The unusual distinction of this well-performed, well-engineered, and generous disc is encapsulated in its title. Since all of Gershwin's compositions for piano and orchestra—Rhapsody in Blue (1924), Concerto in F (1925), Second Rhapsody for Orchestra with Piano (1932), and Variations on “I Got Rhythm” (1934)—may demonstrably be accommodated on a single CD, it is surprising that such an obvious and inviting recording project is not regularly attempted. It is usually necessary to purchase a 2-CD compilation of Gershwin's complete orchestral music to obtain recordings of all four works with piano in a single package, and in such cases the performances of these works might come from studio dates widely separated in time, or may not even feature the same artists. The disc under consideration here presents the four works from a uniform perspective, employing the same performers, and all recorded in a span of three days. Anne-Marie McDermott plays Gershwin's demanding piano parts with stylish verve and admirable technique, and the Dallas Symphony Orchestra under guest conductor Justin Brown provides very competent, if occasionally heavy-handed, support.

The opportunity provided by this disc to compare the canonic Rhapsody in Blue directly with its little-known successor, the Second Rhapsody, is an exceptional one that should be relished by the listener; in fact, the direct juxtaposition of the two works on this particular CD permits hearing them in succession without so much as engaging a “program” function. The Second Rhapsody is indeed the “black sheep” of this extended family of four Gershwin compositions, and unjustly so. The perennially popular Rhapsody in Blue and the Concerto in F have constituted an obvious pairing since the early days of LPs, and recent single CDs have frequently added the Variations on “I Got Rhythm” as a “filler” to accompany these two, but the Second Rhapsody is still not commonly encountered, either in live performance or on recordings. The only single CD known to me that presents both Gershwin rhapsodies is well over two decades old, and it does not offer either the Concerto or the Variations: CBS MK 39699 (1985), featuring Michael Tilson Thomas both as pianist and as conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. I will focus here on the two rhapsodies, employing these excellent Tilson Thomas performances as convenient additional points of reference.

Gershwin knew better than to attempt a retread of Rhapsody in Blue, and to his credit the Second Rhapsody embodies a totally different conception. In keeping with its rather generic title, and despite its origins in the music Gershwin composed for the film Delicious, the Second Rhapsody embraces a much more conventional aesthetic than is evident in its famous, colorfully named relative. The later work is in a traditionally proportioned tripartite form, and its tight motivic organization extends to the obvious derivation of the central lyrical theme from the main material of the opening section. In fact, virtually all the melodic material in the piece is derived from the repeated-note figure played by the piano in the opening measures. These are in no sense drawbacks. The Second Rhapsody is a fine work, and it abundantly displays Gershwin's characteristic inventiveness in the realms of rhythm and harmony; it is just that this inventiveness finds expression in the Second Rhapsody within a characteristically “classical” formal layout and developmental approach.

In a sense, the two rhapsodies offer a kind of mirror image of compositional approaches and virtues. Rhapsody in Blue gives a surface impression of melodic profusion and an amiably casual approach to form, but in fact its memorable melodies share internal interconnections, and as a result the work is structurally firmer than it may initially seem. The Second Rhapsody is composed of sterner, more obviously limited material, and projects overall a firmly shaped surface, yet the work is full of surprising and engaging details. Paradoxically, the performance challenges presented by the two are analogous. These challenges involve shaping the moment-by-moment progression of each work into a convincing, large-scale dramatic trajectory. Performers might readily get sidelined by an attractive “new” melody in Rhapsody in Blue, or by an occasional wayward “digression” in the Second Rhapsody, and so lose a sense of forward impetus. In addition, each work requires its performers to consider the structural functions served by repetitions of melodic passages, or even of ornamental passagework: Do such repetitions serve as intensifications, or as echoes, or as transitions toward a new goal? Which orchestral climaxes represent primary points of articulation, and which are of lesser import to the overall structure? Failure to address these issues may yield, in the case of both rhapsodies, erratic, segmented performances that come across as collections of attractive sections and details rather than convincingly unified conceptions.

Anne-Marie McDermott and her performing colleagues do not entirely solve these complex problems in their performances of the two rhapsodies, and a comparison to the Tilson Thomas recording cited previously reveals how much further artists may go in successfully confronting them. With Rhapsody in Blue, much may boil down to choices of tempo. Both recordings present the complete published score (as is now happily the usual practice), but Tilson Thomas's reading is shorter by more than a minute and a half: 15:45, as opposed to McDermott's 17:20. (Curiously, a more recent recording by Tilson Thomas as pianist and conductor, with the New World Symphony, on BMG 82876–60862-2, offers a performance that is precisely the duration of McDermott's, and that is correspondingly less compelling than Tilson Thomas's own earlier effort.) More than tempo is at stake, however. In the case of the Second Rhapsody, McDermott's performance takes 14:01 as opposed to Tilson Thomas's 14:22, but Tilson Thomas again seems more in command of both small-scale and overall shaping.

Those readers who might question whether the issues of shaping under consideration here are relevant to works like Gershwin's rhapsodies, or even to rhapsodies in general, may be pointed to the existence of a recorded rehearsal of the Second Rhapsody that Gershwin arranged for his own edification, while still at work on the piece, in the early summer of 1931. This occasion is fortunately preserved on MusicMasters CD 5062–2-C (Gershwin Performs Gershwin: Rare Recordings, 1931–1935, issued in 1991). Despite the limited fidelity of the original acetate disc, and the fact that this was by no means a formal performance, the consistent attention to subtle details and variations of dynamics and tempo that is evident throughout the recording serves as documentation of Gershwin's concern with such musical shaping on both the local and the comprehensive level.

The fact that McDermott, Brown, and the Dallas orchestra rise admirably to analogous challenges of shaping in the kaleidoscopic final movement of Gershwin's Concerto in F makes their shortcomings in the rhapsodies the more regrettable. It may simply be that these performers feel a greater kinship with the concerto, which receives a colorful and consistently engaging reading from them throughout. For me, however, the jewel of this disc is the performance of the Variations on “I Got Rhythm,” which makes a decisive case for this apparently modest, relatively short piece as a major demonstration of Gershwin's compositional brilliance. (This is true despite the drawback that the performance employs the 1953 re-orchestration of the work by William Schoenfeld—one of the few useful pieces of information provided by the disappointingly generic and occasionally misleading program notes accompanying the CD. Information on the score used for the Second Rhapsody performance would have been especially welcome.)

In the Variations, the variation format itself yields an unambiguous sectional structure, while Gershwin's arrangement of his variations into a symmetrical tempo arc, centered on the scherzo-like “Chinese” variation, effectively provides a built-in architecture for the whole. Liberated thus by the composer from potentially vexing concerns of musical shaping, McDermott and company simply allow themselves—and the listener—a roaring good time with this remarkably inventive work. The surprisingly complex harmonic language of the Variations clearly anticipates that of the soon-to-be composed Porgy and Bess; and in a way, Gershwin's ingenious play with his “simple” tune also anticipates the kind of inspiration jazz musicians in turn would soon be drawing from his “rhythm changes.”