Bridge 9276A/D (4 CDs, mono) 77:46; 78:53; 76:54; 67:10 [Distrib. by Albany] *****:
Culled from concert (the B Minor Sonata, from 21 November 1947) and Westminster studio recordings, 1955-1957, these fine restorations present us the cumulative Chopin inscribed by Nadia Reisenberg (1904-1983), the Russian-born virtuoso who taught at the Curtis Institute and who made a sensation 1939/1940 by performing the complete Mozart piano concertos. Always refined and sober in her interpretations, Reisenberg consistently maintained–like her idol, Artur Rubinstein, except she practiced more–the ability to “make tone,” to project the depth of the bass and harmonic contour while sustaining a singing, flexible top line.
Listen to her well-respected set of the Chopin Nocturnes: try the last page of B Major, Op. 9, No. 3, for clarion passion and vocalized phrasing. The G Minor from Op. 15 serves as another example of a series of halting phrases made fluid by intellectual, beautifully harmonized groups and the fine balance between recitativo and arioso articulation. The ease of transition soon compels our attention, as in the subtle slide into the maestoso, mazurka-style of the middle section of the Op. 27, No.1, a dramatic island in the middle of lulling, diaphanous water piece. A leggierissimo as fine as any Leschetizky pupil could produce lavishes its gifts on the sister piece, the D-flat, Op. 27, No. 2. If the B Major, Op. 32, No. 1 offers us a jeweled music-box, its companion in A-flat Major proceeds in the style of a fluid ballade, lit by innumerable shades of pianissimo and poised rubato.
By the time Chopin penned the Op. 37 Nocturnes, his chromatic harmony had advanced well beyond his flashy contemporaries, Hummel and Moscheles, and even his glissandi assume an organic relation to the whole. Under Reisenberg, the pair merge night music with impromptu, the middle section of the G Minor, Op. 37, No. 2, achieving a plaintive, choral style similar to the noel in the B Minor Scherzo, Op. 20. The Op. 48 likely approximate what Reisenberg might have given us had she recorded the B-flat “Funeral March” Sonata, Op. 35. Earnestness without heaviness, solemnity without bathos, all the while hurling thunderous torrents of sound and fury, this diptych plays like The Tragedy of Othello, even if my metaphor invokes Macbeth. Even though my preferred interpretation of the F Minor, Op. 55, No. 1 belongs to Shura Cherkassky, Reisenberg bestows intimate poise on its lovely figures, the trills as soft as the musical line is poignant, the trio breaking into a Polish call for freedom.
To fill out her survey of the Chopin Mazurkas, Nadia Reisenberg added three pieces dear to her heart, the first of these the Op. 60 Barcarolle, which enjoys her big gestures, passionate éclat., expansive trill, and Italianate melodic line. Street song, nocturne, and water piece at once, the Barcarolle displays Reisenberg’s muscular approach to liquid music, often recalling her contemporary Guiomar Novaes for breadth and panache. The Op. 57 Berceuse in D-flat Major makes a kind of extended study in deft, light touch and variable harmonic rhythm over an ostinato bass. Reisenberg’s music-box effect rivals the classic version by Solomon, graceful and inward. Her recording of the Op. 46 A Major Allegro de Concert had only one competitor, that of Claudio Arrau for EMI. Reisenberg had been encouraged to study it with her mentor, Leonid Nikolayev, at the St. Petersburg Conservatory; and her bravura performance elicits an image of her other instructor, Josef Hofmann, as well.
Reisenberg spoke of “the very special rhythms of these stylized dances,” when referring to the complete set of Chopin Mazurkas, “which need so much freedom and rubato and fantasy, yet they must be focused and planned out at the same time.” With 56 of them to choose from, I can only hint at the many delights that await the collector: the pert metrics of Op. 6, No. 2, its intricately noble delicacy and air of mystery. For the naturalness of the obereks and krakowiaks, Reisenberg claimed her Russian blood, as in the E Major, Op. No. 6; the seductive Op. 7, No. 2 in A Minor; the explosive Op. 30, No. 2 in B Minor. For concentrated breadth of scale, try the Op. 17, No. 1 in B-flat Major. A moment of Spanish fire in the otherwise Polish-national F Minor, Op. 7, No. 3? The tragic muse nods her head in the A Minor, Op. 17, No. 4, the polyphony suggestive of depths into which we must tread lightly. I often associate this sad dance with Madame Emma Bovary. Chopin altered his chromatic palette for the Op. 24 set, and Reisenberg finds in them an illumined (G Minor) or quicksilver (C Major) or haunted (B-flat Minor) melancholy. One might survey each of Reisenberg’s realizations of only the C-sharp Minor Mazurkas, beginning with Op. 30, No. 4; then Op. 41, No. 1; the Op. 50, No. 3–a favorite, demanding comparison with Rubinstein and the impetuous William Kapell–and onward to Op. 63, No. 3; and Op. 68, No. 3. Each and every mazurka has its own persuasiveness, its own affect; I do not mean to slight other favorites, like the D-flat Major, Op. 30, No. 3; the ubiquitous D Major, Op. 33, No. 2 and the passionately epic B Minor, Op. 33, No. 4; the entire opera of Op. 56 and Op. 59, models of Chopin’s late harmonic style spliced to his most fervent national ethos, the real “cannons hidden in flowers” of which Schumann wrote. Reisenberg ends her traversal with a group of the posthumous Mazurkas – some 15 of them, if we include the Op. 67 and Op. 68 groups, along with “les tendresses” like A Emile Gaillard and Notre Temps.
At 5:00:40 total playing time spent with Nadia Reisenberg, we could hardly ask for a better, extended sojourn into the rich tradition of her Chopin experience. Highly recommended!
–Gary Lemco
