Monique de la Brouchollerie, piano, Vol. 2 = Works TCHAIKOVSKY, BRAHMS, SAINT-SAENS, CHOPIN, HAYDN & SZYMANOWSKI – Doremi (2 CDs)

by | Jun 14, 2008 | Classical Reissue Reviews | 0 comments

Monique de la Brouchollerie, piano, Vol. 2 = TCHAIKOVSKY: Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-flat Minor, Op. 23; BRAHMS: Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat Major, Op. 83; Two Waltzes, Op. 39; SAINT-SAENS: Piano Concerto No. 5 in F Major, Op. 103 “Egyptian”; Toccata in F Major, Op. 111, No. 6; CHOPIN: Grand Polonaise in E-flat Major, Op. 22; Barcarolle in F-sharp Major, Op. 60; SZYMANOWSKI: Theme and Variations in B-flat Minor, Op. 3; HAYDN: Piano Sonata No. 34 in E Minor – Pro Musica Orchestra, Vienna/Rudolf Moralt (Tchaikovsky)/ Rolf Reinhardt (Brahms)/Luxembourg Radio Orchestra/Louis de Froment (Saint-Saens)

Doremi DHR-7857/8, 77:10; 69:21 (Distrib. by Allegro) *****:

If contemporary Helene Grimaud can be said to follow in pianistic footsteps, they are most likely those of Monique de la Brouchollerie (1915-1972), a powerhouse artist of the first rank who did not make a career of French music; in fact, her tastes ran to all styles and tastes, including large, bravura works like Rachmaninov’s D Minor Concerto–she became the first female performer of the music. This second issue of Brouchollerie’s formidable art captures her in the (Vox) studio and in concert, 1951-1963.

Collectors may as well skip to the second disc to begin, with an untamed, unapologetic whirlwind of a Saint-Saens Egyptian Concerto with Froment (7 November 1963), huge, brilliant, glittery and audacious–all the bold qualities for which Clara Schumann rued the composer’s style. After two dramatically conceived movements, lyrical, penetrating, thrilling, she even makes the acrobats’ antics of the finale sound like worthy, Lisztian fare. Her Toccata (17 November 1951) from Op. 111, of course, is the same dervish wizardry, only solo.  She might as well be laying the entire body of Chopin and Debussy etudes in one gulp. It’s a toss-up whether you ears spin before your eyes do, listening to the runs and octaves pass so atomically before one’s mind.

We can back up: the Tchiakovsky Concerto (1952) on disc one with the reliable Rudolf Moralt heralded what Brouchollerie would display here in America, when she appeared with Mitropoulos in New York. Tchaikovsky’s Concerto, except for its introductory fanfare, is the Schumann Concerto re-written, all phrases repeated twice. Using her plastic technique and explosive capacity for dynamics, Bruchollerie manages to avoid the monotony in Tchaikovsky’s figures and imbue it with sensitive poetry at the same time. Should anyone decide to compare Brochollerie to Horowitz, let him roll out her Brahms B-flat Concerto with Reinhardt (for Vox, 1953), a swashbuckling rendition that only needs a stronger conductor at the helm to provide what might have been a titanic experience.

Through the former President of the Gyorgy Cziffra Society, I had already auditioned several of the solo items on disc 2, like the ravishing Grande Polonaise and the Barcarolle (from Munich, 14 December 1951), rife with forceful, willful, masterful personality. Bruchollerie’s command of color, rapid dynamic and agogic shifts, her power of nuance, quite staggers; she projects the musical equivalent of Gina Bachauer, easily, maybe a Gallic, female Backhaus. The fevered waters that surround the gondola of her Chopin are the same that drowned Joan Crawford in Humoresque. Gorgeous last page, the left hand surges against liquid runs. Having just recently heard Rafel Blechasz play the Szymanowski Op. 3, I could well appreciate Bruchollerie’s bravura interpretation (from 1956 Munich), a realization uncompromising in its coordination of divergent elements, from steamy power to diaphanous suggestion. Most of the character one assigns this demanding piece could be ascribed to the Paganini Variations of Brahms, which seems an obvious model. One variant, all light staccati until it breaks into leaping octaves, hints at the Handel Chaconne in G. The dark bass chords intimate at Bruchollerie’s Moussorgsky Pictures or the Liszt Sonata. The last page smacks us with pure frenzy, white heat applied to a disjointed hymn. The two Brahms waltzes that ensue (from Munich, 14 November 1951), in E Major and C-sharp Major, relieve the huge tension with their sweet, innocent melancholy, the second a series of broken chords in syncopation, beautifully etched in granite.

Finally, a Munich studio recording of the E Minor Sonata of Haydn, lovely, crystalline, but replete with forward-looking applications of classical procedures at the service of a burgeoning sturm und drang sensibility. We can hear many intimations of Beethoven as cross-fertilized by memories of Scarlatti. The tensile strength of Bruchollerie’s Adagio invites comparisons with Lipatti. Haydn indicates the last movement be played very fast and ingenuously, one of those simultaneously fluttering and pearly motions that sounds like a chirping music-box. A Best of the Year entry, gentlemen; so hats off!

— Gary Lemco
 

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