The day I believe in these recordings will be the day when someone discovers Rachmaninov diary fragments that chronicle a marked – and depressing – change of interpretative heart for the actual sessions. As they stand, and even considering Wayne Stahnke’s painstaking realizations (where the music-roll data has been rendered computer readable then ‘translated’ for use), these ‘performances’ are a mere shadow of the titanic personality we know from those imperfect but inimitable RCA 78s.
You can quote me as many bits, digits and templates as you like; blind me with assurances of accuracy, even throw me passionate artist testimonials. It will make absolutely no difference. The fact remains that the fastidious (though spontaneous) timing, huge range of colour, lightning reflexes and tonal weight that characterize Rachmaninov’s best playing are barely hinted at, and then only in a sort of squeaky-clean caricature. Finest are the crisp articulation of the B minor Etude-tableau, the powerful central climax of the Melodie, Op. 3 No. 3, the thrusting accents at the end of the Barcarolle and at least some of the Polka de W. R. All convey the broad principles of Rachmaninov’s playing in technically impressive terms, but fail in those tiny, nerve-end inflexions that seem impervious to mathematical analysis. Listen to the 78s and you feel (more than actually hear) Rachmaninov’s leonine dynamic range, the thunderous tolling of his left hand, the chuckle of his phrasing (as in, for example, ‘Wohin?’) and innumerable subtleties that, while only sketchily reproduced in primitive sound, are nevertheless manifest. Here, it is as if a grand old palace has been demolished and a modern tower-block erected in its place – and we’re being asked to celebrate the difference.
If you want post-shellac Rachmaninov, then you would be far better off visiting his spirit through those many great players who absorbed his influence. Earl Wild is one, Zoltan Kocsis another; then there are Benno Moiseiwitsch, Byron Janis, Vladimir Ashkenazy and of course Vladimir Horowitz. The evidence according to Stahnke is of a technical wizard with no temperament – and temperament seems to me the one essential attribute that piano rolls never, absolutely never, capture.'