Anton Kuerti and Paul Badura-Skoda Play Beethoven
Posted by: Todd A on 08 October 2005
After arriving at the same point in both of these cycles, I figured a direct comparison between the two sets seemed like a good idea. Certainly up to this point I prefer PBS’ approach. Anton Kuerti is too willful, eccentric, or egocentric, depending on how you look at it. His penchant for slow and even occasionally lumbering speeds, idiosyncratic rubato and phrasing, and wholly unconventional playing just doesn’t work for me. He’s clearly a technically accomplished pianist, but with half the cycle down, he’s not right for me. Paul Badura-Skoda, while more direct in his playing, still offers enough individual insight and suits me much better. Sure, he’s a bit gruff here and there, and his Bösendorfer, as recorded, doesn’t always sound ideal, but it’s still stimulating if not world-beating. So with comparisons now the way to go, what better way to start such a round of comparisons than with the critical Op 31 sonatas?
Kuerti got the first airing. After the wildly uneven, and mostly, um, less than exemplary interpretations thus far, let’s just say I didn’t have the highest expectations for the works. Imagine my astonishment when I listened to one of the best recordings of Op 31/1 I’ve ever heard. Not one iota of either irony or hyperbole is included in that statement. This is a superb recording. Kuerti opens the piece relatively quickly and with a very light touch while maintaining a nice sense of rhythm and avoiding excess mannerism. He keeps this basic sound pretty much throughout, though in this movement his unique touches pay dividends, such as the repeated figures around 4’. The playing is clear and well articulated, most notably in the bass. Peeking at the timing of the Adagio made me a bit uneasy – it’s 12’49” long. Since both Claude Frank and Eric Heidsieck extend the movement to similar lengths and remain successful, I figured this might work. It does! The movement begins with amazingly well played trills. They’re almost impossibly soft yet still imbued with wondrous tonal and micro-dynamic variability. How does Kuerti do it? The runs are meticulously timed and dispatched, too. The middle section of the movement is nearly breathtakingly great: Kuerti plays in such a way that the left hand chords become almost hypnotic (in the best way) and proto-minimalist while the snazzy figures played by the right hand are so precisely played and contain so much lavish attention to tone color as to almost invite disbelief. Yes, these very traits come across as excessively mannered elsewhere, but here they work splendidly. But that’s not all! The return of the trills is as breathtaking. Gorgeous beyond my standard expectations, they simply captivate, the long bass trill just after 11’ especially. The concluding Rondo is brilliant. All of Kuerti’s usual traits are indeed audible, but he deploys them flawlessly; he never overdoes it. Even the manhandled coda is well done. After this recording I was left wondering whether Kuerti just doesn’t feel at home in the earlier works, because he nails this one.
After Kuerti’s recording, PBS’ was bound to be less compelling. But it ain’t half-bad. PBS plays in a more traditional manner, opening the piece quickly, with jaunty staccato and a meatier sound. Less attention is paid to tonal and dynamic contrasts, but PBS does allow himself some room for unique (if not as compelling) accents. The opening movement is undeniably sunnier and more rhythmically driven. The Adagio has crisper, quicker, rather straight trills and a happier overall feel to it than Kuerti’s, but it is fun to listen to. The middle section here is much faster, and takes on an almost urgent feel at times, and the return of the opening material sounds just a bit more urgent as a result. The Rondo is snappy, upbeat, and nice and weighty. No, this is not as good as Kuerti’s recording, nor does it match up to a number of others, but it’s more than adequate.
With the brilliant 31/1 down, I was eager to hear Kuerti in the Tempest. Kuerti’s penchant for extreme contrasts would work very well here, I thought, and the opening movement more or less reinforced my hunch. The Largo section is extremely slow and quiet and stretched to its limit. This does help to create a sense of drama and anticipation, and when Kuerti does get going at around 46” in, the effect is worth the wait. He plays with notable speed and accuracy, and the ascending figure is heavy and tense and nervous, offering a nice contrast to the open. All throughout, Kuerti underscores the dramatic contrasts in the movement, and what before sounded mannered and eccentric now works. Then comes the Adagio and things fall apart. At 10’50”, this is more a distended Largo than an Adagio. Nothing works. There is absolutely no flow; figures and chords – hell, single notes – become isolated events; thematic material crumbles. This movement is colossally misjudged. To cap it off, Kuerti’s playing takes on some of its prior problems in the Allegretto. While still dramatic and possessed of strong contrasts, the playing becomes a bit tiresome at times. The powerful, pointed playing really does catch fire in a few places, but then Kuerti seems intent on smothering the musical fire with mannerism. After such a strong opening, I really wanted more than I got. That’s unfortunate.
Paul Badura-Skoda, as would be expected, takes a more conventional approach, and he mostly succeeds. The opening Largo is taken at a brisker tempo than Kuerti’s, and PBS positively relishes the fiery, tumultuous playing that follows. Also as one would expect, the Bösendorfer’s additional heft and slightly cutting sound add to the allure. The return of the opening material takes on a more worried feel, and the movement alternates thusly to the end. I cannot overlook the fact that I wished for a bit more intensity in parts, nor can I deny that the playing sounds just a tad stiff in places, but it still sounds good. The Adagio is more appropriately paced than in Kuerti’s recording, and it assumes a more stirring feel as a result. PBS creates a nice effect by playing the repeated four note figure in either a reassuring or terse way, as the moment demands. The concluding Allegretto comes off as biting and intense, with plenty of drive. Overall, I find PBS’ recording more successful than Kuerti’s, though neither one ranks among the best out there.
Moving on to the last of the critical bunch it becomes clear that Kuerti is intent on reverting to the style I so dislike. Perhaps he’s not really reverting, but his willfulness definitely hampers things. The first movement shows that slowness and stiffness that can creep in, though one can still divine a puckish element. Things pick up a bit in the second section, but Kuerti never really creates enough tension. The music sounds stodgy and stuffy. One nice effect occurs just after 5,’ when Kuerti plays the chords almost as a taunting laugh. The Scherzo, well, it’s too slow and strangely soft. The Menuetto, too, though sluggishness is joined by excessive seriousness. The Presto is the most successful movement. (Kuerti often seems to be most successful in final movements. Go figure.) The slow ‘n’ soft start quickly gives way to a more appropriately rambunctious good time. A few terse notes aside, he continues thusly to the end. But one movement does not a successful sonata make.
PBS does much better. The work opens in a more relaxed way and soon displays good humor and vivacity in just the right proportions. Some passages are dashed off almost hastily – a neat device – and the Bösendorfer low register heft makes everything just a bit meatier, but only at appropriate times. The Scherzo comes off as almost aggressive and certainly driven, with superb outbursts to kick the piece back into action when things start to sag. Of course, things never sag; the piece just slows down and starts to meander a bit, just as intended. Old Ludwig van, he’s havin’ himself a good ol’ time. So’s Paul. There’s one problem – the playing doesn’t display ideal tonal flexibility. The Menuetto is taut and tense, and the middle section displays some real bite, and the return of the opening material doesn’t stray from what came before. Things could definitely sound more, um, pleasant, but it’s better than what’s to be found in the previous recording. The concluding Presto is brusque and gruff, but it’s also jovial and spirited and brimming over with forward momentum. A few chords sound harsh in places, and in the context of this recording, sound welcome. Not a great recording, perhaps, but good nonetheless.
After listening to the big three, I cannot say that either cycle is a great one, at least to my ears, but of the two, Paul Badura-Skoda definitely has the edge.
After some big works, one gets to revel in charming trifles. Keeping the same order as before meant Kuerti got his shot first. Trouble can be gleaned from the copious notes; says Mr Kuerti: “Apart from tradition and the fact that they were published as “sonatas,” probably the best reason for including them is the fact that 32 is the fifth power of 2 and thus a round and very distinguished number.” Um, okay. The first sonatas starts promisingly enough, with a tender, attractive tone, but it sounds positively static. Nothing happens. There’s no forward progress. The second movement is quicker and livelier, but doesn’t have any really distinguishing traits. The second sonata, well, it’s less successful. The opening movement is awful. Its open isn’t just slow, it’s lumbering and heavy. Things improve slightly after a minute or two, but then the second movement arrives with its hefty-staccato / too punchy sound and one can only wish for it to be over as quickly as possible. It’s clear from both his writing and playing that Kuerti doesn’t like all of Beethoven’s sonatas. While there’s obviously no need for him to like the works, it begs the question: Why record them all? As before, Paul Badura-Skoda plays the pieces more to my taste. The first sonata’s first movement is quick, fetching, and slightly terse on occasion. The second movement is quick and lively. The second sonata more or less sounds like the first sonata, and that delightful theme used in the septet is, well, it’s delightful. Better can be had, though. Granted, these two sonatas are youthful trifles, but some pianists – most notably Kovacevich and Heidsieck – show that they can be more than they are here.
Trifles aside, it’s time for some big works. Kuerti manages to do well in the vaunted Waldstein, though not everything is rosy. The opening, as is so often the case, is quick and light, and once again Kuerti displays his remarkable ability to produce a panoply of colors and dynamic gradations at the low end of the spectrum. Then, which also happens quite frequently in this cycle, Kuerti uses the first loud outburst to create a dramatic contrast. Here it works. At least initially. As the movement progresses, Kuerti does a masterly job of playing the two parts at different, contrasting volumes. (Perhaps his take on Chopin’s Etudes would be interesting.) Even so, some of the playing assumes that faux-seriousness that occasionally hampers his playing. The Adagio suffers from that Kuerti specialty – sluggishness – and sounds a bit hazy at times. The concluding Rondo starts in a truly lovely and gentle manner, raising one’s hopes. But then mannerism creeps back in. After a remarkable long trill transition – with the trill itself transforming into an urgent horn call – and swelling power, Kuerti reverts to giving the listener too much detail. This movement needs sweep and drama. Even with the problems, though, this ends up being one of the more successful sonatas in the cycle thus far.
Paul Badura-Skoda’s take produces one of the weakest sonatas in his cycle. At times, the opening movement sounds like a muddled, indistinct mass of notes. A relative lack of color, a bit of stiffness, and dissatisfying contrasts make for an also-ran opener. The Adagio comes across as clear, but it also sounds a bit too pointed and urgent. And as for the Rondo, despite an attractive sense of nostalgia at the beginning and a well executed transitional trill, PBS never generates enough intensity or drive. Bummer.
Op 54 again finds Kuerti playing music he’s apparently not fond of. The first movement starts with a staggered, stuttering lyricism that sounds nice enough for a while, but quickly wears thin. That the louder passages sound too sharp and rough doesn’t help. The second movement is clanky and just plain ugly at times. At other times it’s rather attractive. But it never flows or engages the listener. Next. PBS plays in a more attractive overall manner, with strangely attractive staccato. Some of the louder passages exhibit that certain not completely unappealing roughness that crops up every once in a while. The second movement is brusque, with a sharper staccato, but the vigor keeps one happy. The strong coda keeps in line with a strongly played if not top drawer recording.
Time for another biggie. Kuerti’s fond of the Appassionata, and at least at the outset that sounds evident enough. As is his wont, Kuerti opens with his peculiar and here peculiarly effective blend of light, soft, and enticingly variable playing. When the strong, impassioned music arrives, Kuerti delivers; his playing is intense and fiery – or at least an attractively contrived facsimile thereof. He then alternates these basic styles. His remarkably precise crescendos and decrescendos aid in his approach (really, they are something), as does his admirable dexterity. The second movement is as successful. Appropriately slow and filled with a subdued drama, Kuerti knows just how to ratchet up the tension in the latter half of the movement. The opening to the concluding movement is strong and biting, and then it retreats to a restrained yet tense sound immediately afterward. And then, well, then it’s downhill. The piece just sags in the middle, and all intensity is sapped from the piece. Yes, there needs to be an anticipatory feel to the music, but there also needs to be some tension. Sure, the coda is explosive, but the damage is done. A promising start gives way to a severely disappointing finish.
More successful is Mr Badura-Skoda. He opens the work in swift, not-too-light and not-too-heavy fashion, with tension aplenty and a (pleasingly) unrelenting drive in the following section. He then alternates as appropriate. The middle section climax is really biting and intense and peppered with some hefty low-register playing. Overall, it’s tense. It’s frenetic. It’s impassioned. The Andante is taken at a somewhat brisk clip, and it never really sounds quiet. Rather, like St Annie and Mr Lipkin, PBS maintains nervous tension throughout, as if poised to explode. And then the finale arrives, and it bursts out of the gate. PBS knows to back off a bit and build up tension until releasing all in a cathartic cascade of notes. I rather fancy this style so I rather fancy this recording.
Now to some more little gems. And some trepidation. Knowing how Kuerti crushes the Op 49 sonatas, I feared for the Op 78 and 79 sonatas, and with good reason. He takes 8’37” to open the Op 78. That’s way too slow. All of Kuerti’s lovely sounds can’t make up for that. (Isn’t the piece supposed to pick up steam after the opening passage? It doesn’t.) The second movement is much quicker, but here Kuerti reverts completely to his earlier style. Odd accents abound. A bizarre, detached feel descends on the playing. The Op 79 actually fares worse. The opening Presto is absolutely awful. Slow, plodding, lumbering, soporific: No adjective can possibly describe the injustice done to the music. The Andante is as bad. It’s drained of life and leaden. To throw a wrench into the works, Kuerti plays the concluding Vivace in a reasonably lively fashion. But its relative quality only serves to underscore just how awful the first two movements are.
Decidedly more successful is PBS’ approach. The first movement to the Op 78 is warm, flowing, graceful, lyrical, and perfectly paced; the second movement is upbeat and energetic, if a bit rough in places. The Op 79 opens with too metallic a sound, but it is clear, bold, and meaty. It’s as though Haydn is being channeled to create a rustic, earthy dance that only the most hardened soul wouldn’t enjoy. The Andante is beautiful and lyrical, with a calming, serene sound near the end. The Vivace, though a bit thicker than normal, nevertheless sounds fine. Much better.
So that leads me to the last work for this batch of sonatas, the Op 81a. Rather than start with Kuerti, I opted to open with PBS, but mostly because I was too lazy to get out of my easy chair to change discs. From the start it is apparent this version is different from most others I’ve heard. Most readings of this work assume a quasi-orchestral sound and style; they purposely sound not only big, but huge. Not so this one. It’s smaller in scale. It’s more personal. The composer and interpreter are bidding adieu to only one person, not a group of people. As a result of this approach, the opening chords are rather plainly delivered and lack gravity. The playing is still big, it’s just not grand; it’s a fond farewell, not an intense, moving one. The second movement is tense and nervous to open, with some slightly choppy playing, and it never really takes on a brooding, melancholy air. If anything, it sounds as though the protagonist is pissed. The final movement is swift-ish and not exactly rapturously ebullient. It evokes a sense of familiarity. It’s as though now that his buddy is back, the protagonist and his friend nudge shoulders, regale each other with tall tales of their respective exploits, burst into fits of (sometimes bawdy) laughter, and even reminisce about the old days, aware that the separation resulted in some kind of change that means they have grown slightly apart. No, of course these things aren’t in the music, but Badura-Skoda certainly makes one imagine they are. It’s a unique, alternative take, and one I’m certain I’ll return to.
In some ways it is Kuerti who plays in a more traditional manner in this work. The Adagio opening sounds quietly plaintive, and the work assumes large dimensions in the ensuing Allegro. But any sense of a heartfelt goodbye is totally lost in the incessant focus on details. It’s as though Kuerti is saying to listener: “Listen, listen to that chord. Wait, hear this little arpeggio and how I can vary the volume so subtly with each note.” As an example of pianism, it’s impressive; as an example of committed musicianship, it’s not. The Andante offers more of the same, though at a slower speed. The concluding movement is predictably faster, but just as predictably it’s not moving. It’s something of a dud.
So, a healthy batch of sonatas have been dutifully devoured. In the case of Paul Badura-Skoda, this duty has been most enjoyable. It has become quite clear to me that I cannot count either set among my favorites, and it’s also clear that the Kuerti cycle, despite peaking extremely high with the 31/1, is turning out to be a dud. On to the late sonatas . . .
--
Kuerti got the first airing. After the wildly uneven, and mostly, um, less than exemplary interpretations thus far, let’s just say I didn’t have the highest expectations for the works. Imagine my astonishment when I listened to one of the best recordings of Op 31/1 I’ve ever heard. Not one iota of either irony or hyperbole is included in that statement. This is a superb recording. Kuerti opens the piece relatively quickly and with a very light touch while maintaining a nice sense of rhythm and avoiding excess mannerism. He keeps this basic sound pretty much throughout, though in this movement his unique touches pay dividends, such as the repeated figures around 4’. The playing is clear and well articulated, most notably in the bass. Peeking at the timing of the Adagio made me a bit uneasy – it’s 12’49” long. Since both Claude Frank and Eric Heidsieck extend the movement to similar lengths and remain successful, I figured this might work. It does! The movement begins with amazingly well played trills. They’re almost impossibly soft yet still imbued with wondrous tonal and micro-dynamic variability. How does Kuerti do it? The runs are meticulously timed and dispatched, too. The middle section of the movement is nearly breathtakingly great: Kuerti plays in such a way that the left hand chords become almost hypnotic (in the best way) and proto-minimalist while the snazzy figures played by the right hand are so precisely played and contain so much lavish attention to tone color as to almost invite disbelief. Yes, these very traits come across as excessively mannered elsewhere, but here they work splendidly. But that’s not all! The return of the trills is as breathtaking. Gorgeous beyond my standard expectations, they simply captivate, the long bass trill just after 11’ especially. The concluding Rondo is brilliant. All of Kuerti’s usual traits are indeed audible, but he deploys them flawlessly; he never overdoes it. Even the manhandled coda is well done. After this recording I was left wondering whether Kuerti just doesn’t feel at home in the earlier works, because he nails this one.
After Kuerti’s recording, PBS’ was bound to be less compelling. But it ain’t half-bad. PBS plays in a more traditional manner, opening the piece quickly, with jaunty staccato and a meatier sound. Less attention is paid to tonal and dynamic contrasts, but PBS does allow himself some room for unique (if not as compelling) accents. The opening movement is undeniably sunnier and more rhythmically driven. The Adagio has crisper, quicker, rather straight trills and a happier overall feel to it than Kuerti’s, but it is fun to listen to. The middle section here is much faster, and takes on an almost urgent feel at times, and the return of the opening material sounds just a bit more urgent as a result. The Rondo is snappy, upbeat, and nice and weighty. No, this is not as good as Kuerti’s recording, nor does it match up to a number of others, but it’s more than adequate.
With the brilliant 31/1 down, I was eager to hear Kuerti in the Tempest. Kuerti’s penchant for extreme contrasts would work very well here, I thought, and the opening movement more or less reinforced my hunch. The Largo section is extremely slow and quiet and stretched to its limit. This does help to create a sense of drama and anticipation, and when Kuerti does get going at around 46” in, the effect is worth the wait. He plays with notable speed and accuracy, and the ascending figure is heavy and tense and nervous, offering a nice contrast to the open. All throughout, Kuerti underscores the dramatic contrasts in the movement, and what before sounded mannered and eccentric now works. Then comes the Adagio and things fall apart. At 10’50”, this is more a distended Largo than an Adagio. Nothing works. There is absolutely no flow; figures and chords – hell, single notes – become isolated events; thematic material crumbles. This movement is colossally misjudged. To cap it off, Kuerti’s playing takes on some of its prior problems in the Allegretto. While still dramatic and possessed of strong contrasts, the playing becomes a bit tiresome at times. The powerful, pointed playing really does catch fire in a few places, but then Kuerti seems intent on smothering the musical fire with mannerism. After such a strong opening, I really wanted more than I got. That’s unfortunate.
Paul Badura-Skoda, as would be expected, takes a more conventional approach, and he mostly succeeds. The opening Largo is taken at a brisker tempo than Kuerti’s, and PBS positively relishes the fiery, tumultuous playing that follows. Also as one would expect, the Bösendorfer’s additional heft and slightly cutting sound add to the allure. The return of the opening material takes on a more worried feel, and the movement alternates thusly to the end. I cannot overlook the fact that I wished for a bit more intensity in parts, nor can I deny that the playing sounds just a tad stiff in places, but it still sounds good. The Adagio is more appropriately paced than in Kuerti’s recording, and it assumes a more stirring feel as a result. PBS creates a nice effect by playing the repeated four note figure in either a reassuring or terse way, as the moment demands. The concluding Allegretto comes off as biting and intense, with plenty of drive. Overall, I find PBS’ recording more successful than Kuerti’s, though neither one ranks among the best out there.
Moving on to the last of the critical bunch it becomes clear that Kuerti is intent on reverting to the style I so dislike. Perhaps he’s not really reverting, but his willfulness definitely hampers things. The first movement shows that slowness and stiffness that can creep in, though one can still divine a puckish element. Things pick up a bit in the second section, but Kuerti never really creates enough tension. The music sounds stodgy and stuffy. One nice effect occurs just after 5,’ when Kuerti plays the chords almost as a taunting laugh. The Scherzo, well, it’s too slow and strangely soft. The Menuetto, too, though sluggishness is joined by excessive seriousness. The Presto is the most successful movement. (Kuerti often seems to be most successful in final movements. Go figure.) The slow ‘n’ soft start quickly gives way to a more appropriately rambunctious good time. A few terse notes aside, he continues thusly to the end. But one movement does not a successful sonata make.
PBS does much better. The work opens in a more relaxed way and soon displays good humor and vivacity in just the right proportions. Some passages are dashed off almost hastily – a neat device – and the Bösendorfer low register heft makes everything just a bit meatier, but only at appropriate times. The Scherzo comes off as almost aggressive and certainly driven, with superb outbursts to kick the piece back into action when things start to sag. Of course, things never sag; the piece just slows down and starts to meander a bit, just as intended. Old Ludwig van, he’s havin’ himself a good ol’ time. So’s Paul. There’s one problem – the playing doesn’t display ideal tonal flexibility. The Menuetto is taut and tense, and the middle section displays some real bite, and the return of the opening material doesn’t stray from what came before. Things could definitely sound more, um, pleasant, but it’s better than what’s to be found in the previous recording. The concluding Presto is brusque and gruff, but it’s also jovial and spirited and brimming over with forward momentum. A few chords sound harsh in places, and in the context of this recording, sound welcome. Not a great recording, perhaps, but good nonetheless.
After listening to the big three, I cannot say that either cycle is a great one, at least to my ears, but of the two, Paul Badura-Skoda definitely has the edge.
After some big works, one gets to revel in charming trifles. Keeping the same order as before meant Kuerti got his shot first. Trouble can be gleaned from the copious notes; says Mr Kuerti: “Apart from tradition and the fact that they were published as “sonatas,” probably the best reason for including them is the fact that 32 is the fifth power of 2 and thus a round and very distinguished number.” Um, okay. The first sonatas starts promisingly enough, with a tender, attractive tone, but it sounds positively static. Nothing happens. There’s no forward progress. The second movement is quicker and livelier, but doesn’t have any really distinguishing traits. The second sonata, well, it’s less successful. The opening movement is awful. Its open isn’t just slow, it’s lumbering and heavy. Things improve slightly after a minute or two, but then the second movement arrives with its hefty-staccato / too punchy sound and one can only wish for it to be over as quickly as possible. It’s clear from both his writing and playing that Kuerti doesn’t like all of Beethoven’s sonatas. While there’s obviously no need for him to like the works, it begs the question: Why record them all? As before, Paul Badura-Skoda plays the pieces more to my taste. The first sonata’s first movement is quick, fetching, and slightly terse on occasion. The second movement is quick and lively. The second sonata more or less sounds like the first sonata, and that delightful theme used in the septet is, well, it’s delightful. Better can be had, though. Granted, these two sonatas are youthful trifles, but some pianists – most notably Kovacevich and Heidsieck – show that they can be more than they are here.
Trifles aside, it’s time for some big works. Kuerti manages to do well in the vaunted Waldstein, though not everything is rosy. The opening, as is so often the case, is quick and light, and once again Kuerti displays his remarkable ability to produce a panoply of colors and dynamic gradations at the low end of the spectrum. Then, which also happens quite frequently in this cycle, Kuerti uses the first loud outburst to create a dramatic contrast. Here it works. At least initially. As the movement progresses, Kuerti does a masterly job of playing the two parts at different, contrasting volumes. (Perhaps his take on Chopin’s Etudes would be interesting.) Even so, some of the playing assumes that faux-seriousness that occasionally hampers his playing. The Adagio suffers from that Kuerti specialty – sluggishness – and sounds a bit hazy at times. The concluding Rondo starts in a truly lovely and gentle manner, raising one’s hopes. But then mannerism creeps back in. After a remarkable long trill transition – with the trill itself transforming into an urgent horn call – and swelling power, Kuerti reverts to giving the listener too much detail. This movement needs sweep and drama. Even with the problems, though, this ends up being one of the more successful sonatas in the cycle thus far.
Paul Badura-Skoda’s take produces one of the weakest sonatas in his cycle. At times, the opening movement sounds like a muddled, indistinct mass of notes. A relative lack of color, a bit of stiffness, and dissatisfying contrasts make for an also-ran opener. The Adagio comes across as clear, but it also sounds a bit too pointed and urgent. And as for the Rondo, despite an attractive sense of nostalgia at the beginning and a well executed transitional trill, PBS never generates enough intensity or drive. Bummer.
Op 54 again finds Kuerti playing music he’s apparently not fond of. The first movement starts with a staggered, stuttering lyricism that sounds nice enough for a while, but quickly wears thin. That the louder passages sound too sharp and rough doesn’t help. The second movement is clanky and just plain ugly at times. At other times it’s rather attractive. But it never flows or engages the listener. Next. PBS plays in a more attractive overall manner, with strangely attractive staccato. Some of the louder passages exhibit that certain not completely unappealing roughness that crops up every once in a while. The second movement is brusque, with a sharper staccato, but the vigor keeps one happy. The strong coda keeps in line with a strongly played if not top drawer recording.
Time for another biggie. Kuerti’s fond of the Appassionata, and at least at the outset that sounds evident enough. As is his wont, Kuerti opens with his peculiar and here peculiarly effective blend of light, soft, and enticingly variable playing. When the strong, impassioned music arrives, Kuerti delivers; his playing is intense and fiery – or at least an attractively contrived facsimile thereof. He then alternates these basic styles. His remarkably precise crescendos and decrescendos aid in his approach (really, they are something), as does his admirable dexterity. The second movement is as successful. Appropriately slow and filled with a subdued drama, Kuerti knows just how to ratchet up the tension in the latter half of the movement. The opening to the concluding movement is strong and biting, and then it retreats to a restrained yet tense sound immediately afterward. And then, well, then it’s downhill. The piece just sags in the middle, and all intensity is sapped from the piece. Yes, there needs to be an anticipatory feel to the music, but there also needs to be some tension. Sure, the coda is explosive, but the damage is done. A promising start gives way to a severely disappointing finish.
More successful is Mr Badura-Skoda. He opens the work in swift, not-too-light and not-too-heavy fashion, with tension aplenty and a (pleasingly) unrelenting drive in the following section. He then alternates as appropriate. The middle section climax is really biting and intense and peppered with some hefty low-register playing. Overall, it’s tense. It’s frenetic. It’s impassioned. The Andante is taken at a somewhat brisk clip, and it never really sounds quiet. Rather, like St Annie and Mr Lipkin, PBS maintains nervous tension throughout, as if poised to explode. And then the finale arrives, and it bursts out of the gate. PBS knows to back off a bit and build up tension until releasing all in a cathartic cascade of notes. I rather fancy this style so I rather fancy this recording.
Now to some more little gems. And some trepidation. Knowing how Kuerti crushes the Op 49 sonatas, I feared for the Op 78 and 79 sonatas, and with good reason. He takes 8’37” to open the Op 78. That’s way too slow. All of Kuerti’s lovely sounds can’t make up for that. (Isn’t the piece supposed to pick up steam after the opening passage? It doesn’t.) The second movement is much quicker, but here Kuerti reverts completely to his earlier style. Odd accents abound. A bizarre, detached feel descends on the playing. The Op 79 actually fares worse. The opening Presto is absolutely awful. Slow, plodding, lumbering, soporific: No adjective can possibly describe the injustice done to the music. The Andante is as bad. It’s drained of life and leaden. To throw a wrench into the works, Kuerti plays the concluding Vivace in a reasonably lively fashion. But its relative quality only serves to underscore just how awful the first two movements are.
Decidedly more successful is PBS’ approach. The first movement to the Op 78 is warm, flowing, graceful, lyrical, and perfectly paced; the second movement is upbeat and energetic, if a bit rough in places. The Op 79 opens with too metallic a sound, but it is clear, bold, and meaty. It’s as though Haydn is being channeled to create a rustic, earthy dance that only the most hardened soul wouldn’t enjoy. The Andante is beautiful and lyrical, with a calming, serene sound near the end. The Vivace, though a bit thicker than normal, nevertheless sounds fine. Much better.
So that leads me to the last work for this batch of sonatas, the Op 81a. Rather than start with Kuerti, I opted to open with PBS, but mostly because I was too lazy to get out of my easy chair to change discs. From the start it is apparent this version is different from most others I’ve heard. Most readings of this work assume a quasi-orchestral sound and style; they purposely sound not only big, but huge. Not so this one. It’s smaller in scale. It’s more personal. The composer and interpreter are bidding adieu to only one person, not a group of people. As a result of this approach, the opening chords are rather plainly delivered and lack gravity. The playing is still big, it’s just not grand; it’s a fond farewell, not an intense, moving one. The second movement is tense and nervous to open, with some slightly choppy playing, and it never really takes on a brooding, melancholy air. If anything, it sounds as though the protagonist is pissed. The final movement is swift-ish and not exactly rapturously ebullient. It evokes a sense of familiarity. It’s as though now that his buddy is back, the protagonist and his friend nudge shoulders, regale each other with tall tales of their respective exploits, burst into fits of (sometimes bawdy) laughter, and even reminisce about the old days, aware that the separation resulted in some kind of change that means they have grown slightly apart. No, of course these things aren’t in the music, but Badura-Skoda certainly makes one imagine they are. It’s a unique, alternative take, and one I’m certain I’ll return to.
In some ways it is Kuerti who plays in a more traditional manner in this work. The Adagio opening sounds quietly plaintive, and the work assumes large dimensions in the ensuing Allegro. But any sense of a heartfelt goodbye is totally lost in the incessant focus on details. It’s as though Kuerti is saying to listener: “Listen, listen to that chord. Wait, hear this little arpeggio and how I can vary the volume so subtly with each note.” As an example of pianism, it’s impressive; as an example of committed musicianship, it’s not. The Andante offers more of the same, though at a slower speed. The concluding movement is predictably faster, but just as predictably it’s not moving. It’s something of a dud.
So, a healthy batch of sonatas have been dutifully devoured. In the case of Paul Badura-Skoda, this duty has been most enjoyable. It has become quite clear to me that I cannot count either set among my favorites, and it’s also clear that the Kuerti cycle, despite peaking extremely high with the 31/1, is turning out to be a dud. On to the late sonatas . . .
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