John Ogdon was a pianist of awe-inspiring natural talent, one of the most gifted British pianists of this century. His genius was fragile: the story of his mental illness, of the prolonged struggle to stabilize the schizophrenia that severely interrupted a glittering career, is well-known. It should not, however, detract from our view of his impressive, if slightly uneven, recorded legacy; this fascinating disc is a fitting tribute to his mercurial and multi-faceted pianism.
Ogdon felt a special allegiance towards Liszt throughout his life. His repertoire was uniquely vast and varied, but Liszt’s music was a pervasive thread. He included the Dante Sonata and the First Mephisto Waltz on his debut recording in 1961 (recordings which frame the current programme), and his “La campanella” astonished the audience at the Tchaikovsky Competition the following year. I well remember attending Ogdon’s final recital, at London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall in 1989, ten days before he died, when he played Liszt with a perfect combination of demonic electricity, passionate involvement and reflective repose that characterized his best performances.
This disc contains recordings from the 1960s, excellently remastered, made either side of Ogdon’s success at the Tchaikovsky Competition. His responses are varied, from the restrained composure of the Dante Sonata and Mephisto Waltz (unusually delicate and poetic performances of these virtuoso war-horses) to the playful abandon of the Paganini Etudes. In the later works, too, Ogdon finds the right balance between austerity and emotional involvement. The Trauermarsch, in particular, receives a penetrating performance, darkly and powerfully funereal. And “Funerailles”, indeed, conveys the same sense of forceful intensity, Ogdon capturing the spirit of Liszt’s instruction for lots of sustaining pedal, building an appropriate mass of sound – rarely can the tolling bass notes have rung so resonantly. By contrast, the first of the Liebestraume shows Ogdon at his most gently lyrical, coaxing a beautifully radiant tone.
But it is the Etudes that make the most lasting impression. Ogdon’s recording of “Gnomenreigen” (from S145) is the fastest on record (at 2'13'' – in fact the piece is over at 2'06'' – eclipsing even Richter); significant detail may be lost at such a manic tempo (some notes are skated over), but the effect is thrilling, although Richter achieved greater clarity and aplomb. There may be imperfections, too, in the rapid scales of the second Paganini Study, but I can’t recall a more exciting performance, one so characterful, witty and engaging. Ogdon’s playing can be both imperious and fallible, engulfing and fleet-footed; it isn’t always a smooth ride, but it is an exhilarating one.'