Those who claim the so-called “Grand Manner” as the exclusive domain of “historic” pianists must hear Nelson Freire in Chopin’s B-flat minor sonata. As in his Decca recording of the composer’s later B minor sonata, Freire channels his fondness for highlighting inner voices and bass lines within the context of a big playing style that’s characterized by dramatic sweep, flexible phrase shaping, and vivid communication. He pushes the first-movement development to the brink of breakneck yet never loses control, and he manages to make his tempo fluctuations in the Scherzo mesmerizingly fluid and cohesive. I’m reminded of Rachmaninov’s classic, idiosyncratic 1930 recording in the way Freire grasps the Scherzo’s treacherous leaps with fierce security and takes the return of the third movement’s famous Funeral March theme much louder than Chopin’s specified “piano” dynamic. Freire’s dazzling unison octaves in the Finale play up the music’s implicit twists and turns of harmony. In sum, this is one of those rare modern studio piano recordings that sounds and feels like a live performance.
The same goes for the Op. 10 Etudes, where tiny finger slips, moments of rushing, and pedaling miscalculations prove inconsequential in light of the pianist’s fetching spontaneity and local color. Listen, for example, to No. 6’s nuanced polyphony, No. 7’s playfully dispatched double notes, or Freire’s imaginative response to No. 10’s varied articulations. On the other hand, Freire’s headlong account of the Barcarolle conveys an overly precipitous, unsettled impression that leaves the music little breathing space–a far cry from Rubinstein’s elegant lilt and repose. Decca’s fine sonics capture Freire’s piano from a slightly distant yet realistic concert hall perspective.
