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THE KING OF THE

Vladimir Horowitz was one of the greatest pianists the world had ever seen. his success, however, came at a heavy price. Nick Forton charts a glittering career blighted by depression and long periods away from the concert stage

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early 25 years after his passing, Vladimir Horowitz remains a controversial figure. Sviatoslav Richters brisk appraisal Great pianist, trivial mind echoes Arthur Rubinsteins feeling for his rival and erstwhile friend. While conceding that Horowitz was the better pianist, as a man He was a curious combination of arrogance and stupidity. As a person, he was just not interesting. The entry in Groves Dictionary concludes Horowitz illustrates that an astounding instrumental gift carries no guarantee about musical understanding. Harsh? Or reality?

piano trio:

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Horowitz died on 5 November 1989 in New York at the age of 85. The obituarists called up their superlatives. A legendary figure at the piano, said The Times, whom some regarded as the greatest pianist of all time, including those they never heard. Eccentric virtuoso of the piano whose extraordinary personality and skill overwhelmed six decades of concert audiences, ran The New York Times headline. Phenomenal virtuosity, opined The Daily Telegraph, mercurial speed and power and, in his prime, accuracy and dynamic contrasts were his trademark as much as his dapper appearance, always with a striking bow-tie. Many eulogies quoted the critic Neville Carduss description of Horowitz as the greatest pianist alive or dead, later adding that this was perhaps an understatement: it

A 33-year-old Horowitz poses at the piano; (from left) redoubtable rivals Arthur Rubinstein, Sviatoslav Richter

was perhaps not positive enough about the pianists still unborn. Yet each obituary carried a health warning in Horowitzs case a mental health warning. As a result of prolonged efforts to suppress his musical and sexual instincts, [he] had a severe breakdown in 1936, (The Telegraph). A cruel fight with pre-concert nerves, resulting from his fear that he would not live up to high expectations, led to psychosomatic disorders. Writing in 1997, Norman Lebrecht, having declared that Pianists mostly come in two varieties: eggheads and fruitcakes, thought that Vladimir Horowitz, probably the greatest pianist of the 20th century, was certifiably insane. He suffered repeated breakdowns and remissions, described by the music industry as retirements and

comebacks, and lived on steamed fish. He never got up before noon and only gave concerts at 4pm on Sundays. From such distortions are legends made. But Lebrecht had a point. Extraordinary musical genius is often associated with mental disorders. Manic depression is, for some reason, more common among musicians and poets than among sculptors or novelists. And of those musicians, pianists tend to be wackier than woodwind or string players. Horowitz was highly strung, neurotic, demanding, spoilt, childlike and, one senses, incomplete away from the piano. The history of the keyboard is littered with similar cases. Its a Faustian pact: I shall make you the greatest pianist in the world in return for your personal happiness. When transcendent musical gifts are suffused with guilt or self-disgust over ones sexuality, it can lead to despair and suicide. Noel Mewton-Wood and Terence Judd are just two such tragic examples.

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clever conversions:
Horowitz adapts at the piano

The virtuoso was famous for fiendish arrangements of classic masterpieces

Almost every great pianist until
the latter part of the 20th century had their signature pieces without which no recital would be complete. Horowitz composed several electrifying end-ofrecital arrangements that drove audiences wild. The first was his Carmen Fantasy, derived from Bizets opera its a work he recorded several times during his career, all of them differing slightly from one another. Liszts arrangements of Mendelssohns Wedding March and Saint-Sanss Danse macabre provided the basis for two more. The most talked about, though, was his four-handed transcription of Souzas The Stars and Stripes Forever in which he ingeniously combined bass, harmony, rhythm, melody and piccolo obbligato. It sounded impossible for just ten fingers, yet Horowitz stated that his elaboration of Liszts Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 was more of a challenge and one of the most difficult pieces I have ever played. Many pianists have been influenced by his conflation of the original and revised versions of Rachmaninovs Second Sonata (made with the composers approval). More controversial were his additions to Musorgskys Pictures at an Exhibition. Recorded in 1947 and again, in a more elaborate arrangement, in 1951, Horowitz had sound musical reasons for attempting to make the score more pianistically idiomatic.

Horowitz hovered on the border just like his performances. Unleashing a penetrating sonority unequalled by any other pianist, he mesmerised and thrilled with the raw passion and frightening power of his playing. His recordings of the final pages of Liszts Valle dObermann, Hungarian Rhapsody No.6 and Rachmaninovs Third Piano Concerto (live with Barbirolli in 1941) will convince you of that. There was, of course, infinitely more to Horowitz than mere pyrotechnics. The range and variety of the colours, dynamics and touch he could conjure up had other pianists flocking to his recitals to see how it was done. His masterly control of the pedals, especially the use of the una corda , set him apart as did the sheer character and unbridled imagination of his conceptions

He mesmerised and thrilled with the raw passion of his playing

(true, these could sometimes lapse into vulgar bad taste). It was, above all, his sound that was unmistakable. Horowitzian became a useful adjective by which to describe a certain kind of pianist. Any up-and-coming young pianist is still routinely (if lazily) described as the new Horowitz. Not many pianists can be said to have had such an influence on their own and succeeding generations. None for good or bad was as widely emulated. So where did this Tornado from the Steppes come from? He was born in 1903 (not 1904 as most sources have it) in either Berdichev or Kiev (no one, not even Horowitz, has ever been certain). The fourth and youngest child of a cultured, prosperous electrical engineer and his pianist wife, he was known in the family as Volodya. >

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Throughout his life, Horowitz recorded a treasure trove of more than 100 high-octane performances. Jessica Duchen picks the very best
genius for sale:
Arturo Toscanini, finds him exultant and full-blooded, latching on to Brahmss longspun arguments and blending with the orchestral texture with fabulous generosity and finesse. (APR 6001). The sheer intensity and darkness of his imagination served him well in the dreamscapes of Schumann, perhaps most of all in the feverish hauntings of Kreisleriana. His ability to characterise every layer of texture with an individual tone is if anything even stronger here; the highlight is a nearsupernatural account of the finale, where the placement of those off-beat bass notes is mesmerising (Sony Originals 88697858312). For Horowitz at his most lyrical try his extraordinary account of the Chopin Barcarolle, given live on 26 November 1967. Over the regular undulating rhythm, the bel canto aria unfurls with exquisite freedom and his tone is as opalescent as a Venice lagoon along with revelatory changes of colour and the sort of rubato that can stop your breath. (To be included in a Sony boxset Vladimir Horowitz Live at Carnegie Hall, out in August). Scarlatti demands diamond-tipped delicacy, and those who heard Horowitzs last recital in London at the Royal Festival Hall in 1982 are bound to remember his selection of that composers Sonatas, with their kaleidoscopic feel for colour. His two discs devoted to Scarlatti are a treasure trove (Sony Tandem 88697099322). Two final classic barnstormers: all fans should hear Horowitzs own version of Liszts Hungarian Rhapsody No.15, the Rkczy March: a visionary account on a larger-than-life scale, packing every ounce of central European torment and fervour into dense textures and violent rhythms (Sony 88697839872). Match that with his transcription of The Stars and Stripes Forever. It has the impact of a giant ticker-tape parade, complete with screaming crowds, fly-pasts and probably the president himself. Fasten your seatbelt but still prepare to fall off your chair when the piccolo line enters, seemingly voiced with Horowitzs third hand (The Essential Vladimir Horowitz, Sony 88697419402).

THE RECORDING LEGACIES

Columbia Records advertises its talent

DEFINING HOROWITZS

magic defies possibility, but fortunately he left a plethora of astonishing recordings that still inspire us to try. His discography includes multiple versions of a number of works, and it is worth trawling lesser-known releases for some of his most extraordinary interpretations. Many were captured live in concert prime among these is an account of the Liszt B minor Sonata that I picked as top choice for Building a Library in these pages a few months ago. From Carnegie Hall in 1949, it displays Horowitz at his most intense and demoniac, making Liszts masterpiece virtually into a matter of life and death. (Vladimir Horowitz at Carnegie Hall: The Private Collection, RCA Red Seal 88697538852). Horowitz made his debut at Carnegie Hall performing Tchaikovskys Piano Concerto No. 1 a work with which he continued to be associated. Of several recorded accounts, the April 1948 performance from Carnegie Hall conducted by Bruno Walter has the edge in terms of flair and poetry, free of the regimented air of his performances with Toscanini. (Archipel Records ARPCD 0488). Lest anyone fear that Horowitz was out of his comfort zone beyond obviously virtuoso fare, try his live 1948 recording of the Brahms Piano Concerto No. 2. The recording, with the NBC Symphony Orchestra under

prepare to fall off your chair when the piccolo line enters

He entered the Kiev Conservatory at the age of nine but it was in 1919 that he began studies there with his most important teacher, Felix Blumenfeld, who had been a pupil of Anton Rubinstein. Throughout his childhood and adolescence, Horowitz was always the centre of attention because of his keyboard prowess. He didnt care for rivals. Simon Barere, a classmate seven years older than Horowitz, was considered to be Blumenfelds best pupil. He had this extraordinary technique, Horowitz recalled, but that was about all he had Blumenfeld liked him more than me. I remember I was a little bit jealous. Horowitz made his debut in Kiev in 1920 and by 1925 was well established as the leading Russian pianist of his generation with a repertoire of over 200 different works. He left the Soviet Union in 1925 to make his first appearance outside his homeland and to avoid military service. His successful debut in Berlin early the next year in turn led to sensational concerts in Hamburg. With Germany conquered, Horowitz moved on to Paris. Another triumph. Until then, few pianists trained in the Russian tradition had been heard in a Europe more used to the German school represented by the likes of Schnabel, Backhaus and Fischer. Rachmaninov and Horowitz were among the first to offer freer, more colourful and

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SEX AND h SENSIBILITIES

with Wanda Toscanini at Studio 54 in 1978

a merry dance:

Horowitz greets fans in Leningrad in 1986

soviet smiles:

Horowitz may have married, but his homosexuality was well known
One of Horowitzs favourite quips
was that there were only three kinds of pianist: homosexual, Jewish and bad. He himself ticked the first two boxes. When he announced his intention to marry in the autumn of 1933, eyebrows were raised among his friends and peers as his same-sex preference was well-known. I wouldnt know what to do with a woman, he told Arthur Rubinstein who, like most of his contemporaries, was astonished when it transpired that his bride was to be none other than Wanda, the tough, beetle-browed daughter of Toscanini. The marriage was a highly volatile one with periods of estrangements (including one when Wanda had an affair with pianist Byron Janis) but endured until Horowitzs death. He was lost without her. In 1940 Horowitz began treatment for depression with Dr Lawrence Kubie, a colourful psychiatrist who cured homosexuals. The couple lived apart from 1949-53, a period when Horowitz was looked after by Carl Erpf, a former alcoholic and brother-in-law of Dr Kubie, with the help of Kenneth Leedom, a young actor. Towards the end of his life, Horowitz was happy to be seen in New Yorks gay clubs. Yet despite the assumption that he was gay, there is no record of him having a physical relationship with a man. Horowitz was married to the piano. If people understood what Horowitzs tone meant, the American pianist William Kapell observed astutely, he would be banned from the keyboard.

more thrilling playing. It was a new world, recalled the young pianist Rudolf Firkun y, a different approach to the piano, and the Horowitz recital [in Paris] made one of the greatest impressions of my life. London was less impressed. The story of Horowitzs American debut is well known. Carnegie Hall (12 January 1928) was the venue; Tchaikovskys First Piano Concerto was the vehicle; Sir Thomas Beecham, also making his American debut, was the conductor. In the rehearsal, there was disagreement about tempos. In performance, Beecham got his own way for the first two movements before Horowitz took matters into his own hands for the finale. I played the octaves the loudest, the fastest, they ever heard in their life. I was too fast, I admit it. It was not artistic. It was show-off, pour pater le bourgeois. Some critics noticed and said so. The most prominent, however, went into raptures. Even though the performance had been a mess (and, incidentally, Beecham and Horowitz parted without animosity) it had stampeded the audience as an audience has seldom been stampeded of late years, wrote

I played the octaves the fastest they ever heard in their life

Olin Downes in The New York Times. It was like a tiger let loose. Horowitz continued to stampede audiences over the next six decades but for 21 years of those 60, he never played in public. His average fee for the 1927-8 season was about $500. During the Depression, when most men would be happy to take home $1,000 a year, Horowitz was earning $1,500 a concert. By 1942 his fee had risen to $2,750; by the mid-1950s it could be in excess of $8,000, making him the most expensive pianist in the world. In 1933, he married Wanda Toscanini, daughter of the great conductor. The world, it would seem, was Horowitzs oyster but shortly afterwards, suffering from nervous exhaustion, he abandoned the concert stage for two years, the first of four such retirements. By far the longest of these was from 1953 to 1965, though he made frequent visits to the recording studio during this time. Rarity value and astute marketing made Horowitzs 1965 comeback at Carnegie Hall the must-have ticket: over 1,500 people queued overnight in the cold and rain to make sure of hearing this piano legend. No classical

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Did studies with the great virtuoso set his pupils off to an ominous start?
Strangely, none of the pianists who studied with Horowitz went on to have
trouble-free careers. Online footage of a Coleman Blumfield recital makes it clear why he is not internationally famous. Ivan Davis became professor of piano at the University of Miami in 1966; Ronald Turini, too, gave up a promising career to become professor emeritus of piano performance at the University of Western Ontario. Alexander Fiorillo lost confidence and became a professor of music at Temple University while Eduardus Halim teaches in New York. Both of Horowitzs most successful pupils, Gary Graffman and Byron Janis, succumbed to severe problems in their hands. Perhaps the curse even rubbed off on Murray Perahia, who consulted Horowitz frequently in the last year of his life. In 1990, a cut to his right hand turned septic, leading to years away from the concert platform.

THE CURSE OF HOROWITZ

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STROKES

Horowitzs technique was certainly unorthodox, but it worked for him

Byron Janis suffered from acute arthritis

joint trouble:

flat-fingered: Horowitzs hand position

Watching Horowitz play was

concert of that decade matched its dramatic impact, introducing Horowitz as it did to a whole new generation. But within four years, he disappeared from public again. In the summer of 1973 he underwent electroshock therapy for depression, as he had done in the early 1960s. Revitalised, he returned to concert activities again in 1974. The following year, the Horowitzs only child, Sonia, was found dead in her apartment in Geneva at the age of 40. A classic case of the unhappy child born to famous parents, she had taken too many sleeping pills, though whether by accident or design has never been established. Neglect from a self-absorbed father and a mother whose sole role was to minister to her genius husband made Sonia a tragic figure. If Horowitz had any deep feelings about Sonias death, wrote Harold C Schonberg in his biography of the pianist, he hid it very well. 1978 marked the Golden Jubilee of his American debut with a return to his old war horse, Rachmaninovs Piano Concerto No.3, partnered by the New York Philharmonic and Eugene Ormandy. It was the first time Horowitz had played with an orchestra for 25 years. Horowitz, it was conceded, owned the work but this performance was mannered, frenetic, self-indulgent and littered with

errors. It was the beginning of a long period when Horowitz played below his best, though London was happy to welcome him back in 1982 after an absence of more than 30 years. The nadir came in June 1983 during an ill-advised tour of Japan. He had been on drugs prescribed by his psychiatrist since 1975. The cumulative effect of these and too much alcohol left him playing in a semistupor, with memory lapses and many wrong notes. Another retirement followed. His return in 1985 with concerts in Paris and Milan heralded the start of a glorious Indian summer. He could still dazzle an audience but there was a calmness and serenity to his playing that was new. Most critics agreed that these were probably the years of his finest playing. The film of the Moscow recital he gave during his historic return trip to Russia for the first time in 61 years shows some members of the audience in tears. Its hard, as a viewer, not to share their emotion. Horowitz gave his last concert on 21 June 1987 in Hamburg, the city of his early triumph. His final recording was taped on 1 November 1989, just four days before he died. n Now listen to our cover CD of Horowitzs 1982 Royal Festival Hall recital. A new 42-disc Sony box-set (41 CDs, 1 DVD) Vladimir Horowitz Live at Carnegie Hall is reviewed next month

almost as fascinating as hearing him. The economy of body movement, the lack of facial expression and the complete concentration on the keyboard are elements common to many pianists. What is unusual, however, is the position of his hands: the wrist is kept below the keys and the fingers are held flat in fact they often appear to curve upwards hardly the recommended way of doing things. No teacher liked my system,

No teacher liked my system. it went against their rules

Horowitz recalled. It went against all their rules. They liked what came out, but didnt like the way I made it come out. Horowitz had long, thin fingers but not such a large hand (he could stretch a tenth at most). Holding them flat helped to produce a richer, more sonorous tone, while the low wrist enabled greater note independence and dazzling passagework. Horowitz was convinced that he got a better sound that way: The entire ball of the finger, not merely the tip, is on the key. One other unusual feature was the way he held the fifth finger of his right hand, curled, ready to strike like a cobra. One has to have a strong pinky for Rachmaninovs Third Concerto! he once said. Horowitzs hands were extraordinary looking, observed his pupil Ivan Davis. The fifth fingers were surrounded by the most incredible mass of white muscle.

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