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This video presents someone who is without question one of the greatest pianists of all time--the "miraculous pianist", as the musicologist Aladár Tóth described the prodigy György Cziffra. There he is in his physical self, in full armour. As regards the quality of his playing, it is clearly far super ior to the recordings he made for Hungaroton in the mid-fifties. The main contributing factor is less the sound quality or the adjustments a young pianist arriving in the West, like it or not, must have made in his playing in order to meet the tastes of Western audiences, markedly different from those in his own country. It is much more the inevitable emotional and intellectual development he had undergone that was most conducive to his development as an artist. There is no question of losing the air of the cafés; on the contrary, it is, if anything, even more incorporated in Cziffra's musical vision, a vision that constantly expanded and was based on sound and professional foundations. The mode in which he tackled his instrument was more than comme il faut in the early 1960s. Yet the eruptive improvisation at the start seems to deny this. This gives us an insight even into the secrets of practising, good practising. Midst all those Hungaresque, Romanianesque and Gitane sounds, suddenly Chopin's famous C Major Etude appears. It puts us in mind of Liszt, the only pianist who is said to have been able to play this piece at sight. His recital may have differed in
style but certainly not in attitude. Those who think of comparison between Liszt and Cziffra as a boring commonplace are doubly recommended to watch this unique documentary.
The piece for organ by Bach in Busoni's transcription testifies to Cziffra's awareness of what he was predestined for. He deliberately progressed towards incorporating the ideals that defined Liszt's work and pianism. Any plea for a more organ-like intonation would be as ludicrous as criticism of the overabundance of virtuoso elements--for which, incidentally, much of the blame should be placed on Busoni himself. Like it or not, this is the reading of those who came from the "other side". Not a narcissistic, overbred, emaciated intellect but an ancient healthy instinct repeatedly gives evidence of its artistic truth. According to legend, Bach, whenever he tried out an organ, played for a couple of minutes with all the registers pulled out, thus testing the full range of the instrument. I do not want to force comparisons, yet in Cziffra's interpretation something similar in format can be sensed--a demonstration of power which has far-reaching significance in an approach of this calibre. Cziffra's interpretation displays all those features that prompted this reviewer to write this article. The audacity of the playing is well worth watching--Cziffra takes great risks, yet is never for a moment irrational. Just as a wild animal watches its prey, measures the distance in deadly calm, and will not lose patience to wait for the right moment before lashing out, so Cziffra would not set out to take on the irresolvable. Where exactly the irresolvable begins for him is of course another matter. One senses his earnest consideration, wise deliberation and the practice, work and experiment of years, presumably of decades, behind the largest gestures, the most resounding fortissimi, the most neck-breaking jumps; one senses also a perfect awareness of the markings on the playing field and of the rules of the game. You have to be born to this, to attain security and nonchalance of this magnitude, such identification with the keys and the sounds of the piano.
Cziffra's is a lucky case then. Inherited and acquired traits do not often accommodate themselves in such an auspicious way in individuals. We see so many cases when talents start out as mighty promises, only to lose their power and grip and eventually burn out, either because they are unable to assimilate positively the new impressions that they may deem useful yet which are basically alien to their artistic selves, or because a forced rationalization prevents them from employing their best capabilities in a primary manner. For Cziffra, owning up to his roots was natural, it was his life element, the sole guarantee of creating value. The "air of the café" is therefore felt not only in the recital of those pieces that directly call for this manner but also in all the pieces he plays. And what is wrong with that? Who could claim in full conviction that Bartók, for instance, would have refused all approaches that in some way diverged from his own? How many could seriously believe that an understanding of Liszt's Sonata in B flat Minor is impossible without reading Goethe's Faust? Do we not smile in secret at small-minded professors fumbling around in the vast riches of Beethoven's sonatas? Do we have to consume Brahms's music with the obligatory North German gravy poured on it? Audiatur et altera pars--every note in Cziffra's piano playing testifies to a justification of otherness in music. This applies even to his performance of Scarlatti's sonatas, especially nowadays when it is almost shameful to admit enjoying early music if it is not performed on authentic instruments. This is not said as firmly, yet still holds, when we look back on the discography of Schumann's Toccata and recall Sviatoslav Richter's or Maurizio Pollini's similarly valid interpretations. But as regards the other pieces on the video, no such qualification is necessary. Nothing is more powerful than the vernacular, nothing can provide greater security for an artist--especially if he has become accustomed to using it in front of audiences from childhood. It is a treasure-trove from whose hidden resources he can extract whatever he wants. And that Liszt's style as rhapsodos--the single most important cohesive element in his otherwise rather heterogeneous music--is identical with Cziffra's artistic self is an axiom.

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