderful set. How I’d love to have shared it with him. But we still have the records which, being so potently expressive, evoke memories more powerful than mere words can equal. Thank goodness that they do.