Few pianists can have both enchanted and enfuriated their audiences more than Samson Francois. Prodigiously gifted with limitless imagination and technique he could also be a chaotic rather than free spirit, shamelessly squandering his talent. Alas, his mercurial quality did not take kindly to the studios and although he was a prolific recording artist very few of his discs start to suggest the charisma and allure that so endeared him to his Paris public.
All these Concerto performances, dating from 1959-63, with the possible exception of Prokofiev’s Fifth, suffer from an idiosyncrasy and distortion that, particularly for those of us who heard Francois live, make for a sad listening experience. It is hard to square so many unmarked changes of pace and direction with the score and, given such wilfulness and caprice, rehearsal must have been largely irrelevant. Certainly all the conductors and orchestras involved are hard-pressed to hold things together. The clumsy negotiation of Schumann’s grace note at 0'05 in the Intermezzo from the A minor Concerto, the laborious contradiction of the finale’s vivace, the erratic opening flourish to Liszt’s First Concerto or the lack of raciness or volatility in Prokofiev’s Third could never be confused with the spontaneity, charm and, indeed, genius of some unforgettable London recitals given during the ’60s. The same composer’s Seventh Sonata is more convincing with mischievous point-making more apt than otherwise. Even so there are too many cogs missing at key moments in the precipitato finale.
The recorded sound is thin and colourless and so these performances are strictly for Samson Francois’ adoring French public