Unlike Horowitz's legendary 1932 recording of the Sonata (reissued on CD by EMI, 3/90—nla) this performance is strictly for those who like their Liszt in Technicolor. The opening blast is the opposite of sotto voce, an early warning that Horowitz is on the war-path, determined to assault Liszt's grandeur for every possible virtuoso excess. Predictably, such terms as grandioso or dolce con grazia are tricked into an explosive frenzy or teasing luxury from which the music rarely recovers, and the climax of the central Andante, in particular, is reduced to an orgy of violence. The Second Ballade is scarcely less meretricious, its epic gesture once more sacrificed on the altar of superficial effect, and the D flat Consolation supplies little beyond an uneasy repose. The First Mephisto Waltz, on the other hand, in a lavish double hyphenation (Liszt-Busoni-Horowitz), suggests how at this point in his career (1979) Horowitz was more drawn to the composer's diablerie than to his nobility, and there is much to astonish and amuse. But with Funerailles you enter another world of music-making. This performance, recorded in 1950 contains all the famous marvels and mannerisms, the thundering octaves (the central uproar is truly astounding), the wicked manipulation of tone and colour, and yet the effect is as authentic as it is overwhelming.
The other performances were recorded between 1976 and 1981, three of them taken live from rapturously received recitals. Understandably the quality varies but the dated sound of that 1950 Funerailles is a small price to pay for such harrowing drama and wizardry. Finally, the note blurs and prejudges the issues raised by this controversial disc when it baldly asserts that all these pieces ''have the ultimate poetic virtuoso-interpreter their composer had in mind for them''.'