Franz Liszt: Piano Concertos Nos. 1 and 2; Mephisto Waltz No. 1; Grand Fantasia on “La Campanella”; “Harmonies du Soir”
John Ogdon, piano
Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra / Constantin Silvestri
BBC Symphony Orchestra / Sir Colin Davis
BBC Legends 4089-2 [73:13]
Recorded September 1967, Colston Hall, Bristol (Piano Concerto No. 1 in E-flat Major, S. 124)
Recorded September 1971, Royal Albert Hall, London (Piano Concerto No. 2 in A Major, S. 125)
Recorded April 1969, Queen Elizabeth Hall, London (Mephisto Waltz No. 1, S. 514)
Recorded September 1970, BBC Studios, London (Grand Fantasia on “La Campanella,” S. 420; Transcendental Étude “Harmonies du Soir,” S. 139, no. 11)
There are certain recordings one returns to not simply for pleasure but for a kind of reckoning—to remind oneself what greatness sounds like when it is unleashed without artifice. This disc, a posthumous treasury of John Ogdon’s Liszt performances, belongs firmly in that category. Recorded live or nearly live, these performances capture the immediacy, danger, and thrill that studio polish can sometimes smooth away.
Ogdon, who died in 1989 at the age of fifty-two, was a pianist for whom colossal virtuosity and deep musical intelligence were inseparable. This collection demonstrates the point with commanding authority. Liszt is too often caricatured—at once the supreme showman and the brooding thinker—but Ogdon dissolves the dichotomy. His playing reveals both aspects simultaneously, as complementary, not opposing, forces.
The Mephisto Waltz No. 1 crackles with diabolical energy. Ogdon’s articulation in the grotesque figurations has a frightening clarity, and yet he maintains the work’s underlying pulse, stitching together its centrifugal tendencies. It is a terrifying performance—brilliant, volatile, and perpetually on the edge, though never tipping into chaos. The Grand Fantasia on “La Campanella” is no less astounding. The notorious leaps and filigree shimmer under Ogdon’s fingers with mercurial sparkle. His tone, never clinical, carries a subtle bite, a hint of brassiness that lends urgency to every gesture. Liszt’s audacious modulations—those harmonic “distortions” that less confident pianists smooth over—are projected fearlessly, as though Ogdon is conversing directly with Liszt’s restless imagination.
The two concerto performances form the spine of the disc. The Piano Concerto No. 1 with the Bournemouth Symphony under Constantin Silvestri has a warm, rounded orchestral profile, slightly boxy at moments but well suited to Ogdon’s nimble, brilliant touch. His florid passagework sparkles without sacrificing architectural sweep, and the glissandi—those dazzling cascades—feel both spontaneous and structurally organic.
The Piano Concerto No. 2 with Sir Colin Davis and the BBC Symphony Orchestra offers a contrasting sonic world. The sound is less forgiving; the brass can intrude with a harsh edge, and the ensemble’s texture lacks the warmth and cohesion found in Silvestri’s reading. Still, Ogdon’s playing remains magnetic. He navigates Liszt’s dense harmonic terrain with clarity and emotional depth, his phrasing breathing naturally. Tender, introspective moments alternate with bursts of bravura that challenge both orchestra and listener. One hears in these readings a trace of Ogdon’s turbulent personal history—the mental-health struggles that interrupted his career in the 1970s. The playing possesses urgency, a rawness beneath the mastery.
His “Harmonies du Soir” is particularly moving. This transcendental étude requires not only technical command but an orchestral imagination, and Ogdon supplies both. The performance is majestic yet tightly controlled, pushing expressive boundaries without losing structural grip. It is exhilarating—at times even unsettling—in its grandeur.
To hear John Ogdon play Liszt is to encounter a paradox: a pianist of immense intellectual reach who never sacrifices visceral thrill, an artist who refuses sterile reverence or cautious restraint. Instead, we hear a passionate, occasionally volatile musician wrestling with the composer’s spirit as though with a living entity.
This disc is indispensable—not merely as a document of a singular talent but as a sustained argument for Liszt’s profound artistry beyond cliché. Ogdon’s Liszt is not only played; it is lived. For anyone invested in the Romantic repertoire, this is an album to cherish, study, and return to again and again.
Highly recommended.
