Arthur Rubinstein: 1946-1958 Recordings = CHOPIN: Sonata No. 2; Preludes; 3 Nouvelles Etudes; Berceuse; Barcarolle – Naxos Historical

by | Jun 23, 2011 | Classical Reissue Reviews | 0 comments

Arthur Rubinstein: 1946-1958 Recordings = CHOPIN: Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor, Op. 35 “Funeral March”; Preludes, Op. 28; 3 Nouvelles Etudes, Op. Posth.; Berceuse in D-flat Major, Op. 57; Barcarolle in F-sharp Major, Op. 60 – Arthur Rubinstein, piano – Naxos Historical 8.111369, 76:06 [Not distr. in the U.S.] ****:
Reissue producer and audio restoration engineer Mark Obert-Thorn brings out his fourth installment in the Naxos series of Arthur Rubinstein’s Chopin recordings for RCA Victor, the B-flat Minor Sonata and Preludes having been issued on 78 rpm shellacs, while the other selections were inscribed on magnetic tape. Performing in New York City in 1946, Rubinstein had good control of his faculties, and he increasingly communicated a love for his craft in his so-called “middle period” from just after WW II through 1960.
The B-flat Minor Sonata (11, 18 and 29 March 1946) definitely communicates a degree of spontaneity that the recording studio often discourages. A ferocious tempo marks the opening movement, and an even more fury-driven Scherzo ensues  that some might dismiss as over zealous and sloppy. The tender episode basks in both the vibrant Rubinstein piano tone and his especial poetry. The Funeral March emerges with heroic grandeur and stoical dignity, the trills quite potent in the wake of the tragic gestures. The nostalgic trio may sound dispassionate, but its delicately quiet simplicity serves to remind us of the frailty of life and that “even Beauty must perish.” The final Presto ranks among Rubinstein’s supreme recorded achievements, and we remind ourselves that Rubinstein himself coined the description of the movement as a bitter wind passing over tombstones.
Rubinstein recorded Chopin’s complete Preludes, Op. 28 over the course of three sessions in New York City (10, 11 and 20 June 1946), but while the pianist harbored misgivings about his inscription, he did not choose to re-record them in stereo.  I find the ambiance rather lifeless, but Rubinstein–as a matter of course–will excel in particular preludes. Few have traversed the entire set with consistent passion and precision, excepting the Ivan Moravec set for Connoisseur Society. Rubinstein occasionally sounds rushed or glib, though commentator Jonathan Summers finds that quality exciting. The E Minor proves thoughtful but dry. The D Major plays like an abridged Bach toccata. The mournful preludes–like the B Minor, F-sharp Major, and D-flat “Raindrop”–benefit from Rubinstein’s innate vocalism as a keyboard instrumentalist. I admire Rubinstein’s deft articulation in the virtuoso preludes, beginning with the F-sharp Minor, the C-sharp Minor, and extending to the B-flat Minor, and D Minor preludes. Rubinstein’s bass trill and broad chards in the E Major surely set the standard for an acolyte like William Kapell.  Some of the preludes easily slip into other forms–like waltzes or mazurkas–so the B Major and G-sharp Minor carry Rubinstein’s suavely bold approach to Polish or Viennese national rhythm. The E-flat Minor, G Minor, and F Minor prove demonic, close kin to the finale of the Funeral March Sonata finale. My personal favorites–the “fateful” A-flat Major and the Schumannesque E-flat Major–testify to Rubinstein’s natural sympathy for their combination of nocturne and fluid etude. Gradations of color and emotional conviction combine most aptly. Rubinstein’s B-flat Major prelude sparkles with pre-Debussy colors, a step away from Reflets dans l’eau. More life-giving waters cascade in F Major, although my favorite here came from pianist Lucchesini thirty years ago.
Rubinstein recorded both the set of Three New Etudes and the Berceuse in New York’s Manhattan Center 21 April 1958. For me, he set the standard for the Etudes, though I have no less succumbed to those by Claudio Arrau and Guiomar Novaes. Sensuality and poignant nostalgia ripple through all three, though the F Minor and D-flat Major convey a touch of the tragic more than the bluesy and cosmopolitan D-flat Major. The tenderly obsessive Berceuse with Rubinstein seems a mite literalist in conception, while I have always relished the nuances Solomon bestowed on its sensuous regularity of form. Still, for vocal charisma in this intricate study in harmonic-rhythm, the Rubinstein compels our attention. The grand Barcarolle (rec. in France, 1957) finds a natural exponent in Rubinstein, who can accommodate both its architectural girth and its almost exotic harmonic fluency.  Poised and breathed in spacious colors, the gondola song soon becomes a metaphor for a larger design from life’s alternately purling and stormy waters.
— Gary Lemco

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