It’s hard to trust your ears. I think I have to figure out a method for describing exactly what I’m hearing when I write about music, and be very careful about underestimating how much a name can impact the way I view things:
The recrimination directed at the critics who had been duped was both understandable and overwrought. In 1992, in Gramophone, the critic Bryce Morrison found that Yefim Bronfman’s Rachmaninoff Third Concerto lacked “the sort of angst or urgency that has endeared Rachmaninov to millions” and that “Bronfman sounds oddly unmoved by Rachmaninov ’s intensely slavonic idiom. In the sunset coda of the Adagio his playing is devoid of glamour and in the finale’s fugue he lacks crispness and definition.” Fifteen years later, he wrote of Hatto’s release of the same recording: “stunning . . . truly great . . . among the finest on record . . . with a special sense of its Slavic melancholy.”
Powered by ScribeFire.