Not wanting for power octaves, throaty voicings or glitter trills, Yoav Levanon’s third recording for Warner Classics ticks some promising positives. The grandiose flourishes of Liszt’s First Concerto impress, the alloy of delicacy, breathed cadences and bravura veining the Second triggers the imagination. Technically athletic, Totentanz (the 1864 version), barring an affectation or two, stands its ground. It’s disappointing then that orchestral issues surface every now and again. Woodwind fluffs should have been covered, while several of the exaggeratedly staccato chordal attacks, erring on the side of bombast, might beneficially have been tempered. Solos (cello particularly) and ‘chamber’ ensembles, on the other hand, are characterfully toned and narratively eloquent, Michael Sanderling crafting organic unity and onward impulse, the recorded balance favouring a weighted sonority from the Lucerne Symphony.

Levanon, the booklet notes convey through words and pictures, is a 20-year-old besotted with Liszt. ‘A close, smiling friend, a supportive, loving and understanding presence … I aspire to continue [his] legacy.’ Following the Vulcanalian hell of Totentanz, three luminously confessional afterthoughts address this l’amour d’une vie: Ô pourquoi donc, S169; Frühlingsnacht, S568, after Schumann; and a transcription/pastiche/‘composition’ from Levanon himself, ‘Silent Love’ alla Liszt, based on Hugo Wolf’s ‘Verschwiegene Liebe’, a pretentious musing but for the manner, cadenza and pianistic opium of the past languidly permeating its pages.

This review originally appeared in the SPRING 2025 issue of International Piano