Versatility is the watchword here. Andre Previn’s distinguished career has embraced an extraordinarily diverse range of activities – conductor, pianist, bandleader, arranger, composer – all of which he has mastered with seemingly effortless aplomb. At the age of six, he began his piano studies at Berlin’s Hochschule fur Musik. Two years later, in 1938, the Nazis forced his family to move from the German capital to Paris where young Andre came under the tutelage of Marcel Dupre at the Conservatoire. In 1939, the Previns finally emigrated to the USA, settling in Los Angeles where Andre’s second cousin, Charles Previn, was Director of Music at Universal Studios.
In his early- to mid-teens, inspired by the artistry of Art Tatum, Previn blossomed into a formidable jazz pianist and he became a key figure in the emergence of the Californian ‘West Coast Jazz’ scene. Small wonder, then, that the six deliciously affectionate Gershwin improvisations on the second disc (four of which also feature David Finck on double-bass) betoken an undimmed sense of re-creative fantasy towards, and idiomatic sensitivity for, Gershwin’s sublime inspiration. These were, I note, recorded at Tanglewood as recently as August 1997, yet Previn’s pearly timbre remains as distinctive as ever. As for the Rhapsody and Concerto, we get Previn’s 1984 Pittsburgh re-makes, more capricious in spirit and less weightily sonorous than this artist’s LSO versions for EMI from 1971. Some colleagues, I know, have always harboured misgivings about the easy, almost ‘throw-away’ casualness of Previn’s contribution – and, yes, the tinny piano tone takes some getting used to – but the Pittsburgh orchestra responds with unassuming panache (wonderfully colloquial solo trumpet in the concerto’s slow movement) and both readings have a certain playful nonchalance to which I have personally always rather warmed.
One month prior to those Gershwin concertante items, Previn recorded Mozart’s K453 with the VPO, a more relaxed, less inhibited affair than his 1973 predecessor with Boult and the LSO (HMV, 1/74 – nla), but still perhaps a little too uncomplicated and lacking in subtlety of tonal nuance for some. In the sublime slow movement, the microphones pick up with distracting fidelity the gently ‘thumping’ action of Previn’s chosen instrument. The witty finale fares best, but ultimately this is not really memorable.
Previn recorded his version of the Shostakovich First Concerto with Bernstein in 1962, some four years after Lenny’s keyboard-directed account of the same composer’s Second (with which it has already twice been coupled on CD). In point of fact, that earlier recording boasts a more palatable piano timbre than the present one (where the effect is somewhat wooden and brittle), but Previn proves an eminently stylish protagonist. Bernstein, too, draws a characterful response from his New York strings and, if the reading as a whole is not without its moments of slackness, the interpretation remains a notable one.
The Poulenc selection was recorded the following year (again in New York) and virtuoso items such as the ‘Toccata’ from the Trois pieces (1928) and Presto (1934) – the former a great favourite of Horowitz, the latter dedicated to him – offer ample evidence of Previn’s impressive technical prowess. Elsewhere, Melancolie (1940) is especially touching, its intimacy and gentle heartache perceptively conveyed, while Previn’s Suite francaise combines glitter and grace to pleasing (if not always ideally charming) effect. The piano tone is rather hard-edged but the ear soon adjusts and background-noise is quieter than on the concerto recording.
Hardly an essential purchase, perhaps, but Previn’s many fans will surely find plenty to enjoy.'