【古殿唱片音樂故事】藝術家的自我審判——李希特(Sviatoslav Richter, 1915-1997)與那個「可以出版」的現場夜晚
古殿殿主
在BBC評選的「史上最偉大鋼琴家」(2025)榜單上，他排名第四——僅次於拉赫曼尼諾夫、魯賓斯坦、霍洛維茲。
他留下了大量現場錄音。但其中只有一小部分，是他親自聆聽、反覆確認之後才允許出版的。其餘的，是他去世之後，後世以歷史文獻的名義陸續挖掘出來的——那些錄音同樣珍貴，只是性質不同。
「允許出版」這四個字，對他來說從來不是一件容易的事。他對自己的演奏時常不滿意，每一次放行
都是一場掙扎。
一、七個城市，同一首曲子
1
986年的春夏，斯維亞托斯拉夫·李希特把貝多芬《迪亞貝里變奏曲》Op.120排進了巡迴演出的曲目。
《迪亞貝里》是貝多芬晚年最龐大的鋼琴作品——33個變奏，完整演奏將近一小時，橫跨人類情感的整個光譜，從諧謔到莊嚴，從賦格到沉默。它不是最受歡迎的曲目，也不是最容易讓觀眾鼓掌的選擇。它是一首需要整個人全部投入才能說清楚的作品。
那年，他在七個城市演奏了這首曲子：米蘭、波爾扎諾、布拉格、傑爾、哥本哈根、阿姆斯特丹、海德。七場，同一首曲子，七個不同的夜晚，七種不同的回答。
二、19年前的那個義大利夏夜
在談
阿姆斯特丹之前，先回到19年前。
1967年7月14日，義大利翁布里亞，斯波萊托（Spoleto），Teatro Nuovo。
李希特除了是鋼琴家，也是一位認真的業餘畫家。他畫水彩，也畫素描。正因如此，他對德布西有一種特殊的珍愛——德布西的音樂在他眼中，本質上是一種聽覺的繪畫，是光線、霧氣、色彩在時間中的流動。
德布西《前奏曲》第二卷，是李希特最珍視的德布西曲目。十二首前奏曲，和聲幾近消融，每一首都是一個獨立的視覺宇宙——從「霧」（Brouillards）到「煙火」（Feux d'artifice）。他偶爾演奏其中幾首，但極少完整演奏全套。從1967年5月到1968年3月，他在六個城市留下了第二卷的現場錄音，但其中只有一場，在他生前就被正式壓製成黑膠流向世界：就是斯波萊托那個夜晚。
這場演出留下了兩個廠牌的黑膠版本：美國 Vox/Turnabout（TV-S 34359 與 TV-S 34360 兩張合為完整全場）、日本 Nippon Columbia HRS-1501-VX（德布西第二卷）。其他城市的錄音，要等到李希特去世之後，才以CD形式陸續出現——那些廠牌以「歷史文獻」為使命，把曾經存在過的聲音帶給後世，是另一種珍貴。
那個夜晚還留下了一個無法複製的聲音細節。
在李希特走上舞台之前，可以聽到教堂的鐘聲從遠處響起。
斯波萊托的教堂，從中世紀開始就在那裡響——每天，不間斷，與任何音樂會無關。那個鐘聲是這座翁布里亞古城從中世紀到今天仍持續不斷的空間生命遺跡。它在1967年7月14日那個傍晚，恰好與李希特走上舞台的時刻重疊。這不是設計，這是偶然。而偶然才是真實的。
那個鐘聲被刻進了黑膠的溝槽裡。
2010年這場音樂會首次出版CD版本時，混音工程師把它定義為「干擾性噪音」，將它刪除。皮鞋聲還在，掌聲還在——但那個鐘聲，那個古城給那個夜晚說的第一句話，只存在於黑膠的溝槽裡。我自己親耳比對過兩個版本。那個差異不是音質的問題，而是一個真實的聲音，在一個版本裡存在，在另一個版本裡消失了。
三、一個藝術家的自我審判
回到1
986年的七場巡迴。《迪亞貝里》變奏曲。
李希特知道哪幾場值得考慮——他在聆樂筆記裡說，要在阿姆斯特丹、布拉格、海德堡三個版本之間做選擇。其他幾場，不在比較範圍之內。
1987年4月，德國巴特維塞，他第一次坐下來認真聆聽這三個版本的磁帶。筆記裡寫：
「聽聽在哪兒錄的《迪亞貝里》彈得最好。這部作品規模宏大，時長驚人，實難定奪。但出版商可沒這個耐心等我做決定，他們等著發行唱片。真是進退兩難。」
不是唱片公司不想出，而是唱片公司在催他。Philips 等著要發行。是李希特自己陷入了決斷的困境。
幾天後，赴維也納途中，朋友奧特瑪·德魯科維奇（Otmar Drugowitsch）開車，車上又放起了阿姆斯特丹的錄音。
「他特別喜歡阿姆斯特丹的現場錄音，我也贊成。顯然這版是最好的，我決定出版。」
「我也贊成」——他心中早已經有了答案了。
但決定之後，他還是繼續聽。維也納使節酒店，又一遍。
「近來總聽迪亞貝里，不妨再聽一遍。皆因我心中疑慮恆常，甚是煩人。」
這不是猶豫。這是一個藝術家的自我審查機制——它不因為決定已經做出而停止運作。
四、兩個版本，兩種真實
1988
年，Philips 發行了阿姆斯特丹音樂會的黑膠與CD。1991年，蘇聯 Melodiya 也出版了同一場演出的黑膠（A10 00711 004）。那一年，蘇聯解體了。
兩個版本都是李希特認可的，但有一個差異：Philips 版進行了背景處理，聲音更乾淨，但現場的空氣感與細節損失了一部分。Melodiya 作為蘇聯國營唱片公司，製作流程與西方商業體系根本不同——他們沒有那麼多商業考量，基本上就是把磁帶母帶盡可能直接製作出來。這個「沒有多餘動作」的結果，反而讓那個1986年6月17日夜晚的錄音空間細節，保存得更完整。
李希特在開車途中聽到、說「顯然這版是最好的」的那個聲音，今天最接近地保存在這張蘇聯紅標黑膠裡。
五、你願意為哪個「不完美的夜晚」留下來？
李希特的「
疑慮恆常，甚是煩人」——這不是藝術家才有的困境。
我們每個人都曾面對一個已經做出的決定，卻仍然在深夜繼續回頭檢視它。那種「答案已知，安心未至」的狀態，是最真實的處境之一。
李希特最終選了阿姆斯特丹。不是因為那個夜晚完美，而是在所有的不完美中，那個夜晚最接近他心裡的那個音樂。
斯波萊托那個夜晚，他一口氣彈完德布西第二卷的十二首——在他演奏生涯中很少這樣一氣呵成。那不是計畫，那是那個夜晚給他的，或者說，是他給那個夜晚的。
兩個夜晚，兩張黑膠，兩種對「值得留下」這件事的不同回答。
你願意為哪個「不完美的夜晚」留下來？
＊＊＊＊＊＊
An Artist's Self-Trial: Sviatoslav Richter and the Live Concert Nights "Approved for Release"
On the
BBC’s list of the "Greatest Pianists of All Time" (2025), he ranked fourth—surpassed only by Sergei Rachmaninoff, Arthur Rubinstein, and Vladimir Horowitz.
He left behind a vast ocean of live recordings. Yet, only a small fraction of them were approved for commercial release during his lifetime, and only after he personally listened to and rigorously verified them. The rest were unearthed by posterity after his passing under the banner of historical documents—recordings that are equally precious, though fundamentally different in nature.
The phrase "approved for release" was never an easy thing for him. He was routinely dissatisfied with his own playing, making every single green light a profound internal struggle.
I. Seven Cities, One Piece
In the s
pring and summer of 1986, Sviatoslav Richter programmed Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations, Op. 120 into his tour repertoire.
The Diabelli Variations is Beethoven’s most monumental piano work from his late period—33 variations spanning nearly an hour in performance. It traverses the entire spectrum of human emotion, from the humorous to the solemn, from intricate fugues to profound silence. It is not the most popular piece on a program, nor is it an easy choice to win effortless applause from an audience. It is a work that demands the absolute surrender of one's entire being to be fully articulated.
That year, he performed this piece in seven cities: Milan, Bolzano, Prague, Győr, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, and Heide. Seven performances of the exact same piece; seven different evenings; seven different answers.
II. An Italian Summer Night, 19 Years Prior
Before we
speak of Amsterdam, we must step back 19 years in time.
The date was July 14, 1967. The place: Teatro Nuovo in Spoleto, Umbria, Italy.
Richter was not only a pianist but also a serious amateur painter. He painted in watercolors and sketched. Because of this, he held a unique, tender affection for Claude Debussy. In his eyes, Debussy's music was essentially a form of auditory painting—the fluid motion of light, mist, and color suspended in time.
Debussy’s Préludes, Book II, was Richter's most treasured Debussy repertoire. Across these twelve preludes, harmony almost dissolves entirely, with each piece forming an independent visual universe—from "Mists" (Brouillards) to "Fireworks" (Feux d'artifice). While he occasionally played a few of them, he rarely performed the complete book in concert. Between May 1967 and March 1968, he left behind live recordings of Book II from six different cities. Yet, only one of those performances was officially pressed onto vinyl and released to the world during his lifetime: that specific night in Spoleto.
This concert left behind vinyl editions on two different labels: the American Vox/Turnabout (a two-LP set, TV-S 34359 and TV-S 34360, comprising the complete concert) and the Japanese Nippon Columbia HRS-1501-VX (featuring Debussy's Book II). The recordings from the other cities did not surface until after Richter’s death, gradually released on CD by labels driven by a historical mission. Bringing those once-existent sounds to future generations carries a different kind of preciousness.
That evening also captured an unrepeatable auditory detail.
Right before Richter stepped onto the stage, the distant tolling of church bells could be heard echoing through the air.
The church bells of Spoleto had been ringing since the Middle Ages—daily, uninterrupted, utterly indifferent to the schedule of any concert. Those bells were the living architectural and spatial imprint of this ancient Umbrian town, bridging the medieval era to the present day. On the evening of July 14, 1967, they happened to coincide precisely with the moment Richter walked out onto the stage. It was not by design; it was pure happenstance. And only in happenstance lies the truth.
That tolling was carved directly into the grooves of the vinyl.
However, when this concert was first released on CD in 2010, the mixing engineer categorized the bells as "intrusive noise" and scrubbed them out. The scuff of leather shoes remained, the applause remained—but those church bells, the very first words the ancient town spoke to that evening, now existed only within the grooves of the vinyl. I have personally compared the two versions with my own ears. The difference is not a matter of audio quality; it is about a real, living sound that exists in one version and has completely vanished from the other.
III. An Artist's Self-Trial
Returning
to the seven-city tour of 1986 and Beethoven's Diabelli Variations.
Richter knew which performances were worth considering. In his listening diaries, he noted that he had to choose between three versions: Amsterdam, Prague, and Heidelberg. The other cities were not even in running.
In April 1987, while in Bad Wiessee, Germany, he sat down for the first time to seriously listen to the tapes of these three versions. He wrote in his notes:
"Listening to find out where the Diabelli was recorded best. The work is so immense and its duration so astonishing that it is truly difficult to decide. But the publishers do not have the patience to wait for my decision; they are waiting to release the record. It is a true dilemma."
It wasn't that the record company didn't want to release it; rather, they were rushing him. Philips was waiting eagerly to press the album. It was Richter himself who was trapped in the agonizing paralysis of decision-making.
A few days later, on the way to Vienna, his friend Otmar Drugowitsch was driving and put on the Amsterdam recording in the car.
"He particularly liked the Amsterdam live recording, and I concurred. Clearly, this version is the best, and I have decided to publish it."
"And I concurred"—deep down, he had already found his answer.
Yet, even after making the decision, he kept listening. At the Hotel Ambassador in Vienna, he played it yet again.
"I have been listening to the Diabelli constantly of late; I might as well hear it once more. This is all because the doubts in my heart are eternal, which is utterly vexing."
This was not mere hesitation. This was the internal censorship mechanism of an artist—one that does not stop running just because a decision has already been made.
IV. Two Pressings, Two Truths
In 1988, Ph
ilips released the Amsterdam concert on both vinyl and CD. In 1991, the Soviet state label Melodiya also published the exact same performance on vinyl (A10 00711 004). That was the very year the Soviet Union dissolved.
Both versions carried Richter’s stamp of approval, yet a distinct difference set them apart. The Philips edition applied background noise reduction, resulting in a cleaner sound, but at the cost of losing a portion of the concert hall's natural ambiance and fine details. Melodiya, operating as a Soviet state-run enterprise, had a production philosophy entirely divorced from the Western commercial system. Free from commercial calculations, they essentially transferred the master tape directly to the lathe with as little interference as possible. This lack of "unnecessary tinkering" paradoxically preserved the acoustic space and raw details of that night on June 17, 1986, with absolute integrity.
The exact sound that Richter heard while driving—the one that made him say, "Clearly, this version is the best"—is preserved today in its closest form within the grooves of that red-label Soviet vinyl.
V. Which "Imperfect Night" Are You Willing to Stay For?
Richter’s re
alization that "doubts in my heart are eternal, which is utterly vexing" is not a dilemma exclusive to artists.
Every single one of us has looked back at a decision already made, continuing to scrutinize it in the dead of night. That state of "knowing the answer, yet finding no peace" is one of the most authentic human conditions we can experience.
Richter ultimately chose Amsterdam. Not because that night was perfect, but because amidst all its imperfections, that evening came closest to the music dwelling in his soul.
On that night in Spoleto nineteen years earlier, he played through all twelve of Debussy's Book II preludes in a single breath—a seamless feat he rarely duplicated throughout his entire performing career. It wasn't a calculated plan; it was a gift given to him by that specific night, or perhaps, a gift he gave back to it.
Two nights, two vinyl records, and two different answers to the question of what is truly "worth leaving behind."
Which "imperfect night" are you willing to stay for?