Firkusny Festival
Posted by: Todd A on 16 March 2005
When I learned of the new Orfeo release of a 1957 Salzburg Festival recital by Rudolf Firkusny, I was intrigued. When I saw the repertoire – Chopin’s Third Sonata, Janacek’s Sonata, and Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition – well, I knew I must have the disc. Over the past several years I’ve managed to accumulate a number of recordings by this shamefully neglected pianist. Whilst alive, his repertoire was wide-ranging, and he excelled at pretty much all of it. Stylistically, I view him as complimentary to Robert Casadesus. Like the Frenchman, Firkusny eschews virtuosity for the sake of virtuosity and showiness that focuses more on the artist than the music. But he’s a bit more Dionysian than Casadesus; Firskusny can play in a more overtly romantic manner while never going overboard. Beethoven, Brahms, Debussy, and of course Czech composers: he makes a compelling case for whatever he plays.
Firkusny recorded quite a bit for all of the majors and some of the indies, but he hasn’t fared so well in the reissue sweepstakes. What a shame. So, as I was perusing Arkiv Music last week to snap up this disc (which is already showing as Special Order at some outlets), I noticed various other recordings by him and decided it only proper to explore some of them. Among the slim-pickings are some titles that piqued my interest. Since it is clearly impossible to have too many recordings of Mozart’s great D-minor concerto, that seemed a natural choice. The Bohuslav Martinu twofer with the Second, Third and Fourth Piano Concertos on one disc and solo works on the other seemed to me to be a suitable choice as well. So I bought them. (This was my first purchase from Arkiv, and their service matches or exceeds Tower’s, and if they are a buck or two per disc more than some other web stores, their promptness will lure me back.)
And then I listened. I deemed I should start with the music I don’t know. That would be the Martinu solo works. Alas, my four-disc adventure did not get off to the most auspicious start. As I worked my way through Les Ritournelles, the Fantaisie & Toccata, and finally the First Sonata, I heard little of interest. Les Ritournelles seemed a collection of small, middling works, the Debussyian Second Intermezzo aside. The Fantaisie & Toccata is more vigorous – hell, it’s musically violent at times – but my attention wandered. And the Sonata reminds me of Prokofiev, without the thrills or inventiveness. I held out little hope for the tiny piano reduction of a number from the opera Julietta, but what a surprise! This little gem is lovely and haunting and speaks with a unique voice. Things fortunately improved from there with the Etudes and Polkas. Now I wouldn’t have thought that these two forms would blend well, but they do. Martinu brilliantly juxtaposes virtuosic and dazzling etudes with folksy and charming dance pieces, all with a decidedly Slavic flavor. Firskusny plays with absolute mastery. The 1988 digital recordings are top of the line for the time, and present everything as well as can be expected. So, the solo disc is not a complete dud.
I’m more familiar with the piano concertos. A couple years ago or so, I managed to procure from a local library a copy of the complete piano concertos played by Emil Leichner and accompanied by Jiri Belohlavek and the Czech Philharmonic on Supraphon. My overall assessment of the cycle was that the weaker concertos (2 and 5) are off-set by the much stronger concertos (1, 3, and 4). I surmised that Firskusny should be able to do much better in the works since 1.) he was friends with and worked with Martinu, 2.) he premiered most of them, and 3.) the Third was dedicated to him. I certainly guessed right. I’ll dispense with the Second, which is not very exciting and can lead to occasional peeking at the clock to see how much time is left. (I did that the first time I heard it as well.) It’s ably constructed but musically weak. Not so the remaining works. The Third can be thought of as an immediate post-war concerto mixing Brahms and Prokofiev. The piece is large and grand, with sweeping gestures and a piquant, astringent flavor. Firkusny plays with ample power and dexterity, which is remarkable since he was around 80 at the time of the recording. But this is not an old-man’s conception. The Fourth, Incantations, fares even better, but then it’s a masterpiece. Again, it is a big piece, but this one is more overtly “modern,” replete with much dissonance and harsher sounds. What strikes one first is the novel orchestration, with ideas appearing first in one section or instrument and handed off to another section or instrument. One time it goes from oboe to clarinet, but somewhere else it may go from the brass to the strings, all the while other sections of the orchestra are playing their own versions of the accompaniment. One especially interesting effect comes when Martinu creates a brief dialog and then synchronized passage for the harp and piano. You want power? The second movement opens with thundering timpani and acidic strings, punctuating the work’s modernity. Plus, there are some pounding chords that at times sound almost like tone-clusters. Martinu clearly was up on the tools of the time, and while one can hear influences (Bartok, Prokofiev, and Janacek, to name three), the way he weaves it all together is unique and Martinueseque. Yes, this short little piece is the highlight of the two-disc set, and surpasses the Leichner effort. Excellent sound from RCA’s engineers caps it all off.
The next disc is a 1990 Intercord release of Mozart’s D-minor, K466 (No 20) and D-major, K451 (No 16) piano concertos. Given Mr Firkusny’s strengths, I figured Mozart would be a strong suit for him. While the recordings are good, I cannot report that he sets new standards or reaches existing ones. Despite his occasional romanticism, Firskusny’s Mozart is definitely on the Apollonian end of the spectrum. He never resorts to extremes in anything – dynamics, tempi, expressiveness. It’s all played in a tasteful manner. This works relatively better in the D-major, a piece I don’t listen to too often, but it is not as effective in the D-minor. Oh, sure, the piece opens in an acceptably forceful and slightly dark manner, but no one revels in the darkness. It lacks the power of more romanticized versions (like Annie Fischer’s or Daniel Barenboim’s) or the lean, hard, energetically straight-forward intensity of Robert Casadesus’ supreme recording. It’s a middle of the road performance, stylistically. It’s not bad – Firkusny’s playing includes much to admire – but couple the approach with a second-tier group of players – Ernest Bour (who?) leading his Baden Baden orchestra – and this is hardly first-choice material. The glassy digital recording doesn’t help matters. Like I wrote before, the D major comes off better, with the approach better suited to the material. I will hang on to this disc. I have a feeling I may grow to appreciate it more over time.
That leaves the Orfeo release, and I saved the best for last. The disc is taken from a March 9, 1957 recital, and includes everything played except a Haydn sonata. (Why, oh why, couldn’t Orfeo have included the Haydn and released the set as a mid-priced twofer?) I’ve already listened to it twice and it strengths are apparent. The disc opens with Chopin’s Third Sonata, and a fine version it is. I’m not as fond of this work as the Second, but repeated listens over the last year, especially of Nelson Freire’s most recent recording, have raised the stature of the work. Firkusny plays pretty much how I though he would. He avoids extreme gestures and plays directly. His fingerwork is delightfully articulate, letting everything unfold nicely, and allowing both smaller inner voices and more powerful parts to emerge clearly. The opening two movements are taken rather briskly, though not disturbingly fast, and the little scherzo is relatively charming. He slows things down quite a bit for the Largo, and brings out the beauty inherent in Chopin’s writing. (Who says the piano cannot sing?) Perhaps he stretches things just a bit too much in a few places, with pauses that seem just a bit too long given his approach to the rest of the piece, but ‘tis no bother. The finale is dashed off gracefully, and his not-too-heavy, not-too-light, not-too-romantic approach succeeds. The obvious energy of the live recital helps.
The next piece is Janacek’s sonata. I am an avowed fan of Firkusny’s DG studio recording, finding it probably the best version I’ve heard (though Josef Palenicek ain’t too shabby), so I was eagerly waiting to here how he did it fourteen years earlier. Not too surprising, his approach is similar. His approach is about swiftness, fierceness, and anger. He pounds out the rage-filled crescendos of the first movement in a deeply moving way, never letting one forget that this was spurred by the death of an innocent man. One nice touch in the first movement is when he lets a longer than normal time elapse before playing the final, desolate chord. Most effective. The second movement sounds sadder, exhausted. The anguish of the events is too great; feverish intensity is not appropriate. Even for the listener, who can so easily get caught up in the raw, unfiltered emotion of the first movement, a reprieve of sorts is needed. Oh, he still hammers out the music when called for, but he sets the mood just right. Ultimately, I find his studio effort even more intense and more draining, but this is a wonderful addition to my small but essential collection of this work. Perhaps I should try his later, RCA recording to hear his final thoughts on the piece. No doubt they would be illuminating.
That leaves Mussorgsky’s towering masterpiece. Here Firkusny does something unexpected: he plays willfully. If any piano piece practically begs to be played that way, it’s this one, so I was actually pleased by the approach. One can hear the willfulness immediately. The opening Promenade is taken swiftly, as though intently and nervously moving through the gallery to find the right painting. Gnomus comes off somewhat unusually, with swift, choppy chords and stilted right hand figures. It works, but it is different from any other version I’ve heard. The Old Castle has some unusual and unusually effective sustained chords to add a dash of mystery. Oh, sure, others do it, too, but Firkusny does it just so. The next markedly different piece is Bydlo, which is dashed off very quickly. It’s certainly faster than I am accustomed to. The Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks is a sheer delight, Firkusny playing quickly, lightly and delicately. What follows is the most remarkable rendition of Samuel Goldberg and Schmuyle I’ve heard. Of course one of the two men is rich and the other poor, and their respective music brings that to the fore, but never so profoundly as here. The rich man is imperious and overbearing while the poor man comes off as desperate and fitful. The right hand playing brings an almost neurotic flavor to the desperation of the poor man; one feels his situation as never before. It is a truly remarkable performance. If perhaps the Catacombs are not quite frightening enough, and if the Great Gate of Kiev doesn’t come off as a Slavic Arch d' Triumph as with Pogorelich and, above all, Kissin, it is still a grand conclusion. All told, Firkusny brings his willful rendition in at just under 31 minutes. It’s just under 31 minutes of wonderful pianism. No, in the end he cannot match up to Byron Janis or Ivo Pogorelich, but I am glad to have this version gracing my shelves.
A few words on sound are in order. This is a 1957 recital, so one cannot expect the best sound. The mono piano image is quite strong and immediate, with a wide dynamic range, but distortion is apparent from time to time. In the Janacek it sounds as though there’s either some pronounced wow throughout or the piano’s sustain pedal wasn’t maintained properly and thus caused some wobbliness (that’s the best I can describe it) in the sound. I must note that this was only apparent in my main system and I could not notice it when I listened through my portable player. I can easily live with the sound to get these performances.
After this mini-festival, my opinion of Mr Firkusny has only been heightened. Perhaps one day the majors will see the light and reissue more of his back catalog. (Really, EMI’s 6-disc Firkusny Edition to commemorate his death was puny and not what he deserved.) If not every piece can be rated a success, on balance I’m glad I heard all of the recordings. I have no doubt I’ll spin them all again.
Firkusny recorded quite a bit for all of the majors and some of the indies, but he hasn’t fared so well in the reissue sweepstakes. What a shame. So, as I was perusing Arkiv Music last week to snap up this disc (which is already showing as Special Order at some outlets), I noticed various other recordings by him and decided it only proper to explore some of them. Among the slim-pickings are some titles that piqued my interest. Since it is clearly impossible to have too many recordings of Mozart’s great D-minor concerto, that seemed a natural choice. The Bohuslav Martinu twofer with the Second, Third and Fourth Piano Concertos on one disc and solo works on the other seemed to me to be a suitable choice as well. So I bought them. (This was my first purchase from Arkiv, and their service matches or exceeds Tower’s, and if they are a buck or two per disc more than some other web stores, their promptness will lure me back.)
And then I listened. I deemed I should start with the music I don’t know. That would be the Martinu solo works. Alas, my four-disc adventure did not get off to the most auspicious start. As I worked my way through Les Ritournelles, the Fantaisie & Toccata, and finally the First Sonata, I heard little of interest. Les Ritournelles seemed a collection of small, middling works, the Debussyian Second Intermezzo aside. The Fantaisie & Toccata is more vigorous – hell, it’s musically violent at times – but my attention wandered. And the Sonata reminds me of Prokofiev, without the thrills or inventiveness. I held out little hope for the tiny piano reduction of a number from the opera Julietta, but what a surprise! This little gem is lovely and haunting and speaks with a unique voice. Things fortunately improved from there with the Etudes and Polkas. Now I wouldn’t have thought that these two forms would blend well, but they do. Martinu brilliantly juxtaposes virtuosic and dazzling etudes with folksy and charming dance pieces, all with a decidedly Slavic flavor. Firskusny plays with absolute mastery. The 1988 digital recordings are top of the line for the time, and present everything as well as can be expected. So, the solo disc is not a complete dud.
I’m more familiar with the piano concertos. A couple years ago or so, I managed to procure from a local library a copy of the complete piano concertos played by Emil Leichner and accompanied by Jiri Belohlavek and the Czech Philharmonic on Supraphon. My overall assessment of the cycle was that the weaker concertos (2 and 5) are off-set by the much stronger concertos (1, 3, and 4). I surmised that Firskusny should be able to do much better in the works since 1.) he was friends with and worked with Martinu, 2.) he premiered most of them, and 3.) the Third was dedicated to him. I certainly guessed right. I’ll dispense with the Second, which is not very exciting and can lead to occasional peeking at the clock to see how much time is left. (I did that the first time I heard it as well.) It’s ably constructed but musically weak. Not so the remaining works. The Third can be thought of as an immediate post-war concerto mixing Brahms and Prokofiev. The piece is large and grand, with sweeping gestures and a piquant, astringent flavor. Firkusny plays with ample power and dexterity, which is remarkable since he was around 80 at the time of the recording. But this is not an old-man’s conception. The Fourth, Incantations, fares even better, but then it’s a masterpiece. Again, it is a big piece, but this one is more overtly “modern,” replete with much dissonance and harsher sounds. What strikes one first is the novel orchestration, with ideas appearing first in one section or instrument and handed off to another section or instrument. One time it goes from oboe to clarinet, but somewhere else it may go from the brass to the strings, all the while other sections of the orchestra are playing their own versions of the accompaniment. One especially interesting effect comes when Martinu creates a brief dialog and then synchronized passage for the harp and piano. You want power? The second movement opens with thundering timpani and acidic strings, punctuating the work’s modernity. Plus, there are some pounding chords that at times sound almost like tone-clusters. Martinu clearly was up on the tools of the time, and while one can hear influences (Bartok, Prokofiev, and Janacek, to name three), the way he weaves it all together is unique and Martinueseque. Yes, this short little piece is the highlight of the two-disc set, and surpasses the Leichner effort. Excellent sound from RCA’s engineers caps it all off.
The next disc is a 1990 Intercord release of Mozart’s D-minor, K466 (No 20) and D-major, K451 (No 16) piano concertos. Given Mr Firkusny’s strengths, I figured Mozart would be a strong suit for him. While the recordings are good, I cannot report that he sets new standards or reaches existing ones. Despite his occasional romanticism, Firskusny’s Mozart is definitely on the Apollonian end of the spectrum. He never resorts to extremes in anything – dynamics, tempi, expressiveness. It’s all played in a tasteful manner. This works relatively better in the D-major, a piece I don’t listen to too often, but it is not as effective in the D-minor. Oh, sure, the piece opens in an acceptably forceful and slightly dark manner, but no one revels in the darkness. It lacks the power of more romanticized versions (like Annie Fischer’s or Daniel Barenboim’s) or the lean, hard, energetically straight-forward intensity of Robert Casadesus’ supreme recording. It’s a middle of the road performance, stylistically. It’s not bad – Firkusny’s playing includes much to admire – but couple the approach with a second-tier group of players – Ernest Bour (who?) leading his Baden Baden orchestra – and this is hardly first-choice material. The glassy digital recording doesn’t help matters. Like I wrote before, the D major comes off better, with the approach better suited to the material. I will hang on to this disc. I have a feeling I may grow to appreciate it more over time.
That leaves the Orfeo release, and I saved the best for last. The disc is taken from a March 9, 1957 recital, and includes everything played except a Haydn sonata. (Why, oh why, couldn’t Orfeo have included the Haydn and released the set as a mid-priced twofer?) I’ve already listened to it twice and it strengths are apparent. The disc opens with Chopin’s Third Sonata, and a fine version it is. I’m not as fond of this work as the Second, but repeated listens over the last year, especially of Nelson Freire’s most recent recording, have raised the stature of the work. Firkusny plays pretty much how I though he would. He avoids extreme gestures and plays directly. His fingerwork is delightfully articulate, letting everything unfold nicely, and allowing both smaller inner voices and more powerful parts to emerge clearly. The opening two movements are taken rather briskly, though not disturbingly fast, and the little scherzo is relatively charming. He slows things down quite a bit for the Largo, and brings out the beauty inherent in Chopin’s writing. (Who says the piano cannot sing?) Perhaps he stretches things just a bit too much in a few places, with pauses that seem just a bit too long given his approach to the rest of the piece, but ‘tis no bother. The finale is dashed off gracefully, and his not-too-heavy, not-too-light, not-too-romantic approach succeeds. The obvious energy of the live recital helps.
The next piece is Janacek’s sonata. I am an avowed fan of Firkusny’s DG studio recording, finding it probably the best version I’ve heard (though Josef Palenicek ain’t too shabby), so I was eagerly waiting to here how he did it fourteen years earlier. Not too surprising, his approach is similar. His approach is about swiftness, fierceness, and anger. He pounds out the rage-filled crescendos of the first movement in a deeply moving way, never letting one forget that this was spurred by the death of an innocent man. One nice touch in the first movement is when he lets a longer than normal time elapse before playing the final, desolate chord. Most effective. The second movement sounds sadder, exhausted. The anguish of the events is too great; feverish intensity is not appropriate. Even for the listener, who can so easily get caught up in the raw, unfiltered emotion of the first movement, a reprieve of sorts is needed. Oh, he still hammers out the music when called for, but he sets the mood just right. Ultimately, I find his studio effort even more intense and more draining, but this is a wonderful addition to my small but essential collection of this work. Perhaps I should try his later, RCA recording to hear his final thoughts on the piece. No doubt they would be illuminating.
That leaves Mussorgsky’s towering masterpiece. Here Firkusny does something unexpected: he plays willfully. If any piano piece practically begs to be played that way, it’s this one, so I was actually pleased by the approach. One can hear the willfulness immediately. The opening Promenade is taken swiftly, as though intently and nervously moving through the gallery to find the right painting. Gnomus comes off somewhat unusually, with swift, choppy chords and stilted right hand figures. It works, but it is different from any other version I’ve heard. The Old Castle has some unusual and unusually effective sustained chords to add a dash of mystery. Oh, sure, others do it, too, but Firkusny does it just so. The next markedly different piece is Bydlo, which is dashed off very quickly. It’s certainly faster than I am accustomed to. The Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks is a sheer delight, Firkusny playing quickly, lightly and delicately. What follows is the most remarkable rendition of Samuel Goldberg and Schmuyle I’ve heard. Of course one of the two men is rich and the other poor, and their respective music brings that to the fore, but never so profoundly as here. The rich man is imperious and overbearing while the poor man comes off as desperate and fitful. The right hand playing brings an almost neurotic flavor to the desperation of the poor man; one feels his situation as never before. It is a truly remarkable performance. If perhaps the Catacombs are not quite frightening enough, and if the Great Gate of Kiev doesn’t come off as a Slavic Arch d' Triumph as with Pogorelich and, above all, Kissin, it is still a grand conclusion. All told, Firkusny brings his willful rendition in at just under 31 minutes. It’s just under 31 minutes of wonderful pianism. No, in the end he cannot match up to Byron Janis or Ivo Pogorelich, but I am glad to have this version gracing my shelves.
A few words on sound are in order. This is a 1957 recital, so one cannot expect the best sound. The mono piano image is quite strong and immediate, with a wide dynamic range, but distortion is apparent from time to time. In the Janacek it sounds as though there’s either some pronounced wow throughout or the piano’s sustain pedal wasn’t maintained properly and thus caused some wobbliness (that’s the best I can describe it) in the sound. I must note that this was only apparent in my main system and I could not notice it when I listened through my portable player. I can easily live with the sound to get these performances.
After this mini-festival, my opinion of Mr Firkusny has only been heightened. Perhaps one day the majors will see the light and reissue more of his back catalog. (Really, EMI’s 6-disc Firkusny Edition to commemorate his death was puny and not what he deserved.) If not every piece can be rated a success, on balance I’m glad I heard all of the recordings. I have no doubt I’ll spin them all again.