Frédéric Chopin
Ballade No. 3 in A-flat, Op. 47; Ballade No.
4 in F minor, Op. 52; “Nocturne in D-flat — Op. 27 No.
2″; “Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48 No. 1”; “Nocturne in E, Op.
62 No. 2″; 24 Préludes, Op. 28
Nikolai Lugansky, piano
Recorded 20–24 April 2001, Teldec Berlin Studios
ERATO 0927 42836-2 [75:00]
Nikolai Lugansky’s Chopin here does not seek the easy path.
There is a burning intensity in these performances—an immediacy that grips from the — first hesitant sigh of the Préludes through to the stormier outbursts of the Ballades. You sense a pianist who treats Chopin’s miniature dramas as chapters in a single sprawling narrative, a mosaic that demands both fiery virtuosity and scrupulous detail. The 24 Préludes, Op.
28 are notoriously a minefield—small gems that can easily become mere salon frippery or, worse, exercises in pianistic exhibitionism. Lugansky sidesteps these traps, presenting the set as a cohesive arc rather than a scatter of disconnected vignettes. His approach is muscular yet unforced.
He allows the nuanced counterpoint and harmonic shifts to breathe, never sacrificing the architecture for the sake of flash. The Prélude in D-flat major, Op. 28 No.
15—the infamous Raindrop—is given a weighty but not bloated treatment, its insistent repeated notes pulsing with a hypnotic inevitability that feels organic rather than mechanical. Yet, some of the quieter moments—say, the Op. 28 No.
4 in E minor—occasionally miss a bit of the lyrical line’s natural flow, as if Lugansky’s muscularity sometimes edges toward a slight compression of phrase structure. It’s a minor quibble, though, and when taken as a whole, the Préludes gain an undeniable momentum,; a ‘big picture’ sweep that many other pianists ignore, content to approach them as individual character pieces. Here, the cumulative emotional weight is palpable.
Turning to the Ballades, one finds a different, more tempestuous energy. The Ballade No. 3 in A-flat, Op.
47 benefits from a finely calibrated use of rubato and dynamic shading. Lugansky carefully sculpts the dramatic arcs, balancing the heroic outbursts with moments of wistful introspection. The phrasing is incisive, the pedal judiciously applied—never allowing the texture to blur even at the most torrential climaxes.
In the Ballade No. 4 in F minor, his playing is more overtly impassioned, charging through the turbulent passages with a sense of urgency that never descends into haste. The cadenza-like runs sparkle without losing clarity; his trill work, often an Achilles’ heel in Chopin’s denser textures, is remarkably clean.
The warm acoustics of the concert hall seem to breathe through the recording.
The selection of Nocturnes offers a welcome contrast. The Nocturne in D-flat, Op. 27 No.
2 is dreamlike, caressed with a tenderness that hints at both melancholy and serenity. The voicing is beautifully nuanced; the melody floats above a transparent accompaniment, and Lugansky’s control of tone color here is admirable—each note is like a softly glowing ember. By contrast, the Nocturne in C minor, Op.
48 No. 1 is delivered with a dark majesty. Its brooding phrases unfold with measured gravitas — the climactic sections charged but never overwrought.
The recording itself—crisp yet warm—captures the resonance of Lugansky’s touch, the subtle pedal effects, the very breath of the instrument. This disc benefits from a release that balances intimacy with a satisfying acoustic depth. The piano’s timbre is broad but never woolly; background noise is negligible.
It’s a studio space that allows the nuances of Lugansky’s articulation—the gentle shaping of; melodic lines, the articulate clarity of rapid passages—to come through with clarity and immediacy. Lugansky’s pedigree is evident. A pupil of Tatiana Nikolaieva and winner of the 1994 Tchaikovsky Competition, he carries a distinguished lineage, and one hears it here in the combination of technical polish and interpretive insight.
He is not the most relaxed or traditionally “Rubinstein-like” Chopin—there is an edge, a tension that occasionally tightens the execution—but it’s a tension worth having. It’s what keeps these performances from drifting into mere prettiness or facile nostalgia. In sum, this Chopin disc is a compelling testament to Lugansky’s stature.
More than a recital of individual works, it is a statement about Chopin as a continuous emotional journey. While a touch more lyricism in the quieter moments would have enhanced certain preludes, the overarching sense of structural coherence and the fiery commitment to Chopin’s expressive demands make this a recording that commands attention. It’s not just a collection of Chopin miniatures; it’s a unified work of art, and one that Nikolai Lugansky navigates with a rare mixture of passion, poise, and unerring artistry….
