Great pianists are one of Brazil’s best-kept secrets, but not for long. Master Class embarks on an ambitious series devoted to previously unreleased live concerts and archival broadcasts by a broad range of artists. Very little live material featuring Guiomar Novaes has surfaced, apart from a poor-sounding late-1940s concert from New York’s Town Hall, issued by Music and Arts. By contrast, this August 20, 1969 recital from Rio de Janeiro is beautifully engineered and does ample justice to the great lady’s bottomless well of nuance and color. At 75, the pianist was not immune to occasional unsteady passages, hesitant moments, and wrong notes, but they don’t matter: This is some of the most daring, poetic, and creative pianism you’ll ever hear.
Indeed, few of Novaes’ numerous commercial discs convey the same kind of three-dimensional artistry heard here. The Gluck/Sgambati Melody from Orfeo e Euridice that opens the recital, for example, is rapturously and spontaneously spun. The pianist gives Saint-Saëns’ pastiche based on Gluck’s ballet from Alceste a looser, more unfettered treatment than her more gentle Vox recording from the 1950s. Her Schumann Carnaval speaks in pure, unadulterated old-school inner voices and reverse accents, whether in Pierrot’s treble/bass tune exchanges, Papillon’s rarely projected left-hand details, or her improvised, Mussorgsky-like tremolos in the Sphinxes. Schumann forbade the latter to be played, but that didn’t stop Rachmaninov, Gieseking, Cortot, Katchen, Horowitz, or Novaes from yielding to temptation.
Two delightful character pieces by Novaes’ husband Octavio Pinto (who died in 1950) clear the palette for Chopin’s Funeral March Sonata, whose third and fourth movements fare best. Novaes commences the Funeral March with veiled, disembodied chords filled with smoke and mystery. After the trio, the famous theme kicks in at full orchestral strength, in the spirit of Rachmaninov’s famous 1930 recording. Chopin, of course, wrote piano rather than fortissimo–but heaven knows few others can get away with such a shattering effect. Novaes’ pellucid Finale uncovers a wealth of hidden melodies and fanciful phrase groupings. Two Novaes encore specialties send the audience home agog and ecstatic: Vuillemin’s bagpipe-inspired Les Binious, and Gottschalk’s demented fantasy on the Brazilian National Anthem. I’m not sure, though, who’s having more fun–the audience or the pianist! All in all, this is an indispensable release for Novaes fans, and a rare treat for connoisseurs of historic piano recordings.
