This is, at times,
staggering virtuosity. Short measure
at under 45 minutes, perhaps, but there
are more notes here than in most 80
minute CDs.
Denis Matsuev was born
in 1975 and is a product of the Moscow
Conservatory. He has a string of competition
successes under his belt, including
the XI Tchaikovsky Competition (Moscow,
1998; if you look at the list
of winners you will find that coming
in third was a certain ‘Frederick Kempf’).
With a technique and sound like this,
small wonder he has been so successful
in this field. Unleashed now onto the
world at large, can he live up to promise?
The repertoire on this
disc is clearly his forte. ‘I always
dream the composer is pleased with my
interpretation’, says Matsuev. As if
idle speculation isn’t enough he continues,
‘While performing Liszt, for example,
I always feel he’s playing the piece’.
Whether this is literally communing
with the composer’s spirit - as John
Lill has claimed to do - or merely good
promotional blurb I wouldn’t like to
comment. But he does, he says, want
the public to be excited about the music
as well. My pulse rate certainly soared
at times. Technically, Matsuev is a
phenomenon in an age where phenomena
are commonplace. It is easy to see the
Horowitz connection.
There are five works
on the disc. To start with the ‘Dante’
Sonata and get progressively more difficult
is noteworthy in itself.
The ‘Dante Sonata’
is indeed as infernal as its title implies.
But this being Liszt, the score allows
for hugely variant viewpoints on a score
that could superficially be seen as
mere virtuoso material. Alfred Brendel
showed this clearly in his Philips recording
(Duo 462 312-2), marrying technique
and intellect - a fierce grasp of Liszt’s
processes - unforgettably. Matsuev’s
virtues are, perhaps surprisingly, a
true pianissimo and his dynamic range
is huge. Much less surprisingly he shows
a total disdain for any ‘difficulty’
that gets in his way. I use inverted
commas because it seems clear that there
are no difficulties on this disc ...
to him, at any rate. Matsuev
can create magical webs of sound; pianissimi
that hang by a thread yet carry full
tone.
The occasional trace
of the literal is present in another
‘diabolical’ piece, the First Mephisto
Waltz, but what really carries this
reading is the feeling of narration.
Matsuev, it seems, is telling a story
and a gripping one it is, too. Great
washes of notes regale the ears, yet
nowhere does he lose definition. If
Van Cliburn and Berman (Melodiya)
remain at the top of the mountain, Matsuev
is not too far from the summit.
The Hungarian Rhapsody
will raise eyebrows, of that I am confident.
It is because of the cadenza (by Matsuev
himself, 7’54ff). That it is a showpiece
is unsurprising; that it is jazz-inspired
is. Actually it is like combining Schoenberg
with jazz, and at times it is so fast
it invokes Nancarrow. Outrageous, and
great fun to boot. A descending glissando
brings us back, briefly, to Liszt himself.
Pre-cadenza, Matsuev impresses by a
real sense of vocal line at the beginning,
a honeyed touch (around 1’15) and a
truly superb cimbalom imitation (4’18
onwards).
The final two items
- they are given the same timing on
the disc, erroneously - are more of
the same, but more so. The Carmen
Variations, complete with ‘laughing’
staccato precede a fun yet affectionate
account of the Rossini/Ginzburg morceau.
Is that just a trace of awkwardness
I detect in the final item?. Well, maybe,
but it’s good to know Matsuev is human
after all.
Colin Clarke
Denis Matsuev (piano). 
