There are wrong notes, some of the recordings are of poor quality, others remarkably good for the 1920s: what is amazing is the unfailing verve, poetry, warmth and spontaneity. Some of the playing here is hardly credible, the technique and insight together are overpowering.

Here, in recordings dating from 1925-26, is the very essence of Cortot, superbly remastered by Mark Obert-Thorn. A voice from another age, Cortot was addicted to his incomparable recreative art. Every bar and phrase of these performances induces a frenzy or delirium in the listener, setting the mind and senses reeling.
Cortot may have 'discovered the opium in Chopin' (Daniel Barenboim) but he also discovered the opium in virtually everything else. His arrangement and playing of Schubert's Litany has all the poetic freedom and sumptuous tonal allure of the greatest singers and always you are made aware of his alternating simplicity, richness and intricacy of expression. Hear the cascades close to the end of Chopin's Second Impromptu and you may well agree that you have rarely heard such feline ease and facility.
The mechanics (forced out of focus in the heat of the moment) could be erratic but the technique was scintillating in a way known to very few pianists. Cortot's Liszt Rhapsodies, decked out with an array of sly nudges and winks, are as flamboyant as any on record, and time and again you are made aware of his own dictum on music: 'my secret is, I can't have enough of it'. Above all, he reminds you of Liszt's celebrated description of a virtuoso as 'one called upon to make emotion weep, and sing, and sigh. To conjure scent and blossom, and breathe the breath of life'. A wild but enthralling fragment from Chopin's First Ballade is included (a complete version comes later) and there are two versions of both Liszt's 11th Hungarian Rhapsody and Weber's Invitation to the Dance.