It is hard to believe that Van Cliburn is 60. Yet it is already 36 years since that unique triumph at the 1958 Tchaikovsky Competition when Cliburn stunned and bemused his Russian audiences with a tone like burnished gold and an emotional largess that made grown men weep. To this day he is spoken of with awe and reverence in Moscow. Alas, Cliburn was unable or unwilling to sustain such a career and, despite John Pfeiffer's warmly appreciative accompanying notes, it is difficult to see Cliburn's subsequent career as one of continuing glory. Recorded in 1972 (the Brahms live, the Rachmaninov in the studio) and partnered by Kondrashin, Cliburn's favourite conductor, both these performances are certainly characterful, the identity of the soloist unmistakable. Yet already Cliburn's inflated, oratorical style is surely a vulgarization of genuine Brahmsian richness and breadth. Even his colossal tonal resource is somehow negated by a billowing and rhapsodic rubato that saps the strength of each immense arch and phrase. His gushing reply to the horn's opening is a case in point and after a while the stomach rebels at so much expressive lard. Tempos throughout are exceptionally expansive, allowing for altogether too many passing luxuries, and the audience response is cool rather than ecstatic. Clearly Cliburn's normally adoring Russian audience felt that this time he had gone too far.
The Rachmaninov is more acceptable, even though it is hardly for those who like to be kept on their toes by rapid fire or spine-tingling bravura (Earl Wild on Chandos and, more inclusively, Ashkenazy on Decca). Cliburn's punishing rhetoric erases much vivacity from Vars. 6 and 8 and the little expressive curlicue at the end of each phrase of Var. 15 is a far cry from, say, Rachmaninov's own lightning reflexes and satirical bite. Time and again (particularly in the famous eighteenth Variation) the divide between Rachmaninov and Gershwin becomes dangerously narrow. The recordings have been excellently managed but overall these performances show how early brilliance—and in Cliburn's case genius—can be quickly blighted by commercial pressure.'