Ravel: Piano Concerto in G major

“Zimerman's pianism is self-recommending.
His trills in the first movement of the G major Concerto are to die for, his passagework in the finale crystalclear, never hectic, always stylish. For their part Boulez and the Clevelanders are immaculate and responsive; they relish Ravel's neon-lit artificiality and moments of deliberate gaudiness.
That goes equally for the Valses nobles, which have just about every nuance you'd want, and none you wouldn't. The recording is generous with ambience, to the point where some orchestral entries after big climaxes are blurred. Otherwise detail is razor-sharp and one of the biggest selling-points of the disc. Zimerman's humming may be a slight distraction for some listeners, especially in the Left-Hand Concerto, where you may not be always convinced that the LSO knew quite what it was supposed to do with the long notes of the main theme, and where there's a slight lack of tension in exchanges between piano and orchestra. There again, had the G major Concerto not been so wonderful those points might not have registered at all, for this is playing of no mean distinction. In the Left- Hand Concerto, Zimerman's phenomenal pianism sets its own agenda and brings its own rich rewards.” Gramophone Classical Music Guide, 2010

Diapason d'Or, FFFF. de Télérama & Penguin Guide Awards

“In crude and subjective terms Michelangeli makes the spine tingle in a way no others can approach. How does he do it? This is the secret every pianist would love to know, and which no writer can ever pin down.
But it's possible to give some general indications.
It isn't a question of technique, at least not directly, because Ashkenazy, for example (on Decca) can match their most virtuoso feats; indirectly, yes, it's relevant, in that there are dimensions in Michelangeli's pianism which allow musical conceptions to materialise which might not dawn on others. Nor is it a question of structure, in the narrow sense of the awareness of overall proportions, judicious shaping of paragraphs, continuity of thought; but the way structure is projected and the way it's transmuted into emotional drama; these things are critical.
In one way or another most of the recordings in this section respond vividly to the excitement of Rachmaninov's dramatic climaxes; but with Michelangeli these climaxes seem to burst through the music of their own volition, as though an irresistible force of nature has been released. It's this crowning of a structure by release, rather than by extra pressure, which gives the performance a sense of exaltation and which more than anything else sets it on a different level. It enables him to be freer in many details, yet seem more inevitable as a whole.
The impact of all this would be negligible without a sympathetically attuned conductor and orchestra. Fortunately that's exactly what Michelangeli has. Michelangeli's Ravel is open to criticism, partly because many listeners feel uncomfortable with his persistent left-beforeright mannerism in the slow movement and with his unwarranted textual tinkerings (like changing the last note). But he's as finely attuned to this aloof idiom as to its temperamental opposite in the Rachmaninov.
And although the recording can't entirely belie its vintage, it does justice to one of the finest concerto records ever made.” Gramophone Classical Music Guide, 2010

“Argerich at her most charismatically brilliant.” BBC Music Magazine, November 2007

“For those who prefer studio recordings, Argerich's highly regarded 1974 taping has been added to her famous pairing of the Ravel G major and Prokofiev Third Piano Concertos. This one has both raw passion and wonderfully controlled gradations of touch and tone.” Gramophone Classical Music Guide, 2010

Prix de l'Académie du disque français Award