It is
interesting to compare this CD, done digitally, with the original analog
recordings of Thomas de Hartmann circa 1950. Technically, the recordings of Charles Ketcham
and Lawrence Rosenthal are far better than the de Hartman which was done on
amateur equipment. The instrument itself is better, the micing and mixing is
better, and the recording equipment is all better than what was available to de
Hartman.
With regard
to the playing there are also many differences—not necessarily better or worse,
just different. Ultimately, it may be up
to the listener to decide if he or she prefers one over the other—personally I
like them both, but if I had to choose, I would choose to listen to the de
Hartmann.
Charles
Ketcham and Laurence Rosenthal are modern world-class pianists with wonderful touch,
and tasteful use of dynamic change, nuance, and use all of the elements of
musical language like acceleration, ritard, ritinuto, legado, staccato, etc.
They bring a kind of clarity of line and structure to the music. And, listening
to them, I feel their connection to the sacredness of this music.
So why do I
still prefer the de Hartmann? There is just something, for me, in hearing the squeak
in de Hartmann’s chair, the very occasional miss-played note, the slightly out
of tune piano that brings me back to a moment that has passed, a moment, yes,
to move on from, and a moment to be both
enshrined and built upon…
There
is a story attributed to the Sufi Mullah Nasruddin.
“A man knocks on the Mullah’s door
introducing himself as a friend who has brought a chicken for the Mullah’s wife
to cook into a soup. The Mullah invites him in, the wife cooks the soup, and
the Mullah and the guest eat it.
“The next day there is another knock
on the door. ‘ Who is it?” asks the Mullah. ‘I am the friend of the friend who
brought the chicken—can I have some soup?’ The Mullah invites the man in and
goes into the kitchen. There is a little soup left, but not enough, so the Mullah
adds some water and serves the soup. The next day another man comes, ‘I am the
friend of the friend who brought the chicken—can I have some soup?’
“Again the Mullah goes to the
kitchen, adds more water, and serves it to the guest. This goes on for seven
days, seven friends, seven watered down soups. Finally the last guest says, ‘This
does not taste like chicken soup, it tastes like water!’
“The Mullah responds, ‘That is
because it is the soup of the chicken, of the chicken, of the chicken, of the
chicken, of the chicken, of the chicken, of the chicken, that your friend, of
the friend, of the friend, of the friend, of the friend, of the friend, of the friend,
brought to me!’”
(c) copyright Michael Kovitz , 2016
