What Makes a Record Special?
I’ve been listening a lot lately to a
recording you won’t have heard yet, because it hasn’t been released. But it is
so powerful musically and it is so well recorded that it’s destined to become a
benchmark for both once it becomes available.
I’m speaking of Robert Silverman’s Complete
Beethoven Piano Sonatas, soon to be released on OrpheumMasters. It’s interesting
for a variety of reasons. First, Mr. Silverman "recorded" the sonatas over the
course of several months on a digital reproducing piano -- the same one used for
Telarc’s spectacular sounding Rachmaninoff transcriptions -- and John Atkinson then
recorded the performances to digital tape in a marathon download session. But that’s
just statistics.
What makes this set noteworthy is its
combination of Silverman’s arresting mastery over the material and the phenomenally
realistic piano sound John Atkinson has captured.
John sent me Mr. Silverman’s performance
of the Appassionata sonata (Op.57) after mentioning that the longer he worked
editing Bob’s performances, the more in awe of them he became. I couldn’t resist
a come-on like that, so I begged for a sample.
John wasn’t exaggerating. This is a
performance that measures up to any on record. It’s muscular and dynamic, while
maintaining an immensely subtle emotional arc. It reminds me of an Alfred Brendel
performance in many ways -- matchless technique wedded to an intensely thoughtful
interpretation. I’ve been listening to it for several weeks now and I just can’t
get enough of it.
When I attempt to justify my passion for hi-fi
gear, it is moments like this I refer to. Silverman’s performance will sound stellar
on any stereo, but I’d like to think somehow that the closer the sound is to
the real thing, the closer I am to that transcendental state of being one with the
music.
Of course, many of my most beloved musical
moments aren’t available on decent recordings, but that doesn’t prevent me from
reaching satori every time I listen to them.
James Brown’s Live and Lowdown At the
Apollo, Vol. I (my edition is Solid Smoke LP 8006, but widely available in all
formats) is a ragged, poorly EQ’ed, mono recording, but James and the Famous Flames
flat-out burn the barn down in front of an ecstatic Harlem audience. I wouldn’t miss
it for the world.
It goes without saying that I’m
responding to all kinds of things that aren’t on the recording at all.
I’m aware of James Brown’s place in musical history and how, in 1962, he
hadn’t yet achieved his musical potential. But no one who heard the man that night
could gainsay him. He was ready to make the breakout.
For every truly special recording, an
emotional connection must take place. Sometimes these connections are transferable -- my
entire generation’s attitude toward Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band, for
instance. Sometimes they are intensely private moments that don’t, that can’t,
make the leap from one listener to another.
This is the element that lists always leave
out. Maybe I’m twisted, but Stereophile’s "Records to Die For"
has always made sense to me. There are records I would dash into a burning building
to save even though I know I could replace them. I don’t want just any copy, I want mine.
Yet, every February when I read the new
additions to the list, there are a few that I just don’t get. That’s because I
haven’t made, couldn’t have made, the same emotional connection as the person
nominating them. And, unfortunately, with a one-hundred word limit for the blurbs,
we’re not going to find out about the connection made by the reviewer that chose it
either.
That’s too bad because sometimes all it
takes to experience an album differently is the knowledge that it can be
experienced differently. I remember when the first Weather Report album came out. I was
knocked out by it, so I gave my copy to my best friend, who hated it. About a week
later he heard it on WTJU, our town’s college radio station, and loved it. He
just couldn’t stop talking about it. When I asked him why he’d hated it when I
lent it to him, he said, "You never told me it was jazz."
So yes, I do have an emotional connection with
Bob Silverman’s Appassionata. My 94-year-old father-in-law is reaching the end
of his life. Over the last few weeks he has been in the hospital, which he fought, and is
now home, where he intends to stay. He’s a proud man and a brave one -- he was a
union organizer in the South during the Depression, an early opponent of our undeclared
war on Viet Nam, and a lifelong champion of racial equality. He’s a lifelong fighter.
He’s not afraid of dying; he just wants
to do it on his own terms.
And that’s what I hear in Robert
Silverman’s Appassionata. I hear the heroism and nobility of a man I respect,
as he struggles against fate. I hear his rage against the inevitable -- a battle made
noble by the very fact that he cannot emerge victorious. But I also hear the heroism of
the effort. And in the (absolutely stunning-sounding) fortissimo following the key change
in the second movement, I hear the transcendence of the human spirit over despair,
followed by an exuberant assault of sixteenth notes. No, I wouldn’t dream of telling
you what they are meant to represent -- or even what they mean to me.
That’s personal.
If anyone knew despair, it was Beethoven. You
hear it constantly in his music, especially the sonatas and quartets -- he even spoke of
it specifically in "The Heiligenstadt Testament." Yet, with all his trials, he
obviously saw something noble in suffering and persevering. I don’t know how
comforting that is to you, but when I hear it expressed as transcendently as it is in this
Appassionata, I find it inspiring.
It gives me reason to live. It gives me
strength. And that truly makes this recording one of the special ones.
Watch for Robert Silverman’s Complete
Beethoven Piano Sonatas (OrpheumMasters) -- it will be available soon, and trust me,
it will be well worth the wait. And, if you happen to have a particularly good-sounding
hi-fi, it may give you further reason to believe.
...Wes Phillips
wes@onhifi.com
| If you’d like to write about your
special records, I’d love to hear about them. I’ll even establish a page for an
ongoing discussion of them. Just keep the recommendations short (under 200 words) and be
sure to include whether you’re writing about an LP, CD, or DVD. Include label
information and (if you’re writing about something still in print, but hard to get)
include ordering information. Feel free to contact me as wes@onhifi.com.
...Wes |
|
