This issue, divided between two pianists of the past, continues APR's invaluable reminder of rapidly changing notions of style and interpretation; more rapid than is commonly supposed. What was once admired can easily—perhaps too easily-- be frowned on today. What is admired in the present could no less easily be frowned in the past; nothing is static, nothing stays the same. Put pungently, for Vladimir Ashkenazy, 'once we were music's masters, now we are its servants.' The debate of what is and what is not is ever evolving. Did Pianists of the past play with more character, with greater imaginative freedom or a welcome sense of caprice? Is today's concern with accuracy constricting and puritanical?
Many of the above questions and considerations came to mind as I listened to Fanny Davies's Schumann, to her aggressive over-reaction to sentimental notions of the Piano Concerto. It was not, as one critical wag put it, composed by Ivor Novello. After a brisk, indeed headlong opening plunge the playing becomes increasingly brusque as if to linger(as Myra Hess so memorably did in the first movement's A flat episode) would be self-indulgent The central Intermezzo is the reverse of 'grazioso' with any notion of intimacy or confidentiality swept aside. Not surprisingly, given Davies's general approach, she is more successful in the ebullient finale where she has you caught up in the exultant final pages.
In Kinderscenen, a surprise choice for a pianist of such temperament, Davies is ever-anxious to move from point to point, though there is a greater show of inwardness in the final two sections, in 'Child falling asleep' and 'the Poet Speaks,' In the Davidsbundlertanze, among Schumann's most subtly demanding master pieces, you are again given too little beyond the surface.
Then there is Adela Verne(1877-1952), a pianist of another order, who nonetheless returns you to a salon concept of Chopin's A flat Polonaise, diminishing the music's heroic and nationalist fervour(for Liszt the sound of the hoofbeats of the Polish cavalry)most notably in the sudden change to introspection after the central octave uproar, tossed aside like so much chaff.
Compensation comes in two encores where Verne gives you a fluent and affectionate alternative to Jorge Bolet's more stately Moszkowsky's 'La Jongeuse' and a winning charm in Cervante's picture post- card Three Cuban Dances.
I should add that my eye was caught by a writer desperate to comment favourably on this recording. For him, Davies's Schumann is 'refreshingly swift and dry,' one that 'prefers impetus over lyricism'. Again, the Concertos' Intermezzo is 'the fastest on record, a pit-stop between the main attractions.' Her Kinderscenen 'shows you how to prevent Schumann's simplicity without fuss.' Damning with faint praise this is a telling example of someone hedging their bets.
Bryce Morrison