It’s good to see these wonderful, neglected (as a body) concertos getting some attention on disc. But in today’s market, with fine complete cycles available from Collard/Previn and Rogé/Dutoit, both available at a “twofer” price, any label should pause and ask itself if its planned new production stands an honest chance of being at least as good as, or better than, the competition. Sadly, this newcomer isn’t, particularly when compared to Collard. Hyperion lists this as Volume 27 in its series dedicated to The Romantic Piano Concerto, and therein lies the essence of the problem. Hough has the chops for these brilliant works, and he attacks them with gusto, adopting speeds generally a good bit quicker than the competition. But where’s the charm, the fantasy, the characterful phrasing, and those sudden gushes of warmth that energize even these comparatively neo-classical Romantic works?
Take a famous passage: the second subject of the Second Concerto’s middle movement, with its skipping accompaniment. This is deliberately popular music featuring a whiff of the music hall and a flirtatious impulse from the cellos. Rubinstein offers his typically fulsome sense of fun, Collard a touch of witty insouciance; Hough and Oramo simply speed up and rush through it without a second’s thought. And it’s not as if the composer doesn’t invite the soloist to inflect his melodies. Take the opening of the Fourth Concerto, for example, a passage peppered with gentle accents, sforzandos, and tenutos, all of which Hough (and Oramo) largely ignore. Or compare Hough’s hard, slam-bang brilliance in the “Egyptian” Concerto’s finale to Collard’s slightly slower but so much jazzier elegance and shapeliness. Of course, part of the problem stems from Oramo’s accompaniments. If this isn’t an orchestra sight-reading, then I don’t know what is. Listen to the chronically poor balances between strings and winds in that same finale (screechy piccolo atop poorly coordinated melody and accompaniment), or to the murky opening of the Third Concerto; or check out letter D in the Fourth Concerto’s first movement, where the piano’s rippling arpeggios all but disappear behind flavorless winds.
In general, Hyperion balances the piano much too closely, though as noted above it can disappear entirely now and then. Hough’s woody timbre, particularly in the lower registers, conspicuously lacks sparkle despite his hard-hitting approach. Mind you, these aren’t terrible performances; they’re professionally competent. But this music deserves more. It should gleam. Alas, close comparison to the competition reveals that Hough’s interpretations haven’t matured to the point where they deserve to be preserved on disc. It’s that simple. If Hough really feels strongly about these concertos, then let him make all of them a conspicuous part of his concert career and live with them for a while. I’m sure audiences will find the chance to hear them very enjoyable, and perhaps someday Hough can revisit in the studio the ones he feels closest to, in light of a couple of decades’ experience. For listening at home, though, Collard’s still your man for the complete set, and he’s available at less than half the price that Hyperion asks for.
