It’s good to have Vladimir Ashkenazy’s lone disc of Prokofiev solo works for Decca (recorded in 1967) beautifully refurbished. The 30-year-old pianist took a less propulsive view of the Seventh Sonata’s outer movements than did his teenage counterpart on EMI (reissued by Testament), taming the music’s sardonic edges in favor of lighter gestures and lyrical wit. If he doesn’t quite match the sleek accuracy of either Gould or Pollini’s pantherish leaps in the finale, admirably varied inner rhythms emerge from the music’s toccata-like patterns. Ashkenazy’s classically proportioned approach to the Eighth Sonata has more meat on its pianistic bones, so to speak, than can be carved from Richter’s cooler, more translucent finger work, and it proves no less convincing.
His sensitively gauged pedaling and spread chords aptly evoke the sad sensuality of Romeo and Juliet’s departure music arranged by the composer from the orchestral ballet. On the other hand, Mask’s feathery flourishes aren’t as light and playful as they might be. Given his sympathy for this repertoire, it’s surprising Ashkenazy didn’t explore more of Prokofiev’s solo works on disc. The same holds true for the pianist’s commanding, idiomatic, and intelligently virtuosic Liszt playing. He makes a veritable tone poem out of the composer’s rarely-heard F-sharp Impromptu, and his staggeringly quick, unfaltering octave leaps in Mephisto Waltz (not as hair-raising as his youthful Melodiya version, truth to tell) are worth the price of admission.
