To the casual ear, neither Brahms’ B-flat Concerto or Paganini Variations sound as difficult as they actually are to play. Julius Katchen, though, relishes their challenges like a meat-deprived lion jawboning a stack of raw, juicy steaks. Can the late pianist’s Brahms B-flat really be a 40-year-old recording? Its sizzle hasn’t dimmed, although Eloquence’s hiss-ridden transfer is slightly inferior to the 1995 Double Decca reissue. Neither transfer, in fact, conveys the warmth and impact of the London Stereo Treasury budget LP. At any rate, Katchen possessed the musical, technical, and intellectual security that allowed him to traverse this music without fear, to look Brahms squarely in the eye, tweak his beard, and deflate the upholstery. The pianist’s impetuosity and daring sometimes results in a few rushed or smudged passages, but who cares when the playing is as heartfelt, fresh, and, yes, poetic as Katchen’s is here. His long-breathed, muted trills in the slow movement will break your heart. And Katchen does something cute in the finale. At the coda’s outset, he begins his right hand octaves at a deliberate trot, and slyly speeds up to a devilish sprint toward the finish. It’s not what Brahms wrote, but it works! Janos Ferencsik’s powerful, clearly delineated conducting has a galvanizing effect on the London Symphony Orchestra. The aforementioned qualities Katchen brings to the concerto inform his over-the-top romp through the Paganini Variations. This is the second of the sensitive fireater’s two versions. Wonderful as it is, this is at least the third time Katchen’s 1965 recording gets reissued on CD, while the pianist’s earlier, and arguably better played Paganini Variations languish in the vaults.
