Given Tzimon Barto’s penchant for interpretive mayhem on disc, I approached his recording of Charles Ives’ Concord Sonata with trepidation. As it happens, Barto turns in an expansive, “neo- Impressionist” account of the music. It may not suit all tastes, yet Barto’s accomplished and sophisticated pianism helps to justify his approach.
Granted, pianists who take the opening “Emerson” movement’s frequent indications for speeding up and slowing down on faith achieve more kinetic and forward moving results compared to Barto’s relatively sedate, laid-back approach. By contrast, Barto shapes and articulates the rapid passagework in the “Hawthorne” movement’s opening pages more clearly than most, paying heed to the accents and inner voices. One might question his clipped and slightly affected handling of the march time episode (page 35 in the Associated Music Publishers edition) and most of the music building up to the con fuore climax, although the latter explodes without banging. Barto’s spacious and well sustained account of “The Alcotts” unfolds with little roadside posy sniffing, although his basic tempo is far slower than the “moderate” norm.
If the “Thoreau” fourth movement lacks the gentle animation and translucent textures distinguishing both of the Marc-André Hamelin recordings (not to mention his stricter adherence to Ives’ frequent tempo modifications), it’s hard not to be seduced by Barto’s ample sonority and prodigious color palette. Tabea Zimmermann plays the first movement’s brief and inconsequential viola measures, while Emmanuel Pahud gorgeously shines in the more substantial “Thoreau” flute solo. On the whole, the brisker, edgier, and more angular Jeremy Denk and John Kirkpatrick editions bring out the Concord Sonata’s rough-hewn passion and power, and come closer to the Ivesian mark. Yet you have to credit Barto for abandoning his customary vulgarian pose and showing up as a serious musician.
