I think one reason Vladimir Horowitz was such a memorable pianist can be explained thus:
There are some truly great pieces floating around in the world of classical music, and you’ll often hear pianists make recordings of the same piece, e.g. Chopin’s Ballade in G-minor. These pianists listen to each others’ recordings and begin to imitate each other, sometimes consciously, sometimes subconsciously. There gradually becomes something of a “consensus amongst pianists” on how to play the piece, e.g. “When you get to this passage, you slow down–just like everybody else,” or “It’s best to hold the pedal down all the way through the last four measures,” etc.
“The standard interpretation” doesn’t sway Horowitz–not to the degree it does others–when it’s time to perform. He almost seems to take delight in subverting his hearers’ expectations: “Oh, so you think you’ve heard Liszt’s Sonata in B-minor? Really? Well, how about this!” Sometimes he even disregards significant marks in the score, and you can almost hear him say “I know the composer wrote that, but my spirit cries out this!” (A quote from Vlad: “The score is not a bible, and I am never afraid to dare. The music is behind those dots.”) In some of his concert recordings, you can tell he’s willing to take interpretative risks, some of which I think even he’d admit didn’t play out too well, but on the whole his risk-taking made him great.
Personally, I think you should listen to a “standard” interpretation of a piece before you hear Horowitz’ interpretation, because the former’s usually more faithful to the score and the composer’s intentions, and you get more of a sense of what it was originally supposed to sound like. Then you can move on to The Maestro’s recording of it, and fully appreciate this genius for his free spirit.
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