Anyone who, like me, bought Pletnev’s first recording issued in the West, will surely have the March from The Nutcracker indelibly imprinted on their memory. The clarity and tensile rhythm of the opening fanfares, the orchestral colouring of the answering phrases, the perfection of the rapid-fire repeated notes, the super-articulate rushing scales: it was all riveting stuff. And there were still six movements to go, each in its own way a gem of keyboard artistry. His own arrangements are a tour de force comparable to Prokofiev’s Ten Pieces from Romeo and Juliet. They were published in Russia in 1990, and I suspect the only reason they have not been widely taken up is that pianists despair of matching, much less surpassing, these spellbinding performances.
That recording came just after Pletnev’s Tchaikovsky Competition victory in 1978, and it’s perhaps not surprising that he has had some difficulty living up to this overwhelming first impression. His occasionally rather self-conscious manner has certainly divided critical responses. But his Sleeping Beauty arrangements were a triumphant follow-up to The Nutcracker – at one moment sounding lighter than air, at the next exuberantly ranging over the entire compass of the instrument.
Even among his sharpest critics, few would contest that Pletnev has a special understanding of Tchaikovsky. He makes as convincing a case as possible for the Second Concerto. The Philips booklet-essay is rather more forgiving than I would be of its ramshackle structure; but I would certainly agree that “Pletnev ennobles the longueurs with elastically driven vigour and makes connections between the formal-thematic blocks”. In part it’s the extreme deftness of his texturing which enables him to do this, and his fantasy and colouristic flair are irresistible, especially in the finale. On the whole the accompaniment is like-minded, though in my dreams I imagine rather less sugary string playing in the slow movement.
As compositions, the early salon pieces on the first disc are rather routine, but in Pletnev’s sympathetic hands they emerge as far more than that. By contrast The Months, more popularly but inaccurately known as The Seasons, are unsurpassed in Tchaikovsky’s solo piano output for precise delineation of mood. It takes some time, in my experience at least, fully to appreciate their distinctiveness, but Pletnev is an ideally discerning guide to their subtle emotional tints. The transfers themselves are markedly cleaner than the Chant du Monde issues I reviewed in 12/89.'