It is obviously not the sentimental aspect of Rachmaninov's music that has attracted Zoltan Kocsis to record all of the piano concertos for Philips (Nos. 1 and 4—6514 377, 2/84; No. 2—not yet released). His view of the composer is more involved with making an impact through spine-tingling virtuosity, balanced by moments of poetic insight. The big emotional climaxes emerge as powerful rather than affecting. Ashkenazy, on the other hand, on his earlier Decca recording, now over 20 years old, treats the melodic material with a greater sense of breadth and avoids the very fast tempos that with Kocsis have a habit of swallowing up detail.
If Kocsis gives the impression of being a young man in a hurry, I must admit that he also relaxes into moments of poetic beauty. When the second subject from the opening movement returns at the close of the finale, there is a mood of simple reminiscing that is touching. Unfortunately Ashkenazy's finale is musically unconvincing; he allows the writing to sound drawn-out and clumsy.
The C sharp minor Prelude, placed before the concerto, gives one an accurate foretaste of what is to come from Kocsis. It is thoughtfully conceived and has the same degree of intensity that can be found in the slow movement of the concerto. Kocsis's arrangement of the Vocalise cannot quite vie in terms of style with Earl Wild's transcription (dell'Arte DBS7001, 12/82), but after the effusiveness of the concerto it is welcome to hear an introspective piece of reverie.
Quite naturally, the digital sound of the new release is superior to the earlier recording, especially concerning the piano tone; the middle treble range with Ashkenazy is rather wooden. Nevertheless, Fistoulari's orchestral accompaniment is a good deal more idiomatic and attractive than de Waart's.'