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GÉZA ANDA PLAYS TCHAIKOVSKY
AND BRAHMS
Today, perhaps more than ever, we look for musicians
whose individuality sets them apart. This is not the
same thing as a determinedly ‘different’ or idiosyncratic
approach that places the artist above the composer, but
is rather a subtle balance between creator and recreator.
And in this sense Géza Anda (1921–1976), whose early
death robbed the world of a rare voice and presence, was
invariably true to both the letter and spirit of the score
and yet always added a personal touch.
Among Anda’s first significant triumphs was his
1953 recording of the Brahms Paganini Variations. His
performance – arguably the most striking and original of
all – alerted the public to his immaculate dexterity, magical
tonal sheen and allure, and musical wit and subtlety. In
1957 Anda played the three Bartók Piano Concertos in a
single concert (a musical, not to mention athletic, feat) and
towards the end of his all too brief life he took up the very
different challenge of the complete Mozart Piano Concertos
both in the concert hall and on record. At the same time he
reflected a little ruefully that he no longer possessed the
necessary empathy for virtuoso confections such as the
Delibes/Dohnányi Valse lente (Coppélia, Act 1).
Described by Furtwängler as ‘a troubadour of the
piano’, Anda placed the greatest importance on the vocal
inspiration behind so much keyboard music (he went on
to record with Elisabeth Schwarzkopf). Unduly percussive
students got short shrift in his masterclasses, and it is
hardly surprising that pianists such as Alfred Cortot and
Edwin Fischer were among his most admired artists.
Yet as Anda shows in these performances of
Tchaikovsky’s Concerto No.1 (previously unpublished)
and Brahms’s Concerto No.2, he could be dazzlingly
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intemperate or volatile with sudden turns of speed and a
brilliance that made one critic find him ‘as explosive as
Mr Vichinsky – a Russian politician – at a conference’.
In the first movement of the Tchaikovsky, as Anda strides
purposely but never inflexibly forward, you don’t have to
go far to encounter those sudden crescendi; a touch of
Hungarian paprika, if you like. The reflexes are rapid, nervy
and unpredictable, a far cry from received Russian wisdom,
and if Anda is sensitive to the second subject’s assuaging
lyricism he always tempers such relaxation with spinetingling
bravura elsewhere. As the novelist D.H. Lawrence
once put it, ‘the sesame seed gives the nougat its bite,
otherwise it would be sickly sweet’. The Andantino is
another case in point: Anda’s poetic delicacy in the outer
sections is balanced by a will-o-the-wisp chase through
the central Prestissimo that is sufficiently fleet to make
you look ahead to the not unrelated sense of fantasy in the
flickering Presto at the heart of the Adagio from Bartók’s
Second Piano Concerto. From Anda, such pages became
a true ‘scherzo of fireflies’.
Again, this time away from the ‘greatest of all battles
for piano and orchestra’ and in the more closely integrated
writing of Brahms’s Second Piano Concerto, Anda’s artistry
is paramount. For many listeners the greatest of all piano
concertos, Brahms’s Second makes towering claims on
the pianist’s stamina. Brahms reputedly composed the
work after a lady pianist had given a less than satisfying
performance of his First Concerto; he stated that he would
write a concerto that no woman could play (a throwing
down of the gauntlet in more feminist times, and an
incentive taken up by great pianists such as Myra Hess,
Clara Haskil, Alicia de Larrocha (reluctantly) and Annie
Fischer, to name but four). This concerto was central
to Anda’s repertoire, and he more than meets its every
daunting demand. With playing that is both deft and
magisterial, he positively relishes the challenge and
never more so than in that moment in the opening Allegro
where, as Sir Donald Tovey says, ‘the air seems full of
whisperings and the beating of mighty wings’. His way
too, with that ‘great and child-like finale’ (Tovey again)
is brilliantly alive, a ‘glory of tumbling gaiety’ ending in
a dazzling ‘un poco più mosso’ finish.
Here then, partnered by Solti in the Tchaikovsky and
Klemperer in the Brahms, is further evidence of Anda’s
genius. And if this rekindles a legend for some, it will also
introduce others to a musician of a verve and style that
place him high in the pianistic pantheon.
Bryce Morrison
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GÉZA ANDA JOUE TCHAÏKOVSKY
ET BRAHMS
Nous sommes aujourd’hui peut-être plus que jamais
en quête de musiciens qui se distinguent par leur
individualité. Ce terme n’est pas synonyme d’une approche
résolument “différente” ou idiosyncratique qui placerait
l’artiste au-dessus du compositeur; il s’agit plutôt d’un
équilibre subtil entre création et recréation. En ce sens,
Géza Anda (1921–1976), dont la mort prématurée priva
le monde d’une voix et d’une présence hors du commun,
fut toujours fidèle aux partitions, tant dans l’esprit que
dans la lettre, mais en ajoutant systématiquement à ses
interprétations une touche personnelle.
Parmi les premiers grands succès d’Anda au disque
figure son enregistrement des Variations sur un thème de
Paganini de Brahms, réalisé en 1953. Son interprétation –
probablement la plus frappante et originale de toutes – fit
découvrir au public son agilité impeccable, son charme et
l’éclat magique de sa sonorité ainsi que son raffinement
et son intelligence musicale. En 1957, Anda joua les trois
concertos pour piano de Brahms lors d’un même concert
(une véritable performance non seulement musicale
mais aussi sportive), et vers la fin de sa vie trop brève, il
releva le défi totalement différent d’interpréter l’intégrale
des concertos pour piano de Mozart en concert et pour
le disque. À la même époque, il avouait, avec une pointe
de regret, qu’il ne possédait plus l’empathie nécessaire
pour rendre certains petits délices de virtuosité tels que
la Valse lente de Delibes/Dohnányi (Coppélia, Acte un).
Décrit par Furtwängler comme “un troubadour
du piano”, Anda accordait une extrême importance à
l’inspiration vocale qui se dissimule derrière maintes pièces
pour le clavier (par la suite, il réalisa des enregistrements
avec Elisabeth Schwarzkopf). Lors de ses masterclasses,