Nelson Freire - The Complete Columbia Album Collection (2014)

With the exception of one recording made in 1982, all of the recordings in this 7CD box were made between 1967 and 1970. I must admit that Nelson Freire largely slipped under my radar when I was a young piano student in the 1980s, even though I worked in a Classical record store. By the time I was building a CD collection, he was more well-known for his two-piano collaborations with Martha Argerich. But Freire made something of a splash in the late 1960s when a leading critic referred to him as a “cockeyed sensation” (whatever that means) and went on to compare him with Horowitz. Freire does have an element of the “frisson” that was associated with the younger Horowitz, along with the elder pianist’s emphasis on harmonic inner voices – usually played with the left hand. But Freire is entirely his own man when it comes to interpretation, and never gives the impression of imitating anybody.

Freire made his Columbia recording debut with a two-LP set which included Tchakovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1, Liszt’s Totentanz, and the ever popular Grieg and Schumann Concertos in A minor – all accompanied ably by the Munich Philharmonic under Rudolf Kempe. Freire’s treatment of the Tchaikovsky is reminiscent, in the more virtuosic sections, of prime Horowitz – not just in the sizzling octaves but also the sensitive handling of voices I mentioned earlier. The central andante emanates a lyrical simplicity. The Liszt is given a flat-out, hell for leather demonic performance. Freire imbues the “Dies Irae” theme in the left hand with a particular sense of menace. Never in my experience has the work sounded so terrifying – with the possible exception of when I heard Jean-Yves Thibaudet perform it at the open-air Blossom Music Center accompanied by a thunderstorm. The Grieg and Schumann nicely balance extroversion and lyricism, without descending into schmaltz.

The opening of Schumann’s Carnaval has a full bodied quality that reminds me of Rachmaninoff’s legendary recording. Freire adopts a relatively free approach to tempo, which allows him to portray a rather wild, drunken party – all while maintaining absolute technical control. In some of the more lyrical sections, Freire liberally brings inner-voices to the fore, so you may hear parts of this work you hadn’t noticed before. I followed the score while listening to the recording and, trust me, the notes are there. Like most pianists, Freire does not play Sphinxes.

Freire brings a dark tone to Schubert’s D. 899 Impromptus, with a full dynamic range and bracing tempos in the faster works. This is neither chocolate and whipped cream, nor the wintry syphilitic approach to Schubert – but rather pure music. He adopts some of the subtle harmonic changes introduced by Hans von Bulow in his edition of Schubert’s G-flat impromptu, but does not transcribe it into G major as Bulow did.

The opening movement of Brahms’ Op. 5 Sonata is played with a sense of broad line and structural continuity – it is neither impulsive like Rubinstein’s two recordings nor dissected like all too many others. While the two slow movements unfold with some ravishing pianissimos and a sense of unforced poetry, the central movement surges with controlled fury. The last movement is well played but comes as something of an anti-climax – but I feel that’s a problem with the composition rather than the performance. Freire nicely contrasts the gusto of the Rhapsody in E-flat’s outer sections while keeping the central episode quietly moving.

Chopin’s Op. 28 Preludes are a tough nut to crack. I’ve heard even great pianists fall short in these little masterpieces. In performing a complete set, the trick lies in capturing the individual mood of each piece while maintaining its context within the whole. In the final Prelude, in D minor, Freire almost seems ready to burst beyond the capabilities of the piano. The opening movement of Chopin’s B minor Sonata starts off briskly, with plenty of rubato in the more ruminative sections. Freire’s use of the pedal is notable as he allows bass notes in the opening movement to be sustained for longer than is usual, while the textures remain clean – so I suspect he uses the sostenuto (middle) pedal, which didn’t exist in Chopin’s time. By contrast, the faster parts of the Scherzo are played with no pedal at all. The Largo is delivered at a more flowing tempo than is usually heard, which clarifies the structure but also drains some of the emotion from the movement. The finale is somewhat anti-climactic, with neither the big-boned extroversion of Rubinstein nor the hot fury of Kapell. Performing from an edition based on Chopin’s manuscript (which is slightly different from the Fontana version one usually hears), Freire’s rendition of the Fantasie-Impromptu is delivered at a brisk pace, with little slowing down for chasing rainbows during the work’s central section. Freire’s Mazurkas have an authentic sense of swing, resulting from the extended 2nd beat which is a characteristic of the dance form. The A-flat Polonaise is less successful, somewhat bogged down and earthbound, although cleanly performed. The B-flat minor Scherzo is more fiery and one of my favorite recordings of the piece. Here and elsewhere, Freire occasionally amplifies bass lines by moving foundational notes an octave lower, beyond the range of the pianos of Chopin’s time.

The key to successfully performing Liszt’s B minor sonata lies in balancing the structural, narrative, and demonic elements. The opening motifs are played with little sense of menace, so that the octave outburst that follows is truly startling. From there Freire takes the listener on a fairly wild but controlled ride through the Sonata’s many moods.

The sound is consistent with Columbia’s sonics during the period: close up and somewhat dry. The concertos sound best. As with Sony’s other Complete Album Collection issues, this set replicates the covers and playing times of the original LPs, with the exception that the original 2LP debut is packaged in separate covers instead of as a gatefold.