There are various hurdles to cross here, sound-wise, but the pay-off is, in purely musical terms, almost beyond reckoning. The finest performance and recording overall are of the big Bach D minor Piano Concerto in Busoni’s Technicolor re-working, a wonderful vehicle for Dinu Lipatti’s miraculous dexterity. Heard beside the exciting but occasionally cavalier Alexander Borovsky, Lipatti is a model of composure: unruffled in spirit, peerless in his voicing and weighting of chords and, from 6'38'' into the first movement, a true master of the slowly retreating diminuendo. The Romanze (Larghetto) second movement is both profoundly sorrowful and a fine example of Lipatti’s bel canto tone, and when the finale heads towards its brief closing cadenza (played here with considerable grandeur and vast reserves of tone), the music’s rhythmic momentum is fearlessly maintained. Eduard van Beinum conducts a sympathetic accompaniment, not as taut – or as brisk – as Eugen Bigot’s for Borovsky, but unfailingly supportive of the soloist and especially sensitive at the beginning of the second movement.
In Liszt’s E flat Concerto, it’s interesting to compare the 30-year-old Lipatti in 1947 with the 19-year-old Michelangeli (Lipatti’s junior by three years) in 1939, also recorded live with the Suisse Romande Orchestra under Ernest Ansermet (albeit incomplete). Both players sport fluid, even fingerwork and a declamatory approach to the Quasi Adagio’s central section, but it’s Lipatti who leaves the stronger impression, with his speedy trills, lightning inflections and an expressively controlled rubato that reminds me of Cortot. Yet again, one mourns the loss of this massive talent, who was tragically taken from us by leukaemia at the age of 33.
Although the sound quality for Liszt is rather better than it was on a previous Urania release, it’s still pretty wretched, with a tubby, distant orchestra and a volley of shellac surface noise. In Bartok’s Third Piano Concerto the sound – which is actually rather good – is less of an issue than an ill-disciplined, out-of-tune orchestral accompaniment under Paul Sacher, though, to be fair, in 1950 this was still relatively ‘new’ music. There’s not too much to complain about in the Adagio religioso, and Lipatti’s performance is as poised and serenely untroubled as any I’ve heard since. There are wonderful moments elsewhere, too: even runs, breathtaking pianissimos, strong fortes and a spiritual centredness that only the most dedicated and self-effacing of musicians can achieve. But if you’re more interested in Bartok that in Lipatti, you really will need to work at blocking that orchestra from your mind’s ear.
Still, this remains a precious, if flawed, document, essential for the archives and for all fans of this extraordinarily gifted artist. Bryce Morrison’s notes serve as an eloquent listening aid.'