Gilels was a true king of pianists, and these Paris- and New York-based recordings only confirm his legendary status. Here, again, is that superlative musicianship, that magisterial technique and, above all, that unforgettable sonority.
What breadth and distinction he brings to the first movement of the Saint-Saëns, from his fulmination in the central octave uproar to his uncanny stillness in the final pages. High jinks are reserved for the second and third movements, the former tossed off with a teasing lightness, the latter's whirling measures with infinite brio. An approximate swipe at the Scherzo's flashing double-note flourish, a false entry and a wrong turning five minutes into the finale offer amusing evidence of Gilels's high-wire act. No performance of this concerto is more 'live', and it's small wonder that Claudio Arrau included it among his desert island favourites.
Gilels's Rachmaninov is altogether more temperate yet, once more, this is among the few truly great performances of this work. His tempo is cool and rapid, and maintained with scintillating ease through even the most formidable intricacy. The cadenza – the finer and more transparent of the two – billows and recedes in superbly musical style and the climax is of awe-inspiring grandeur and the central scherzando in the finale is as luminous as it's vivacious.
The finale's meno mosso variation is excluded and, it has to be said, Cluytens's partnership is distant and run of the mill. But the recordings hardly show their age in such admirably smooth transfers. Gilels's 'encore', Shostakovich's Prelude and Fugue No 5 is like a brilliant shaft of light after the Rachmaninov. The performance is perfection, entirely justifying Arthur Rubinstein's comment after hearing him play in Russia: 'If that boy comes to the West, I shall have to shut up shop'.