Straight into the top flight of Rachmaninov Thirds goes Arcadi Volodos’s recording, live from the Berlin Philharmonie last year. No doubt about that. To the top of the top flight? Not quite. And no doubt in my mind about that either.
So many things about it are distinguished and thrilling. The flowing tempo of the opening bars and the subtle assertion of soloistic presence augur well. I don’t much care for the way Volodos slows the end of the first mini-cadenza, towards 2'40'', but at least Levine ensures that the following orchestral transition keeps moving (how often conductors wallow here and break the back of the structure). Otherwise Volodos’s phrasing is consummately tasteful, all the way through to the cadenza. His textures are superbly graded, his tone never glaring, even under the pressure of torrents of notes. So what if he doesn’t feel obliged to follow the tempos the composer chose for his 1939-40 recording? Why should he, when he has such a fine grasp of the structure? There is the feeling of a deep intake of breath as the development starts, and the cadenza (the ‘big’ original one) opens with a darkly idiomatic frown, suggesting limitless strength in reserve.
All is well, in fact, until mid-way in the cadenza, where Volodos inserts a hiatus before the Allegro molto (at 11'08''). It sounds terribly calculated, as does the way he steers the cadenza towards its main climax (hear the incomparable Lazar Berman at this point, if you can find his deleted Sony disc). Of course, a couple of mannerisms in a performance are neither here nor there. And if Volodos takes the end of the first-movement subito piu mosso, rather than poco accelerando al fine, that’s no more cavalier than many of the great exponents of the past. What does bother me – and I felt this increasingly in the slow movement and the finale – is that such initiatives don’t always feel part of an organically conceived interpretation (the composer himself remains the touchstone here). Nor do they register as spontaneous expressions of temperament or inspiration (in which respect Argerich is without peer). Just a whiff of self-consciousness can be enough to cancel out a host of poetic or virtuosic touches. So while I’m sure I’m as amazed as any listener, and as envious as any pianist, at the clarity and velocity Volodos can bring to the toccata from 7'20'' in the finale, in the overall context it feels like a gratuitous display. That’s just the most conspicuous example. In some ways I was surprised to hear the applause at the end (there is some very mild coughing on the way), because the performance, fine though it is, has the feel of the studio rather than a live occasion, not least because it is so fantastically clean.
Overall then this is not a world-beater, but certainly one to assess at the highest level. I have nothing but praise for the BPO’s wonderfully cushioned but never complacent accompaniment and for Levine’s avoidance of all the usual pitfalls. The piano is quite forwardly balanced, so that every tiniest note emerges bright as a new pin; and given how wonderfully Volodos shapes everything, that didn’t bother me, although I did occasionally feel I wasn’t hearing the orchestra in its full glory. One or two woodwind solos sound artificially spotlit, but not outrageously so.
As for the solo pieces, well, the Cello Sonata arrangement is simply a marvel. It floats ecstatically, with air seemingly blowing through the textures as if through a Chekhovian country house on a cool summer evening. The final flourishes – Volodos’s addition – have a touch of genius. This is heavenly, and the other solos are little short of that.'