BBC Legends BBCL 4216-2, 76:36 (Distrib. Koch) ****:
Didn’t one critic once call Artur Rubinstein (1887-1982) “a great pianist from the neck down”? Whether the epithet meant to insinuate Rubinstein played “instinctively” or anti-intellectually, the designation fails, if only because Rubinstein proved both durable and thoughtful in all the music under his surveillance. If, by “intellectual,” critics imply rife with affected mannerisms, Rubinstein’s playing happily betrayed little patience with preciousness of detail, and he allowed music to proceed lyrically and fluently. Beethoven may not have been Rubinstein’s strongest suit, but the performance of the G Major Concerto (7 December 1967) has beauty of tone and athletic girth to spare. Having recorded the concerto with Beecham (utilizing the Saint-Saens cadenza), Rubinstein’s octogenarian approach to the composer’s own cadenza flows naturally, albeit with touches from Busoni at selected intervals. Antal Dorati, too, is not inclined to overwrought drama, but he moves the “fateful” motif forward, reminding us that this concerto is the flip-side, the Apollinian incarnation, of the Fifth Symphony. Nice gradations of storm and stress for the poignant Andante, where Rubinstein’s innately lovely tone comes to the fore. The last movement achieves some thrilling pages, not the least of which invoke Rubinstein’s Aeolian harp sensibilities in the fluid, fiery fioritura he bestows on the faster passages.
The G Minor Saint-Saens Concerto (27 November 1957) had been a Rubinstein staple for many years, and his two commercial recordings (with Wallenstein and Ormandy) testify to a cheerful elan that tempered elasticity with ever-youthful ardor. Collectors hold on dearly to the pirate of Rubinstein’s collaboration from New York with that other Saint-Saens acolyte, Dimitri Mitropoulos. Here, with Rudolf Schwarz and the BBC, the pianist’s witty joie de vivre that moves from Bach to Offenbach infiltrates every bar of this clever music, gracefully leggierissimo as it is acrobatic. Beautifully graded pianissimos from Schwarz’s baton. The second movement, which takes its cue from Chopin’s E Major Scherzo, trips fleetly, scampering down a Parisian boulevard or two. The final Presto is all dazzle and dash, splashy circus music cross-fertilized by urbane panache. The delighted audience goes nuts.
Two composers provide the encores for this charming album: Heitor Villa-Lobos’ set of dolls ring and shimmer in glorious Technicolor (a studio performance, 9 November 1958), in full homage to Ravel’s Miroirs. Rubinstein’s affection for the rag-doll shines. Chopin’s E Minor Etude (9 November 1958) is one of the few we have on record, since Rubinstein–for all his efforts on behalf of Chopin–never inscribed the complete etudes. Rubinstein allows its knotty harmonic intricacies their due while the melody rises out of the labyrinth. The Scherzo is a live encore (4 December 1968) graced by the Rubinstein rhythmic sensibilities for tugs and releases. A palpable urgency moves this music along; it does not loiter in histrionics. The first period ends, and we enter a darker, more delicate world. Gossamer arpeggios, an occasional bout of thunder, a wondrous brew. The sheer serenity in making music at the keyboard convinces us every time that Rubinstein inhabits a league of his own.
— Gary Lemco
