A four-CD set in honor of Roumanian virtuoso Clara Haskil (1895-1960) appeared in 1990 (426 964-2), which this set subsumes and transcends. From the outset of disc one – the Scarlatti Sonata in E-flat, K. 193 – we have all of the Haskil traits we will need to characterize her exquisite playing: lightness, fleetness, dramatic phrasing and terraced dynamics, subtle rubato, digital accuracy, pearly, crystalline articulation. The B Minor, K. 87 adds to this blend a poised aura of tragedy. The F Minor, K. 386 is a bravura piece, quicksilver in double notes and runs in contrary directions. That the music proceeds effortless, perfect, confirms the many reviewersí comments that Haskil played for the ideal audience of the gods. Music-box sonority for Mozart’s Duport Variations, the touch reminiscent of the sound cultivated by the Leschetizky school of pianism. We hear these attributes in all of Haskil’s Mozart recordings, though–in spite of the prevailing myth–she was by no means “merely” a Mozart pianist. In fact, her collaboration with Igor Markevitch in the Beethoven C Minor Concerto from Paris,1959, remains among the strongest, most passionately defined realizations I know. Cognoscenti have cherished her 1951 Schubert B-flat Sonata (and the semi-private discs of her Beethoven Op. 111) with a fervor warranted by the elastic, thoroughly spontaneous approach to Schubertís long periods and variegated colorations of harmony. If Haskil has a weakness, it might lie in the briskness of her tempos in transition, akin to some of Gieseking’s decisions, but not so glib as his. Her light-handed approach to Beethoven’s D Minor Tempest Sonata (we have two performances of this and the E-flat, Op. 31, No. 3) may indeed recall the Gieseking rendition in its supple finesse and lack of heaviness. Nothing half-hearted about her Allegretto moto-perpetuo finale: when Haskil is “on,” we are in thrall to Blake’s tiger, and none dare frame her fearful symmetry.
In the midst of the usual adulation of Haskil’s Mozart and Beethoven, it might behoove us to comment on the supple innocence of her Schumann, the playing of which –in the ABEGG Variations–caused Dinu Lipatti to comment that her sound “was the sum of all perfection on earth.” The May 1955 Kinderszenen possesses a hearty energy that is more Whitman than Wordsworth, a frenzied zest for life and experience, as recalled by the aged poet. Nothing is forced, yet the propulsions come from a fierce consideration of their innate color value. Listen to the slight adjustments of tonal weight and accent in the By the Fireside section. The Almost too Serious moment could easily break into the C Major Fantasie. The Child Falls Asleep is only a touch and a modal chord away from Debussy. The Poet Speaks, indeed, at the conclusion–but which poet? The one who suggested that are such stuff as dreams are made on.
Haskil’s May 1954 Waldszenen has on record only Casadesus for competition in my experience, and that includes Kempff and Backhaus. She is as natural in the aggressive, grandiose Schumann as her colleague Geza Anda, and she needn’t work at it. The A Minor Concerto with Otterloo (1951) applies the poetic principle over the virtuosically febrile, without sacrificing Schumann’s potent sensibilities. A combination that appeared in several LP incarnations is Chopin/Falla from her final year: 1960, where, in the Falla, we can relish the Iberian affects Haskil invokes in Scarlatti but now permitted a wider, more picturesque canvas. The strength and clarity of line is the same we find in her 1951 Ravel Sonatine. Her ever-inflamed orchestral companion, Igor Markevitch (1912-1973), strikes his own sparks, as each dance becomes alternately illuminated and nostalgic. Listen to the delicious segue from the Distant Dance to the Sierra de Cordoba Gardens, the rhythms plastic, the trumpets biting, the piano all pearls. A delicious performance to supplement the classic readings by Casadesus and Rubinstein.
The Chopin projects little that might be construed as “feminine,” as Markevitch opens explosively, the lines long and decidedly driven. The clarinet and fellow winds soften the aura a bit, but the underlying pulse does not diminish. Haskil’s roulades, the sense of line, the complete integration of ornaments with Chopin’s vocal fioritura, all contribute to a most authentic Chopin experience. The second movement combines crystal and fire. The visceral orchestral tissue in the outer movements almost convinces us that Chopin’s symphonies might have evolved had he lived longer. Haskil in her contemplative passages, makes the orchestra and time disappear. Rubinstein once defined the Chopin style as “an iconoclastic classicism,” and herein Haskil is a true devotee of that aesthetic.
Haskil’s Mozart is legendary, so collectors can frolic in the sheer number of inscribed applications of her work, here and on the Tahra label. “She reminds us how far away from the truth the rest of us are,” quipped her talented compatriot, Lipatti.
— Gary Lemco
