Rachmaninoff: Complete Music for Piano Duo. Genova & Dimitrov
Piano Duo (Aglika Genova and Liuben Dimitrov). CPO. $33.99 (2 CDs).
Rachmaninoff – composer, conductor and
famously virtuosic pianist – produced an amazing amount of wonderful and
largely unknown music for two
pianists, either playing separate instruments or performing on one piano, four
hands. The neglect of this material seems both impossible to understand and
perfectly comprehensible in light of the superb new CPO recording in which the
Genova & Dimitrov Piano Duo present all of it. The impossibility of
understanding comes from the fact that these pieces span Rachmaninoff’s entire
compositional life, from his student days until his very last major work: it
seems simply unconscionable that these pieces are not better-known. But the
neglect becomes perfectly understandable through listening to this remarkable
release: these are exceptionally difficult works to play, and it requires pianists
who are not only virtuoso performers but also in perfect accord as to the
handling of this music to put it across successfully. How many piano duos are
there that can do this?
Thank goodness there is at least this one.
The near-intuitive way in which Aglika Genova and Liuben Dimitrov present this
music is simply wonderful to hear: the performances reach beyond exceptional to
the level of remarkable. No matter how familiar listeners are with
Rachmaninoff’s music, this two-CD set will give them new perspectives on what
he wrote, how he wrote it, and what he intended it to communicate. This release
is a genuinely enlightening experience.
This is not to say that all the music here
is “great,” by any means. Most of it dates to the 1890s, when Rachmaninoff was
in his 20s and just feeling his way into compositional territory beyond that of
Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov and Arensky. But even the earlier and/or lesser
works here are revelatory. Capriccio
bohémien on Gypsy Themes, Op. 12, shows Rachmaninoff channeling Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies, not fully
effectively but with considerable sensitivity to what can be done with a single
piano played with four hands. The little Polka
Italienne, also for piano four hands, shows Rachmaninoff delightfully donning
the guise of Johann Strauss Jr., as big a surprise as can be contained in a
work lasting less than two minutes. And the composer’s two-piano version of the
ubiquitous Prélude in C-sharp minor, Op.
3, No. 2 takes that exceptionally familiar work to a new communicative
level that displays it in a different aspect from the usual – highly
successfully.
There are fascinating contrasts in this
release, which shed light of distinct types on Rachmaninoff’s thinking about
composition and about the uses to which the piano or pianos can be put. The
very early Russian Rhapsody for two
pianos, for example, emerges as a set of variations on a folklike tune that
Rachmaninoff apparently composed himself – and in addition to its rhapsodic
feeling and variations form, it also displays elements of symphonic
construction, with a clear opening section, scherzo-like passages, an Andante portion, and then a finale.
Written when the composer was just 18, four years before his Symphony No. 1,
this piece already shows Rachmaninoff figuring out his own approach to
large-scale musical works – and doing so in a piece that lasts less than 10
minutes. There is a strong contrast between the Russian Rhapsody and the version for piano four hands of The Rock, Op. 7, written just two years
later and one of the more-familiar pieces played by the Genova & Dimitrov
Piano Duo. The Rock is a moving tone
poem that is packed with the sort of dour emotion heard so often in
Rachmaninoff’s music – and in the piano-four-hands version, the elements that
bring forth the melancholy impression of the material come through with even
more clarity than in the orchestral version.
Then there are the two suites for two
pianos – the earlier from 1893, the later from 1901. Each is in four movements,
but the way Rachmaninoff uses the form is quite different in the two pieces and
provides considerable insight into the contrasts in his thinking before the
disastrous debut of his Symphony No. 1 and after his recovery from the period
of compositional aridity that followed that work’s first performance. Suite No. 1 “Fantaisie (Tableaux),” Op. 5,
is straightforwardly pictorial and has some lovely tone painting of a type not
often associated with Rachmaninoff. Its movements are “Barcarolle,”
“Night…Love,” “Tears,” and “Easter,” with the cascading notes of the third
movement and the ringing of bells in all registers of the pianos in the fourth being
highlights of the many well-chosen effects. Suite
No. 2, Op. 17, is much more orchestral in construction. Its movements are
“Introduction,” “Valse,” “Romance,” and “Tarantella,” and the first three of
them all fade away instead of ending decisively – a curious and oddly affecting
effect that allows the highly extroverted finale to wrap things up particularly
clearly.
And
there is still more fascination in this compelling release. 6 Morceaux, Op. 11, for piano four
hands, would seem a relative trifle on the basis of its title and the bland
designations of its movements: “Barcarolle,” “Scherzo,” “Thème russe,” “Valse,”
“Romance,” and “Glory (Slava).” But while the first three movements are
comparatively straightforward, as befits a piece intended as much for amateur
players as for a professional recital, the other three are anything but
ordinary. “Valse” comes across as a dramatic operatic scene in three parts –
all in less than four minutes. “Romance,” far from being straightforwardly
tender, is eerie and considerably more chromatic than would be expected in the
mid-1890s for a work of this type. And “Glory (Slava)” is on an altogether
larger scale than the other movements, to such an extent that it somewhat
overshadows a work it is intended to complete. The Genova & Dimitrov Piano
Duo also treat listeners to another piano-four-hands piece aimed at amateur
players, a Romance in G that, unlike
the one in 6 Morceaux, comes and goes
pleasantly in less than two minutes and does not strive to be more than a salon
piece.
And then there is the climactic work offered here: Rachmaninoff’s two-piano version of his remarkable Symphonic Dances, Op. 45. Hearing this culmination of the composer’s creativity in two-piano guise proves genuinely revelatory: the intricacy of the music comes through beautifully, the rhythmic changes and highlights are exceptionally clear, the mood changes throughout the three movements are communicated with tremendous skill, and – not to put too fine a point on it – this version proves every bit as satisfying as the orchestral one, and that is really saying something. Aglika Genova and Liuben Dimitrov are truly exceptional performers and truly exceptional interpreters of Rachmaninoff: the two-and-a-half hours spent with their readings of his works for dual pianists not only provide tremendous listening pleasure but also offer, again and again, substantial insight into the composer and some new and enthralling ways of hearing and responding to his music.
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