Articles

Bartok’s Third Concerto

July 4, 2012 by Mark Ainley

One of the misperceptions about Dinu Lipatti is that he had a small repertoire. Because he only recorded two piano concertos for EMI – Schumann and Grieg’s sole concertos, both in A Minor – and because (inaccurate) stories circulated that he required three and four years respectively to prepare the Tchaikovsky and Emperor Concertos (absolutely not true – details in the Prince of Pianists article), there is the idea that he played very few concerted works. But before his death at the age of 33, Lipatti had in fact publicly performed twenty-three works for piano and orchestra (including works not classified as concertos, like Stravinsky’s Capriccio) and had a larger private repertoire that included works like Ravel’s Left-Hand Concerto – his copy of the score at the Geneva Conservatory is laced with fingerings from his student days in Paris in the 1930s. (He was in fact scheduled to record the Bartok Third with Karajan and the Philharmonia in November 1949, but the session was canceled due to Lipatti’s inability to travel to London).

Hints of hidden treasure
I first heard of his having played the Bartok Third Concerto when reading in the late 1980s a commemorative text written by his student Jacques Chapuis in one of the memorial books published by Labor et Fides (available here), in which he spoke about Lipatti’s premiering the work with Ansermet at a concert for which the orchestral scores had arrived the day of the concert (this was in fact the Swiss premiere of the work, not the world or European premieres, and took place in November 1947). Of course the thought of Lipatti performing a modern work from the standard repertoire was enthralling to say the least. I wondered if a broadcast might exist of this performance. And so the search began.

I was all the more motivated when reading through Judith Oringer’s book ‘Passion For Piano’, where in the section of recommended performers for different composers, she had in the Bartok section ‘Any recordings by the Rumanian pianist Dinu Lipatti or the Hungarian Gyorgy Sandor.’ I was stunned, as few people knew that Lipatti had played the Bartok and certainly none of the well-connected collectors that I knew had heard a recording of Lipatti playing anything by the Hungarian composer – and this included Gregor Benko (president of the International Piano Archives) and a number of European record collectors. (Oringer, in response to an inquiry while this article was in preparation, stated that she cannot recall how she heard of Lipatti’s name in relation to any recordings of Bartok compositions.)

In late 1989, I obtained a copy of Lipatti’s biography, a somewhat poorly translated effort of the Romanian original by Grigore Bargauanu and Dragos Tanasescu, and the back section of the discography listed a recording of Lipatti performing the Bartok Third Concerto in May 1948 with the Südwestfunk Orchestra conducted by Paul Sacher. There was a note that stated ‘The recording was never issued because the conductor did not consider it satisfactory.’ I stared at the page in disbelief: even if the conductor was not satisfied, if the recording was known to exist, how is it that even well-connected collectors didn’t have a copy?

Detective work
In these days before the internet, it wasn’t as easy to track down people and information. The first order of business was to contact the Südwestfunk – so I called up the German consulate and obtained the address (that’s what one did in the days before Google). I wrote to the SWF with the information I had from the biography, and waited. Three months later, I received a sheet of paper in the mail that had my address on it, a return address at the Südwestfunk, and some stamps on it – and nothing else. It appeared to be the label of a package, but the package was gone! I went to the local post office but they agreed that it looked as though it was a label that had come off a package. We filled out a form to hunt for the lost package, but they were not optimistic.

As there was a name on the return address, I called the radio station the next day (having obtained the number from the consulate) and spoke with that woman – she didn’t speak English, my German was basic, but we soon figured out that we both spoke French. “Oh yes, we sent you the recording,” she informed me. Well, it hadn’t arrived. I was devastated. I didn’t get the impression that they could be counted on to send me another copy, but I told her I was planning to go to Europe a few months later, and she invited me to stop by to see her at the station to obtain a copy.

And so I did. After a few days in Paris, I went directly to Baden-Baden, home of various spas and a radio station where Lipatti had performed Bartok’s Third Concerto 42 years earlier. It took a while to figure out how to get to the Südwestfunk by public transport, and by the time I got there, it was getting late in the day – and it was a Friday afternoon, so I was concerned about being too late at the end of the work week. It took a bit of running around from one building to the next to find my contact – despite their reputation for being organized, no one seemed to know where I should go, and after my bad luck with the lost package, I was worried at the prospect of not getting the tape. But finally, sweaty in the May heat, I met the lady whom I had spoken to on the phone some months before and she kindly handed me a cassette – letting me know, however, that for copyright reasons, a gap of a second or two had been inserted in each movement to prevent the recording from being illicitly issued.

Hands on
After leaving the SWF on the bus, I listened excitedly to the tape on a basic Walkman and was surprised by the performance – not in the way that I’d expected. It was a much slower performance than usual – the first movement lacked the frenetic momentum that one usually heard – and the orchestral playing wasn’t quite together. Additionally, there were some electronic bleeps midway through the first movement. The second movement, however, revealed Lipatti at his best – transparent chordal playing, beautiful voice-leading – and the third movement had beautifully layered voicing in the fugue, just like Lipatti’s legendary Bach. The unmastered sound quality was perhaps the best of all discovered Lipatti broadcast concerto performances, being the only one recorded on professional equipment.

I visited London a few weeks later and went to EMI’s headquarters, having been introduced by Bryan Crimp of the APR label. Charles Rodier, the legal man, was very kind and gracious and introduced me to Ken Jagger, who was in charge of historical releases. He asked if I could leave them a copy of the cassette so that the team could listen to it more attentively, and said they would be in touch with me.

A year later, I visited Europe again, and London was my first stop. I phoned up EMI and asked Mr. Jagger what they had decided about the Bartok. He appeared a bit flustered and asked me if I would mind calling back in a few days once he had the time to review the situation with his colleagues (in other words, he had completely forgotten). When I did call back, he stated that they found the playing substandard and that it would be a disservice to Lipatti to issue the recording.

First attempts
That same visit, I went to the EMI archives in Hayes with Bryan Crimp and came across correspondance that gave more background into the label’s history with this recording. It seems that in the 1960s, Lipatti’s producer Walter Legge was alerted to the existence of this Bartok recording while he was looking into another broadcast recording, that of the Chopin E Minor Concerto (described in more detail here). On July 4, 1963 Legge wrote to the German branch of EMI, the Electrola Gesellschaft mbH, to see if they could obtain the recording “from Frankfurt Radio they have under number 52 A 913 (Lautarchiv) M381/II + III (Baden-Baden) and Bela Bartok: Konzert nr 3 fur Klavier und Orchester Dinu Lipatti Südwestfunk-Orchester, dir: Paul Sacher (26’05”). I shall be most grateful if you can induce them to let you make a copy tape of this recording and if you will send it to us with a view to publishing it in disc form. I shall have no difficulty in obtaining permission from Lipatti’s widow or from the conductor.”

Famous last words. It took six months to get a tape – Lipatti’s widow Madeleine and conductor Paul Sacher had to send letters of consent for the radio stations to provide EMI with a copy, though Madeleine reported (in French) in a letter dated October 17, 1963 that “Paul Sacher believes that the recording will not be satisfactory and wishes to hear the tape.” When a tape did arrive, it was marred by the same electronic bleeps found on the cassette in 1990. Peter de Jongh wrote on June 3, 1964 that he had left a laquer (pressing) with Michael Allen of EMI and that in his opinion, “the performance by Lipatti is of the greatest interest. His incomparable musicianship, touch and vitality are all there.” On July 28, 1964, H.R. Stracke of Electrola wrote that “on principle, the orchestra agrees with the release. Price: DM 4.500, — provided that the regeneration (sic) is acceptable.” By October 13, the costs had been tallied as DM 4500 for the orchestra, DM 1560 for Boosey and Hawkes (DM 60 per minute), and DM 100 for the tape; by February 25, 1965, the radio station had asked for DM 2500 for the tape. On September 27, 1965, Dr Strojohann of Electrola wrote that “We have to guarantee the Baden-Baden Radio Station not to use the name of the Baden-Baden orchestra. It has to be “Ein Symphonie-Orchester” or “GroBes Symphonie-Orchester” or “Orchestra cond. Paul Sacher”.” That became a moot point: an undated handwritten note at the bottom of the memo says ‘Tape considered unsatisfactory for issue.’

The matter was picked up again in 1970, but David Mottley of EMI wrote in a memo dated October 12, “Having listened to the tape of Lipatti playing Bartok’s 3rd Piano Concerto, I do not think it would be in the interests of anybody to attempt to issue this recording on disc. Not only is the reproduction quality very poor indeed but also the playing of the orchestra is of a low standard generally. Christopher Parker also confirms that there is nothing that can be done to improve the quality of sound on this tape.”

Back to the future
Fast-forward to 1991. EMI has once again, through Ken Jagger, issued the same opinion. Then, in 1992-1993, I introduced the Lipatti fan and collector Dr Marc Gertsch of Bern to Werner Unger of the German historical recordings label ‘archiphon’. Gertsch presented enough private Lipatti material to issue a two-disc set, and so the matter of the Bartok Concerto was raised again. In an attempt to force Sacher’s hand, we had a colleague request the Südwestfunk to broadcast the recording, in the hopes that he would consent to an authorized release once the tape began to circulate privately in order to prevent an illicit release. He didn’t budge, though he did say that he would approve of issuing the second movement, as that was very beautiful. And so that movement was issued on a set entitled ‘Dinu Lipatti: Les Inedits’ . (This set has some items not released elsewhere and is currently available on iTunes here).

In May 1999, I was at the airport in Tokyo en route to Thailand when I read in Time magazine that Paul Sacher had died. I wondered how long it would take for the Bartok to come out, as it was more than 50 years after the performance and was therefore in the public domain. Not long later, the Italian label Urania issued the complete concerto – complete with the electronic bleeps that had marred the first movement. (The previous summer, Werner Unger and I had edited out the bleeps quite easily on a computer program.)

In 2000, I was focused on producing a memorial edition for the 50th anniversary of Lipatti’s death. Unger and I approached EMI and offered them a remastering we had made of Lipatti’s Chopin Concerto performance which was far superior to anything issued by the label (we had access to Gertsch’s original tape, which EMI had not touched since 1981). They declined, stating that they were satisfied with what they had, and they gave us permission to issue it ourselves. I suggested Unger ask EMI what they were doing for the Lipatti anniversary – and the response was something along the lines of, ‘Um… what do you suggest?’ They had neglected to prepare a commemorative release for this universally loved and best-selling artist. I proposed that they issue the Bach-Busoni D Minor, Liszt E-Flat, and Bartok Third concertos on a single CD – something I had suggested back in 1991 shortly after learning of the existence of the Liszt Concerto in Dr. Gertsch’s collection. Now they finally agreed. When I wrote to them to ask about contributing the liner notes, they wrote back that they had already assigned it to one of their writers but ‘Thank you for your interest in our project.’

[A side note: for a commorative issue, Unger and I had hoped to issue the Chopin Concerto – from 1950 – with three radio interviews from the same year, but Tahra issued two of the three interviews, so we opted instead to produce a release that spanned the whole of Lipatti’s recording career, from 1936 to 1950: ‘Cornerstones’. Like the previous archiphon set, this release has some otherwise unissued Lipatti recordings and is available on iTunes here.]

In early 2001, EMI’s release of three concert performances by Dinu Lipatti of piano concertos that he had not officially recorded and spanning three centuries of the repertoire was finally made available to the general public. (Available on iTunes here and on CD via Amazon here, as well as in this 7-disc set of his EMI recordings.) Critical acclaim of the performances was immediate – no one felt that the substandard orchestral support in the Bartok was an issue, and EMI used the edited version of the tape that Unger and I had prepared so that the bleeps were not an issue. (Unfortunately, the sound of the issued disc is worse than the masters we provided them, particularly in the Bach-Busoni and Liszt.)

The performance
As to the performance itself: Lipatti takes the first movement at a slower rate than Bartok’s metronome markings, and as can be seen in this photograph from his own score of the work, he adjusted the marking from 88 to 76. While Lipatti is seen as having considered the text as sacrosanct, the fact is that the energy of the composition took priority, and a number of musicologists have spoken to Bartok’s tempo indications often being too fast. His slower pace in this movement highlights the melancholic experience the composer was going through as he wrote this work. Lipatti phrases fluidly rather than frenetically, emphasizing the lyrical and harmonic rather than the overtly rhythmic.

The second movement is one of the most profoundly moving examples of Lipatti’s art. His voicing in the chorale is sublime: every chord is weighted such that primary and inner tones ring in perfect balance, each successive collection of tone clusters resonating at its own particular vibration, fading seamlessly into its successor. Never have both the vertical and horizontal lines of this chorale been so flawlessly executed. The middle section of the movement is beautifully played (it is eerily like the middle section of the third movement (of four) of Lipatti’s own Concertino in Classical Style), and builds magically to the final cadenza of the movement, which Lipatti plays with tremendous force: again, he voices with incredible attention, observing the composer’s pedal markings meticulously so that certain chords create a sonic envelope in which others are found.

The third movement, while suffering from some sloppy orchestral ensemble, features magically transparent voicing from Lipatti (particularly in the fugue, from 19:16 to 20:17), incredible accenting, amazing pedaling, and fantastic tonal effects. While the pianist may have been held back somewhat by the rather unskilled accompaniment, he nevertheless gives a thoroughly profound performance.

It is incredible to consider how we now have such easy access to a recording that was once unknown and considered the stuff of legend. Technology now enables music lovers the world over to listen to a performance that may well have lain dormant in the archives. May this recording serve to give more insight into Lipatti’s art, and may other lost recordings be added to his discography.

Bartok Piano Concerto No.3
Dinu Lipatti, piano
SWF Symphony Orchestra
Paul Sacher, conductor
May 30, 1948

Filed Under: Articles, Recordings

Dinu Lipatti interviewed by Franz Walter, Radio Genève, September 29, 1950

January 12, 2012 by Mark Ainley

The final recorded interview with Dinu Lipatti took place two weeks after his legendary final recital in Besançon. On September 29, 1950, Lipatti spoke with Franz Walter at Radio Genève about the Besançon concert, about a recital that was to take place the following day, and about some future plans – despite his stated reluctance to speak about them. Alas, none of these proposed activities took place: the next day, Lipatti was forced to cancel his appearance for the Jeunesses Musicales on short notice. At the end of this interview, Lipatti announces that he will play the Bach-Kempff Siciliano, yet the recording has not been found in Swiss archives. There have been recent reports of a copy existing in private hands, but these have not been substantiated.

FW: Ah, no, it didn’t take place yesterday – it will take place tomorrow. It’s tomorrow that the great pianist, Dinu Lipatti will play for the Jeunesses Musicales of Geneva. This event also marks the beginning of Lipatti’s concert season in Switzerland, an event that will especially be met with joy as we all know the hard battle that Lipatti has fought these past few years to conserve his health. It is for this reason that I will ask this banal question to Lipatti, which I am now formulating, on behalf of all of our listeners, with great anticipation. Mr. Lipatti, how are you?

DL: Well, I am happy to be able to tell you that today I am able to resume some of my activity, despite some inevitable setbacks as regards my health, as was recently the case in Besançon.

FW: Ah, you had to cancel your concert.

DL: No, not exactly, but one hour before the concert, I was so weak that I had anticipated only being able to play the first half of my recital. But once on stage, I gave it in its entirety, sustained by a touching, hospitable atmosphere. I believe that among all of the Summer music festivals, the Besançon Festival is among the most eclectic and warrants the enthusiastic support of both professionals and music enthusiasts.

FW: And have you not also made a number of commercial recordings quite recently?

DL: Yes, last July I recorded all of the Waltzes of Chopin, works by Bach and Mozart, 12 records in all, in 12 days of passionate, intense work, to the extent that I exhausted the 6 British engineers who had come to Geneva specifically to help me conserve my energy, and managed to send them racing back to London two days early so that they could recover from the ordeal to which I had subjected them.

FW: Well, this is a clear indication of your sympathetic nature. Would it be indiscreet to ask what your projects are for this winter?

DL: I will not talk about them freely, as those which are most successful are those of which we say nothing. Nevertheless, I will tell you that on the 9th of October I hope to give a recital in Zurich, and a few days later go to London for two concerts and a recording with orchestra. I will play very little this season in order not to jeopardize the progress I have made with my health these past few months.

FW: Please tell me, is the fact that your concert season in Geneva is beginning under the auspices of the Jeunesses Musicales a mere coincidence, or did you particularly wish to demonstrate your interest in this organization?

DL: Well, I would say that in 1946, I had the pleasure to play five times in a row the C Major Concerto of Mozart with Paul Sacher for the ten thousand members of Jeunesses Musicales of Brussels. I returned to Switzerland full of enthusiasm for this organization and I felt that I could participate for the same cause in Switzerland through, among others, my student Jacques Chapuis. I am therefore delighted to be able to inaugurate the new Geneva season of Jeunesses Musicales with tomorrow’s Bach concert at the Theatre de la Cour St. Pierre. The goal of the Jeunesses Musicales seems to me particularly worthy, as it brings music within the reach of children and additionally allows those of modest means to enter a kingdom that would otherwise be virtually inaccessible to them.

FW: I thank you on behalf of all the members of Jeunesses Musicales, who will also certainly express their appreciation tomorrow, and I would like to ask you another question that I hope you will not find too forward. Geneva and Switzerland have, in a manner of speaking, adopted you for some years now to the point that we consider you, not without pride but quite naturally, a member of our artistic community. Could you explain in a few words the circumstances that brought you to Switzerland?

DL: Yes, certainly. Having arrived in Switzerland in the Autumn of 1943, where I fell ill after 3 concerts, the Conservatoire de Geneve through its director, M. Henri Gagnebin, honoured me by proposing that I take over the “classe de virtuosite” of the late Alexandre Mottu. This changed my life, and my career developed in a most wonderful way thanks to the tremendous goodwill of your compatriots, who I like so much and to whom I am truly grateful. I would like to specifically address a message of sincere thanks to Henri Gagnebin for all the kindness he has shown me during these years.

FW: Your career has indeed developed in the most extraordinary manner in Switzerland, but unfortunately you have had to give up your post at the Conservatoire. Is this a definitive decision?

DL: I do not believe so. In my five years of teaching at the Conservatoire de Geneve, I believe I have learned many things myself, as to give lessons is often to receive them, and among the most rewarding. If today I am not able to foresee teaching regularly at the renowned hall at Place Neuve, Nadia Boulanger and I are already planning a public interpretation course at the Conservatoire de Geneve for next Spring.

FW: Well, this is some news that will delight musicians! Time has gone quickly, alas, and we must conclude. But I would like to tell our listeners, and to do so quickly before Mr. Lipatti interrupts me, that in an age where we have so many examples of sensational heroism, Lipatti gives us in his whole career a rare example of calm, even smiling, heroism, which allows him to meet the great challenges he has faced. And he is going to prove it to you now. Will you not, Mr. Lipatti, add your message as a musician by playing us one of the works from tomorrow’s programme?

DL: Yes, I propose to play you the Siciliano in G Minor by Bach, excerpt from the Sonata for Flute and Harpsichord in E Flat.

FW: In advance, I thank you.

This translation © Mark Ainley 2001

Filed Under: Articles, Recordings, Uncategorized

Lipatti Interview on Swiss Radio: July 27, 1950

December 29, 2011 by Mark Ainley

Three interviews survive of Dinu Lipatti on Swiss radio from 1950, the last year of his life (none have been found from previous years). Here is a recording of the first of the three, dated July 27, a couple of weeks after he had made his legendary valedictory recordings for EMI/Columbia. In the interview, Lipatti discusses these recordings and his approach to interpretation, and also plays two works in the radio studio that he had recorded, giving present-day listeners an opportunity to compare his performances.

The interview with Francois Magnenat at Radio Geneve takes place in French. Below the YouTube window is a thorough English translation.

FM: Maestro, what a pleasure it is to see and hear you today at Radio Geneve. Your countless admirers from Geneva, Switzerland, and the entire world will be especially delighted to know that you are now in a wonderful state of recovery, more able to resume your role as the great international performer we admire so profoundly. And as proof of this, there is the splendid series of recordings which you have just made in the studios of Radio Geneve for an eminent London record company. I’ve been told that you have covered more than 25,000 metres of steel tape with music – is this true?

DL: Absolutely true. We have used about 42 kilos’ worth of tape, which is of course not quite representative of the amount that will be commercially released. That is to say that from this tape we will select only enough for 24 12-inch record sides. Needless to say, this work is indicative of considerable stress, but also of tremendous artistic satisfaction, as we can choose and especially eliminate all that is not worthwhile.

FM: All told I suppose that despite the intensity of such an effort, which I believe lasted more than 10 days, you must be particularly happy to have been able to work in such good conditions.

DL: Yes, I was able to endure this venture without any hint of tiredness, thanks to the fact that my current state of health is excellent. I could not allow myself not to express here my profound gratitude to all of the doctors from Geneva who have treated me, notably my friends the Drs. Dubois-Ferriere and Raymond Sarazin, who have demonstrated unwavering devotion.

FM: Well, as we are here in front of the studio piano, would you perhaps perform for us a work that you particularly enjoyed recording?

DL: It would be a pleasure. If you will allow me, it will be the Waltz No. 3 in A minor by Chopin.

[Lipatti performs the Waltz]

FM: I thank you on behalf of our audience today, who I’m sure will be delighted to know that you have just recorded, I believe, the entire cycle of Chopin’s Waltzes. Could you please tell me, when you find yourself in front of a work that you do not yet know, do you have a procedure, if I may use that word, a standard procedure that allows you to comprehend all of the work’s subtleties and reach an interpretation approaching perfection?

DL: Strictly speaking, I do not have a procedure per se. But obviously I must establish a strategy in order to simplify and shorten the period of work, the most unrewarding, yet at the same time, the most beautiful. I try to learn a work without touching the piano as much as possible during the first week. Particularly in works for piano and orchestra this is beneficial, as one learns not only one’s own part, but that of the whole ensemble. After this, and only after this, I put down the fingerings. As regards fingerings, I should point out that in the music of Chopin, what is particularly striking is that we often find Chopin’s own handprint in certain passages, the writing being so pianistic that it never makes demands on the hand. A good fingering facilitates one’s work by 50%, making it possible to etch the work in one’s memory for years, more so than any other work away from the piano. After the fingerings, there are the nuances. And here, obviously, we must remain within the framework of the text – that is to say, to comply as much as possible with the composer’s own indications, intentions, and suggestions. A period of about a month or two is enough to allow me to learn a work well enough to know it, but not sufficiently to play it in public. And I believe that one must then let it rest and take it up again for the final work, to burnish it and fine-tune it a few months later. I have often had the pleasure to see that in these months of rest, the work has matured, it has worked on itself, if I may say so.

FM: And well, the great majority of your admirers have found you to be, in addition to your extraordinary fame as a virtuoso, the peerless performer of the famous chorale by Bach … [Lipatti plays the theme of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”] That is the one. Are you particularly fond of the works of Bach?

DL: It is the oeuvre that is closest to my heart. I believe it is that in which I feel the least impure and in which perhaps I might give the most of myself as an artist in the future. While I do not wish to specialize, and it is for this reason that I would like to play as many composers as possible, it is nevertheless the works of Bach to which, I believe, I will expend most of my artistic effort.

FM: I believe that you have just recorded in the past few days several works by the great Cantor of Leipzig, which is marvelous as we are this year commemorating the 200th anniversary of the death of Bach. Would you perhaps speak of these recordings and then play us one of these works?

DL: Certainly. I will play the Chorale in F Minor, Chorale for Organ transcribed for piano by Busoni. But before I play, I would like to tell you the great pleasure I had one Sunday evening. Thanks to the gracious hospitality of Radio Geneve, I was able to record in one attempt the Partita in B-Flat, which will be released in October, and I was able to do so in a leisurely manner, with almost no tests, as was not the case with the Waltzes of Chopin, where we sometimes spent an entire morning on a single Waltz. So if you will allow me, I will play the Chorale in F Minor.

FM: Thank you, Maestro.

[Lipatti performs the Bach-Busoni Chorale]

This translation (C) Mark Ainley, 1999

Filed Under: Articles, Life, Recordings

Chopin’s Second Etude

September 26, 2011 by Mark Ainley

The following are excerpts from a wonderful autobiographical memoir by Alexander Kok, a South-African cellist who was in the Philharmonia Orchestra when Lipatti recorded the Grieg and Schumann Piano Concertos. This incredible first-hand account describes the sessions and also an experience Kok shared with Lipatti during a break in the recording studio as the pianist was practicing Chopin’s Etude Op.10 No.2, a work which one of his students said he played in an ‘electric’ way, ‘like a snake.’ This chapter has been published in the Winter 2011 edition of Classical Recordings Quarterly – back issues can be ordered here

Nobody was late for the session, evidence that members of the orchestra had already demonstrated its recognition of genius before Lipatti entered the studio and was introduced to us. When Lipatti struck the piano A for the orchestra to tune to, on this occasion it was all done quickly and quietly instead of the usual contradictions of pitch and the inevitable mayhem of discordant instruments being tuned at the same time.

Normally the piano A is hammered out simply to attract the orchestra’s attention, but on this occasion what my colleagues and I heard was altogether new – those nearest to Lipatti could hear that even the octave A played had a sonority not heard before in that somewhat unsympathetic studio.

Walter Legge wrote in his tribute to Lipatti that the softness of Lipatti’s sound came through strength. For me and like everything else that happened on that unforgettable afternoon and evening, an expectation of what is possible in the performance of the Grieg Piano Concerto was changed forever. In those two recording sessions everyone was caught up in Lipatti’s personality: his world of spirituality, gentleness and modesty. It was as if all present had been introduced to a living saint.

From where I was sitting at the concert I had been unable to see him play, but when we recorded the Grieg concerto I could see and marvel at this frail little figure: at his large head and pale face with its philosopher’s brow, deep in concentration; at his disproportionately large hands and fingers, as they ranged over the keyboard, bringing life and significance to each note and every phrase.

Everything Lipatti played had character and for me, the listener, to have heard it meant that Lipatti must already have recognised, given thought and presented it in such a way that any criticism was forestalled – there could be no other way. Before he felt able to focus on a performance, he had first to feel confident that he had achieved his ultimate in the physical and technical aspect of the work to be performed. He focused on a total economy of movement, leaving him free to follow the dictates of a sensitive aristocrat of the highest calibre, never hindered by uncertainty, incapable of vulgarity in thought or deed. With everything in control, there would be no wasted energy.

…

Before the interval I had been fascinated by his keyboard stance. I now had a half-profile of Lipatti as he played, his head bowed over the keyboard with a concentration that was frightening to witness. His hands were large, with fingers that looked as if they were made of rubber that never seemed to hesitate as they roamed over the piano keys with absolute assurance, or chased their own shadows with sudden illogical movements.

Watching him play, I was fascinated by the grace with which the left-hand chord sequences in the second Etude by Chopin, a work I knew well, having been introduced to a large section of the piano repertoire by Jean Machie, a gifted pianist and friend at the Academy. Lipatti’s finger movements appeared to be singing a song in the bass I had never heard presented in that way before.

But somehow I must have disturbed him: he stopped for a moment, as if waiting for me to say something. Overcome with embarrassment I mumbled a muted apology and tried to explain that I had been so entranced that I had forgotten my manners. I told him that what had mesmerised me was the effortless lucidity of the left-hand progression: that I had heard the Chopin practised and performed often enough at concerts but that until that afternoon, the Etude always sounded difficult, looked impossible and had not made much musical sense anyway.

The opening of the Brahms D Minor Concerto was quite a different matter – or so Rudolf Serkin told me in Prades in 1956. “In this work” he explained “the music has technical difficulties that are deliberately written to look as difficult as they sound!” With his large and enormously strong hands and fingers, I wonder how Lipatti would have coped with those chords. No doubt he would probably have mastered the technical difficulties like he did in every other work I heard him perform.

“Do you want to practise?”

The question was so unexpected that my initial reaction was to lighten the question by saying that if I was to keep up with the music he was making I certainly needed to. Fortunately, I thought better of it and, apologising again, began walking to the door. A sudden sense of loss made me stop in my tracks and turning round I saw that Lipatti was still looking at me, so I asked if he had minded my being in the studio and listening to him practise. I had been particularly fascinated by the liquidity of movement in his left hand in the Chopin Study, adding that I had never realised that the study could sound like that. Looking at me, he played the notes written for the hand on their own.

“You see” he said, “the wrist, hand and lower arm must move as if they are making a circle or rather an oblong that is slightly curved. Also, the speed of the movement must be consistent. In this way you can make the chords sound like a melody: the notes played by the right hand are the accompaniment.”

So much had happened since I had joined the Philharmonia. I had worked with, been taught and encouraged by so many great talents. They all did their best to show me the deeper significance music must awaken in the listener if it is to serve any purpose. I don’t think it is an exaggeration to say that something in Dinu Lipatti’s sound went beyond anything I have ever heard. Near the end of my life I am still wondering whether I was wrong.

I asked Lipatti again if I could stay and listen.

“But of course” he replied.

He spoke the words in the endearing way in which some of my recent colleagues and acquaintances from Europe spoke English, as Pierre Fournier had done, in 1947, when I asked him whether he would teach me.

Many thanks to Alexander Kok for allowing me to post these incredible excerpts! Please visit his website and consider purchasing his book, ‘A Voice In The Dark, The Philharmonia Years’, which discusses encounters with many other great artists. Updated ordering information to follow shortly.

Filed Under: Articles

Encounters with Dinu Lipatti

March 19, 2011 by Mark Ainley

My first encounter with the art of the pianist Dinu Lipatti came when I was a high school student of about 16. I had developed an interest in historical recordings and great pianists, and I was looking through the few records in my school’s collection. On a compilation record on the appropriately-named Angel Records was a Schubert Impromptu played by one Dinu Lipatti, stating that the performance was from ‘Dinu Lipatti’s Last Recital’. I found this morbid title intriguing and so asked our music teacher about him; ‘Oh, he was a pianist’s pianist,’ she replied.
[Read more…]