Sergei Rachmaninov was born on 1st April 1873, 150 years ago on the day of this Wigmore Hall recital. Steven Osborne’s whimsical playing of the first phrase of Happy Birthday before announcing his real encore was the only music not by Rachmaninov we heard in this anniversary concert.
Programme and pianism were well worthy of the occasion. At its heart was a coherent selection of four Preludes and Études-tableaux. The lyricism of the D major Prelude was sustained with increasing intensity up to and beyond its climax, while Osborne’s rhythmic control in the ensuing Étude-tableau in D minor was ideal. The G major Prelude sang in its continuous melisma, and the Étude-tableau in C minor closed the group with haunting pathos. Each of these mighty miniatures has a closed form all its own, which nonetheless here became a subtle – and continuous, with only the briefest pauses – exploration of Rachmaninov’s melos, an exquisite still centre to the concert. Either side was the turbulence, power and passion of the two mighty sonatas, once so neglected.
The composer never played his First Piano Sonata after he left Russia, saying it was too difficult, too long and of dubious musical merit, which hardly encouraged other pianists to put in the hours it must take to master. But in recent years it has been taken up by younger pianists. Its origins lie in Liszt’s treatment of the Faust legend as three character studies. The first movement has a questing quality associated with Faust himself, ushered in by Osborne’s playing of the opening material, pregnant with future events in the work. His sounding of the chant-like second theme evoked the Orthodox Church singing Rachmaninov so loved. In the fiery development section the playing grew ever more compelling as the return of that second theme neared.
Perhaps more light and shade might have been deployed, but that was a feature of the second movement. Gretchen’s story was reflected in the innocent mood of the opening becoming more troubled, Osborne narrating the implied tragedy, right through to his magical trills at the close. The Walpurgisnacht finale is a devilish ride for any pianist but Osborne traversed the Brocken with Mephistophelean élan, leaving us wondering where this great sonata, all 35 minutes of it, has been all these years.
The Second Sonata of 1913, like the First, was neglected by Rachmaninov the pianist. Both works were pruned before publication, but the Second suffered further drastic reduction in 1931, and a 28-minute work became a 19-minute one. Rachmaninov allowed Vladimir Horowitz to restore some of the original cuts and produce his own version. It was to be hoped that Rachmaninov 150 would do for Sonata no. 2 what Rachmaninov 100 did for Symphony no. 2, ousting cut versions for the full original text. But most pianists favour the short version. Or, taking their authority from that Faustian pact with Horowitz (“let me be the arranger and I will play your work always”), make a mix ‘n match version of their own, as Osborne did here, though more convincingly than some.
But on such an occasion musicology must yield to musicianship, and Osborne’s playing was thrilling. The essential elements of the work, if denied some of their cumulative power, were all there, not least the bells in the first movement, excitingly clangorous. And the composer might have been delighted that pieces he abandoned are still played at all. An encore of Rachmaninov’s own transcription of his radiant Nunc Dimittis made a witty close (“Lord, lettest now thy servant(s) depart in peace”).
