Anton Kuerti Plays Beethoven
Posted by: Todd A on 28 September 2005
Too slow. That’s been a criticism I’ve seen attributed to Anton Kuerti’s cycle by several people. The criticism is well founded, at least on the evidence of the first batch of sonatas. Until now, Kuerti is a name I’d only seen in passing. The Austrian-born, American-raised, and now Canadian-domiciled pianist has apparently had a rather healthy career as performer and teacher and recording artist, though it appears he’s done little for the majors. (This cycle, now on Analekta, was originally issued in the US on CBS/Odyssey, though.) Is this by his choice, by happenstance, or is there another reason? Or a blend of all three (or more) reasons? Don’t know. Don’t care, really. I’m just interested in his Beethoven. Well, possibly his Schubert cycle, too, if I can find it. So, other than a well deserved reputation for slowness, what does Kuerti have to offer? Well . . .
Plinky, metallic sound is a good place to start. The first sonata opens too slow and suffers from a plinky, metallic sound, and both of these attributes show up time and again. But it’s not all bad. First of all, Kuerti’s general slowness allows for greater apparent flexibility and fluidity – since he’s not rushing through, he can speed up and slow down as he wants. And this leads to a trait that I generally like a lot: Kuerti is more interesting playing diminuendo rather than crescendo. Pianissimo comes up with more shades than fortissimo under his fingers. But what seems to be missing? Ah, yes, the music. For, you see, another overarching trait of the first seven sonatas is a fascination with the details at the expense of the whole. So back to the music: after a slow start, Kuerti does pick up the basic tempo a bit in the first sonata, but it doesn’t really have the drive I want. Nor does the Adagio. Alright, the Adagio doesn’t really need it, but it shouldn’t be this slow. And it should certainly flow, which this one does not. Kuerti delves into the details. Each phrase, each chord, hell, each single note has meaning. As a result, the playing is completely lacking in emotion; it is precious and contrived. The Menuetto? Same. The finale? Wait! There’s some speed and strength! Kuerti shows he can mix it up; he can spin off notes with heat and dexterity. He can also maintain a wildly variable touch, with subtle variations between notes in an arpeggio and minute dynamic variations. But, again, the music, it’s missing.
What about the second sonata. Here Kuerti opts to open the piece swiftly. He darts across the keyboard, dodging in and out, deploying subtle rubato and color and dynamic shifts, sometimes each one at a time, sometimes in combination. It rather reminds me of Eric Heidsieck, but it lacks the Frenchman’s fluidity and grace. The Largo? S L O W. Soft. Tender. Variegated. But detached and cool. The Scherzo, well, it’s slow, too, but it benefits from very clean fingerwork and variable tone. The concluding Rondo is the most conventional movement thus far, played in a most grazioso manner, though it seems more an idealization of feeling rather than feeling.
The third sonata starts off energetically and at a slightly fast speed, which is fine, but it is also glassy, precious, and metallic. The Adagio, well, it sounds more like a Largo. Kuerti’s tendency to play slow gets exaggerated. The movement begins to sound a bit silly; a sort of faux seriousness or ominous “feeling” creeps in, the left-hand chords pounded out slowly and with heft. The Scherzo, as if to offer maximum contrast, is fast and light. To finish off the sonata, Kuerti starts out with a nice, brisk tempo and plenty o’ verve, but then he plays in an oddly – and oddly appealing – distant, detached way. It’s back to details and individual effects rather than the big picture, as it were. Indeed, I find it difficult to adequately convey what Kuerti does. He throws in so many devices, and most of them are either subtle or lightning fast (or both), that it becomes hard to stay grounded. He’s moving. He’s moving around the sonatas. He’s not moving within them. He’s highlighting some points and downplaying others – as all pianists do – but he delivers his message in a sometimes bizarre way. Make no mistake, his slow playing can be slow – distractingly so – but he also has enough ideas of his own to make one listen intently. Sometimes it succeeds more than others.
An example of the latter would be the Op 7 sonata. What to make of this? The opening movement is brilliant! It’s quick and strong and athletic and heroic, and even thought I generally prefer a softer take, I really like this. Sure, some of his effects are too blatant and quirky, but it’s still good. But man, when he plays the Largo, it’s a chore to sit through it. It is just way too slow. Kuerti plays with a sensitive touch and actually keeps the tension in places, but he really, really emphasizes the pauses. When he plays louder chords along with those pauses, the whole thing sounds too contrived, as though he’s saying: “Look how serious I can make this.” It don’t flow people, it don’t flow. But dammit, his soft playing displays exquisite versatility. It’s maddening. The Allegro is maddening, too. Stiff, slow, and choppy for a while, and more flexible for a while, it makes one want to either crank it up or turn it off, depending on where one is in the movement. The concluding Rondo, well, it starts and ends too slow, but in between it’s quite nice. At the end of this jumbled recording one is left nonplussed.
That effect does not happen with the opening of the first of the Op 10 sonatas; it’s awful. It’s awkward, blocky, choppy, slow, distorted, and willful. Perhaps it’s meant to be more dramatic as a result, but it’s definitely not. During the slower passages Kuerti once again puts on a fine show, but it’s not enough. The Adagio has a faux seriousness to it, like the third sonata, and even the fine slow and/or soft playing can’t compensate. But then along comes a fast, strong, and intense Prestissimo conclusion that just grabs one’s attention. Grrrr.
Finally, with the sixth sonata, one arrives at something that can be called successful from start to finish. The piece opens with “[a] hop with mysterious charm” in Kuerti’s words, and everywhere Kuerti deploys his idiosyncratic touches to highlight that “mysterious” charm. Perpetually variable rubato, off-beat emphases, odd phrases – this compact opener has it all. But it still “works.” The Allegretto here is serious and heavy and dark, with plenty of low register heft, and it works! The Presto works, too! That’s a whole sonata! It’s fast ‘n’ strong, clear ‘n’ upbeat, and includes that repeat that is so often overlooked. This isn’t a great recording of this sonata – I cannot emphasize that enough – but despite its quirks, or perhaps partially because of them, it all coheres into a nice work for solo piano.
The seventh sonata makes two successful sonatas in a row. The opening is taken at a nice clip, and is, for Kuerti, pretty straight-forward. For about fifteen seconds. Then it’s back to Kuerti’s, um, unique way. Some of the fast passages almost seem satirical, they’re taken so fast. He’s mocking the very notion of virtuosity. The slow portions conform to Kuerti’s normal tics. But it works, even if just barely. The Largo is slow, slow, slow, but includes such fine dynamic and tonal variation and elicits such a nice (if contrived) sorrowful feel that it just works. Even the near static feel in some places helps. The Menuetto, too, is slow, but somehow Kuerti makes it work. To finish off, and to create a sort of hypercontrast to what came before, Kuerti plays the concluding Rondo in a largely conventional manner, though one informed by some ferocity here and there.
This is one of the most baffling cycles I’ve heard. I simply cannot recommend it to most people. This is an alternative take for people who already prefer alternative takes. I have no doubt at all that Beethoven would never have envisioned his music sounding like this – I can’t think of a composer who would. So often Kuerti plays for momentary effect, and he almost never plays for architectural cohesion. It’s sort of moment-to-moment playing, but it is devoid of romance and passion. This is contrived playing; this is Beethoven viewed through an intellectual prism devoid of feeling; this is weird. I’ve peeked at what’s coming up, and what do I see but a 52’ Hammerklavier with a 25’ Adagio. Is that more puzzling than an 11’+ Largo in the Op 10/3 sonata? I’ll know when I get there. This is gonna take some work.
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Plinky, metallic sound is a good place to start. The first sonata opens too slow and suffers from a plinky, metallic sound, and both of these attributes show up time and again. But it’s not all bad. First of all, Kuerti’s general slowness allows for greater apparent flexibility and fluidity – since he’s not rushing through, he can speed up and slow down as he wants. And this leads to a trait that I generally like a lot: Kuerti is more interesting playing diminuendo rather than crescendo. Pianissimo comes up with more shades than fortissimo under his fingers. But what seems to be missing? Ah, yes, the music. For, you see, another overarching trait of the first seven sonatas is a fascination with the details at the expense of the whole. So back to the music: after a slow start, Kuerti does pick up the basic tempo a bit in the first sonata, but it doesn’t really have the drive I want. Nor does the Adagio. Alright, the Adagio doesn’t really need it, but it shouldn’t be this slow. And it should certainly flow, which this one does not. Kuerti delves into the details. Each phrase, each chord, hell, each single note has meaning. As a result, the playing is completely lacking in emotion; it is precious and contrived. The Menuetto? Same. The finale? Wait! There’s some speed and strength! Kuerti shows he can mix it up; he can spin off notes with heat and dexterity. He can also maintain a wildly variable touch, with subtle variations between notes in an arpeggio and minute dynamic variations. But, again, the music, it’s missing.
What about the second sonata. Here Kuerti opts to open the piece swiftly. He darts across the keyboard, dodging in and out, deploying subtle rubato and color and dynamic shifts, sometimes each one at a time, sometimes in combination. It rather reminds me of Eric Heidsieck, but it lacks the Frenchman’s fluidity and grace. The Largo? S L O W. Soft. Tender. Variegated. But detached and cool. The Scherzo, well, it’s slow, too, but it benefits from very clean fingerwork and variable tone. The concluding Rondo is the most conventional movement thus far, played in a most grazioso manner, though it seems more an idealization of feeling rather than feeling.
The third sonata starts off energetically and at a slightly fast speed, which is fine, but it is also glassy, precious, and metallic. The Adagio, well, it sounds more like a Largo. Kuerti’s tendency to play slow gets exaggerated. The movement begins to sound a bit silly; a sort of faux seriousness or ominous “feeling” creeps in, the left-hand chords pounded out slowly and with heft. The Scherzo, as if to offer maximum contrast, is fast and light. To finish off the sonata, Kuerti starts out with a nice, brisk tempo and plenty o’ verve, but then he plays in an oddly – and oddly appealing – distant, detached way. It’s back to details and individual effects rather than the big picture, as it were. Indeed, I find it difficult to adequately convey what Kuerti does. He throws in so many devices, and most of them are either subtle or lightning fast (or both), that it becomes hard to stay grounded. He’s moving. He’s moving around the sonatas. He’s not moving within them. He’s highlighting some points and downplaying others – as all pianists do – but he delivers his message in a sometimes bizarre way. Make no mistake, his slow playing can be slow – distractingly so – but he also has enough ideas of his own to make one listen intently. Sometimes it succeeds more than others.
An example of the latter would be the Op 7 sonata. What to make of this? The opening movement is brilliant! It’s quick and strong and athletic and heroic, and even thought I generally prefer a softer take, I really like this. Sure, some of his effects are too blatant and quirky, but it’s still good. But man, when he plays the Largo, it’s a chore to sit through it. It is just way too slow. Kuerti plays with a sensitive touch and actually keeps the tension in places, but he really, really emphasizes the pauses. When he plays louder chords along with those pauses, the whole thing sounds too contrived, as though he’s saying: “Look how serious I can make this.” It don’t flow people, it don’t flow. But dammit, his soft playing displays exquisite versatility. It’s maddening. The Allegro is maddening, too. Stiff, slow, and choppy for a while, and more flexible for a while, it makes one want to either crank it up or turn it off, depending on where one is in the movement. The concluding Rondo, well, it starts and ends too slow, but in between it’s quite nice. At the end of this jumbled recording one is left nonplussed.
That effect does not happen with the opening of the first of the Op 10 sonatas; it’s awful. It’s awkward, blocky, choppy, slow, distorted, and willful. Perhaps it’s meant to be more dramatic as a result, but it’s definitely not. During the slower passages Kuerti once again puts on a fine show, but it’s not enough. The Adagio has a faux seriousness to it, like the third sonata, and even the fine slow and/or soft playing can’t compensate. But then along comes a fast, strong, and intense Prestissimo conclusion that just grabs one’s attention. Grrrr.
Finally, with the sixth sonata, one arrives at something that can be called successful from start to finish. The piece opens with “[a] hop with mysterious charm” in Kuerti’s words, and everywhere Kuerti deploys his idiosyncratic touches to highlight that “mysterious” charm. Perpetually variable rubato, off-beat emphases, odd phrases – this compact opener has it all. But it still “works.” The Allegretto here is serious and heavy and dark, with plenty of low register heft, and it works! The Presto works, too! That’s a whole sonata! It’s fast ‘n’ strong, clear ‘n’ upbeat, and includes that repeat that is so often overlooked. This isn’t a great recording of this sonata – I cannot emphasize that enough – but despite its quirks, or perhaps partially because of them, it all coheres into a nice work for solo piano.
The seventh sonata makes two successful sonatas in a row. The opening is taken at a nice clip, and is, for Kuerti, pretty straight-forward. For about fifteen seconds. Then it’s back to Kuerti’s, um, unique way. Some of the fast passages almost seem satirical, they’re taken so fast. He’s mocking the very notion of virtuosity. The slow portions conform to Kuerti’s normal tics. But it works, even if just barely. The Largo is slow, slow, slow, but includes such fine dynamic and tonal variation and elicits such a nice (if contrived) sorrowful feel that it just works. Even the near static feel in some places helps. The Menuetto, too, is slow, but somehow Kuerti makes it work. To finish off, and to create a sort of hypercontrast to what came before, Kuerti plays the concluding Rondo in a largely conventional manner, though one informed by some ferocity here and there.
This is one of the most baffling cycles I’ve heard. I simply cannot recommend it to most people. This is an alternative take for people who already prefer alternative takes. I have no doubt at all that Beethoven would never have envisioned his music sounding like this – I can’t think of a composer who would. So often Kuerti plays for momentary effect, and he almost never plays for architectural cohesion. It’s sort of moment-to-moment playing, but it is devoid of romance and passion. This is contrived playing; this is Beethoven viewed through an intellectual prism devoid of feeling; this is weird. I’ve peeked at what’s coming up, and what do I see but a 52’ Hammerklavier with a 25’ Adagio. Is that more puzzling than an 11’+ Largo in the Op 10/3 sonata? I’ll know when I get there. This is gonna take some work.
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I don’t think I’ve encountered a more comprehensive set of notes about the sonatas performed than those by Anton Kuerti. (Paul Badura-Skoda offers detailed notes, too, though no direct translation from German is offered.) These notes offer a glimpse into his thinking and his approach. And it is here where one can find some hints of why his playing sounds the way it does. For instance, in writing about the Op 22 sonata, he writes the following, telling line: “[A]nd in any case conventionality is not necessarily beauty’s enemy.” The italics are his. (Yes, this is a snippet, but for those who have not read his notes, this statement can be taken as it stands without much dilution of meaning. Think of the (r)evolutionary nature of Op 22 and one can get an idea of what he’s getting at.) Of course, a corollary remains unwritten: Eccentricity is not necessarily beauty’s friend. No italics needed. With a better understanding of what he’s all about, it’s time to describe the second batch of sonatas.
The Pathetique opens well enough, though I’m not sure the chords need to be held quite as long as they are. (Would truncating them a second or two harm the intention that much?) Even with the slowness, tension is maintained. Mostly. Between 1’50” and 2’, the tempo is just too slow. The faster portions that follow all fare better. Kuerti’s articulation is superb, his tonal and dynamic (micro-) variations everything one might expect and then some, and, again, tension is maintained. True, the proceedings have a slightly detached sense to them, but no biggie. But the over 11’ intro ends up sapping the intensity of the opening movement. This isn’t one of my favorite sonatas, so I like it compact and intense. Moving to the Adagio finds a beautifully played but again too slow approach. Here, Kuerti’s amazing abilities at the lower end of the dynamic spectrum really pay dividends, but only in a details-rule kind of way. The finale more or less continues what came before. The result is a less than compelling Op 13.
I approached the two Op 14 sonatas believing they would suck. Sluggishness in these light works kills everything. Fortunately, Kuerti has enough up his sleeve to avoid total disaster. The opening Allegro is indeed stifled by a, yes, slow overall tempo, but once again the minute variations in the tricks of the pianist’s trade yield some interesting insights. Before the opening movement is done, the overall effect grows a bit tiresome. The Allegretto is more conventional in approach, but perhaps because of Kuerti’s antipathy to such an approach, sounds lifeless and dull. The concluding Rondo is better, but it gets a bit bogged down in too-serious playing. It’s not a disaster, but it don’t top my list.
Decidedly more successful is the second of these works. It opens in a positively delightful fashion, and Kuerti’s playing brings out myriad nuances without sounding all about the details. Further, the faster playing really brings the piece to life, and only an abrupt transition to the more intense music (played with real bite) at about 4’10” mars the opener. The Andante is presented more slowly than normal, but each of the variations sounds nicely different and well played, and the rhythmic drive hangs together nicely even at the slower speed. The concluding Scherzo comes off especially well, with the light, breezy character defining most of the music nicely juxtaposed against the strikingly powerful middle section. Complaints are quibbles: this is damn good.
Since Kuerti likes groundbreaking music and views the Op 22 sonata as a groundbreaking work, it isn’t surprising that the work comes off better than most thus far. Kuerti plays the opening movement with notable rhythmic drive and clear articulation and focus. Only some slightly stiff playing just before 6’ and some unusual low register phrasing show Kuerti’s other traits. The fine tonal variation and dynamic changes all add to the allure of this opener. The Adagio, as one might imagine, gets the slow treatment – very slow; it’s ten minutes long! Throughout Kuerti maintains tension and never sounds other than attractive, but he just stretches it out a bit too long. The Menuetto sounds a bit choppy and not very flowing, but it still comes off reasonably well. The concluding Rondo is played in a largely conventional (<gasp!>
way, and is nicely vivacious and entertaining. Overall, this sonata comes off much better than most others in the set thus far, but it’s still only an also-ran.
No doubt some of my criticisms sound repetitive, but that’s only because the problems with this cycle are repetitive. Case in point: the Op 26 sonata. The opening movement starts out with the Andante theme played in a most captivating fashion, and Kuerti adds some nice touches to the variations, but the overall tempo is, yes, too slow. The Scherzo is a success, somewhat bucking the trend – it’s got biting and strong playing alternating with more nuanced playing – but the Funeral March doesn’t. It’s certainly funereal and march-like, which is good, but it also sounds contrived. The concluding Allegro is a bit clunky, though again there’s that touch.
But this repetitiveness really got to me when listening to the first of the two sonatas quasi una fantasia. I’ve written it before and will write it again: I prefer the first of these two works, and by an increasing margin. It’s more “unpredictable,” more variable, and more adventurous. Given Kuerti’s apparent preference for such a work, I was hoping for the best. That ain’t what I got. The piece opens too slowly (whoda thunk it?), though with nice tonal variety (another surprise!), and when the Andante gives way to the Allegro section, Kuerti overemphasizes the contrast by playing really fast and really strong (shocker!). Playing with such massive shifts is not the only way to bring out the contrasts; such an interpretive approach is really rather banal. The next Allegro again suffers from excessive contrast, though not as simplistically extreme as the opening movement. The Adagio comes off as very similar to the opening movement, and it’s – wait for it – slow. Didn’t see that coming, did you? I had to give up for a while before proceeding.
In contrast (ha!) to the 27/1, I’m finding myself less interested in the Mondschein sonata as time passes. Yes, it’s full of invention and new ideas, but the whole approach – dramatic / less dramatic / dramatic – strikes me as a bit uninteresting in all but the very best recordings. So I didn’t really care what Kuerti did. Perusing the notes finds Kuerti criticizing standard approaches, too, and coming to this conclusion: the “performer who plays it authentically risks being accused of understatement.” Authentically? Hmmm. Musicological issues aside, this indicates that Kuerti thinks the piece is often overcooked, so you know what that means: S L O W speeds. Bet get this – it works! The opening movement is slow and morose, played down, and positively blurs one’s senses it’s so hazy. ‘Tis a long lamentation. Yes, it’s a bit contrived, but I’ll take it. The Allegretto is delicate and soft, with more of that amazing p to pp variability that Kuerti can deliver, and a few choppy moments and sluggishness don’t really hurt. The concluding Presto is fast, fast, fast, with some chords brutally cut short for emphasis and to create an artificial intensity. No, it’s not the greatest, but it definitely sounds better than its poor predecessor.
This batch of sonatas ends with one of my favorites, the Op 28 Pastorale. Unfortunately, Mr Kuerti doesn’t feel the same way. Sayeth he: “It would be hard to deny a certain disappointment in Op 28.” I steadfastly deny it! Anyway, not content to bludgeon the listener with the devices already at his disposal, Kuerti introduces a new interpretive device: Plodding. The opening movement suffers from this new device. All lyricism is basically sapped from the music. Throw in the details x-ray, especially after 4’, and there’s some rough listening to endure. The Andante is not as distorted as the opening movement, but the oddities are still there, as is some more faux-seriousness between about 6’ and 6’30”. The Scherzo actually works! It’s upbeat, witty, charming and mostly direct. But one movement does not make this sonata. Especially with a plodding Rondo to end it. On top of it all, Kuerti manages a trick I’ve rarely heard; he manages to sound both texturally clear and rhythmically thick at the same time. But at least he ends the piece in blazing fast fashion. Wow, hyper-contrast, how thoughtful.
A couple bright spots aside, this batch was harder to endure than the first. I sincerely hope this trend doesn’t continue.
Click here to continue
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The Pathetique opens well enough, though I’m not sure the chords need to be held quite as long as they are. (Would truncating them a second or two harm the intention that much?) Even with the slowness, tension is maintained. Mostly. Between 1’50” and 2’, the tempo is just too slow. The faster portions that follow all fare better. Kuerti’s articulation is superb, his tonal and dynamic (micro-) variations everything one might expect and then some, and, again, tension is maintained. True, the proceedings have a slightly detached sense to them, but no biggie. But the over 11’ intro ends up sapping the intensity of the opening movement. This isn’t one of my favorite sonatas, so I like it compact and intense. Moving to the Adagio finds a beautifully played but again too slow approach. Here, Kuerti’s amazing abilities at the lower end of the dynamic spectrum really pay dividends, but only in a details-rule kind of way. The finale more or less continues what came before. The result is a less than compelling Op 13.
I approached the two Op 14 sonatas believing they would suck. Sluggishness in these light works kills everything. Fortunately, Kuerti has enough up his sleeve to avoid total disaster. The opening Allegro is indeed stifled by a, yes, slow overall tempo, but once again the minute variations in the tricks of the pianist’s trade yield some interesting insights. Before the opening movement is done, the overall effect grows a bit tiresome. The Allegretto is more conventional in approach, but perhaps because of Kuerti’s antipathy to such an approach, sounds lifeless and dull. The concluding Rondo is better, but it gets a bit bogged down in too-serious playing. It’s not a disaster, but it don’t top my list.
Decidedly more successful is the second of these works. It opens in a positively delightful fashion, and Kuerti’s playing brings out myriad nuances without sounding all about the details. Further, the faster playing really brings the piece to life, and only an abrupt transition to the more intense music (played with real bite) at about 4’10” mars the opener. The Andante is presented more slowly than normal, but each of the variations sounds nicely different and well played, and the rhythmic drive hangs together nicely even at the slower speed. The concluding Scherzo comes off especially well, with the light, breezy character defining most of the music nicely juxtaposed against the strikingly powerful middle section. Complaints are quibbles: this is damn good.
Since Kuerti likes groundbreaking music and views the Op 22 sonata as a groundbreaking work, it isn’t surprising that the work comes off better than most thus far. Kuerti plays the opening movement with notable rhythmic drive and clear articulation and focus. Only some slightly stiff playing just before 6’ and some unusual low register phrasing show Kuerti’s other traits. The fine tonal variation and dynamic changes all add to the allure of this opener. The Adagio, as one might imagine, gets the slow treatment – very slow; it’s ten minutes long! Throughout Kuerti maintains tension and never sounds other than attractive, but he just stretches it out a bit too long. The Menuetto sounds a bit choppy and not very flowing, but it still comes off reasonably well. The concluding Rondo is played in a largely conventional (<gasp!>
way, and is nicely vivacious and entertaining. Overall, this sonata comes off much better than most others in the set thus far, but it’s still only an also-ran.No doubt some of my criticisms sound repetitive, but that’s only because the problems with this cycle are repetitive. Case in point: the Op 26 sonata. The opening movement starts out with the Andante theme played in a most captivating fashion, and Kuerti adds some nice touches to the variations, but the overall tempo is, yes, too slow. The Scherzo is a success, somewhat bucking the trend – it’s got biting and strong playing alternating with more nuanced playing – but the Funeral March doesn’t. It’s certainly funereal and march-like, which is good, but it also sounds contrived. The concluding Allegro is a bit clunky, though again there’s that touch.
But this repetitiveness really got to me when listening to the first of the two sonatas quasi una fantasia. I’ve written it before and will write it again: I prefer the first of these two works, and by an increasing margin. It’s more “unpredictable,” more variable, and more adventurous. Given Kuerti’s apparent preference for such a work, I was hoping for the best. That ain’t what I got. The piece opens too slowly (whoda thunk it?), though with nice tonal variety (another surprise!), and when the Andante gives way to the Allegro section, Kuerti overemphasizes the contrast by playing really fast and really strong (shocker!). Playing with such massive shifts is not the only way to bring out the contrasts; such an interpretive approach is really rather banal. The next Allegro again suffers from excessive contrast, though not as simplistically extreme as the opening movement. The Adagio comes off as very similar to the opening movement, and it’s – wait for it – slow. Didn’t see that coming, did you? I had to give up for a while before proceeding.
In contrast (ha!) to the 27/1, I’m finding myself less interested in the Mondschein sonata as time passes. Yes, it’s full of invention and new ideas, but the whole approach – dramatic / less dramatic / dramatic – strikes me as a bit uninteresting in all but the very best recordings. So I didn’t really care what Kuerti did. Perusing the notes finds Kuerti criticizing standard approaches, too, and coming to this conclusion: the “performer who plays it authentically risks being accused of understatement.” Authentically? Hmmm. Musicological issues aside, this indicates that Kuerti thinks the piece is often overcooked, so you know what that means: S L O W speeds. Bet get this – it works! The opening movement is slow and morose, played down, and positively blurs one’s senses it’s so hazy. ‘Tis a long lamentation. Yes, it’s a bit contrived, but I’ll take it. The Allegretto is delicate and soft, with more of that amazing p to pp variability that Kuerti can deliver, and a few choppy moments and sluggishness don’t really hurt. The concluding Presto is fast, fast, fast, with some chords brutally cut short for emphasis and to create an artificial intensity. No, it’s not the greatest, but it definitely sounds better than its poor predecessor.
This batch of sonatas ends with one of my favorites, the Op 28 Pastorale. Unfortunately, Mr Kuerti doesn’t feel the same way. Sayeth he: “It would be hard to deny a certain disappointment in Op 28.” I steadfastly deny it! Anyway, not content to bludgeon the listener with the devices already at his disposal, Kuerti introduces a new interpretive device: Plodding. The opening movement suffers from this new device. All lyricism is basically sapped from the music. Throw in the details x-ray, especially after 4’, and there’s some rough listening to endure. The Andante is not as distorted as the opening movement, but the oddities are still there, as is some more faux-seriousness between about 6’ and 6’30”. The Scherzo actually works! It’s upbeat, witty, charming and mostly direct. But one movement does not make this sonata. Especially with a plodding Rondo to end it. On top of it all, Kuerti manages a trick I’ve rarely heard; he manages to sound both texturally clear and rhythmically thick at the same time. But at least he ends the piece in blazing fast fashion. Wow, hyper-contrast, how thoughtful.
A couple bright spots aside, this batch was harder to endure than the first. I sincerely hope this trend doesn’t continue.
Click here to continue
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