Georges Pludermacher Plays Beethoven
Posted by: Todd A on 14 March 2006
I’ve had good luck with French pianists in Beethoven. I just like the way they sound. I can’t say that I would make any French pianist I’ve heard a first choice for the complete set, though in specific sonatas they do shine, like Op 22. Robert Casadesus is one of my favorite pianists generally, and though I find him at something less than his very best in Beethoven, he does provide some fine readings of the sonatas I’ve heard from him, the Appassionata especially. Yves Nat is superb in a number of sonatas, but I’m not wild about his late sonatas, and much the same can be written about Jean-Bernard Pommier. Eric Heidsieck has thus far provided me with the most consistently enjoyable complete or substantial set of sonatas by a Frenchman, with his interventionist approach paying dividends in unexpected ways. (I certainly hope that the fabled Alfred Cortot cycle is more than a mere fantasy and one day makes it to disc, though I doubt it – both its existence and the probability of it being released if it does.) So why not try another take? As luck would have it, I hunted down Georges Pludermacher’s cycle for a very reasonable 70 Euro and decided to give it a shot. Pludermacher is yet another pianist I’ve only read about until now, just like the other two pianists whose cycles I’m now traversing. Most of the references I’ve seen about him have been flattering with regard to his technical ability, his musical ability, and his creativity, and he’s worked with some august musicians during his career. He always wants to approach works differently, or so goes the copy. That’s a good thing, and certainly Elveebee’s sonatas can sound just fine under such circumstances. (As is the case with Heidsieck.) So Mr Pludermacher is an adventurer; he likes to do things differently.
What’s different about this cycle? The piano, for starters. Pludermacher doesn’t use a regular piano. No. He uses a Steinway modified to include a new pedal. A “Harmonic” pedal. A pedal that allows the pianist to alter the sustain and volume and, well, according to the notes, a whole lot of things in a whole lot of ways. It’s possible (and clearly audible) to sustain only a few notes in a phrase. It all has to do with how deft a pianist is at using his feet. (I can only ponder what Walter Gieseking may have been able to do with this piano.) Also slightly different, at least for some listeners, is the fact that this cycle was recorded live during a series of concerts given in Reims in the summer of 1998.
Enough preamble; time for the music. Right from the first few notes it’s clear that Pludermacher will take the listener on an individual journey. The opening Allegro of Op 2/1 starts off sounding deliberate if not quite stiff. Barely a moment passes before Pludermacher injects speed and his own unique rubato into the mix. Arpeggios will be dashed off dazzlingly quick, then he’ll slow down, savor a phrase just a bit, and then change back. Dynamics and tonal shadings are constantly in flux. To this he marries notable weight and admirable clarity – but not of the sometimes merciless X-ray kind present in the Sheppard set. (It must be stated that Pludermacher is closely-miked, too.) The effect of the new pedal can also be heard, with novel sustains and sounds. The Adagio continues along the interventionist path. The overall sound is somewhat superficial – in the best Giesekingian way – and ends up being an extended lesson in glorious, somewhat light, but impossibly variegated sound production. Pludermacher infuses the playing with his idiosyncratic touches everywhere and all the time. Just when one settles in for a shimmering, light approach, he throws the listener a curve. The Menuetto starts off in a deliberate fashion, but it still sounds peculiarly dance-like. Sort of like a minuet, in fact. Then he throws in some seriously powerful playing. It remains remarkably clear, to boot. The Prestissimo is played fast, with huge dynamic swings, and utterly unique phrasing and accenting in every bar. The playing has an irresistible motoric force, but it doesn’t really have the type of rhythmic groove that I would have expected. But it is exciting and unique.
Things stay that way with the second sonata. The Allegro vivace is fast, clear, cleanly articulated, with superb dynamic variations and pronounced but never obtrusive rubato. Pludermacher nonchalantly dashes off the ascending scales with ease, and then proceeds to hammer out some of the playing with aggressive intensity. Unlike Kovacevich, who is also aggressive in the early works, Pludermacher never sounds hard or (even somewhat) vulgar. The Largo comes off as sometimes march-like, sometimes thundering, but always clear and usually lean, though some tonal richness appears as appropriate. The movement is very serious but not exactly passionate. Gallic detachment is married to power in a most appealing way. The Scherzo opens with quick, light figures and then transitions to a simultaneously fiery and detached middle section, only to return to the opening material in a most satisfying way. The Rondo is again fast – Pludermacher loves to play fast – with all his tricks on display and an unyielding forward drive. As if to demonstrate that he can do even more, Pludermacher plays in a pulverizing fashion – more so than Sheppard – yet even then one is pleased by the sonic assault. In some ways the playing is very superficially exciting. Pludermacher certainly does not offer a great deal of emotionally enriching playing, but what is there is both technically assured and viscerally exciting.
The final sonata of the opening trio finds Pludermacher pulling out all the tools at his disposal. The Allegro con brio opener actually opens somewhat conventionally in terms of tempo and overall mood. Pludermacher quickly transitions to very fast, lean, and powerful playing, with pedaling, rubato, and dynamic shifts all obviously present. The more pressed nature of his playing means that the astounding flexibility of the first sonata is dampened somewhat (he apparently uses the new pedal less), but it’s still flexible. The Adagio opens with a somewhat detached feel, but all that nice tonal and dynamic variability remains. For some reason, the left hand notes and chords, even when played forte, sound somewhat undernourished. Must be that pedal again. The overriding effect of the first few minutes of playing is of pseudo-tragic music; Pludermacher approximates emotion. Then the broad chords after 5’ are much stronger, and that new pedal adds some unique color. As if to make up for lost time, Pludermacher dispatches the Scherzo with almost breathlessly fast and intense playing. The concluding Allegro assai opens with light, clear, yet colorful ascending scales, and then Pludermacher’s big, beefy left hand playing joins in. He almost races through the music at times, generating superficial excitement. There’s definitely a lot to enjoy in the opening sonatas.
For the fourth sonata, Pludermacher again opts to open the piece quickly. Allegro molto e con brio the opener most certainly is, but even then the pianist sees fit to pick up the speed and ratchet up the tension after a brief period of merely brisk playing. The playing is remarkably fluid and even has a nice rhythmic snap to it, but it’s all superficial. It doesn’t really delve beneath the surface, as it were. That’s fine, but there it is. The Largo is comparatively slow, with immaculately timed pauses. Rarely have I heard them used so expertly; Pludermacher maintains a high degree of musical tension; there is never even a hint that the musical line may be breached. When it comes time to play with power, Pludermacher does so without any hint of strain or without overdoing anything. The Allegro starts off in a somewhat slow and deliberate manner, at least for Pludermacher. All the notes have pronounced, clear attacks, and that nifty new pedal is used artfully to sustain only select notes in an appealing (if perhaps a bit contrived) manner. Pludermacher also does something he hasn’t done up to this point: he makes the music sing a few times, but only in bursts. The middle section has a nice rolling bass that is nicely unclear, most likely on purpose. To close the piece, Pludermacher again makes the piano sing, but this time in an almost delicate way. But he also has more serious things to do as when he belts out the middle section in blazing fast fashion. What’s perhaps most surprising is how Pludermacher manages to pull of this off within relatively conventional overall timings. None of the sonatas are freakishly long or short. What Pludermacher does within the time parameters parameters is what’s most impressive. That’s the case here.
Moving on to the next trio reveals more surprises. Pludermacher opens the first sonata Allegro molto e con brio not fast but rather slow, or slow-ish, and in a rather measured way. The first return of the opening theme definitely sounds faster and stronger, and at times it seems like things are poised to get heated up, but then the pianist pulls back and plays lyrically. Then the whole process gets repeated. The specific effects and sounds don’t really sound that great, but the transitions between the styles are graceful and fluid. The Adagio molto, as with some prior slow movements, sounds detached but lovely, with musical tension retained throughout, and with Pludermacher finding the time to play some passages in a discreetly virtuosic manner. To close, Pludermacher opts to start off in a measured way only to end up playing in a robust, nearly dazzling fashion with plenty of oomph. It’s good fun. The second sonata opens with a plucky, clear, and quick Allegro complete with Pludermacher’s distinctive rubato and accenting. Again, it’s surface playing, but it’s good surface playing. The Allegretto is attractively dark, but, yep, it’s superficial. And again, the closing movement starts off relatively slowly only to pick up steam, but just when things get going, they’re over. No repeat is on offer here. Darn. The final sonata is the most successful. Momentum and rhythm characterize the Presto, with all the tricks deployed thus far showing up again, and in just the right mix. The Largo occupies a different sound world entirely. From the outset it sounds bleak, and some of the repeated chords almost anticipate Le Gibet more than the 106. Most of the quick take on this movement is superficial, though deft use of the lower registers and a marked shift in style between 6’30” and 7’ results in a tragic outpouring of rage and anguish, albeit through clenched teeth, if you will. In contrast, the Menuetto and Rondo both sound quite chipper, with Pludermacher relishing the little gestures in the music and using his bag of tricks most tastefully.
How would Pludermacher do in the Pathetique? His somewhat cool, detached style seemed to portend a less than heated version, though his technical acumen seemed to insure a well executed one. And that’s what Pludermacher delivers. The Grave opens with a strong but not overwhelming chords, then moves on to some quicker playing, and then the thundering playing comes before the Allegro. The Allegro itself is a model of quick, clear, detached playing, with some nearly dazzling fast playing and some decent heft. The Andante cantabile opens with a beautifully lyrical sound, but it’s hardly the paragon of romantic playing. The Rondo ends the work in a similar fashion to the opening movement – generally quick and clear and definitely detached. All told, it’s a good reading, and certainly a well played one, but it’s not a world beater.
The two Op 14 sonatas both sound good. The first sonata Allegro and Allegretto both sound too solemn. The playing itself is light and clear, with some left hand chords floated nicely in the opening movement, and some lovely playing in the second. But it sounds almost depressing at times. The Rondo sounds more vigorous and upbeat. The second sonata sounds more appealing, with the opening Allegro benefiting from dazzling runs, a generally swift overall tempo, and all those little tonal variations that Pludermacher so effortlessly delivers. The Andante and Scherzo both sound curiously vigorous yet nonchalant and decidedly charming.
Finishing up the first batch with the Op 22 finds another French pianist doing well. Pommier, Heidsieck, and Nat all do very well here, and Pludermacher’s success seems to indicate that the French may have learned the secrets of the piece better than most. The Allegro con brio follows the now familiar pattern of a measured open quickly transitioning to quick, pointed, and (now) groovy playing with some serious low-end heft. Throughout, Pludermacher will accelerate, decelerate, play loud, play soft, and otherwise do whatever seems to tickle his fancy, and he does it in such a way as to sound fluid, graceful, strong, and compelling all in equal measure. The Adagio, on the other hand, is all about slowness. This is one time when Pludermacher does adopt an extreme tempo – he extends the movement to over 10’. At times musical tension is sacrificed, and the emotional payoff isn’t really there; the emotion is contrived. Well, it sounds that way until Pludermacher pounds out some chords in the middle section. An outcry of pain in a sonata where it’s not really needed, perhaps? Anyway, it still works. The Menuetto is more chipper, as one would hope, but it also sounds reasonably rich and nicely articulated. The Rondo continues on in a similarly comfortable manner until the fiercer middle section, when Pludermacher turns on the speed before easing up. This is indeed a good reading, but the out of place Adagio prevents me from rating this version among those by the other French pianists. I still like it.
So, a big helping of Mr Pludermacher’s Beethoven has been devoured. Me like. With reservations. That Pludermacher is technically proficient is clearly beyond doubt. That he can play with taste and energy equally so. But his playing is sometimes too concerned with surface gloss and momentary effect for me to say it’s up there with the very best. (Had he focused more on momentary feeling, it might be another story.) Truth to tell, I find the quadrapedal piano something of a novelty, and a pretty flimsy reason to record the sonatas in itself. Perhaps such a device would have more value in Debussy, but here it just adds some interesting effects. I’d like to here Pludermacher play Beethoven on a standard piano, that’s for sure. Don’t get me wrong, I really like what I’ve heard so far. Pludermacher definitely brings some unique ideas to the music, and makes for a fine potential alternative version, and that’s how I’m going to approach the rest of the set.
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What’s different about this cycle? The piano, for starters. Pludermacher doesn’t use a regular piano. No. He uses a Steinway modified to include a new pedal. A “Harmonic” pedal. A pedal that allows the pianist to alter the sustain and volume and, well, according to the notes, a whole lot of things in a whole lot of ways. It’s possible (and clearly audible) to sustain only a few notes in a phrase. It all has to do with how deft a pianist is at using his feet. (I can only ponder what Walter Gieseking may have been able to do with this piano.) Also slightly different, at least for some listeners, is the fact that this cycle was recorded live during a series of concerts given in Reims in the summer of 1998.
Enough preamble; time for the music. Right from the first few notes it’s clear that Pludermacher will take the listener on an individual journey. The opening Allegro of Op 2/1 starts off sounding deliberate if not quite stiff. Barely a moment passes before Pludermacher injects speed and his own unique rubato into the mix. Arpeggios will be dashed off dazzlingly quick, then he’ll slow down, savor a phrase just a bit, and then change back. Dynamics and tonal shadings are constantly in flux. To this he marries notable weight and admirable clarity – but not of the sometimes merciless X-ray kind present in the Sheppard set. (It must be stated that Pludermacher is closely-miked, too.) The effect of the new pedal can also be heard, with novel sustains and sounds. The Adagio continues along the interventionist path. The overall sound is somewhat superficial – in the best Giesekingian way – and ends up being an extended lesson in glorious, somewhat light, but impossibly variegated sound production. Pludermacher infuses the playing with his idiosyncratic touches everywhere and all the time. Just when one settles in for a shimmering, light approach, he throws the listener a curve. The Menuetto starts off in a deliberate fashion, but it still sounds peculiarly dance-like. Sort of like a minuet, in fact. Then he throws in some seriously powerful playing. It remains remarkably clear, to boot. The Prestissimo is played fast, with huge dynamic swings, and utterly unique phrasing and accenting in every bar. The playing has an irresistible motoric force, but it doesn’t really have the type of rhythmic groove that I would have expected. But it is exciting and unique.
Things stay that way with the second sonata. The Allegro vivace is fast, clear, cleanly articulated, with superb dynamic variations and pronounced but never obtrusive rubato. Pludermacher nonchalantly dashes off the ascending scales with ease, and then proceeds to hammer out some of the playing with aggressive intensity. Unlike Kovacevich, who is also aggressive in the early works, Pludermacher never sounds hard or (even somewhat) vulgar. The Largo comes off as sometimes march-like, sometimes thundering, but always clear and usually lean, though some tonal richness appears as appropriate. The movement is very serious but not exactly passionate. Gallic detachment is married to power in a most appealing way. The Scherzo opens with quick, light figures and then transitions to a simultaneously fiery and detached middle section, only to return to the opening material in a most satisfying way. The Rondo is again fast – Pludermacher loves to play fast – with all his tricks on display and an unyielding forward drive. As if to demonstrate that he can do even more, Pludermacher plays in a pulverizing fashion – more so than Sheppard – yet even then one is pleased by the sonic assault. In some ways the playing is very superficially exciting. Pludermacher certainly does not offer a great deal of emotionally enriching playing, but what is there is both technically assured and viscerally exciting.
The final sonata of the opening trio finds Pludermacher pulling out all the tools at his disposal. The Allegro con brio opener actually opens somewhat conventionally in terms of tempo and overall mood. Pludermacher quickly transitions to very fast, lean, and powerful playing, with pedaling, rubato, and dynamic shifts all obviously present. The more pressed nature of his playing means that the astounding flexibility of the first sonata is dampened somewhat (he apparently uses the new pedal less), but it’s still flexible. The Adagio opens with a somewhat detached feel, but all that nice tonal and dynamic variability remains. For some reason, the left hand notes and chords, even when played forte, sound somewhat undernourished. Must be that pedal again. The overriding effect of the first few minutes of playing is of pseudo-tragic music; Pludermacher approximates emotion. Then the broad chords after 5’ are much stronger, and that new pedal adds some unique color. As if to make up for lost time, Pludermacher dispatches the Scherzo with almost breathlessly fast and intense playing. The concluding Allegro assai opens with light, clear, yet colorful ascending scales, and then Pludermacher’s big, beefy left hand playing joins in. He almost races through the music at times, generating superficial excitement. There’s definitely a lot to enjoy in the opening sonatas.
For the fourth sonata, Pludermacher again opts to open the piece quickly. Allegro molto e con brio the opener most certainly is, but even then the pianist sees fit to pick up the speed and ratchet up the tension after a brief period of merely brisk playing. The playing is remarkably fluid and even has a nice rhythmic snap to it, but it’s all superficial. It doesn’t really delve beneath the surface, as it were. That’s fine, but there it is. The Largo is comparatively slow, with immaculately timed pauses. Rarely have I heard them used so expertly; Pludermacher maintains a high degree of musical tension; there is never even a hint that the musical line may be breached. When it comes time to play with power, Pludermacher does so without any hint of strain or without overdoing anything. The Allegro starts off in a somewhat slow and deliberate manner, at least for Pludermacher. All the notes have pronounced, clear attacks, and that nifty new pedal is used artfully to sustain only select notes in an appealing (if perhaps a bit contrived) manner. Pludermacher also does something he hasn’t done up to this point: he makes the music sing a few times, but only in bursts. The middle section has a nice rolling bass that is nicely unclear, most likely on purpose. To close the piece, Pludermacher again makes the piano sing, but this time in an almost delicate way. But he also has more serious things to do as when he belts out the middle section in blazing fast fashion. What’s perhaps most surprising is how Pludermacher manages to pull of this off within relatively conventional overall timings. None of the sonatas are freakishly long or short. What Pludermacher does within the time parameters parameters is what’s most impressive. That’s the case here.
Moving on to the next trio reveals more surprises. Pludermacher opens the first sonata Allegro molto e con brio not fast but rather slow, or slow-ish, and in a rather measured way. The first return of the opening theme definitely sounds faster and stronger, and at times it seems like things are poised to get heated up, but then the pianist pulls back and plays lyrically. Then the whole process gets repeated. The specific effects and sounds don’t really sound that great, but the transitions between the styles are graceful and fluid. The Adagio molto, as with some prior slow movements, sounds detached but lovely, with musical tension retained throughout, and with Pludermacher finding the time to play some passages in a discreetly virtuosic manner. To close, Pludermacher opts to start off in a measured way only to end up playing in a robust, nearly dazzling fashion with plenty of oomph. It’s good fun. The second sonata opens with a plucky, clear, and quick Allegro complete with Pludermacher’s distinctive rubato and accenting. Again, it’s surface playing, but it’s good surface playing. The Allegretto is attractively dark, but, yep, it’s superficial. And again, the closing movement starts off relatively slowly only to pick up steam, but just when things get going, they’re over. No repeat is on offer here. Darn. The final sonata is the most successful. Momentum and rhythm characterize the Presto, with all the tricks deployed thus far showing up again, and in just the right mix. The Largo occupies a different sound world entirely. From the outset it sounds bleak, and some of the repeated chords almost anticipate Le Gibet more than the 106. Most of the quick take on this movement is superficial, though deft use of the lower registers and a marked shift in style between 6’30” and 7’ results in a tragic outpouring of rage and anguish, albeit through clenched teeth, if you will. In contrast, the Menuetto and Rondo both sound quite chipper, with Pludermacher relishing the little gestures in the music and using his bag of tricks most tastefully.
How would Pludermacher do in the Pathetique? His somewhat cool, detached style seemed to portend a less than heated version, though his technical acumen seemed to insure a well executed one. And that’s what Pludermacher delivers. The Grave opens with a strong but not overwhelming chords, then moves on to some quicker playing, and then the thundering playing comes before the Allegro. The Allegro itself is a model of quick, clear, detached playing, with some nearly dazzling fast playing and some decent heft. The Andante cantabile opens with a beautifully lyrical sound, but it’s hardly the paragon of romantic playing. The Rondo ends the work in a similar fashion to the opening movement – generally quick and clear and definitely detached. All told, it’s a good reading, and certainly a well played one, but it’s not a world beater.
The two Op 14 sonatas both sound good. The first sonata Allegro and Allegretto both sound too solemn. The playing itself is light and clear, with some left hand chords floated nicely in the opening movement, and some lovely playing in the second. But it sounds almost depressing at times. The Rondo sounds more vigorous and upbeat. The second sonata sounds more appealing, with the opening Allegro benefiting from dazzling runs, a generally swift overall tempo, and all those little tonal variations that Pludermacher so effortlessly delivers. The Andante and Scherzo both sound curiously vigorous yet nonchalant and decidedly charming.
Finishing up the first batch with the Op 22 finds another French pianist doing well. Pommier, Heidsieck, and Nat all do very well here, and Pludermacher’s success seems to indicate that the French may have learned the secrets of the piece better than most. The Allegro con brio follows the now familiar pattern of a measured open quickly transitioning to quick, pointed, and (now) groovy playing with some serious low-end heft. Throughout, Pludermacher will accelerate, decelerate, play loud, play soft, and otherwise do whatever seems to tickle his fancy, and he does it in such a way as to sound fluid, graceful, strong, and compelling all in equal measure. The Adagio, on the other hand, is all about slowness. This is one time when Pludermacher does adopt an extreme tempo – he extends the movement to over 10’. At times musical tension is sacrificed, and the emotional payoff isn’t really there; the emotion is contrived. Well, it sounds that way until Pludermacher pounds out some chords in the middle section. An outcry of pain in a sonata where it’s not really needed, perhaps? Anyway, it still works. The Menuetto is more chipper, as one would hope, but it also sounds reasonably rich and nicely articulated. The Rondo continues on in a similarly comfortable manner until the fiercer middle section, when Pludermacher turns on the speed before easing up. This is indeed a good reading, but the out of place Adagio prevents me from rating this version among those by the other French pianists. I still like it.
So, a big helping of Mr Pludermacher’s Beethoven has been devoured. Me like. With reservations. That Pludermacher is technically proficient is clearly beyond doubt. That he can play with taste and energy equally so. But his playing is sometimes too concerned with surface gloss and momentary effect for me to say it’s up there with the very best. (Had he focused more on momentary feeling, it might be another story.) Truth to tell, I find the quadrapedal piano something of a novelty, and a pretty flimsy reason to record the sonatas in itself. Perhaps such a device would have more value in Debussy, but here it just adds some interesting effects. I’d like to here Pludermacher play Beethoven on a standard piano, that’s for sure. Don’t get me wrong, I really like what I’ve heard so far. Pludermacher definitely brings some unique ideas to the music, and makes for a fine potential alternative version, and that’s how I’m going to approach the rest of the set.
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