Alkan's Concerto pour piano seul—the eighth, ninth and tenth etudes from his colossal set of Douze Etudes dans les tons mineurs, Op. 39—remains something of a rarity both on disc and in the concert-hall today. It is doubtful that the work ever had an airing in its entirety during Alkan's lifetime, and in all probability only received its proper world premiere when Egon Petri performed it—along with the Symphony for Solo Piano—in a series of BBC commemorative concerts in 1938, some 50 years after Alkan's death. Of course there have been notable recordings from both John Ogdon (RCA, 4/73) and the tireless Alkan champion Ronald Smith (EMI, 2/78), but these have long since disappeared and have not been transferred to CD as yet. This recording therefore makes a welcome appearance indeed, particularly when the pianist concerned happens to be one Marc-Andre Hamelin, who only a few years ago met with astounding critical acclaim when he performed the Concerto in London.
The extreme technical difficulties imposed upon any pianist rash enough to undertake a performance of the Concerto cannot be overstated; though to the non-piano playing listener, these will not perhaps be immediately apparent. The effect is cumulative. Only after five to six minutes into the 30-minute first movement do we become aware of the almost superhuman feat unfolding before our ears. And then there's the key signature—G sharp minor—no easy key, ask any pianist. It's rather like laying four Islameys end to end; the magnificent coda unleashes a torrent of diabolical double-note repetitions that make the latter's sound like a preparatory exercise. To my mind this is the ne plus ultra of piano etudes—it leaves all reeling in its wake: no wonder that Liszt was said to have feared the idea of playing before Alkan. Yet this is no mere showpiece, as one might imagine from my description, but a fully integrated and richly melodic example of sonata form. The second movement is a profoundly moving and expressive Adagio that builds to a powerful funereal central section presaging the sound-world of Mahler, whilst the last movement Allegretto alla barbaresca combines the 'Rakoczian' and Polonaise sound-worlds of Liszt and Chopin into a dark, and as Ronald Smith has described it, ''elemental'' contraption that is wholly Alkanistic in inspiration.
What can I say about Hamelin's performance? Well, I could go on for several paragraphs describing the nuances of his playing and his total absorption of the Alkan style, but such pianism as one finds here really needs only shortest of descriptions to convey the overall result: a stunningly monumental performance, breathtaking accuracy with a beautiful bell-like cantabile in the melodic episodes—an exhilarating experience not to be missed. More Alkan from this pianist please. Well recorded.'