Franz LISZT (1811–1886)
Complete Piano Music, Volume 18: Piano Transcriptions of Beethoven Symphonies
Symphony No. 1 in C major
Symphony No. 3 in E-flat major Eroica
Konstantin Scherbakov (piano)
Recorded 19–20 September 2000, St Martin’s Church, East Woodhay, Berkshire
NAXOS 8.555354 [78:51]
The maestro’s presence feels palpable even in this studio setting.
Liszt’s transcriptions of Beethoven’s symphonies have long dwelled in a curious netherworld: neither wholly orchestral nor simply virtuosic piano showpieces, they hover — a kind of spectral Beethoven, conjured from the dense fabric of the score, but filtered through the fingertips and imagination of one of the nineteenth century’s towering pianists.
This latest volume from Naxos, part of their ambitious complete Liszt series, offers the Symphony No. 1 and the Eroica Symphony, ably performed by Konstantin Scherbakov. Right away, the magnitude of the endeavour is staggering.
To distil the monumental textures of Beethoven’s orchestral canvas — from the first tentative clarion of the 1st Symphony to the vast, almost orchestral earthquake — that is the Eroica — into a single keyboard instrument demands a pianist of prodigious skill and a mind as architecturally cogent as Beethoven’s own. Liszt’s genius lies not only in his ability to write notes, but in knowing precisely what to omit without sacrificing the work’s essence. This is no mere note-for-note transcription; it’s an act of re-imagining — a conversation across decades between two towering musical intellects.
Scherbakov’s realization, for the most part, convinces: his technical command is formidable, his attack crisp, and his capacity to sustain long, arching lines impressive. The Eroica, in particular, leaves one in awe at the physical and intellectual stamina required — the symphony’s monumental slow movement, the funeral march, is a test of concentration and tonal sensitivity. Yet here, the recording’s acoustic — the reverberant space of St Martin’s Church — proves a double-edged sword.
While it lends a certain atmospheric glow, the piano sound occasionally blurs in this vast setting; subtle dynamic shadings in the Marcia funebre lose their edge, and the minute inflections that keep tension taut become a touch diffuse. Still, in the outer movements of both symphonies, Scherbakov’s balance of voices — those shimmering tremolandi in the left hand supporting soaring melodies above, the interplay of contrapuntal lines — is meticulously managed. The "scherzo" of the Eroica sparkles with a lightness that belies its technical difficulty, and the "finale"’s rhythmic vitality leaps from the keyboard with compelling drive.
The 1st Symphony, less weighty but no less architecturally sound, benefits from a clearer texture, making the piano effectively a one-man orchestra without much loss of colour or structural clarity. One cannot ignore the inherent limitations of such a project. No matter how adept the pianist, no matter how ingenious the transcription, the sheer spectrum of orchestral timbres — the warmth of horns, the plunge of cellos, the shimmering strings — must be imagined by the listener.
These are symphonies conceived for the company, not the instrument of hammers and — well — strings, and this is where Liszt’s work is both dazzling and inevitably compromised. The slow movements — where orchestral colour and sustained sonority carry so much emotional weight — feel most exposed. Scherbakov’s rendition of the Andante cantabile from Symphony No.
1 lacks a certain intimacy; it sometimes sounds more pianistic than symphonic, reminding us that the transcription is a translation, not a replication. A delightful anecdote haunts these performances — Liszt’s remarkable ability to sight-read entire; orchestral scores at the piano, a feat that seems superhuman to modern sensibilities. This recall of Liszt’s encounter with Grieg’s Piano Concerto, devouring the score in one glance, underscores the depth of his engagement with orchestral textures, making these transcriptions all the more fascinating.
Liszt knew his Beethoven inside out — not only as a composer but as a living, breathing musical force. This reverence infuses the transcriptions, and Scherbakov honours that spirit with sincerity. One final note: comparisons inevitably arise with Leslie Howard’s monumental Hyperion cycle, which also includes these transcriptions.
Both pianists bring distinctive qualities — Howard’s readings are often more expansive, a shade more orchestral in grandeur; Scherbakov’s approach here is perhaps more agile, more immediately engaging. It’s a luxury to have access to such authoritative readings by two pianists of this calibre — a sign, despite the commercial gloom surrounding classical music, of our good fortune as listeners. In sum: this volume is a compelling, sometimes thrilling testament to Liszt’s visionary transcriptional craft and to Scherbakov’s formidable pianism.
It is, however, a reminder — as Liszt himself would admit — that no piano transcription, however brilliant, can quite rival the living, breathing orchestra Beethoven imagined. Still, for those willing to embrace the piano’s limitations and — well — soar with its possibilities, this album offers a richly rewarding experience — a gateway into Beethoven’s symphonic world, refracted through the prism of Liszt’s extraordinary musical mind. A recording to cherish, to ponder, and to return to — not as — a substitute for the symphony hall, but as a vibrant, intimate companion to it.
