In Horowitz, fire sings through metal, glass, water and ice.
The Carolina Philharmonic has the story “Zen and the Art of Piano | Vladimir Horowitz”, by David Michael Wolff. It’s about the artistic style of pianist Horowitz and his inspirational friendship with Rachmaninoff. The time was around the beginning of the 20th century—artists flee from the war and revolution in Russia to arrive in US:
The young Horowitz had just landed off the boat in NYC and with all the sights the New World had to offer, his first stop was Rachmaninoff’s Manhattan apartment. The next day they met at the now famed basement of Steinway Hall so that Rachmaninoff could hear what the young artist could do with his colossal Third Concerto. They played through the entire work at two pianos. Can you imagine what that must have sounded like - these twin giants of 20th century pianism - their languages blending and playing off each other!
Vladimir Horowitz (1903 – 1989) is often being placed side by side with Arthur Rubinstein (1887 – 1982) as the greatest intepreter of late-to-post-romanticism composers—Chopin, Rachmaninov, Mahler, etc..
[David Michael Wolff] I remember the day my allegiance switched from Rubinstein to Horowitz – it happened in all of a couple minutes. I was sixteen, living with my uncle not far from the University. One afternoon I came home from school and raided his LP collection. I found Horowitz’ recording of Rachmaninoff’s Third Concerto and Second Sonata.
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If Horowitz were to ever enter a modern competition, he wouldn’t make it past the first round.
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Horowitz died when I was thirteen and I didn’t even notice… I didn’t buy his LP’s or go out of my way to listen to them.
And then I put on the Sonata.
No single event in my musical life has impacted me as much as that moment. From the first crashing, cascading arpeggio followed by electric, deeply penetrating chords full of passion and sheer color, I knew that I was hearing absolute mastery and artistry.
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I devoured all of his recordings and took up Rachmaninoff’s Third Concerto, imitating every nuance of Horowitz’ legendary interpretations of it.
David described his obsession and pathway in trying to understand Horowitz, almost as a fascinating relationship
Horowitz is a complex beast. He always forces you to love him or hate him, often simultaneously.
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I simply couldn’t figure out Horowitz, and that bothered me and captivated me. All artists can be defined and categorized, but Horowitz is an Enigma: as soon as you have him briefly pinned down, he morphs into another entity and contradicts you.
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there are two extremely important aspects about Horowitz’ language that are usually glossed over or misunderstood: his willfulness and his acceptance of Brass and Percussion as an integral part of orchestration.
His ‘willfulness’:
The most common argument about Horowitz’ approach is – He would be great if only he didn’t do such-and-such, if only he didn’t do such-and-such. I used to approach him like that, trying to imitate only Horowitz’ proper qualities, excising what shouldn’t be there. But what I was left with was often meaningless babble.
Horowitz will sometimes willfully mangle part of a phrase, making you sit on edge and gnaw your teeth, close your ears and cringe. You want to scream out, Why do you have to do that! And then the next moment, he’ll play the most beautiful, dissolving, nostalgic phrase, and you’ll swear that you’ve never heard such a beautiful passage. You’ll love him again and know him for the poet and seducer he is.
Yet take away the first part, and what’s left? Dribbling nonsense. Horowitz never gives you anything important without somehow making you want it first. This is part of his genius. He knows how to balance love and hate, creating the most romantic, extreme contrasts. And it becomes addictive. You want him to bend the phrases against your own design so that he can then apologize and set everything right again.
His embrace of ‘brass ans percussion’
Horowitz imitators are the noisiest pianists around. It’s not nearly as common as it was thirty or forty years ago when every Conservatory pianist was trying to play as fast and loud as Horowitz. Students pick up on his power without understanding its source or being able to define its substance and think they can capture it by simply flailing away at the keyboard.
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He isn’t afraid of Percussion and Brass – he embraces them as friends. He uses them sparingly but always at just the right moment for maximum effect. Only in Horowitz do you think he’s reached a triple forte only to be suddenly hit with a chord twice as loud and powerful! Yet he rarely actually offends the ear as many of his imitators do. He punches you in the gut and sends you reeling. And you stand up smiling and come back for more!
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Horowitz’ sound, at least in the melody, is rarely as beautiful or pure – he leaves a certain edge in it that gently attracts the ear to it. Horowitz does possess the Leschetizky sound, but he usually hides it from view.
Why conceal beauty? This is a mystifying feature of his language – Horowitz often veils his most beautiful sounds underneath the surface, lending the overall effect a complexity and beauty that often surpasses the greatest of the Golden Age pianists.