This release sees Murray Perahia returning to Brahms after a
significant series of excellent Bach recordings for Sony Classical.
His 1991 Sony recording of the Sonata No.3 has an assortment
of Intermezzos and Rhapsodies as a filler, but this new disc
sees Perahia taking the later opus numbers head-on, working
up to them chronologically via the Handel Variations and
Rhapsodies Op.79 which, as Katrin Eich says in her booklet
notes, each represent an ‘end point’ at certain stages in Brahms’
compositional output.
As far as I’m concerned the standard against any recording of
Brahms’ solo piano variations is that set by Garrick Ohlsson
on Hyperion
CDA67777. Both players’ timings for the whole piece are
fairly similar. Ohlsson is marginally more stately in the opening
theme, but with only a slight extra measure of lightness in
touch Perahia is about 30 seconds swifter overall, which over
25 minutes isn’t appreciable. The differences in character are
present, but I initially found it harder than I imagined to
expose telling contrasts and any clear preference. I like Ohlsson’s
chunkily rhythmic first variation, but appreciate Perahia’s
more spacious lyricism in the second. These are the kinds of
swings and roundabouts which one finds, and in the end life
is too short to split hairs over what, after all, are two excellent
recordings. Ohlsson’s piano sound is a little richer and given
greater bloom in the bass; Perahia’s is tighter and ultimately
a little better balanced over the entire range. In the end,
it is Ohlsson who gets my laurels for the fun and funky variations
- Perahia for his singing expressive range in the lyrical ones,
though both are also excellent in each variety of variation.
The richer Hyperion bass line, for instance, gives the canonic
sixth variation a special quality for Ohlsson. Perahia chooses
to link the notes with a kind of quasi-legato feel in the con
vivacità seventh variation, when the score clearly asks
for accents and staccato. He gets away with this somehow, and
the relationship with the 8th variation’s gallop
is certainly more exciting. I’m also intrigued by the way he
softens the last few sf octave entries in this piece
where the score makes no suggestion of a diminuendo.
Murray Perahia is clearly his own man, and even with this certain
amount of license in the Variations the piece as a whole
and all its individual elements work very well indeed. I still
very much love Garrick Ohlsson’s performance, but if forced
to choose then in the end Murray Perahia wins me over with his
alchemy with the variations such as the 12th, and
his greater sense of funereal narrative in the subsequent 13th,
which Ohlsson does charge at somewhat, even though it is marked
f espress. He also pretty much ignores
the più mosso marking in the 17th variation,
which Perahia uses to quasi-crank up the tension. This is reversed
by Brahms in the waterfall of the 18th variation
and the disarming lilt of the 19th which is light
and detached with Perahia, more sostenuto with Ohlsson which
reduces the vivace effect a little. These are all marginal
points of detail and matter less when taken in isolation. I
do however find myself agreeing with Perahia more often than
with Ohlsson in the end, so it’s a win on points for Sony Classical,
though I still stand by my choice of Garrick Ohlsson’s recording
as a top recommendation for the Brahms variations as a complete
set. Perahia’s is a performance which marries power and majestic
technical prowess with a clarity of vision and sensitivity of
touch in the tenderness of the lyrical variations which is compelling
and irresistible. As far as power goes, it’s almost as if the
instrument itself is only just capable of sustaining the impact
of those chords at 25:14 under Perahia’s mighty heft, but Ohlsson
himself pushes the recording equipment to its limits as well
near this point, so it’s about honours equal in this particular
superhuman string-bending competition.
The remaining works can be compared with Radu Lupu’s classic
recordings on Decca, now available in a highly desirable box
set. Lupu’s playing is monumental and symphonic, while at
the same time highly poetic and sensitive to the humanity of
Brahms’ expressive world and distinctive sonorities. Murray
Perahia and Radu Lupu have worked together as extremely successful
duo partners and clearly have a similar empathy in their desire
to achieve truth in the composers they perform. In other words,
there is no ‘better than’ in any comparison which can be made:
I shall always want to have both around, though perhaps for
subtly different reasons.
If anything, Perahia outplays Lupu in the symphonic stakes when
it comes to the Rhapsody Op.79 No.1. He is positively
explosive in the ‘starting block’ opening theme and each of
its repetitions. Lupu is more lyrical in the subsequent material,
with Perahia separating notes and creating greater contrast
and a certain ‘spring’ in his step, something which Lupu paints
with a wider brush. Both pianists are masters of colour, though
with the benefits of a more detailed and brighter piano sound
Perahia gives the impression of wider variety. Perahia takes
broader rubati in the Rhapsody Op.79 No.2, with
Lupu more connected and describing a greater arc, Perahia’s
approach taking us through a sort of labyrinth, with each section
a subtly different world, but each with a terrifying and awe-inspiring
sense of grandeur.
Even more rhapsodic than the Rhapsodies, the Klavierstücke
Op.118 offers the pianist every opportunity to reflect the
potential of every aspect of their instrument to maximum effect,
from high drama to the utmost lyrical tenderness. I love Radu
Lupu’s luminous playing in these pieces, especially in the movingly
melodic second and fifth pieces, as well as his thundering resonance
in the thicker-textured and more impassioned works. Murray Perahia
once again benefits from a more transparent and communicatively
recorded piano sound, but is also the equal and at times the
preferred option in terms of performance. Take the Ballade
which is the third of the pieces. Lupu drives forward in a compact
and dramatic fashion, excelling in the contrasts between the
lyrical and the strikingly impressive. Perahia leaves just a
little more air around the notes, giving the music a more narrative
flavour without robbing it of its dramatic character. There
is more surprise in the revelations which follow each transition
as well, provided by a more heightened sense of anticipation.
Whatever the comparative pluses and minuses, Perahia delivers
at every crucial point, with a masterfully emotive second Intermezzo,
eschewing superficial sweetness but still creating a marvellous
atmosphere of the right kind of sentiment. There’s a little
sonic ‘ghost’ which pops up at 2:34 in this piece, but this
takes nothing away from a performance here and elsewhere in
an Op.118 collection which will have you coming back
for more, time and again. Just as a parting comment on this
work, and while the subject of ghosts is still in the air, don’t
you find something spectral and genuinely haunting in the way
Perahia plays the fantasy-like introduction to the final Intermezzo?
Haunting and hauntingly beautiful moods are also created in
the Klavierstücke Op.118, with Perahia at one with Brahms’
soulful longings, sense of loss and regret, and core of strength
from creativity and the human spirit. The first B minor piece
is particularly moving, a far greater canvas than its three
and a half minutes suggest. Lupu is beautiful here as well,
lingering just a little less and with perhaps a shade tighter
palette of range and colour, but still getting to the heart
of the message. Where he does linger more is in the Intermezzo
in E minor, taking a whole minute longer than Perahia, who
seeks to dance more in the central waltz section. Good humour
and a kind of infectious laugh come across in Perahia’s Grazioso
e giocoso third Intermezzo, and the wonderful final
gestures will have you giggling with incredulity. There’s little
to choose between him and Lupu here, though I suppose Perahia
wins marginally in terms of ‘wit’. The final work is a Rhapsodie
marked Allegro risoluto, and Perahia builds something
of a fortress with the opening chords, again taking a more spacious
view than Lupu, but at the same time creating a larger-scale
structure from which to hang the rest of the piece. The ‘lighter’
central section is sheer delight here, the tightly arpeggiated
accompanying chords and subtle touches in the bass lines and
harmonies creating something genuinely Brahmsian and really
rather magical.
To conclude; this is a superbly recorded piano disc of some
of the best romantic repertoire ever written for the instrument,
played by one of the finest performers of our time at the peak
of the mature phase in his career – and you’re asking me
if it’s recommended?
Dominy Clements
Murray Perahia (piano) 
