The Emperor - Again!
Posted by: Todd A on 05 July 2007
(The last entry can be found here.)
Time for the latest installment in my on-going, one day to be 73 part series. When last I explored new recordings of this work, I was lucky enough to end up with three good recordings. This time I opted for six new versions, and while a 100% hit rate didn’t occur again, I at least ended up with some more fine recordings.
The first of the six new recordings ended up being a whole lot more than good. Indeed, it goes straight to the top tier just as Julius Katchen’s recording did last time. I write of Russell Sherman’s early-80s recording with Vaclav Neumann and the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, originally on Pro Arte recordings and now on Vanguard. As with Sherman’s sonata cycle – or anything else he’s recorded – this recording may very well elicit a love-it-or-hate-it response, but those who hate it are entitled to their wrong opinions. The opening Allegro finds the Czechs playing boldly and strongly and Sherman playing in a broken, blocky fashion. He quickly straightens up and plays with grandeur befitting the piece – but only for a bit. For, you see (and should hear), he’s about more than that: his return after the orchestral interlude is characterized by coy, precious trills and a more intimate overall approach. And Sherman throws in myriad little touches everywhere. The first left-right split possesses nearly breathtaking clarity, and here Sherman sees fit to tinker with the individual parts with brassy bravura. Each voice becomes more distinct. The Grand Flourish is grand, though not toweringly so, and Sherman again tinkers with the tempo. Another thing he does well is fade into the background; Sherman is more than willing to share the limelight with the band, and he gracefully fades away time and again to aid in that. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with warm, beautiful playing from the strings, providing a nice billowy atmosphere for Sherman’s very slow entry. He presents each note with great care. The overall conception is almost syrupy romantic – or rather, an idealized version of syrupy romanticism. This is more mind-on-sleeve than heart-on-sleeve; the entire thing maintains a certain level of abstraction. Sherman’s trills throughout the movement delight: they’re variegated to the nth degree and at times sound invitingly limpid. The concluding Rondo opens with Sherman alternating between suitably powerful playing and more subdued introspection, which somehow creates a somewhat stiff, march-like feel to the whole thing. It’s quite remarkable and a bit frustrating at the same time. The march-like demeanor carries over to the orchestral playing, too. But then Sherman returns with a gliding ease before tearing into the music – and he always knows just when to do that. So he carries on to the end, tinkerin’ and fussin’ and tweakin’ – and I love it. Others may very well be bothered by such an approach, but as with his other LvB, his Bartok, his Liszt, and his Schubert, Sherman breathes new, unique life into the music. Throw in superb sound, and this is a major recording for me.
Next up is the third appearance of the great Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli in my on-going survey. And this one’s a fine one. Here the year is 1975 and the maestro assisting him is Sergiu Celibidache. The band is the Paris Symphony Orchestra. The label is Music & Arts. The performance is superb. Celi leads a solid opening, and Michelangeli jets through his intro with effortless panache and style. Each note is as lovingly presented as with Sherman. They just sound classier here. Celi leads a somewhat soft interlude, though excessively slow tempi are nowhere to be found. (Celi seemed to be better in this regard; his teaming with Murray Perahia in a Mozart concerto is likewise not slow at all.) Michelangeli’s return boasts trills of the highest order, pulsating drive, and infectious energy. The first (and second) left-right split is as one would expect: bold, big, clear, precise, meticulous. The Grand Flourish is a treat: fast and lithe and powerful and heroic, it really hits the spot. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with some lean yet lovely string playing from the French band, and Michelangeli enters displaying supreme control over absolutely every aspect of everything. Sherman is no slouch in this area, and many other pianists likewise excel at this, but Michelangeli is in a class of his own. Such meticulousness! Some may say preciousness, but whatever. I’ve rarely thought of the great Italian pianist as an overtly romantic player, and here he maintains his overall style, yet – yet one can just detect whiffs of shyly romantic playing. And it is fine. The Rondo opens with Michelangeli delivering massive, striking playing, but he also holds back a bit on the speed. The orchestral follow-up is just a bit stodgy, but that gives way to forceful playing from the pianist, and the orchestra then takes its lead from him through to the end. This performance is very much all about Michelangeli; Celi relegates himself and his band to a background role, and all works rather well. Decent if not great sound. Another winner.
Next up is a recording from the impressive historical tandem of Van Cliburn and Fritz Reiner on RCA. There’s much to enjoy about this recording, to be sure – but . . . I’ll start with the Allegro. The orchestral opening is potent and precise. Well, it is Reiner conducting. Cliburn enters in a grand, sweeping, romantic manner, with absolute control over every aspect of his playing. Well, it is Cliburn. There’s some predictable back and forth, though Cliburn throws in some soft, almost sweet trills for good measure. The left-right splits are superbly executed, though the right hand predominates. The Grand Flourish is grand indeed, and superbly controlled. Throughout, Reiner predictably supports the soloist with technically secure conducting, the CSO delivering the technically proficient playing. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with wonderfully executed, beautiful, but also just a bit clinical playing from the band. Cliburn brings the romance. Delicate and nuanced, with amazing tonal and dynamic shadings, the ivory tickling is of the highest order. It reminds me why this pianist is one of only two I like really like in Rachmaninov. (The other is Moiseiwitsch.) Cliburn opens the Rondo in reasonably strong fashion, but he holds something back. I know I wanted more. Perhaps to partially compensate, Reiner leads an industrial strength accompaniment. Back and forth it goes, superb playing from the soloist, and more superb playing from the Chicagoans. But at the end of the recording I just wanted more. This is a very good recording, but it sounds predictable and lacks that spark for me. Sound is good but dated.
Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli makes yet another appearance, this time with Mario Rossi (?) and the RIAS Symphony Orchestra in a 1960 recording. I’ve got the Aura incarnation. The Allegro opens with crisp, energetic orchestral playing, and Michelangeli cruises right along when his time comes. His playing is grand, precise, and effortless, as one should expect from the then 40 year old. Indeed, when thinking of his other pre-Giulini versions of the work, all of Michelangeli’s traits are there: superb trills, excellent clarity in the left-right passages, a grand Grand Flourish, absolute command of every aspect of the playing, and generally quick-ish playing. (For the Giulini recording, the tempi are slower, otherwise all is much the same.) Here’s it’s the band that makes a difference. In this recording, it ain’t so hot. The orchestra sounds a bit rough. The spotlighting, especially of the winds, and the not exactly inspired conducting don’t lend support that the pianist deserves. The Adagio un poco mosso is much the same, though here Michelangeli plays more romantically than in the other three versions in my survey. There’s not a great deal beyond that. The concluding Rondo opens with Michelangeli delivering thundering lower register playing at high speed, and the orchestra comes out swinging. There’s plenty of energy and drive and oomph, but there’s just not enough of any trait to make this recording really noteworthy. Decent mono sound.
Next up is an obscure recording – except to fans of the pianist. I refer to Bruno Gelber’s 1966 recording with Ferdinand Leitner and the Philharmonia on EMI. Gelber’s fans often heap effusive praise on his playing, so I had to take listen. Effusiveness seems excessive. Oh, there’s nothing at all wrong with Gelber’s playing, there’s just nothing very special about it. The Allegro is taken at a comparatively broad tempo, but that doesn’t prevent the orchestra from playing with power. Gelber’s entrance is on the grand, romantic side of things, and he displays a nice tonal palette and excellent dynamic control, especially at the lower end of the spectrum. Leitner, by 1966 an old hand in this work, delivers solid if not great support, which is clear in the interlude. Now, when Gelber returns, he displays more of his fine playing with a solid left-right passage, sweet trills after 9’30”, and a sweeping Grand Flourish. What he fails to do is generate much in the way of genuine excitement. It’s Passion Lite. The Adagio un poco mosso, on the other hand, is where Gelber really shines. The orchestra lends solid, nuanced support, but it is all about Gelber. He plays clearly yet tenderly, caressing the keyboard, and extracting a perfumed, touching interpretation of this lovely slow movement. He almost makes the music veer into Rach-like sentimentality, though he never quite takes it there. The Rondo is much the same as the Allegro: somewhat broad in conception, with sweeping romanticism and grand gestures aplenty. It just fails to take off, at least for me. I’ve heard dozens of better versions. The sound is dated 60s stereo. One thing I did notice is that I liked the two solo works (Opp 13 & 27/2) more than the concerto.
The last version in this survey is the first recording of the work by Alfred Brendel, where he teamed up with a young Zubin Mehta on Vox Turnabout way back in the 60s. The Allegro opens with well executed, high energy playing from the Vienna Symphony Orchestra. Brendel enters and plays with a youthful zest absent from his later recordings, which, when combined with the orchestral playing, creates an athletic sound. Now, Brendel delivers the left-right splits well, and his Grand Flourish is nice and big, but here his main focus is on the finer details, the more inward aspects of the music. While not exactly sentimental, it is more emotionally probing than one would normally expect from this pianist. The Adagio un poco mosso sounds warm and gracious and lovely at the start, and Brendel’s playing sounds the same when he enters. He actually goes a long way to creating a truly romantic soundworld, though some of the louder playing sounds too clangorous and ruins the effect. Some hokey recording tricks – including some big-ass flutes – do there best to undermine the goings-on, but fortunately nothing derails the recording. The Rondo sounds more defiant and rouge-ish that powerful or martial while Brendel plays, though Mehta and the band throw in the beef when needed. A few times the playing loses steam, but overall, this is a nice, relatively youthful recording that will stand up quite well to repeated listens. Good but old-fashioned stereo sound.
So, six new versions, and one crackerjack recording (the Sherman); one superb sample of live artistry (the Michelangeli / Celi ditty); one excellent, youthful reading (Brendel); one solid but less than hoped for reading (Cliburn); and two middle of the road or less versions. That seems about right. I really should try some more.
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Time for the latest installment in my on-going, one day to be 73 part series. When last I explored new recordings of this work, I was lucky enough to end up with three good recordings. This time I opted for six new versions, and while a 100% hit rate didn’t occur again, I at least ended up with some more fine recordings.
The first of the six new recordings ended up being a whole lot more than good. Indeed, it goes straight to the top tier just as Julius Katchen’s recording did last time. I write of Russell Sherman’s early-80s recording with Vaclav Neumann and the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, originally on Pro Arte recordings and now on Vanguard. As with Sherman’s sonata cycle – or anything else he’s recorded – this recording may very well elicit a love-it-or-hate-it response, but those who hate it are entitled to their wrong opinions. The opening Allegro finds the Czechs playing boldly and strongly and Sherman playing in a broken, blocky fashion. He quickly straightens up and plays with grandeur befitting the piece – but only for a bit. For, you see (and should hear), he’s about more than that: his return after the orchestral interlude is characterized by coy, precious trills and a more intimate overall approach. And Sherman throws in myriad little touches everywhere. The first left-right split possesses nearly breathtaking clarity, and here Sherman sees fit to tinker with the individual parts with brassy bravura. Each voice becomes more distinct. The Grand Flourish is grand, though not toweringly so, and Sherman again tinkers with the tempo. Another thing he does well is fade into the background; Sherman is more than willing to share the limelight with the band, and he gracefully fades away time and again to aid in that. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with warm, beautiful playing from the strings, providing a nice billowy atmosphere for Sherman’s very slow entry. He presents each note with great care. The overall conception is almost syrupy romantic – or rather, an idealized version of syrupy romanticism. This is more mind-on-sleeve than heart-on-sleeve; the entire thing maintains a certain level of abstraction. Sherman’s trills throughout the movement delight: they’re variegated to the nth degree and at times sound invitingly limpid. The concluding Rondo opens with Sherman alternating between suitably powerful playing and more subdued introspection, which somehow creates a somewhat stiff, march-like feel to the whole thing. It’s quite remarkable and a bit frustrating at the same time. The march-like demeanor carries over to the orchestral playing, too. But then Sherman returns with a gliding ease before tearing into the music – and he always knows just when to do that. So he carries on to the end, tinkerin’ and fussin’ and tweakin’ – and I love it. Others may very well be bothered by such an approach, but as with his other LvB, his Bartok, his Liszt, and his Schubert, Sherman breathes new, unique life into the music. Throw in superb sound, and this is a major recording for me.
Next up is the third appearance of the great Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli in my on-going survey. And this one’s a fine one. Here the year is 1975 and the maestro assisting him is Sergiu Celibidache. The band is the Paris Symphony Orchestra. The label is Music & Arts. The performance is superb. Celi leads a solid opening, and Michelangeli jets through his intro with effortless panache and style. Each note is as lovingly presented as with Sherman. They just sound classier here. Celi leads a somewhat soft interlude, though excessively slow tempi are nowhere to be found. (Celi seemed to be better in this regard; his teaming with Murray Perahia in a Mozart concerto is likewise not slow at all.) Michelangeli’s return boasts trills of the highest order, pulsating drive, and infectious energy. The first (and second) left-right split is as one would expect: bold, big, clear, precise, meticulous. The Grand Flourish is a treat: fast and lithe and powerful and heroic, it really hits the spot. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with some lean yet lovely string playing from the French band, and Michelangeli enters displaying supreme control over absolutely every aspect of everything. Sherman is no slouch in this area, and many other pianists likewise excel at this, but Michelangeli is in a class of his own. Such meticulousness! Some may say preciousness, but whatever. I’ve rarely thought of the great Italian pianist as an overtly romantic player, and here he maintains his overall style, yet – yet one can just detect whiffs of shyly romantic playing. And it is fine. The Rondo opens with Michelangeli delivering massive, striking playing, but he also holds back a bit on the speed. The orchestral follow-up is just a bit stodgy, but that gives way to forceful playing from the pianist, and the orchestra then takes its lead from him through to the end. This performance is very much all about Michelangeli; Celi relegates himself and his band to a background role, and all works rather well. Decent if not great sound. Another winner.
Next up is a recording from the impressive historical tandem of Van Cliburn and Fritz Reiner on RCA. There’s much to enjoy about this recording, to be sure – but . . . I’ll start with the Allegro. The orchestral opening is potent and precise. Well, it is Reiner conducting. Cliburn enters in a grand, sweeping, romantic manner, with absolute control over every aspect of his playing. Well, it is Cliburn. There’s some predictable back and forth, though Cliburn throws in some soft, almost sweet trills for good measure. The left-right splits are superbly executed, though the right hand predominates. The Grand Flourish is grand indeed, and superbly controlled. Throughout, Reiner predictably supports the soloist with technically secure conducting, the CSO delivering the technically proficient playing. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with wonderfully executed, beautiful, but also just a bit clinical playing from the band. Cliburn brings the romance. Delicate and nuanced, with amazing tonal and dynamic shadings, the ivory tickling is of the highest order. It reminds me why this pianist is one of only two I like really like in Rachmaninov. (The other is Moiseiwitsch.) Cliburn opens the Rondo in reasonably strong fashion, but he holds something back. I know I wanted more. Perhaps to partially compensate, Reiner leads an industrial strength accompaniment. Back and forth it goes, superb playing from the soloist, and more superb playing from the Chicagoans. But at the end of the recording I just wanted more. This is a very good recording, but it sounds predictable and lacks that spark for me. Sound is good but dated.
Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli makes yet another appearance, this time with Mario Rossi (?) and the RIAS Symphony Orchestra in a 1960 recording. I’ve got the Aura incarnation. The Allegro opens with crisp, energetic orchestral playing, and Michelangeli cruises right along when his time comes. His playing is grand, precise, and effortless, as one should expect from the then 40 year old. Indeed, when thinking of his other pre-Giulini versions of the work, all of Michelangeli’s traits are there: superb trills, excellent clarity in the left-right passages, a grand Grand Flourish, absolute command of every aspect of the playing, and generally quick-ish playing. (For the Giulini recording, the tempi are slower, otherwise all is much the same.) Here’s it’s the band that makes a difference. In this recording, it ain’t so hot. The orchestra sounds a bit rough. The spotlighting, especially of the winds, and the not exactly inspired conducting don’t lend support that the pianist deserves. The Adagio un poco mosso is much the same, though here Michelangeli plays more romantically than in the other three versions in my survey. There’s not a great deal beyond that. The concluding Rondo opens with Michelangeli delivering thundering lower register playing at high speed, and the orchestra comes out swinging. There’s plenty of energy and drive and oomph, but there’s just not enough of any trait to make this recording really noteworthy. Decent mono sound.
Next up is an obscure recording – except to fans of the pianist. I refer to Bruno Gelber’s 1966 recording with Ferdinand Leitner and the Philharmonia on EMI. Gelber’s fans often heap effusive praise on his playing, so I had to take listen. Effusiveness seems excessive. Oh, there’s nothing at all wrong with Gelber’s playing, there’s just nothing very special about it. The Allegro is taken at a comparatively broad tempo, but that doesn’t prevent the orchestra from playing with power. Gelber’s entrance is on the grand, romantic side of things, and he displays a nice tonal palette and excellent dynamic control, especially at the lower end of the spectrum. Leitner, by 1966 an old hand in this work, delivers solid if not great support, which is clear in the interlude. Now, when Gelber returns, he displays more of his fine playing with a solid left-right passage, sweet trills after 9’30”, and a sweeping Grand Flourish. What he fails to do is generate much in the way of genuine excitement. It’s Passion Lite. The Adagio un poco mosso, on the other hand, is where Gelber really shines. The orchestra lends solid, nuanced support, but it is all about Gelber. He plays clearly yet tenderly, caressing the keyboard, and extracting a perfumed, touching interpretation of this lovely slow movement. He almost makes the music veer into Rach-like sentimentality, though he never quite takes it there. The Rondo is much the same as the Allegro: somewhat broad in conception, with sweeping romanticism and grand gestures aplenty. It just fails to take off, at least for me. I’ve heard dozens of better versions. The sound is dated 60s stereo. One thing I did notice is that I liked the two solo works (Opp 13 & 27/2) more than the concerto.
The last version in this survey is the first recording of the work by Alfred Brendel, where he teamed up with a young Zubin Mehta on Vox Turnabout way back in the 60s. The Allegro opens with well executed, high energy playing from the Vienna Symphony Orchestra. Brendel enters and plays with a youthful zest absent from his later recordings, which, when combined with the orchestral playing, creates an athletic sound. Now, Brendel delivers the left-right splits well, and his Grand Flourish is nice and big, but here his main focus is on the finer details, the more inward aspects of the music. While not exactly sentimental, it is more emotionally probing than one would normally expect from this pianist. The Adagio un poco mosso sounds warm and gracious and lovely at the start, and Brendel’s playing sounds the same when he enters. He actually goes a long way to creating a truly romantic soundworld, though some of the louder playing sounds too clangorous and ruins the effect. Some hokey recording tricks – including some big-ass flutes – do there best to undermine the goings-on, but fortunately nothing derails the recording. The Rondo sounds more defiant and rouge-ish that powerful or martial while Brendel plays, though Mehta and the band throw in the beef when needed. A few times the playing loses steam, but overall, this is a nice, relatively youthful recording that will stand up quite well to repeated listens. Good but old-fashioned stereo sound.
So, six new versions, and one crackerjack recording (the Sherman); one superb sample of live artistry (the Michelangeli / Celi ditty); one excellent, youthful reading (Brendel); one solid but less than hoped for reading (Cliburn); and two middle of the road or less versions. That seems about right. I really should try some more.
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Tood, are you ever going to move on to survey the other Beethoven concertos, especially the Fourth, or are you just obsessive compulsive about the Fifth? 