The surface style of Debussy’s Preludes Book I speaks of allure, suggestion, and subtle tints, yet the composer achieves these qualities by virtue of his precise notation in regard to rhythm, duration, dynamics, and accents. To be sure, certain pieces easily can absorb and indeed benefit from the subjectivity and almost Lisztian panache that distinguishes Sergey Schepkin’s virtuosity. Ce qu’a vu le vent d’Ouest is one, and in Prelude No. 10 Schepkin’s elemental sonorities indicate that perhaps the Great Gate at Kiev protects Debussy’s sunken cathedral! (Schepkin, by the way, follows the composer’s piano roll recording by quickening the pulse leading into the central climax, as does Paul Jacobs). And Puck’s elfin dance-steps in No. 11 take on faster, fancier hoofing than usual. Other pieces work less well. Schepkin pays little heed to the specific dynamic gradations in Danseuses de Delphes, and his spiky, overarticulated approach to No. 3’s opening sextuplet figures sucks the music’s mystery dry. He ignores the crucial crescendo that sets up No. 5’s first marked forte and treats the melodies marked “expressif” more matter-of-factly than warranted. In No. 6 Schepkin supplements Debussy’s few tempo changes with his own less effective ones, while his own rubatos in Minstrels second-guess Debussy’s quirky stops and starts, much like a comedian who steps on his punchlines.
Next to the extraordinary textural differentiation and evenness artists like Michelangeli, Moravec, and Aimard bring to Images Book I, Schepkin’s more generalized, less colorful execution leaves no lasting impression, and neither does his efficient yet superficial L’isle joyeuse. Yes, the final page does catch fire, but where were those incendiary, orgiastic trills when we needed them earlier? If Schepkin projects his idiosyncratic Bach interpretations with total authority and conviction, it appears that his far more conventional Debussy is still being broken in.
