Piano Concertos: No.
1 in C, Op. 15a (1795) [32’10];
No. 2 in B flat, Op. 19b
(1798) [27’54]; No. 3 in C minor, Op.
37 (1800) [33’19]c, [32’37]d;
No. 4 in G, Op. 58 (1806) [29’00]e,
[33’23]f; No. 5 in E flat,
Op. 73 (1809) [37’37]g, [37’09]h.
aAnia Dorfmann, bWilliam
Kapell, cMarguerite Long,
dArtur Rubinstein, eWalter
Gieseking, fClara Haskil,
gRudolf Serkin, hArtur
Schnabel (pianos); abdNBC
Symphony Orchestra/adArturo
Toscanini, bVladimir Golschmann;
cOrchestre de la Société
des Concerts du Conservatoire, Paris/Felix
Weingartner; eSaxon State
Orchestra/Karl Böhm; fLondon
Philharmonic Orchestra/Carl Zecchi;
gPhilharmonic Symphony Orchestra
of New York/Bruno Walter; hPhilharmonia
Orchestra/Alceo Galliera.
From Victor aM-1036, bM-1132,
dM-1016, French Columbia
cLFX581/4, eLFX709/12,
fDecca 1944/1947, gColumbia
Masterworks M-500, hHMV DB9326/30.
Rec. Carnegie Hall, New York, on aAugust
9th, 1945, bJune
24th, 1946, gDecember
22nd, 1941, cStudio
Albert, Paris, June 9th-10th,
1939, dStudio 8-H, New York
City, October 29th, 1944
(live broadcast), eJanuary
3rd, 1939, fKingsway
Hall, London, on June 7th,
1947, hAbbey Road Studios,
London, on May 27th-28th,
1947. mono
All students of Beethoven,
or of piano playing, should have at
least a listen to this set. It archives
a collection of performances by a varied
set of personality-types, all of a generation
now lost. Some names boast large discographies
(Rubinstein, Schnabel …). Others, for
whatever reason, appear more rarely
on the shelves.
Of course this is playing
of another era, and the more historically
informed listener may react adversely
to some of what is on offer. Those that
do not, however, will find enormous
amounts to delight and, indeed, to refresh
the ear.
Ania Dorfmann was a
pianist based initially in Paris who
recorded for UK Columbia between 1931
and 1938. She relocated to New York,
having debuted there on November 1937,
and it was in that city that she established
a rapport with the great Arturo Toscanini
(she was the first female soloist to
feature under his baton). Here Andante
give us the 1945 RCA Victor studio recording
of Beethoven’s First Concerto that followed
on the heels of the Dorfmann/NBC/Toscanini
broadcast cycle of 1944. Notably, she
opts for the longest of Beethoven’s
three cadenzas (for the broadcast, Jed
Distler tells us in his excellent annotations,
she used Reinecke’s). Transfer quality
is excellent (as we have come to expect
from this source by now). Interpretatively,
Dorfmann, for all her digital dexterity,
seems perhaps too influenced by the
forbidding giant on the podium. The
orchestral exposition is hard-driven,
typically Toscanini, with no let-up
for the second subject, and it is all
very neat (the latter a quality that
certainly epitomises Dorfmann’s playing).
As for Dorfmann herself, she lets little
laughter in, so one is left to marvel
at the fluency of her scales and the
dynamism of her cadenza (10’40 on).
The contrast with the
Largo second movement is emphasised
(probably not purposefully) by the short
space between the tracks. Some string
portamento dates the recording.
A pity Dorfmann is rather literal here,
and that at 3’09-3’10 piano and orchestra
unfortunately arrive at the same spot
at different times. The piano-clarinet
dialogue towards the end of the movement
does act as a decidedly redeeming factor,
however, and at last in the finale Dorfmann
seems primed to allow herself to let
her hair down. There is more than an
element of cheek to her playing at the
start, and all looks set to provide
an exhilarating close. A shame, then,
that the orchestra emerges as crowded
and shrill in the recording. This No.
1 is not without interest, but it cannot
be classed as a highlight of the set.
It seems trying to smile, but it always
just fails.
The death of William
Kapell in a plane crash in 1953 robbed
us of a major talent still at the tender
age of 31. He was 23 when he made this
recording in June 1946. The orchestra
is again that of the NBC, but this time
Vladimir Golschmann is at the helm.
If the orchestral exposition is rather
routine (and the tempo may initially
seem a bit ‘under’), Kapell provides
some very alive playing (although he
can be splashy at times). Interesting
that more youthful exuberance would
have been welcome – requesting that
from a supposedly thrusting young virtuoso
seems strange!. The highlight of the
movement is the cadenza, which emerges
as a well-rounded statement rather than
gratuitous and sectionalised show: and
yet the technique remains a thing of
wonder within itself.
If the tempo the Adagio
may seem on the funereal side, it is
nevertheless eloquent, despite some
suggestions along the way of heavy-handedness
from the orchestra. Kapell, on the other
hand, is uniformly miraculous, rapt
and enthralling. The finale brings the
amazingly nimble finger-work of a stunning
technique, even if a sense of true joy
is, in the final analysis, missing.
The ending, as a result, sounds rather
superficial and abrupt.
Marguerite Long’s Third
Concerto is one of two recordings on
this set that date from 1939 (the other
being Gieseking’s Fourth). The Orchestre
de la Société des Concerts
du Conservatoire, Paris is conducted
by the great Felix Weingartner, and
how they play for him!. Yes, the sound
is distanced (and there is some distortion,
notably at the end of the orchestral
exposition), but the music fizzes along
with an ominous C minor-ish energy that
cannot but drag the listener in.
Long was perhaps more
associated with the music of Ravel,
Debussy, Fauré and Milhaud (she
worked personally with all of them)
and she premiered Ravel’s G major Concerto
and Le tombeau de Couperin. Here
in Beethoven her intrinsic sensibilité
shines through. She displays some interpretative
quirks in her handling of the lyrical
second subject, and she is in general
certainly not afraid of rubato. She
is suave, and even almost cheeky at
times. Possibly most interesting of
all is her eschewing Beethoven’s own
cadenza (sometimes seen as weak – and
here I agree with its detractors) in
favour of that by Ignaz Moscheles (1784-1870).
Moscheles’ effort, instead of beginning
with a forceful assertion of self, rather
meanders out of the preceding orchestral
chord. It is fascinating as a ‘period
piece’, both of Moscheles and of the
time (1939) that allowed it to be put
down – today it is rare to hear anything
other than Beethoven’s essay. Long plays
it with real affection and belief and
also enjoys the more barn-storming moments.
Well worth hearing.
The slow movement is
a thing of beauty. Both soloist and
orchestra shape the music to perfection;
both exhibit true harmonic sensitivity.
Similarly the finale is more than satisfying
musically. Note the sustained string
chord thirty seconds in, against the
soloist’s composed improvisation – a
rather strange effect, presumably with
no concrete musicological justification.
For the last three
concertos, Andante gives us alternative
versions. In the case of No. 3, it is
Rubinstein’s New York broadcast from
October 29th 1944 – again
the NBC forces conjoined with Toscanini
do the honours. This represents the
one and only collaboration of these
artists. Andante’s booklet notes look
on the bright side/do a hard sell (take
your pick). I say it’s just as well
we have the Long/Weingartner.
The opening is unbearably
sluggish, almost as if Beethoven is
heaving himself out of bed. The sound
is harsh, the stiff of treble-laden
tin. Contrast Toscanini the ‘band-master’
against Weingartner’s sense of the score’s
ebb and flow, and the difference becomes
apparent. There is a sense of everybody
going through the motions (the booklet
tells us of the artists’ disagreements
and unsuitability on first meeting –
listen to the ensemble at 6’38 in the
first movement, as the orchestra joins
(not) the soloist at the end of a descending
C minor scale, and it is clear the two
were not as one in vision). The cadenza
this time is more familiar (Beethoven),
but revised Busoni, so that the opening
bars are excised and it begins with
the octave canon (there are further
tinkerings later on, too). The Largo’s
initial piano statement contains hints
of the feeling of rushing that comes
later on in this movement. The finale
begins strangely, with Rubinstein leaning
more than usual on the neighbour-note
A flat, giving it far more than its
share of the attention (it is metrically
emphasised, anyway). The music never
really takes off, although there is
admittedly more brio here than
in all of the first movement. The fugato
may surprise some, for it begins (4’15)
with an intrusive, ugly, swelling slur.
Rubinstein joins in the concluding orchestral
tutti, after which an appreciative audience
(more appreciative than I have been,
anyway) reminds us that they were there
all the time. A shame the only way one
could really work out this performance’s
live status is through tracking the
wrong notes and slips, rather than feeling
the electricity of an event.
The pitting of Walter
Gieseking against Clara Haskil in the
Fourth promised much. Here are two pianists
renowned for their sensibilité.
First, Gieseking, in the fastest of
his three studio versions. The sound
is superb for its vintage (1939), the
orchestra (Saxon State Orchestra) on
top form, a couple of scrappy moments
in the finale aside. Despite all this,
it is Gieseking’s genius that shines
through. Gieseking displays quicksilver
responses to Beethoven’s shifting moods
in the first movement. Technically,
he is superb (those trills!). He opts
for Beethoven’s second cadenza (as do
Gilels, Brendel and Moravec) and here
Gieseking is almost Glenn Gould-like
in his deliberately dry sound. An intense
slow movement leads to a finale again
characterised by a certain dryness,
yet which also contains remarkable delicacy
and definition.
Haskil plays the more
usual first movement cadenza. Her warmth
of sound is immediately apparent, right
from the first chord – there is no doubt
we are entering a G major area of much
warmth. Her approach to this movement
is more spacious than Gieseking’s –
all detail counts. In addition, there
is more of a feeling that the orchestra
in in secure hands (Carlo Zecchi). There
is a sense of serenity and space – yet
after such a promising beginning, come
the eight-minute mark there is a suspicion
of running out of steam. The cadenza
is remarkable for being more a ruminative
exploration of foregoing themes than
any sort of display vehicle. The contrasts
of piano and strings in the slow movement
is marked. Haskil evokes a predictably
interior world (she is magical here).
A pity then that the finale is rather
earth-bound (but admittedly in a pretty
way). Swings and roundabouts for the
Fourth, then, with both pianists exhibiting
distinct strengths – and weaknesses.
And so to the grandest
of all, the so-called ‘Emperor’ and
two pianists with a ‘bond’. It was Schnabel
who encouraged the young Serkin. Andante
give us the first of Serkin’s (four)
recorded traversals of the score, and
his only partnering with Bruno Walter.
This is an account that oozes confidence.
Serkin’s annunciatory flourishes show
the sinewy strength that runs through
the entire performance (and when they
return they are, if anything, even more
breathtaking), while Walter’s ensuing
orchestral passage reveals the conductor’s
intimate knowledge of the score. This
is a predominantly dynamic conception,
yet one that does not preclude delicacy.
The slow movement is
nearly the dream it should be.
It is just a tad too hard-pressed (some
very nervous sounding bassoon playing
heralding the bridge to the finale –
7’32 – perhaps indicates the pressure
of the moment), while the finale proceeds
from an explosive beginning to passages
that dance under Serkin’s fingers of
steel.
And so to the great
Schnabel, here with the Philharmonia
under Alceo Galliera in 1947, the last
of his three recorded versions (there
is a 1932 under Sargent and a 1942 with
the Chicagoans under Stock). There is,
perhaps, a lesson to be learned from
this final disc of Andante’s, for when
one listens to Serkin, one can be convinced
and sometimes moved. The immediate comparison
with Schnabel, however, highlights the
shift from excellent pianist to musician
of genius. Schnabel provides not only
supreme pianism, but miracles of interpretation,
too. Perhaps, it is true, the orchestra
can sound as if it is going through
the motions on occasion (perhaps they
needed a greater conductor than Galliera
to galvanise them into matching their
pianist). Schnabel’s scalic work is
astonishingly defined. If there is one
criticism, the return of the opening
flourishes (around twelve minutes in)
maybe could have been even more exultant.
Any criticism is silenced,
however, by the slow movement, where
Schnabel makes the piano sing. There
is extreme beauty here and the sheer
concentration is heart-stopping. And
quite right, for the finale comes as
an enormous release, its onset this
time having a real emotional point.
Schnabel’s model dexterity is a thing
of wonder, yet it is subsumed with a
majesty that is surely the ‘Emperor’
incarnate.
Riches galore, then.
This sort of comparative listening is
to be encouraged, as it not only contextualises
interpretations historically but it
consistently sheds light on scores we
thought we knew. If there is one lesson
to be learned, it I that these scores
continue to offer an infinity of riches.
And in the present, early twenty-first
century climate of squeaky-clean ‘virtuosi’
(I use the inverted commas very deliberately)
and production-line Beethoven, it has
become all too easy to forget that basic
fact. To clothe historic performances
such as these as classily as this company
does, with informed critical comment
in the form of Jed Distler’s stimulating
essay, is no small leap of faith.
Bravo brave Andante.
Colin Clarke
ANDANTE
AND1995 [4CDs: 263’09: 60’04+65’56+62’23+74’46]
