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  Наименование CD :
   Richter The Master, Vol. 2: Mozart



Год издания : 2007

Компания звукозаписи : Decca

Время звучания : 2:18:24

К-во CD : 2

Код CD : 475 8127

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CD, стоящие на полке рядом : Classics (Guru)      

Vol.1, Vol.2, Vol.3, Vol.4, Vol.5, Vol.6, Vol.7, Vol.8, Vol.9, Vol.10

What made Sviatoslav Richter's Mozart performances great wasn't his effortless phrasing, balanced tone, poised tempos, and flawless technique. As integral as all those qualities were to Richter's Mozart performances, what made them truly great was the depth of humanity and the heights of spirituality that suffuse his interpretations. In this two-disc Decca set recorded in 1966 and 1991 - the same disc set released as part of Philips' Richter Edition in 1994 - Richter takes on five sonatas - the F major K. 280, the B flat major K. 333, the G major K. 283, the F major K. 533, and the C minor K. 457, plus the Fantasia in C minor, K. 475 - and turns in performances of pure gold every time. Although his choices are typically eclectic - why did he choose the two early K. 280 and 283 sonatas instead of two later sonatas is unknown - and his interpretive decisions are typically challenging - why he chose to take the repeats in the B flat major Sonata's Andante cantabile and thereby turn it into an unprecedented 12-and-a-half-minute slow movement is unguessable - Richter's elevated lyricism, heightened drama, and exalted intensity make every performance seem not only right but utterly inevitable. The earlier live from Salzburg stereo sound is distant but vivid, while the later live from Como digital sound is closer and even more vivid.

========= from the cover ==========

SOLITARY AT THE PIANO

Sviatoslav Richter's Keyboard Monologue

I heard Sviatoslav Richter several times, but unfortunately I never spoke to him. A conversation would probably have confirmed the impression made by the concerts: a solitary man, tormented inwardly and outwardly by fate, weighed down with responsibility and inner tension. Isolation, the artist's lot in today's world. The tragic wandering figure from Winterreise transferred to the piano - that is how Sviatoslav Richter came across to me. He seemed to be surrounded by the images of frost and night from the Schubert song-cycle. With Peter Schreier, Richter made a moving recording of these songs: twenty-four stages of loneliness - a self-portrait at the keyboard.

Sviatoslav Richter emanated oppression. Listening to his playing, one is neither elevated nor "transported to a better world", feels neither amazement nor childish delight; one envisages oneself exposed to the dark magic of the music. Schubert is supposed to have said that he knew no happy music: Richter certainly knew none. Whether he was playing a Landler or an exuberant Etude, it was underpinned by a melancholy pedal point. Richter was neither euphemist nor magician, neither man of the world nor ratcatcher - he declared a state of emergency. He commanded a breath-taking technique, yet one was only marginally aware of it, for it was purely a subordinate means of expression, taken almost for granted. Richter could play the most pianistically difficult music as he did the simplest, mastering it by means of an unrelieved espressivo.

There are two Richter recitals that I never could and never wish to forget: Schubert sonatas at the Mozarteum during the Salzburg Festival of 1964, when the city had not yet been afflicted with a hectic musical tourist industry; and Beethoven violin sonatas at the Munich debut of the young Oleg Kagan in February 1975. In Salzburg Richter, then in his fiftieth year, played my favourite piece, Schubert's last piano sonata in B flat. Salzburg sensibly did not invite Richter to the huge arena of the Festspielhaus, but placed at his disposal the intimate, agreeably old-fashioned Mozarteum, where the piano monologues of the two solitary figures, Schubert and Richter, were in no danger of becoming attractions and diversions. Richter shocked me: a harassed figure, nervous, weary, pale, careworn. The almost superhuman head inclined. A condemned man walking towards the piano as though towards his execution. The worn dinner jacket, slightly too small, seemed to bother him, as though it were unsuitable. I had the impression of a man under external and internal pressure, more a delinquent than a star. He played without any virtuoso display; pianistically speaking, of course, the Sonata in B flat presents no remarkable technical problems. Disregarding the coughing auditorium, Richter played a four-movement monologue at the keyboard, the outpourings of a kindred spirit, anguished and solitary. It would have seemed a deadly sin to Richter not to repeat in its entirety the extremely long exposition of the first movement, exactly as Schubert prescribed. A fortissimo is rare in the last sonata; Richter held back, evaded any crashing sounds, concealed the claws that he could well have used at times. An almost browbeaten introvert, a musical soliloquist, proclaimed, to his dismay, a star. And a man who lived under the threat of the knout. I do not know to what extent Richter was oppressed by the Soviet regime, but he came across as a man who was being used and exploited and who certainly had nothing to laugh about. At very rare moments I saw on Richter's face the melancholy smile of the depressive. Richter was certainly a depressive. Whether this was due to his talent or to the political situation is impossible to say; probably the two interacted.

Schubert's last sonata is the antithesis of a concert piece. Richter played it just like that, unpretentiously, like a study in touch and in soft playing, far from any sort of bravura, but also from sentimentality. The scherzo whisked by, his fingers seeming scarcely to touch the keys. The first movement moved, without any concession to virtuosity, at the pace of Schubert's choice: Molto moderato. The sinister bass trill, which returns later as a punctuating figure, hinted at the darkness that lurks below the ostensible brightness of B flat major. The triplets spoke, every one of them clearly articulated. The closing group of the exposition evaporated into nothingness, a proper Abgesang with Viennese touch.

The Russian violinist Oleg Kagan (1946-90) found his way into the concert halls of Central Europe through the side door. Sviatoslav Richter, making generous use of his own popularity, promoted him in a series of Beethoven recitals. The name Oleg Kagan meant nothing to the public; he was taken for yet another of those rapidly circulated and soon forgotten competition winners that delight music pedagogues and bore audiences. A curious duo entered the hall: Richter, grey-haired, his face lined by a taxing career, and Kagan, thirty-one years younger, like a Russian Siegfried, tall, blond and slightly self-conscious. The violin sonatas, Op.12, generally abused as warming-up pieces, rose to their full height as expressive duo sonatas with the piano in the leading role. Sviatoslav Richter, fundamentally lyrical, insisted on pathos, in the Greek sense of the word, which means suffering, the passion of idealism. The same emotional strength makes itself heard in Richter's recordings of the "Appassionata", particularly that of his Carnegie Hall debut in 1960. What of the stylistic questions of Beethoven interpretation? Profuse expressiveness was its own legitimisation.

Sviatoslav Richter was clearly distressed by the isolation of the piano. His solitary position before the audience seemed to embarrass him. In chamber music he appeared more at ease, playing Brahms with the Borodin Quartet, Beethoven's cello sonatas with Rostropovich, works by Franck and Dvorak. The presence of kindred spirits seemed to help him relax.

He was a musician rather than just a pianist. It is said that he wanted to be a conductor. The symphonies of Schumann and Brahms under Richter, the Bach Passions, the orchestral works of Tchaikovsky - these are not so difficult to imagine. Nor is it difficult to think of Richter as a scholar, or even a monk. He was always enveloped in solitude, the domain of the introvert.

He was one of those late developers rare in music. His rise began at an age when others have already toured the world several times. The deferment gave him an advantage: late blooms last longer. It was quite a long time before Richter emerged as a Bach interpreter, apart from a few early performances. He had to slave over Bach. For a musician growing up in Russia in the Twenties and Thirties, Bach was very inaccessible: a Baroque monument of polyphony, as incompatible with Russian emotionality as it was with Stalinist aesthetics. Later, Sviatoslav Richter could simply announce that he would play an all-Bach recital; he found programmes advertised months in advance restrictive, and latterly he had reached an age and stature when he could perform spontaneously, so that he could concern himself entirely with the music. Richter's Bach may have disturbed historical purists: it was Bach in the timbre and spirit of the modern concert grand, clearly and deliberately articulated, not an abstract jigsaw puzzle following the rules of strict counterpoint, but music full of excitement, sensitivity and sonorous dignity, expressiveness in the guise of methodical forms. I would not be without Richter's Bach interpretations; they tell of the greatness of Bach, the might of a composer who filled the coded forms of his age, an age ruled by convention, with overwhelming expressiveness.

There is one thing I particularly admired about Sviatoslav Richter: his high-minded nervousness prevented him from duplicating himself mechanically from concert to concert. He played differently at every recital, because he always approached the work anew. There is no Richter style that may be parodied, or even imitated. There may possibly, indeed hopefully, be a succession in spirit. After countless performances of the C major Fantasy or Kinderszenen Richter still seemed to sense Robert Schumann's vulnerable existence; in Brahms's late piano works to ponder the subtlety and distinction with which feelings are expressed in them; and in the works of Liszt to appraise anew their breadth of fantasy.

Superlatives have been heaped upon Sviatoslav Richter's performances and recordings. The common denominator of every tribute is this: whether Richter recklessly goes beyond the limits of technical possibility, or whether he restrains himself for the sake of poetry of touch, he remains in every bar a musician, an artist, a personality.

- Karl Schumann (translation Mary Adams)


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   1 01 1. Allegro Asai         0:07:09 Piano Sonata No. 2 In F Major, K. 280 (K. 189e)
   1 02 2. Adagio         0:09:41 -"-
   1 03 3. Presto         0:03:33 -"-
   1 04 1. Allegro         0:10:14 Piano Sonata No. 13 In B Flat Major, K. 333 (K. 315c)
   1 05 2. Andante Cantabile         0:12:32 -"-
   1 06 3. Allegretto Grazioso         0:06:36 -"-
   1 07 1. Allegro         0:05:51 Piano Sonata No. 5 In G Major, K. 283 (K. 189h)
   1 08 2. Andante         0:06:38 -"-
   1 09 3. Presto         0:05:39 -"-
   2 01 1. Allegro         0:11:26 Piano Sonata In F Major, K. 533/494
   2 02 2. Andante         0:14:36 -"-
   2 03 3. Rondo (Allegretto)         0:06:10 -"-
   2 04 Applause         0:00:48  
   2 05 Fantasia For Piano In C Minor, K. 475         0:14:09 -"-
   2 06 1. Molto Allegro         0:08:57 Piano Sonata No. 14 In C Minor, K. 457
   2 07 2. Adagio         0:07:43 -"-
   2 08 3. Allegro Assai         0:05:48 -"-
   2 09 Applause         0:00:54  

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