Album Review: Chopin 7 Mazurkas, Liszt – Au Bord D'une Source, Rapsodie Hongroise by Vladimir Horowitz
When you think of classical music that hits deep, this album is one of those gems. Released under the French label La Voix De Son Maître, it’s a masterclass in Romantic-era piano brilliance. Vladimir Horowitz takes center stage on the keys, delivering works by Chopin and Schumann with his signature flair. The artwork, credited to Jacqueline Bordes, feels understated yet fitting—like a quiet nod to the elegance within.
The album dives into some heavy hitters from Chopin's catalog, particularly his mazurkas, which are steeped in Polish folk rhythms but elevated to something almost otherworldly here. Two tracks stand out for me, not just because they’re technically impressive (which they absolutely are) but because they stick in your head long after the last note fades.
First up is Mazurka in C-Sharp Minor Op. 50, No. 3. This piece feels like an emotional rollercoaster wrapped in velvet. Horowitz doesn’t just play the notes—he breathes life into them. There’s a tension in the melody, a kind of push-and-pull that makes you lean in closer. It’s melancholic without being overbearing, intricate without feeling showy. You can almost picture Horowitz losing himself in the moment at the piano, letting the music guide him rather than the other way around. I remember this track vividly because it’s got this strange mix of sadness and hopefulness, like staring out at a stormy sea knowing the sun will break through eventually.
Then there’s Rapsodie Hongroise by Liszt. Oh man, this one grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. From the opening bars, it’s clear Horowitz is having fun with it. The piece has all the drama and swagger you’d expect from Liszt, but Horowitz adds his own layer of intensity. His fingers seem to fly across the keyboard, yet every note lands perfectly. What stays with me most is how dynamic it feels—there’s fire, sure, but also moments of surprising tenderness. It’s like watching a fireworks display where each burst is more dazzling than the last. By the time it ends, you’re left breathless, wondering how anyone could pull that off.
Of course, we can’t ignore Au Bord D’une Source, another standout. It’s softer, more introspective, almost like a whispered secret between the pianist and listener. But honestly? If I talk about every great thing on this album, we’ll be here all day.
What strikes me most isn’t just the technical wizardry or even the choice of repertoire—it’s how personal this recording feels. Horowitz wasn’t just playing these pieces; he was living them. And maybe that’s why this album resonates so deeply. Listening to it feels less like hearing a performance and more like eavesdropping on someone’s private conversation with their soul.
Here’s the kicker though: as much as I love this record, part of me wishes they’d included a few liner notes or background info. Not everyone knows what makes these compositions special, and a little context would’ve gone a long way. Still, if you’re into Romantic-era piano music—or just really good art—you owe it to yourself to give this a spin.
Final thought? Classical music might seem old-school, but albums like this remind us why it still matters today. Who needs Spotify algorithms when you’ve got Horowitz working his magic?
