It’s hard to imagine a time before recordings. We are so accustomed to having access to an expansive array of performances of the entire classical repertoire that we might not consider how life was when there was not even a single recording of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier or Beethoven’s complete piano sonatas, let alone one of a given waltz by Chopin or Debussy Prélude. Now, at the click of a button, we can listen to innumerable versions of these masterpieces. Yet with all the modern recordings that exist and continue to be produced, why is there a still an interest in those made when the process was far more primitive than it is today?

Most people have seen images or film of old wind-up cylinders and scratchy records spinning at a high speed, but it is generally less well known when this technology actually developed and who made the earliest recordings. By the time audio could be preserved, in the late 1800s, it was too late for Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin to leave us samples of their playing so that we could experience how they played their own music. Rumours have circulated about a Liszt cylinder, but if one exists it has not been found. Brahms recorded two cylinders that are almost too distorted to hear (there are faint glimmers), but we can more clearly hear (albeit in faded sound) several Arensky cylinders from the 1890s. Albéniz also made two cylinders in 1903, while Granados recorded a few disc performances about a decade later.

A number of composers preserved more extensive examples of their playing and their performances are certainly revealing. Rachmaninov recorded his complete concertos and a fair number of solo works, interpretations that are less sentimental than would be the norm even a decade after his death, let alone eight decades later. The pianism of more recent composers such as Prokofiev, Bartók and Stravinsky is distinctive for the absence of aggression and harshness of tone: they all had a non-percussive approach, with relaxed articulation that made their music sound almost like jazz. Even in their own lifetimes, their intent could be misunderstood: Andor Földes heard Bartók ask a student to please play his Piano Sonata ‘a little less Bartók-ish’.

Historical recordings give a glimpse into earlier eras of performance and expose us to different approaches to interpretation, and in so doing they reveal that there is more than one informed way to play any given work. None of the pupils of Liszt or grand-pupils of Chopin who left recordings sound like one another, each with their own approach to phrasing, timing and nuance. Rachmaninov appreciated the playing of Vladimir Horowitz and Benno Moiseiwitsch, neither of whom played like him or each other, and he even admired as radically different a conception of his Third Concerto as that of Walter Gieseking. Two pianists coached by Brahms, Ilona Eibenschütz and Carl Friedberg, also played differently from one another, which makes sense since Brahms himself said that he would not be so foolish as to play a work the same way twice.

It is precisely the permanence of the medium that led many artists (Friedberg among them) to avoid making records. Prior to the development of this technology, music was ephemeral, a present-time event that had to be experienced live in the same physical space as the musicians and instruments. Now a performance could be preserved as an unchangeable interpretation, frozen in time and available for repeated listening. Recordings should not be considered a replacement for attendance at concerts, yet they can provide a valuable opportunity to increase our appreciation of artistic expression and musical interpretation, especially when it comes to artists whose lifetimes predate our own.

While it is instructive to hear composers play their own works, there are countless other legendary musicians whose artistry is eminently worth exploring, and the online world is a portal to treasures of tremendous interest and historical importance. It is nothing short of miraculous that we can seemingly travel back in time to hear the Liszt pupil Eugen d’Albert perform the first movement of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto in a 1930 German radio broadcast; 35 years earlier he had played both Brahms concertos in a single concert with the composer conducting. We can also listen to Ilona Eibenschütz speaking in the 1950s about Brahms giving her the private premiere of his Opp 118 and 119, also hearing her play at a speed and with a degree of propulsion that some might consider sacrilegious but which the composer himself admired.

Some of the pianism we hear in historical recordings can be so different from current norms that it can at times seem jarring. I recall a group of university students being taken aback when I played them Rachmaninov’s 1927 recording of Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat, Op 9 No 2: ‘his timing adjustments are so extreme’, they exclaimed. I asked whether pianists from other generations might feel the same about present-day pianists’ playing. I added that he wasn’t just a random pianist but a composer whose music these students played – and then I asked a more pointed question: ‘What if we miraculously discovered a recording by Chopin and didn’t like it? Then what?’ The room went very quiet, and a student said: ‘Let’s continue listening.’

Our biases can lead us to instinctively reject a valid performance simply because it varies from our conscious and unconscious preferences, from what we’ve been exposed to. I always suggest listening to any recording more than once, as the ‘shock’ of a different approach might prevent us from fully grasping what the performer is actually doing. Sometimes, however, we might instantly appreciate what we hear. I will never forget the stunned gaze of a fellow student some 35 years ago when I played him a 1937 concert performance of Josef Hofmann playing Chopin’s First Ballade: wide-eyed and silent throughout, he simply said: ‘I never knew that such playing was possible.’

Therein lies the inestimable value of recordings of great musicians from all eras: an increased awareness of what is possible both musically and technically. We might think we’ve heard beautiful tone and dazzling fingerwork, and then we encounter a hitherto unknown recording and our understanding of what is truly possible expands. The point is not for students and professionals to copy what these artists did but rather to be inspired by hearing some intelligently conceived and executed interpretations – and on a bigger scale, as Jascha Spivakovsky advised when he suggested his students listen to the greats, to ‘seek what they sought’.

Of course, not all historical recordings are unsettling, the playing of many pianists being more universally appealing. Students, music lovers and professional musicians alike can marvel at Marcelle Meyer’s jewel-like sonority, Dinu Lipatti’s remarkably transparent voicing, Ignaz Friedman’s soaring melodic lines, Maryla Jonas’s disarmingly direct phrasing and Alfred Cortot’s inimitable yet distinctive timing. When I played excerpts from Géza Anda’s 1953 account of Schumann’s Études symphoniques for a university class, multiple students stated that they might as well give up because they’d never be able to produce such a sumptuous sonority or articulate with such deft precision. ‘But you didn’t know that this was possible until now,’ I noted, ‘so now you have something different to aim for.’

It should also be noted that not all historical recordings are inherently top-tier, for several reasons. Even in previous eras the reputations of some celebrated artists might have been greater than their actual playing. When Liszt pupil Moriz Rosenthal heard the legendary Ignacy Jan Paderewski, he noted wryly that ‘he’s very good but he’s no Paderewski’. (All joking aside, he still produced some fantastic recordings.) Many pianists were also past their prime when some of their records were made – Paderewski and Rosenthal among them – so we have to recognise that we might sometimes be hearing a musician in the twilight of their career. Nevertheless, with attentive listening it is possible to appreciate most performances by legendary musicians even if they are less than perfect.

Some artists were not at ease in the studio, even those who produced recordings that are still revered. Most musicians prefer playing for an audience rather than an empty space in which a red light signals the need to produce a commercially viable performance. In an interview Myra Hess spoke about how she loathed the studio and her own records – the same readings lionised by collectors of several generations – which naturally makes one wonder how her playing must have been when she felt she was at her best. The answer lies in the many hours of surviving concert performances of the British pianist: she could indeed play with even more grandeur and power in concert.

Unofficial recordings deriving from concerts, radio broadcasts and private settings can often more fully reveal a pianist’s true capabilities than their sanctioned commercial efforts, and these are also sometimes the only way to hear great musicians who didn’t have recording contracts. Hess is probably not the first pianist one would think of when it comes to the Brahms concertos or Chopin’s Fantaisie but the live recordings of her performing these works are astounding, with a blazing intensity that’s at odds with the prevailing public perception of the artist, based on official recordings that are somewhat limited in scope. Other pianists who were hit-and-miss in the studio often shine in concert broadcasts and private recordings: Egon Petri was recorded on a portable tape player playing Alkan’s knucklebusting Symphony for Solo Piano in a California college practice room, and it is one of the most sky-opening performances ever recorded. Jascha Spivakovsky released no solo recordings during his long life (unlike his legendary violinist brother Tossy) but home recordings and broadcasts published recently reveal some top-level playing by this long-forgotten figure.

At times we hear in these recordings something that is a deal-breaker for many modern listeners: wrong notes. Before precision editing was made possible with the adoption of tape technology around 1950, artists had to record their performances in four- to five-minute segments, their playing etched directly into the grooves that would be printed as a 78rpm disc. If they made any mistakes, they had to redo the whole section or leave it as it was. Such slips of the finger can seem egregious today, what with our current musical culture’s obsession with note-perfect performances, and as a result some historically important musicians have been accused of having ‘poor technique’. We should recognise that if today’s artists had to record unedited like those in the past, the results might be similar – or possibly even worse.

The obvious sonic limitations of early recordings should not be an impediment to exploring them. The more you listen to such documents, the more you can hear beyond the imperfections in sound quality to apprehend more of the playing. While recordings in poor condition require more concentration, some made as early as the 1920s can be surprisingly vivid: Mischa Levitzki’s 1927-28 discs, for example, capture his full-bodied tone and incredible buoyancy with astonishing fidelity. I happen to think that EMI’s 1950s recordings produced at Abbey Road are sonically superior to most modern piano recordings, those of Géza Anda, Benno Moiseiwitsch and Solomon being particularly exquisite. Of course it is the playing that is of primary importance, not simply the sound quality, though with good engineering and skilful mastering, decades old and even century-old performances can be very listenable.

The vast array of recordings available today can make it challenging to know what to listen to and why. The purpose of this new monthly column in International Piano is to explore some of the most illuminating historical pianists and their recordings from the past 100 years and more, providing some insight into the artists, their performance style and specific recordings to investigate. With a broader catalogue of sanctioned studio discs and unofficial concert, broadcast and private performances more easily accessible than ever before, there is an unparalleled opportunity to enrich one’s experience of music and artistic expression by hearing some truly outstanding piano-playing.

Next month, Mark will explore Dinu Lipatti in the October issue of International Piano. Subscribe today and never miss an issue.

www.thepianofiles.com