Few moments in the concerto literature test the pianist more than does the first-movement entrance in this piece (the opening of Beethoven’s Fourth offers perhaps the most compelling comparison). The mood is one of simple dignity, and Cèdric Tiberghien fails miserably in realizing it. His tone is shallow, his articulation blurred with excessive pedal, and he spikes the phrases with little “expressive” hesitations that both cheapen the music and swiftly become predictable. And this single moment becomes the watchword for the entire performance. Tiberghien has no technical issues, but neither has he any compelling ideas about how the music should go beyond those annoying touches of rubato.
Nor is he helped by Belohlávek, whose soft-edged conducting was the great liability in Moravec’s Supraphon performance. He’s a bit more incisive here (at least the opening has timpani), but the end of the exposition still grinds to a near halt, and the moment of recapitulation, which ought to be thrilling, falls flat. The two later movements bring less that’s objectionable, perhaps because their emotional temperature is lower and Tiberghien thus has less motivation to fuss with the melodic lines, but they never rise beyond the sort of competence that we should take for granted. Given these facts, the presence of the Haydn Variations, another decent but never special reading, is irrelevant. With so many great recordings of this concerto available, there’s really no excuse for another unless it’s going to be very special. This one certainly is not.
