I have remained haunted by Francesco Piemontesi's recent recording of Liszt's 12 Transcendental Etudes and the B minor Sonata, performances of the grandeur and nobility that the late Alfred Brendel found in a composer long discredited as theatrical and superficial. And now in a performance of Brahm's B flat Concerto, Piemontesi takes you to still greater heights.
Argument may continue over the relative qualities of both the Brahms Piano Concertos, yet if it is claimed that if the First confirms its D minor key in music of a raging passion, disquiet and tragedy(the central Adagio a tribute to Brahms's beloved Schumann after his attempted suicide) the Second, in supreme contrast, confirms its B flat major signature in an essentially lyrical masterpiece.
For Piemontesi this is simple minded. For him the Second Concerto is like some giant and daunting mountain peak that takes sheer scope and stature into a new realm . Accordingly, his performance is brilliantly alive to the music's epic nature, his sonority massive and visceral yet conveying its subsidiary lyrical impulse in a no less assured acknowledgement.
Again, it is no exaggeration to say that even with performances in the catalogue by pianists of the stature of Gilels(both his early RCA and later DG discs), Fleisher, Kovacevich, Pollini(with Abbado) and the much lamented late Nicholas Angelich, Piemonte's reading is of such a fierce impetus and drive that he temporarily erases even the most elevated names from the memory. How he makes you recall Donald Tovey's reference to that moment in the first movement when 'the air is full of whisperings, and you seem to hear the beating of mighty wings.' He also reminds you that the fourth movement is no light-weight relief from such grandeur, is more than 'a glory of tumbling gaiety' or (Tovey again) a ' great, child-like finale.' His drive and impulse are ever-present and, never more so than in the second movement and Brahm's sardonic reference to 'a tiny, tiny wisp of a scherzo' that it is far from playful or a joke.
If I were to add that the Concertos' opening is made as expressively inclusive as it is natural or that the starry climb of the pianist's first entry in the Andante makes you hold your breath you will sense my feeling that this is a performance on a scale rarely achieved by even the greatest pianists. Too fiercely ignited for some, it soars to the heavens for others.
The Gewandhaus orchestra under Manfred Hoeck are superbly in accord with their soloist's command of what he himself describes in his accompanying note as surely 'the finest Piano Concerto ever written.' He pays tribute to both orchestra and conductor, and also to his mentors, Cecile Ousset and Alfred Brendel(both of whom recorded this Concerto).
For encores Piemontesi chooses the Three Intermezzi, opus 117, a far and gently pained cry from the Concerto's elemental storm-scape. Others may have found a more indirect path to poetic truth(I am thinking in particular of Radu Lupu) yet the ease and clarity of PIemontesi's musicianship shine out in every bar. Balance in the Concerto is exemplary and so is the sound throughout. Plans are already in place to record the D minor Concerto with the same team. In the meantime, this is a record I could never be without.
Bryce Morrison