Robert Silverman Plays Beethoven
Posted by: Todd A on 14 March 2006
First some facts. This cycle, on Orpheum Masters, was not recorded in a normal fashion. That is, this set is not a compilation of concert performances or multiple studio sessions. Rather, the cycle was recorded using a Bösendorfer 290SE reproducing piano to playback recordings previously prepared by the pianist. This piano is basically just a standard Bösendorfer grand with an elaborate and accurate computer control system added. And it apparently isn’t cheap. At the time the recordings were made, only 32 of them existed, and two of them were owned by the benefactor of this recording, one Aaron Mendelsohn, in whose home the whole process took place. Silverman recorded and prepared the sonatas during 1999 and then over one weekend the set was committed to tape.
This cycle was engineered by John Atkinson, the Editor-In-Chief of Stereophile, so sound quality is in the forefront this time around. I wanted to see, or rather hear if his idea of good sound matches mine. But I had to make some allowances. First of all, the concert grand was confined to a two-story, 20' by 50' room in Mr Mendelsohn’s home, not exactly the ideal size venue for such a large piano. But that didn’t seem to matter. In stark contrast to the closely recorded cycles by Georges Pludermacher and (especially) Craig Sheppard, this set actually allows one to hear the surrounding space. Truth to tell, it’s actually a little more spacious than I usually prefer, but the quality of the sound is superb. Mr Atkinson’s credo here seems to be truth in reporting. This sounds very much like a big piano being played in a relatively small space. The sound is tonally and timbrally accurate, and never hard. Of course, this is a recording of a Bösendorfer, so the sound is different from a Steinway. The lower registers are weighty and bold, and the upper registers are tangy ‘n’ tart, bright (but not Fazioli bright) and somewhat bell-like. Even though the microphones were close to the piano, the sense of space one hears means that one does not always experience aural X-ray clarity; sometimes in louder passages the sound becomes blended, just like in recital. Again, truth in reporting. Mr Atkinson most definitely would not be a good engineer for an American Idol reject to use, much to his delight, I’m sure. More information is available at the Stereophile website for those who are interested.
To the pianist himself. Like both Pludermacher and Sheppard, Robert Silverman has been around the block a few times. He’s been ensconced in a teaching role at the University of British Columbia for over thirty years. He’s made a number of recordings for small labels covering mostly standard repertoire (Brahms, Liszt, and Rachmaninov, for instance), as well as other recordings on the Stereophile label, including a forthcoming set of the Diabelli Variations, which I’m fairly confident I’ll buy. He’s done the concert and recital circuit for years and has collaborated with a number of notable artists, and received various awards. So he’s got the experience and a serious background.
But what about the music? Well, from the first notes it was clear that this set is something wonderful. The opening Allegro sounds fresh and clean, with wonderful and subtle dynamic variations – more so than most recordings I’ve heard – and a natural overall feel. By that I mean that the music just unfolds before one’s ears. Silverman doesn’t rush, he doesn’t make it a point to underscore everything. He just plays. Throw in a rich lower register that is both clear and occasionally prominent with Silverman’s penchant for providing a flowing, rhythmically solid underpinning that doesn’t sound forced, and, well, one just sits and enjoys the music. The Adagio shows more of what is to come. It sounds touching and unforced. There’s some emotion in the playing, but not too much. Same with the Menuetto, which also benefits greatly from essentially perfect tempo choices, perfect use of pauses, and a flowing, comfortable feel. The piece ends with a Prestissimo that again displays expertly judged tempi and an emotionally satisfying approach. The playing is intense and cutting at times, and sounds superb. It’s been a while since I so enjoyed the first sonata.
Much the same can be written about the second sonata. Silverman opens the Allegro vivace in crisp, clean fashion. The first return of the opening material is even faster and noticeably louder, with superb dynamic gradations clearly evident. The next return of the material is softer and warmer. The runs and scales sound superb; they’re clear and well done, but not an example of ice-cold perfection (which has its place!). Then Silverman throws some passion into the mix. His playing is definitely on the romantic side. The Largo is superbly played from start to finish. Snappy bass is married to searching right hand playing. I confess to just sitting and taking it in without much concern for every little detail. The Scherzo opens with quickly dispatched figures and has a rich, darker middle section. The whole thing is richer and more varied than is often the case. The Rondo offers more of the same, though some of the playing almost sounds (but never quite becomes) stiff, but not in an unpleasant way. The middle section is rough and boisterous – right on!
The third sonata makes it three for three. The Allegro con brio is fast and sharp to open (the latter trait due to the Bösendorfer’s upper registers), with unique and exciting accents. The hefty lower register adds to the playing, and the whole thing just grooves, man. Silverman puts on a non-virtuosic virtuosic display; he plays everything well but doesn’t overdo anything. The Adagio sounds more tonally graceful, and Silverman again utilizes pauses in a most satisfying manner. The Bösendorfer’s quick decay helps render the music simply and directly effective, and when Silverman ratchets up the tension, the sharp upper registers just help things along. The Scherzo sounds vigorous and beefy, with softer interludes offering nice contrasts. Throw in a suitably tumultuous middle section, and how can one resist? Silverman ends the work with a light, almost soaring Allegro assai that veers into an almost songful style at times. It’s fun and weighty and groovy, but never rushed but also never sluggish. Why, it’s just right!
Comfortable. That’s how the opening Allegro molto e con brio of the fourth sonata sounds. Silverman takes the movement at a comfortable pace – which is not the same thing as a sluggish pace – and adds flavor by throwing in some piquant notes and chords and some hefty, venue-filling crescendos. The playing flows and sounds laid back, but not in a mushy way; it’s comfy and rugged. Nifty. The Largo is slow, as it should be, and Silverman proves adept at utilizing pauses for dramatic effect. More of that Bösendorfer weight combined with some tersely punched out three note figures make the whole thing quite fine. The overall sound is a bit less overtly romantic than some of the previous playing, and the tension does weaken at times, but not enough to harm the piece. The Allegro opens smoothly and richly, and somewhat leisurely, before soaring in a pleasant way. The middle section sounds appropriately darker, with prominent bass. To close, Silverman plays the Rondo with a slightly laid back demeanor and more or less cruises along to the end. Yes, there are brief interruptions where things get a little tougher, but the whole thing just moves along comfortably. Silverman’s four for four.
Moving on to the second trio finds Silverman in even better form. The Allegro molto e con brio opens the first sonata with a powerful opening chord and well-paced (not too fast, not too slow) rising arpeggios with a fluid transition to the subsequent, lyrically played material. The Adagio molto sounds lyrical and beautiful. The rising flourishes sound captivating – they’re soft and delicately nuanced, but never weak or soggy. The at times spiky left hand playing just helps matters. It’s big, warm, and ingratiating, too. To close, Silverman plays the Prestissimo in an initially restrained manner just to pick things up and to deliver huge crescendos. The distant, unfettered recording really lets the dynamic swings shine. Throughout the movement, Silverman resorts to an almost Pludermacher-like deployment of pianistic tricks. He’ll hold a chord just that little bit longer, tweak a note here, and cut short another there. It all sounds natural and unforced and never obtrusive. Another winner.
The second sonata of the bunch extends the streak. Again, Silverman opens with an Allegro taken at a comfortable pace, and plays with a sense of fun and lyricism that makes the end sneak up on the listener. One doesn’t want it to end. The Allegretto sounds rich, dark, and slightly urgent to open, and has a sharply played, strong ending. The Presto opens at a nice clip, just to pick up a bit more. Silverman never sounds hurried, though; instead, he lets the good times roll with some endearing bass weight and articulation. Bless his heart, he includes the repeat, and ends the work on a strong note.
So far Silverman has nailed every sonata. Nary a dog is to be heard. But his best sonata to this point comes in an amazing reading of Op 10/3. The Presto opens slightly slower than I usually prefer, only to speed up handily while Silverman also deploys his rubato in a most captivating fashion. The development section is smooth ‘n’ groovy, and things just seem to get better right through to the end. Subtle variations in almost all aspects of the playing really spice things up. It is the Largo, though, that separates this recording from so many others. A number of pianists make this movement sound like a precursor to the great Adagio of the Hammerklavier, but Silverman does one better. He makes it sound like a brother to the great movement. The movement opens in a dark fashion, with sadness practically oozing out via cutting treble tears. The anguished, angry outbursts that follow sound emotionally painful. Silverman makes the piece weep, complete with pauses that sound like the musical equivalent of gasps for breath. The effect is mesmerizing and moving, and draining. The Menuetto thus sounds like an upbeat tonic to make one get over the trial of the second movement. That lower register goodness so prevalent in recordings of Bösendorfers remains, and the sound is nicely blended. Even sunnier is the Rondo, which brings the sonata to a cheery conclusion. This is a remarkable recording.
A few hours prior to listening to Silverman’s take on the Pathetique, I revisited Ivan Moravec’s recording, which has been one of my favorites for a few years now. Silverman is at least as good. Maybe even better. His take is most certainly different. The Grave opens with drawn out chords and then transitions to faster playing with nice flourishes and beefy bass playing. There’s a nice, long pause before the Allegro, which ends up being slightly slower than I usually prefer, but is still successful. Silverman again deploys his rubato in a satisfying manner, and he makes the intensity of the music undulate between softer playing and loud, swelling crescendos. The Adagio cantabile is rich, grand, touching, and moodily songful. The middle section is predictably more intense, and just as moving. The concluding Rondo is less intense and moody than the opening two movements, but its romantic overall feel and huge dynamic range really hit the spot. Outstanding.
After hearing so many different takes on the Op 14 sonatas, I was starting to think that the first sonata just isn’t as good as the second. Silverman to the rescue! The opening Allegro is open, free, and downright fun. Silverman never rushes anything, but he never sounds too slow. He just lets the music unfold. The middle section is more serious, as it should be, but it’s still lyrical. After that, Silverman dispatches the scales nonchalantly and brings the movement to a charming close. The Allegretto is taken at a slow-ish pace and sounds bittersweet but not overburdened by “deep” playing. The concluding Rondo is quick and jovial, with pretty much everything done just right. Silverman reaffirms my faith in the piece’s quality.
The second sonata is also very good. The Allegro opens in a lovely, laid back, and warm ‘n’ cheery manner, and floats along thusly, interrupted only by a beefy middle section and fine, quick runs. The Andante opens in a slow, deliberate fashion and almost sounds clumsy, though purposely clumsy. Silverman picks up the pace so that he can end with a distinct, loud final chord. To close, he plays the Scherzo in a light, punchy way to open only to decrease the volume precipitously while still playing fast. A neat trick. The final third of the movement is played mostly straight and ends strongly.
The final sonata of the opening batch witness a slight diminution in overall quality. Silverman opens the Op 22 sonata with an Allegro con brio that cruises along at a brisk but not driven clip. There’s some nice left hand accenting and some powerful, swelling playing where needed, and a few times he holds a note a little longer than one expects, rather like a singer ending a phrase with a sustained note thrown in for flavor. The Adagio is softer, quite lovely, and characterized by a fine overall tempo. The playing is somewhat dispassionate to start, though the terse middle section and lyrical ending add a bit of emotion to the playing. The Menuetto is clear and direct, and the concluding Rondo opens in a soft, singing manner and then proceeds to end the piece in a leisurely manner, with only the beefy middle section to offer contrast. This is a good reading, but it doesn’t quite match up to what came before it. No matter, I like it.
I’ve known about this cycle since it first came out, but I didn’t get around to hearing it until now. That was a mistake. There is a whole lot to savor in this set. Everything sounds right. Silverman’s playing is all about the music. He’s not out to show how loud he can play, or how fast, or how he can twist the music into virtuosic slop. Rather, he chooses to use his technical ability to let the music speak for itself. His playing does have personality, that’s for sure, but this is more about Beethoven than Silverman. Of the three cycles I’m working through right now, I have no doubt that this is my favorite and the one I’ll turn to most often, at least in the opening eleven sonatas. (I’ll be surprised if the same doesn’t hold true for the remaining 21 sonatas.) The Bösendorfer takes some getting used to – perhaps twenty to thirty seconds or so – but after that, it’s smooth sailing.
--
This cycle was engineered by John Atkinson, the Editor-In-Chief of Stereophile, so sound quality is in the forefront this time around. I wanted to see, or rather hear if his idea of good sound matches mine. But I had to make some allowances. First of all, the concert grand was confined to a two-story, 20' by 50' room in Mr Mendelsohn’s home, not exactly the ideal size venue for such a large piano. But that didn’t seem to matter. In stark contrast to the closely recorded cycles by Georges Pludermacher and (especially) Craig Sheppard, this set actually allows one to hear the surrounding space. Truth to tell, it’s actually a little more spacious than I usually prefer, but the quality of the sound is superb. Mr Atkinson’s credo here seems to be truth in reporting. This sounds very much like a big piano being played in a relatively small space. The sound is tonally and timbrally accurate, and never hard. Of course, this is a recording of a Bösendorfer, so the sound is different from a Steinway. The lower registers are weighty and bold, and the upper registers are tangy ‘n’ tart, bright (but not Fazioli bright) and somewhat bell-like. Even though the microphones were close to the piano, the sense of space one hears means that one does not always experience aural X-ray clarity; sometimes in louder passages the sound becomes blended, just like in recital. Again, truth in reporting. Mr Atkinson most definitely would not be a good engineer for an American Idol reject to use, much to his delight, I’m sure. More information is available at the Stereophile website for those who are interested.
To the pianist himself. Like both Pludermacher and Sheppard, Robert Silverman has been around the block a few times. He’s been ensconced in a teaching role at the University of British Columbia for over thirty years. He’s made a number of recordings for small labels covering mostly standard repertoire (Brahms, Liszt, and Rachmaninov, for instance), as well as other recordings on the Stereophile label, including a forthcoming set of the Diabelli Variations, which I’m fairly confident I’ll buy. He’s done the concert and recital circuit for years and has collaborated with a number of notable artists, and received various awards. So he’s got the experience and a serious background.
But what about the music? Well, from the first notes it was clear that this set is something wonderful. The opening Allegro sounds fresh and clean, with wonderful and subtle dynamic variations – more so than most recordings I’ve heard – and a natural overall feel. By that I mean that the music just unfolds before one’s ears. Silverman doesn’t rush, he doesn’t make it a point to underscore everything. He just plays. Throw in a rich lower register that is both clear and occasionally prominent with Silverman’s penchant for providing a flowing, rhythmically solid underpinning that doesn’t sound forced, and, well, one just sits and enjoys the music. The Adagio shows more of what is to come. It sounds touching and unforced. There’s some emotion in the playing, but not too much. Same with the Menuetto, which also benefits greatly from essentially perfect tempo choices, perfect use of pauses, and a flowing, comfortable feel. The piece ends with a Prestissimo that again displays expertly judged tempi and an emotionally satisfying approach. The playing is intense and cutting at times, and sounds superb. It’s been a while since I so enjoyed the first sonata.
Much the same can be written about the second sonata. Silverman opens the Allegro vivace in crisp, clean fashion. The first return of the opening material is even faster and noticeably louder, with superb dynamic gradations clearly evident. The next return of the material is softer and warmer. The runs and scales sound superb; they’re clear and well done, but not an example of ice-cold perfection (which has its place!). Then Silverman throws some passion into the mix. His playing is definitely on the romantic side. The Largo is superbly played from start to finish. Snappy bass is married to searching right hand playing. I confess to just sitting and taking it in without much concern for every little detail. The Scherzo opens with quickly dispatched figures and has a rich, darker middle section. The whole thing is richer and more varied than is often the case. The Rondo offers more of the same, though some of the playing almost sounds (but never quite becomes) stiff, but not in an unpleasant way. The middle section is rough and boisterous – right on!
The third sonata makes it three for three. The Allegro con brio is fast and sharp to open (the latter trait due to the Bösendorfer’s upper registers), with unique and exciting accents. The hefty lower register adds to the playing, and the whole thing just grooves, man. Silverman puts on a non-virtuosic virtuosic display; he plays everything well but doesn’t overdo anything. The Adagio sounds more tonally graceful, and Silverman again utilizes pauses in a most satisfying manner. The Bösendorfer’s quick decay helps render the music simply and directly effective, and when Silverman ratchets up the tension, the sharp upper registers just help things along. The Scherzo sounds vigorous and beefy, with softer interludes offering nice contrasts. Throw in a suitably tumultuous middle section, and how can one resist? Silverman ends the work with a light, almost soaring Allegro assai that veers into an almost songful style at times. It’s fun and weighty and groovy, but never rushed but also never sluggish. Why, it’s just right!
Comfortable. That’s how the opening Allegro molto e con brio of the fourth sonata sounds. Silverman takes the movement at a comfortable pace – which is not the same thing as a sluggish pace – and adds flavor by throwing in some piquant notes and chords and some hefty, venue-filling crescendos. The playing flows and sounds laid back, but not in a mushy way; it’s comfy and rugged. Nifty. The Largo is slow, as it should be, and Silverman proves adept at utilizing pauses for dramatic effect. More of that Bösendorfer weight combined with some tersely punched out three note figures make the whole thing quite fine. The overall sound is a bit less overtly romantic than some of the previous playing, and the tension does weaken at times, but not enough to harm the piece. The Allegro opens smoothly and richly, and somewhat leisurely, before soaring in a pleasant way. The middle section sounds appropriately darker, with prominent bass. To close, Silverman plays the Rondo with a slightly laid back demeanor and more or less cruises along to the end. Yes, there are brief interruptions where things get a little tougher, but the whole thing just moves along comfortably. Silverman’s four for four.
Moving on to the second trio finds Silverman in even better form. The Allegro molto e con brio opens the first sonata with a powerful opening chord and well-paced (not too fast, not too slow) rising arpeggios with a fluid transition to the subsequent, lyrically played material. The Adagio molto sounds lyrical and beautiful. The rising flourishes sound captivating – they’re soft and delicately nuanced, but never weak or soggy. The at times spiky left hand playing just helps matters. It’s big, warm, and ingratiating, too. To close, Silverman plays the Prestissimo in an initially restrained manner just to pick things up and to deliver huge crescendos. The distant, unfettered recording really lets the dynamic swings shine. Throughout the movement, Silverman resorts to an almost Pludermacher-like deployment of pianistic tricks. He’ll hold a chord just that little bit longer, tweak a note here, and cut short another there. It all sounds natural and unforced and never obtrusive. Another winner.
The second sonata of the bunch extends the streak. Again, Silverman opens with an Allegro taken at a comfortable pace, and plays with a sense of fun and lyricism that makes the end sneak up on the listener. One doesn’t want it to end. The Allegretto sounds rich, dark, and slightly urgent to open, and has a sharply played, strong ending. The Presto opens at a nice clip, just to pick up a bit more. Silverman never sounds hurried, though; instead, he lets the good times roll with some endearing bass weight and articulation. Bless his heart, he includes the repeat, and ends the work on a strong note.
So far Silverman has nailed every sonata. Nary a dog is to be heard. But his best sonata to this point comes in an amazing reading of Op 10/3. The Presto opens slightly slower than I usually prefer, only to speed up handily while Silverman also deploys his rubato in a most captivating fashion. The development section is smooth ‘n’ groovy, and things just seem to get better right through to the end. Subtle variations in almost all aspects of the playing really spice things up. It is the Largo, though, that separates this recording from so many others. A number of pianists make this movement sound like a precursor to the great Adagio of the Hammerklavier, but Silverman does one better. He makes it sound like a brother to the great movement. The movement opens in a dark fashion, with sadness practically oozing out via cutting treble tears. The anguished, angry outbursts that follow sound emotionally painful. Silverman makes the piece weep, complete with pauses that sound like the musical equivalent of gasps for breath. The effect is mesmerizing and moving, and draining. The Menuetto thus sounds like an upbeat tonic to make one get over the trial of the second movement. That lower register goodness so prevalent in recordings of Bösendorfers remains, and the sound is nicely blended. Even sunnier is the Rondo, which brings the sonata to a cheery conclusion. This is a remarkable recording.
A few hours prior to listening to Silverman’s take on the Pathetique, I revisited Ivan Moravec’s recording, which has been one of my favorites for a few years now. Silverman is at least as good. Maybe even better. His take is most certainly different. The Grave opens with drawn out chords and then transitions to faster playing with nice flourishes and beefy bass playing. There’s a nice, long pause before the Allegro, which ends up being slightly slower than I usually prefer, but is still successful. Silverman again deploys his rubato in a satisfying manner, and he makes the intensity of the music undulate between softer playing and loud, swelling crescendos. The Adagio cantabile is rich, grand, touching, and moodily songful. The middle section is predictably more intense, and just as moving. The concluding Rondo is less intense and moody than the opening two movements, but its romantic overall feel and huge dynamic range really hit the spot. Outstanding.
After hearing so many different takes on the Op 14 sonatas, I was starting to think that the first sonata just isn’t as good as the second. Silverman to the rescue! The opening Allegro is open, free, and downright fun. Silverman never rushes anything, but he never sounds too slow. He just lets the music unfold. The middle section is more serious, as it should be, but it’s still lyrical. After that, Silverman dispatches the scales nonchalantly and brings the movement to a charming close. The Allegretto is taken at a slow-ish pace and sounds bittersweet but not overburdened by “deep” playing. The concluding Rondo is quick and jovial, with pretty much everything done just right. Silverman reaffirms my faith in the piece’s quality.
The second sonata is also very good. The Allegro opens in a lovely, laid back, and warm ‘n’ cheery manner, and floats along thusly, interrupted only by a beefy middle section and fine, quick runs. The Andante opens in a slow, deliberate fashion and almost sounds clumsy, though purposely clumsy. Silverman picks up the pace so that he can end with a distinct, loud final chord. To close, he plays the Scherzo in a light, punchy way to open only to decrease the volume precipitously while still playing fast. A neat trick. The final third of the movement is played mostly straight and ends strongly.
The final sonata of the opening batch witness a slight diminution in overall quality. Silverman opens the Op 22 sonata with an Allegro con brio that cruises along at a brisk but not driven clip. There’s some nice left hand accenting and some powerful, swelling playing where needed, and a few times he holds a note a little longer than one expects, rather like a singer ending a phrase with a sustained note thrown in for flavor. The Adagio is softer, quite lovely, and characterized by a fine overall tempo. The playing is somewhat dispassionate to start, though the terse middle section and lyrical ending add a bit of emotion to the playing. The Menuetto is clear and direct, and the concluding Rondo opens in a soft, singing manner and then proceeds to end the piece in a leisurely manner, with only the beefy middle section to offer contrast. This is a good reading, but it doesn’t quite match up to what came before it. No matter, I like it.
I’ve known about this cycle since it first came out, but I didn’t get around to hearing it until now. That was a mistake. There is a whole lot to savor in this set. Everything sounds right. Silverman’s playing is all about the music. He’s not out to show how loud he can play, or how fast, or how he can twist the music into virtuosic slop. Rather, he chooses to use his technical ability to let the music speak for itself. His playing does have personality, that’s for sure, but this is more about Beethoven than Silverman. Of the three cycles I’m working through right now, I have no doubt that this is my favorite and the one I’ll turn to most often, at least in the opening eleven sonatas. (I’ll be surprised if the same doesn’t hold true for the remaining 21 sonatas.) The Bösendorfer takes some getting used to – perhaps twenty to thirty seconds or so – but after that, it’s smooth sailing.
--
quote:Originally posted by Oldnslow:
Any consideration of surveying varous pianists playing Beethoven's other great piano masterpiece, the Diabelli Variations? I'd like to hear your thoughts on various interpretations.
Brendel's digital recording is by far the best, but he doesn't seem very popular round these parts...!
EW
quote:Originally posted by Oldnslow:
If you are referring to the live recording by Brendel,
I meant this studio one - I've yet to hear better:
I heard Brendel's pupil, Paul Lewis, play it live a few years ago, and I suspect there's going to be a pretty special recording of the piece by him too in due course!
EW