Prepare to be captivated by a musical revelation: Radu Lupu’s unreleased recordings have emerged from the archives, and they are nothing short of extraordinary. For those who cherish the art of piano, this is a treasure trove that demands attention. Let me share a personal reflection: in over five decades of attending recitals, spanning the performances of countless pianists, including many legendary figures of the 20th century, none have consistently stirred my soul or inspired awe like Radu Lupu. His stage presence, particularly in his later years, was a study in contrasts—a solemn, bearded figure hunched over the keys, as if in a trance rather than a recital. Yet, from this unassuming posture emerged a sound of such velvety richness and intellectual depth that it often felt miraculous.
Lupu’s passing in 2022 at the age of 76 marked the end of an era. He had retired from public performances three years prior and had long since stopped making studio recordings. Decca, his exclusive label for over two decades, released his complete recordings in 2015, seemingly closing the chapter on his legacy. But here’s where it gets exciting: to honor what would have been his 80th birthday, Decca has unveiled a six-disc collection of previously unreleased studio sessions and radio recordings from 1970 to 2002. These are works Lupu never officially recorded, making this release a gift to both devoted fans and newcomers alike.
The collection opens with Mozart’s G minor and E-flat piano quartets, performed in 1976 alongside members of the Tel Aviv String Quartet. The studio quality is impeccable, showcasing Lupu’s introspective lyricism in the slow movements and his exuberant brilliance in the finales. It’s baffling these recordings were ever shelved. A 1990s disc of Schubert sonatas—the unfinished C major D840 and the D major D850, the latter rendered with surprising intensity—complements Lupu’s existing Schubert repertoire. Meanwhile, a series of Haydn and Mozart sonatas from the 1970s and 80s concludes unexpectedly with Schumann’s Études Symphoniques, complete with its five “posthumous” variations.
But this is where it gets controversial: while some tracks stay within Lupu’s familiar artistic territory, others venture boldly into uncharted waters. Lupu rarely recorded Chopin, yet here is a B minor Scherzo that crackles with energy, even if it’s not technically flawless. His rendition of Bartók’s Out of Doors suite, prepared for the 1969 Leeds International Piano Competition (which he famously won), remains a highlight. Even more surprising is Copland’s Sonata, performed with fierce majesty at the 1971 Aldeburgh Festival, and Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, a rare foray into Russian repertoire, captured in a 1984 Dutch broadcast. Lupu’s tone here is raw, almost strident at times, yet utterly compelling.
Throughout, the recording quality holds up admirably, ensuring every track is a delight. And this is the part most people miss: these recordings aren’t just historical artifacts—they’re a testament to Lupu’s versatility and his ability to breathe new life into every piece he touched.
Listen on Apple Music or Spotify and immerse yourself in this rediscovered genius. But before you do, I leave you with this thought: In an age where perfection is often prized over passion, do we risk losing the raw, unfiltered artistry that made performers like Lupu so unforgettable? Share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear your take.
