Saint-Saens was a fine pianist himself, and the five concertos he wrote for his instrument between 1858 and 1896 are splendidly pianistic, reminding us of his debt to Weber, Mendelssohn and probably above all Liszt, whom he knew and admired greatly in his youth despite his later musical conservatism. Someone once called him ''the greatest composer who ever lived who wasn't a genius'', and it is true that compared to Liszt's two concertos these works are less memorable, probably because most of the tunes don't stick in the head. But the Frenchman knew just about all there was to know about making shapely forms and handling a dialogue between a keyboard soloist and an orchestra as well as being skilled in instrumentation, and judged as virtuoso music without pretentiousness the concertos altogether succeed. Another point worth making is that they are not all out of the same mould and have plenty of individual character, sometimes of a quirky kind—the way the Bachian opening to the Andante sostenuto of No. 1 is followed by flowery recitative is a case in point, as is the Egyptian flavour of No. 5, which was written on the Nile and incorporates a Nubian wedding song.
Philippe Entremont made these recordings with the Toulouse Capitole Orchestra under Plasson in the late 1970s. He is a pianist of skill and aplomb, fully equal to their technical demands, and he shows some understanding of the style. Nevertheless his tone (placed rather forwardly) often tends to harshness, and he fails to reveal all the wit in the writing. Furthermore, while the Toulouse orchestra gives good support musically, it seems that the digital remastering has not been kind to string tone and overall the sound is no more than adequate. For examples of what I mean about the piano tone, listen to the beginning of the Second Concerto or the second movement of the Fifth (better still, compare them with Ciccolini on EMI); and for the string sound, try the ending of the First with its final high violin D. Similarly, although the playful Allegro scherzando of the Second begins well, a certain heaviness finds its way in before long and the Presto finale, which is a kind of tarantella, suffers similarly, although one admires Entremont's dexterity. A pity, since there are good things: listen, for example, to the sensitive way in which Michel Plasson shapes the quietly lyrical orchestral passage near the beginning of the Andante in the Third Concerto, or the gentle soloist/orchestral dialogue beginning the Fifth.
The rival version of these concertos at medium price, which features Aldo Ciccolini, is much more attractive and idiomatic, and though the 20-year-old sound is on the dry side the music comes through well with piano quality superior to Entremont's and a more natural balance between the soloist and the orchestra. It has to be said, all the same, that if you don't mind paying full price the best currently available set of these concertos is the even more elegant and sparkling one from Pascal Roge and two London orchestras under Charles Dutoit on Decca.'