Piano legend Josef Hofmann refused to program the complete Chopin Etudes, claiming that no artist could do equal justice to each one. For all his technical wizardry, Vladimir Horowitz may have harbored a similar attitude. Only 11 out of the 27 Etudes figured in his recorded repertoire, 10 of which Sony includes in this all-Chopin reissue. While the recordings are thrice familiar to Horowitz mavens, Sony’s latest remasterings boast slightly more tonal body, ambience, and amplitude than in previous transfers. Rehearing these performances inspires fresh observations on my part.
Horowitz’s brisk, almost poker-faced dispatch of the lyrical Op. 10 No. 3 etude’s outer sections strikingly offsets the central episode’s overt drama. The other slower etudes (Nouvelle Etude No. 2, Op. 10 No. 6, and the Op. 25 Nos. 1 & 7) reveal Horowitz’s bel canto-inspired legato phrasing and genius for tone painting at their most inspired. Varied articulations and shadings hold your attention throughout the E minor Op. 25 No. 5, but the mood is shattered by Horowitz’s clangorous prolonging of the final trills. The pianist’s nimble fingers uncover the melodic essence behind the F major Op. 10 No. 8’s runs, along with a few ear-catching left-hand inner voices.
Evenness and sparkle rather than speed distinguish the famous “Black Key” etude, and the C-sharp minor Op. 10 No. 4’s unhackneyed inflections and pulverizing detail resemble the young Horowitz rather than a pianist nearing 70. The 1963 and 1972 recordings of the Revolutionary Etude are placed back to back, making for fascinating comparisons (the earlier one has a bit more breadth and refinement of voicing, the later version is gaunter and stricter in rhythm). We can similarly compare the 1968 G minor Ballade and its 1965 counterpart (both recorded live at Carnegie Hall). Both contain moments of gorgeous lyric beauty and perception (the fifths leading into the E-flat theme, for example) as well as effect-oriented calculation (the coda’s oversized dynamics).
As a cycle, the Op. 28 Preludes’ harmonic daring, Byronic mood swings, and pianistic resourcefulness would seem to have suited Horowitz’s high-strung temperament. We have to be satisfied with just the B minor and D-flat “Raindrop” preludes, played with spacious simplicity. I save my favorite selection for last, as Horowitz the piano orchestrator and grand master of spinning filigree into gold come to the fore in Chopin’s lightweight but effective Introduction & Rondo. Few had heard of this piece before Horowitz recorded it in 1971, and his playing simply crackles with imagination and brio. Self-recommending.
