Ikuyo Nakamichi Plays Beethoven
Posted by: Todd A on 13 October 2006
Here's the original thread.
I figured it was about time I listen to more of Ms Nakamichi’s on-going Elveebee sonata cycle, and a big ol’ order from my good friends at HMV Japan provided the right opportunity for doing so. Nine volumes are now available (of eleven total), so I figured I’d go with something “old” and something new, so Volume 3 (the Op 10 sonatas) and Volume 9 (Opp 81/a, 90, & 101) were my choices.
Not being a stranger to Ms Nakamichi’s style, I eased right into listening. I started with the Op 10 sonatas, and it was basically like I expected. The first sonata Allegro molto e con brio opens with reasonably strong and just fast enough rising arpeggios, though Nakamichi softens things up at the top. It’s an interesting device. The second them is quite appealing, in a sculpted sort of way. She plays with more vigor in the middle section, and plays with fine clarity throughout. The Adagio molto is gentle and boasts fine gradations at the bottom end of the dynamic spectrum. The playing is very deliberate, adhering to Ms Nakamichi’s standard approach, but she manages to keep things flowing along well enough. But it all sounds a bit cool. The concluding Prestissimo opens somewhat softly, and under precise control, before becoming faster and louder, but still under precise control. There’s enough energy, I suppose, but it lacks pretty much any sense of freedom.
The second sonata just doesn’t fare very well. The opening Allegro is both very slow in overall tempo and includes every repeat and is drawn out to over 9’30.” It is very formal. Hell, it’s stuffy and stiff. There’s precious little fun to be had. And things just get worse after about three minutes. This just will not do. The Allegretto is much the same, but since it’s supposed to be slower, it sounds comparatively better. The concluding Presto, with my beloved repeat in tact, sounds surprisingly conventional in terms of tempo, though the unusual leading accents in the bass add some interpretive flavor. One successful movement does not a sonata make; this is the low point of the sonatas I’ve heard in Nakamichi’s cycle thus far.
Things pick up with the last sonata, though not enough. The opening Presto is too heavy and too serious. I like it with a little more boogie. On the plus side, Nakamichi really hammers out the forte passages, but on the negative side, she sounds a bit stiff. The great Largo e mesto fares possibly best of all in this work. The pianist’s devout inclination makes the music sound suitably glum and serious, if perhaps not especially tragic. There’s precious little emotion. That written, the hushed playing between 5’ and 6’ is superb; it draws one in, compelling one to listen for every little nuance with greedy expectation. Alas, this feeling is fleeting. The Menuetto sounds nicely gentle and glowing, but never quite shakes the sense of overriding formality, and the concluding Rondo actually does display flashes of fun and energy, all while being under precise control. So it’s okay, but hardly a contender.
The disc concludes with a way too slow and heavy Rage over the Lost Penny. Wit and energy are seriously lacking, and I very seriously doubt I’ll listen to this recording more than one or two more times in my lifetime. With Esteban Sanchez’s superb version to listen to, I simply have no time for recordings like this one.
Fortunately, things pick up quite a bit with Volume 9. Given that the Op 31 sonatas fared better than the Op 2 in my experience, I wasn’t surprised. The Les Adieux opens the disc, and it’s decidedly okay-to-good. If that doesn’t read like a ringing endorsement, that’s because it’s not. Again, Nakamichi plays in very devout fashion, and that lends a certain formal sobriety to the opening farewell. The music starts off restrained, with a gently variegated touch, and gradually swells into a larger-scaled though, curiously, personal reading. I was expecting some nice quasi-orchestral oomph from Ms Nakamichi, but instead she keeps it smaller and more direct, rather like (but nowhere near as good as) Paul Badura-Skoda in his Gramola reading. Clarity and drive are there, and, alas, so is a hint of hardness in the loudest passages, and the personal-yet-steeped-in-formalities approach works well. The Andante espressivo comes off a little less well. It’s an exercise in repressed gloominess, which is fine, but it never shakes that excess formality (or stiffness, if you prefer) that so often is the hallmark of Nakamichi’s playing. Nakamichi ends the work with a good Vivacissimamente, which opens (almost) ebulliently, and has some fine, broad dynamic contrasts as well as clear fingerwork. The playing never really evokes much in the way of emotion, but overall it’s, well, it’s decidedly okay-to-good.
Better is the Op 90. This one’s definitely good. Possibly very good. That much is apparent in the first movement, which opens in bold and weighty fashion, though some phrases display some peculiar timing. The quieter passages are well done, though some might think them too polite, and the run in the middle is satisfyingly fast and controlled, and displays fine dynamic and tonal control. The second movement is suitably lyrical, though the forte interjections border on the ponderous at times. The leisurely overall tempo creates a comparatively relaxed soundworld, and if Nakamichi never quite achieves the same magical effect that, say, someone like Alfred Brendel does (in his first Philips recording), it’s nice enough.
Fortunately, Nakamichi saved her best for last. And by that I mean both of these two discs, and of all the sonatas I’ve heard thus far. It almost comes out of nowhere. I write ‘almost’ because Nakamichi’s favored set of interpretive devices seem to fit the later works. Anyway, the opening Allegretto, ma non troppo opens in a radiant, warm fashion, with Nakamichi offering tonal beauty and a good (but not great) job of evoking that all-important late-LvB soundworld. Then, when the music surges into the transcendental realm, Nakamichi’s overwhelming seriousness of purpose pays off. If perhaps some louder chords can sound a bit stiff, she imbues the playing with great weight and purpose, and her clarity and control unite to produce a sense of musical serenity. The Vivace alla Marcia thunders into existence, and promptly assumes the feel of a ceremonial, regal march. The middle section is more reserved and marked by delicacy and subtlety, and the long trill is both unusually prominent and completely unobtrusive. I’ve never really heard it like this before. The Adagio, ma non troppo is downright superb. It’s desolate yet serene, and transportive in the best sense and style. Nakamichi nearly pulls off the trick of suspending time. To close, the pianist offers an Allegro that opens with strength and brightness, superbly clear part playing, incisive articulation, and then moves to some nearly etched fugal playing. No, Nakamichi never truly abandons her overall style, but here it works very well indeed. Perhaps it’s not one of my very favorites, but it is excellent indeed.
So that wraps up two more discs of Ms Nakamichi’s cycle. For those who favor a faster approach, or a slower approach, or a more flexible approach, or a more grungy approach, well, those people should look elsewhere. Nakamichi’s playing is reverential and sculpted, and as such, some important things are absent from her recordings. I certainly wished at times that she would loosen up, but that just isn’t her way. Her discs of Beethoven’s 3rd and 5th piano concertos and of select Debussy works reinforces that. (Though her Debussy is marginally freer.) That makes me wonder just how many more discs of her cycle I will end up buying. (Who am I kidding?) If you want to give a disc or two a shot, it couldn’t hurt, just be forewarned that she isn’t the most exciting and freest pianist around.
SOTA sound.
--
I figured it was about time I listen to more of Ms Nakamichi’s on-going Elveebee sonata cycle, and a big ol’ order from my good friends at HMV Japan provided the right opportunity for doing so. Nine volumes are now available (of eleven total), so I figured I’d go with something “old” and something new, so Volume 3 (the Op 10 sonatas) and Volume 9 (Opp 81/a, 90, & 101) were my choices.
Not being a stranger to Ms Nakamichi’s style, I eased right into listening. I started with the Op 10 sonatas, and it was basically like I expected. The first sonata Allegro molto e con brio opens with reasonably strong and just fast enough rising arpeggios, though Nakamichi softens things up at the top. It’s an interesting device. The second them is quite appealing, in a sculpted sort of way. She plays with more vigor in the middle section, and plays with fine clarity throughout. The Adagio molto is gentle and boasts fine gradations at the bottom end of the dynamic spectrum. The playing is very deliberate, adhering to Ms Nakamichi’s standard approach, but she manages to keep things flowing along well enough. But it all sounds a bit cool. The concluding Prestissimo opens somewhat softly, and under precise control, before becoming faster and louder, but still under precise control. There’s enough energy, I suppose, but it lacks pretty much any sense of freedom.
The second sonata just doesn’t fare very well. The opening Allegro is both very slow in overall tempo and includes every repeat and is drawn out to over 9’30.” It is very formal. Hell, it’s stuffy and stiff. There’s precious little fun to be had. And things just get worse after about three minutes. This just will not do. The Allegretto is much the same, but since it’s supposed to be slower, it sounds comparatively better. The concluding Presto, with my beloved repeat in tact, sounds surprisingly conventional in terms of tempo, though the unusual leading accents in the bass add some interpretive flavor. One successful movement does not a sonata make; this is the low point of the sonatas I’ve heard in Nakamichi’s cycle thus far.
Things pick up with the last sonata, though not enough. The opening Presto is too heavy and too serious. I like it with a little more boogie. On the plus side, Nakamichi really hammers out the forte passages, but on the negative side, she sounds a bit stiff. The great Largo e mesto fares possibly best of all in this work. The pianist’s devout inclination makes the music sound suitably glum and serious, if perhaps not especially tragic. There’s precious little emotion. That written, the hushed playing between 5’ and 6’ is superb; it draws one in, compelling one to listen for every little nuance with greedy expectation. Alas, this feeling is fleeting. The Menuetto sounds nicely gentle and glowing, but never quite shakes the sense of overriding formality, and the concluding Rondo actually does display flashes of fun and energy, all while being under precise control. So it’s okay, but hardly a contender.
The disc concludes with a way too slow and heavy Rage over the Lost Penny. Wit and energy are seriously lacking, and I very seriously doubt I’ll listen to this recording more than one or two more times in my lifetime. With Esteban Sanchez’s superb version to listen to, I simply have no time for recordings like this one.
Fortunately, things pick up quite a bit with Volume 9. Given that the Op 31 sonatas fared better than the Op 2 in my experience, I wasn’t surprised. The Les Adieux opens the disc, and it’s decidedly okay-to-good. If that doesn’t read like a ringing endorsement, that’s because it’s not. Again, Nakamichi plays in very devout fashion, and that lends a certain formal sobriety to the opening farewell. The music starts off restrained, with a gently variegated touch, and gradually swells into a larger-scaled though, curiously, personal reading. I was expecting some nice quasi-orchestral oomph from Ms Nakamichi, but instead she keeps it smaller and more direct, rather like (but nowhere near as good as) Paul Badura-Skoda in his Gramola reading. Clarity and drive are there, and, alas, so is a hint of hardness in the loudest passages, and the personal-yet-steeped-in-formalities approach works well. The Andante espressivo comes off a little less well. It’s an exercise in repressed gloominess, which is fine, but it never shakes that excess formality (or stiffness, if you prefer) that so often is the hallmark of Nakamichi’s playing. Nakamichi ends the work with a good Vivacissimamente, which opens (almost) ebulliently, and has some fine, broad dynamic contrasts as well as clear fingerwork. The playing never really evokes much in the way of emotion, but overall it’s, well, it’s decidedly okay-to-good.
Better is the Op 90. This one’s definitely good. Possibly very good. That much is apparent in the first movement, which opens in bold and weighty fashion, though some phrases display some peculiar timing. The quieter passages are well done, though some might think them too polite, and the run in the middle is satisfyingly fast and controlled, and displays fine dynamic and tonal control. The second movement is suitably lyrical, though the forte interjections border on the ponderous at times. The leisurely overall tempo creates a comparatively relaxed soundworld, and if Nakamichi never quite achieves the same magical effect that, say, someone like Alfred Brendel does (in his first Philips recording), it’s nice enough.
Fortunately, Nakamichi saved her best for last. And by that I mean both of these two discs, and of all the sonatas I’ve heard thus far. It almost comes out of nowhere. I write ‘almost’ because Nakamichi’s favored set of interpretive devices seem to fit the later works. Anyway, the opening Allegretto, ma non troppo opens in a radiant, warm fashion, with Nakamichi offering tonal beauty and a good (but not great) job of evoking that all-important late-LvB soundworld. Then, when the music surges into the transcendental realm, Nakamichi’s overwhelming seriousness of purpose pays off. If perhaps some louder chords can sound a bit stiff, she imbues the playing with great weight and purpose, and her clarity and control unite to produce a sense of musical serenity. The Vivace alla Marcia thunders into existence, and promptly assumes the feel of a ceremonial, regal march. The middle section is more reserved and marked by delicacy and subtlety, and the long trill is both unusually prominent and completely unobtrusive. I’ve never really heard it like this before. The Adagio, ma non troppo is downright superb. It’s desolate yet serene, and transportive in the best sense and style. Nakamichi nearly pulls off the trick of suspending time. To close, the pianist offers an Allegro that opens with strength and brightness, superbly clear part playing, incisive articulation, and then moves to some nearly etched fugal playing. No, Nakamichi never truly abandons her overall style, but here it works very well indeed. Perhaps it’s not one of my very favorites, but it is excellent indeed.
So that wraps up two more discs of Ms Nakamichi’s cycle. For those who favor a faster approach, or a slower approach, or a more flexible approach, or a more grungy approach, well, those people should look elsewhere. Nakamichi’s playing is reverential and sculpted, and as such, some important things are absent from her recordings. I certainly wished at times that she would loosen up, but that just isn’t her way. Her discs of Beethoven’s 3rd and 5th piano concertos and of select Debussy works reinforces that. (Though her Debussy is marginally freer.) That makes me wonder just how many more discs of her cycle I will end up buying. (Who am I kidding?) If you want to give a disc or two a shot, it couldn’t hurt, just be forewarned that she isn’t the most exciting and freest pianist around.
SOTA sound.
--