Stephen Kovacevich - The Complete Philips Recordings [25CD imited Edition Box Set] (2015)

The 21-year-old Stephen Kovacevich first attracted serious attention in 1961 with a debut recital at London’s Wigmore Hall that included Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations. Seven years later he launched a fruitful 15-year association with Philips. Kovacevich’s entire output for the label is gathered together in this boxed set and repackaged in original-jacket facsimiles.

It begins, appropriately enough, with the Diabelli Variations. At first Kovacevich’s studied and straightforward precision might strike listeners as slick or cerebral, yet the music’s dramatic arc and dynamism assiduously reveal themselves as the interpretation takes wing, cumulating in a furiously pent-up Fugue (sound clip) that gently decompresses as the concluding Menuetto settles in. Forty years later Kovacevich would deliver a looser-knit, more expressively potent remake, yet his Philips traversal proudly stands the test of time.

The eight Beethoven sonatas Kovacevich set down for Philips largely convey a taut, crisp, buttoned-down demeanor that differs from the edgier remakes in his complete EMI Beethoven cycle. Steel-edged precision and flexibility cogently fuse in the Op. 13 “Pathétique”, while clear voicing and carefully considered tempo relationships distinguish Op. 110’s tricky-to-unify fugal finale. Kovacevich’s “Tempest” Adagio proves oddly bland when considered alongside his virile outer movements. He follows the first movement’s controversial long pedal markings to a tee, but for some reason reads measure 37’s A and C to be E and A. In the finale, one of the two identical bars 159 and 160 is missing; was this elision a tape splicing error or the pianist’s inadvertent omission?

Rehearing the Beethoven concertos with Colin Davis, I still don’t respond to Kovacevich’s objective, somewhat cool demeanor, which, however, loosens up for a poetically responsive Fourth. Conversely, a 1972 all-Chopin disc constitutes one of this collection’s high points. Kovacevich is not afraid to probe the music’s potential for emotional extremes, from his hushed, achingly drawn-out Op. 59 No. 2 F minor Mazurka to the Polonaise-Fantasie’s jolting climaxes.

Five Mozart concertos showcase the young(ish) Colin Davis’ urbane, stylish way with this composer, in contrast to Kovacevich’s scaling back of the piano writing and his over-fondness for feminine endings. As for the Schumann/Grieg concerto coupling, I’ve never understood why these tired, workaday readings continue to be lauded by my British colleagues. Yet it’s easy to hear how Kovacevich’s idiomatic and vividly detailed Bartók concertos stood their reference ground until the Kocsis/Fischer cycle came along.

When Kovacevich’s recording of Richard Rodney Bennett’s First Piano Concerto appeared for the first time on CD, I wondered why this meaty, orchestrally shimmering four-movement work hasn’t attracted a bigger following. It’s a brilliant example of the composer’s youthful, neo-classic serialism at its most communicative. The Kovacevich/Argerich Bartók, Debussy, and Mozart two-piano collaborations need little commentary, and in any event have been reissued to death.

For me, Kovacevich clicked deepest with Brahms during his Philips tenure. Despite congestion in loud tuttis and an over-prominent piano in the mix, the two concertos are lean and line oriented vis-à-vis Szell/Serkin or Szell/Fleisher, with particularly full-throated brass. Kovacevich would eventually free up the slow movements with darker, more personalized phrasing in his early-’90s remakes with Sawallisch, but the intensely focused and well-thought-out Philips versions command attention. In contrast to his forthright and headlong EMI Handel Variations (long out of print, unfortunately), Kovacevich’s earlier Philips reading leaves more space between sections and allows for more lyrical breadth in slower variations.

Dozens of fascinating details permeate the short pieces. For example, Kovacevich lays into the dissonances in Op. 116 No. 5’s loping two-beat phrases, brings a march-like insistence to the central triplets in the “Edward” D minor Ballade Op. 10 No. 1, and conversely imbues the oft-played Op. 76 No. 2 B minor Capriccio with brisk, offhanded simplicity. Sonically speaking, the 1968 Op. 117 and 119 groups have greater warmth and body next to their slightly hollow sounding 1983 counterparts, which are a shade more personalized and diversely textured. To give a few examples: Op. 117 No. 2 benefits from the remake’s increased animation and flexibility, while the second Op. 119 No. 4’s propulsive bass notes gain noticeable urgency.

David Cairns, who worked in Philips’ A&R department during Kovacevich’s years at the label, contributes an affectionate and informative essay. Although Kovacevich’s artistry has ripened and intensified beyond the scope of his Philips years, his best work for the label deserves nothing less than respect and consideration.