Here, in all their glory and individuality, are Rachmaninov, Moiseiwitsch, Edwin and Annie Fischer, Cziffra, Gilels et al, to remind us of some of the qualities beyond the easily measured or definable. Suitably launched by Liszt's Transcendental Etude No 1 - that brilliant flexing of muscles across the keyboard - we continue with a multi-form view of Beethoven's Appassionata Sonata, rapidly eliding performances by Solomon, Arrau, Myra Hess, Richter and Rubinstein. Jane Tusa's suave commentary may betray a superficial media bias but tired anecdotes, pseudo-formulations and blurring of distinctions (Rachmaninov and Moiseiwitsch had 'a similar fiery impassivity') are richly compensated.
The effort to encapsulate, subtly and succinctly, musical genius is evident not so much from Kissin, who topples easily into cliche, but in PiotrAnderszewski and most of all in Daniel Barenboim, who notes Cortot's way of seeking out the 'opium' in Chopin, of the 'spine' behind Rubinstein's Chopin, of his beloved Edwin Fischer's 'luminous quality of sound'. For him the artists of yesteryear read a score in a profound sense quite unlike the 'piano players' of today. They could also locate the precise place where the music exists, somewhere above and beyond the text. Above all, their bible was the sound, not the printed page.
However, it is wonderful seeing and hearing once more Myra Hess in Beethoven's Appassionata (heated and virtuosic behind her civilised exterior, according to Stephen Kovacevich, her one-time pupil) ; Arrau in Op 111 ('you have a message, and that's it; your body must be in contact with the depths of your soul, that's important, do you understand?') ; Annie Fischer whirling us delectably through Chopin's Minute Waltz; Cziffra making pulses race to the point of heart attack in Liszt's Grand galop chromatique; or Horowitz, whose devilry aroused the jealousy of pianists scarcely fit to mention his name, proclaiming his kingship of the keyboard in his Carmen Fantasy. Then there is Michelangeli's glacial perfection in Scarlatti and Gilels's storming Rachmaninov's G minor Prelude on the front line in 1943, he and his soldier audience oblivious to falling bombs and planes roaring overhead. All this and much more bring the ever-living past vividly into the present. Pianists, in particular, will listen, look, learn and wonder.'