Eric Heidsieck Plays Beethoven
Posted by: Todd A on 24 June 2005
I didn’t really need yet another Beethoven piano sonata cycle, and I wasn’t really looking for one, but when I stumbled upon this one for only $28, well, I figured I might as well. You only live once, and so on. Anyhoo, I’m already slightly familiar with Heidsieck’s pianism, having had his recording, with Paul Tortelier, of Beethoven’s Cello Sonatas for a while, so I figured hearing his take on the sonatas would allow me to more fully appreciate his artistry. Would his Frenchness shine through, I wondered? Would he offer a foil for Mr Kovacevich’s approach, from whose cycle I needed a break? Well . . .
Quietly impressive. That’s the best way I can concisely sum up Mr Heidsieck’s pianism in the first batch of sonatas. He doesn’t pound on the keys. He doesn’t dazzle with hyper-virtuosic displays. That’s not to say that he’s dull or soporific. He’ll play quick and strong as needed, but he’ll use just enough speed and power to get the job done. No excesses here. And he plays with an involved detachment. That is, he obviously loves (at least some of) these works, yet he doesn’t want to let loose. He sort of seems to be toying with ideas at times, injecting something of particular interest and insight without disturbing the surrounding music. But he must maintain a bit of detachment. It will be interesting to hear if this holds true through more of the works.
But starting with Sonata Number 1, his approach holds true. As does something else: his playing is individual. That’s apparent from the beginning. Heidsieck is for those who like pianists who apply rubato liberally. Take the opening passage: he very subtly but very noticeably emphasizes the pause between the first couple notes in the phrase and not in those that follow. Innumerable times (well, I suppose you could count them), he’ll deviate ever so slightly from what might be considered normal phrasing, accenting certain notes and tweaking their tempi before moving on. He expertly utilizes short but noticeable pauses, as if to build up tension, and then lets the notes (sort of) flood the listener. It’s all very controlled and eminently tasteful at all times, though. And then he’ll do something unexpected. For instance, the opening of the finale is reasonably strong and quick and is certainly suitably dramatic, but then in the second section, he completely switches gears, playing ebullient music, before switching back. The best part is: it works! His individuality – his idiosyncrasy, I guess you might say – enlivens the work. He never makes it sound too heavy, he certainly doesn’t brutalize it like Stephen Kovacevich does, but nor does he make it seem too light or too quirky. Yes, one could consider his playing a bit quirky. But quirky in a good way.
That is amply demonstrated in the second sonata, too. The opening movement contains more of the same traits as before, but it is the Largo that really stands out. It starts off very slow, and while it picks up a tad, it always sounds slow. Heidsieck stretches the musical line, but he maintains it, and as the movement unfolds, he keeps all clean, pensive, and attractive. It’s difficult to describe the effect adequately. Anyway, the Scherzo comes off lightly and with good humor and is, well, quietly impressive. The concluding Rondo shows that Heidsieck can and does play with greater energy and power when necessary – but never too much. The whole work stands somewhat apart from the other versions I’ve heard, yet it’s utterly fascinating and completely absorbing!
The third is even better! Again, Heidsieck uses unique phrasing everywhere, with hardly a 30-second stretch going by without some minor tweak. But it all works. Marvelously. He remembers and lets the listener remember that this work is in sunny C major, and the opening movement is all smiles. Even the slow second movement, while not upbeat, never descends into seriousness or sadness. Perhaps some will want something meatier, but this is early Beethoven, not late. Both the Scherzo and final movements are played briskly and with a bit o’ pep. Heidsieck shows that he can play quick, light, and dazzling if need be, but it’s never showy. He’s not out to prove anything really. He’s just out to make some good music and maybe poke at some people with rigid sensibilities with his tiny alterations. It’s refreshing. This mightily successful opening trio ended up serving two purposes for me. First, it acted as a refreshing foil to the brutish Kovacevich recordings. Second, it proves that a Frenchman can play these works! The other two Frenchies in my collection – Jean-Bernard Pommier and Yves Nat – both play a little too slow ‘n’ heavy for me. Heidsieck, he hits the spot!
Things just get better with one of the most purely enjoyable recordings of Op 7 I’ve heard. Generally, I prefer a more relaxed, almost pastoral tone to the piece, but Heidsieck succeeds in playing faster than normal and better than normal. The opening movement is a veritable feast of fleet, light, and smooth legato. Fingers glide across the keyboard creating a stream of charming melodies. The second movement, by contrast, is most definitely Largo, con gran espressione. Heidsieck plays the whole thing very slowly, but in a very dramatic though never heavy way. It’s just right. The two concluding movements return to fleet and light, though never slight mode. One can hear that the pianist was either having fun or was really good at pretending he was. The final movement does contain some strong playing when needed, but never does one forget that this is youthful music. All of that unique phrasing and those unorthodox accents just add to the allure.
The first of the Op 10 sonatas manages a neat trick to start. Heidsieck starts off a bit slower than I usually like, but here I like it. He maintains generally slower than usually ideal tempi throughout, but he plays with such clarity and oddly effective accenting that I just sat enamored. During the final third of the opener, Heidsieck plays with more power and builds up an impressive wall of piano sound before ending in suitably reduced fashion. The Adagio is played in a similar fashion to the Op 7, though it’s a bit quicker and a bit more serious. The concluding Prestissimo is a treat. Once again, fleet and dazzling ivory tickling take center stage when needed, but these little virtuoso outbursts flank slower, more measured playing. It’s such a wonderful mix of playing that I wanted it to go on a bit more.
Op 10/2 comes off a bit more serious and dramatic than I expected, almost as a sort of miniature preview of what’s to come. It’s not storming-the-heavens dramatic by any means – Heidsieck achieves his outcome playing subtly – but it’s got a bit of oomph. That’s quite alright. The only less than enjoyable thing is the slight (and I mean slight) metallic tinge to the sound.
The final sonata of the other early trio is probably the most successful of the bunch. Heidsieck plays with a bit more gravitas, a bit more weight – but not too much. Indeed, all those traits that inform the earlier sonatas are here. He combines just right. The outer movements come across as substantial but not overly serious. The Largo second movement shows that Heidsieck really feels at home in slow movements. And the delightful little Minuetto is, well, delightful. Everything comes together.
Whew! After the assault that is Stephen Kovacevich’s take on the early sonatas, hearing these recordings proved to be useful tonic. I enjoyed these, every minute of every one. (Okay, I like Mr K’s take on the last two of the Op 10, though they’re still rather, um, assertive.) They ain’t earth-shaking; they ain’t so profound that they’ll help you learn the meaning of life. They are, on the whole, light fun, with enough of the heavier stuff to satisfy when more is needed. In some regards, Heidsieck reminds me of Friedrich Gulda in his Amadeo cycle. Both take a lean, pointed approach. Both play with remarkable agility and swiftness, Gulda almost always so, Heidsieck interspersed with more flexible playing. Both play in an intellectual manner; that is, neither use an of-the-moment approach and both have strong, previously worked out ideas. There are substantial differences, though. Gulda is serious and orderly and intense. Heidsieck is more flexible and mercurial and slightly detached. Gulda keeps uniquely individual statements to a minimum, or at least those he displays are more within a straight-shootin’ approach to Beethoven. Heidsieck adds little touches everywhere. It’s almost as though Gulda is Germanic and Heidsieck is Gallic. Hey, that’s it! Gulda’s Amadeo cycle is clearly the better cycle for me up to this point, but it’ll be interesting to hear how things progress.
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Quietly impressive. That’s the best way I can concisely sum up Mr Heidsieck’s pianism in the first batch of sonatas. He doesn’t pound on the keys. He doesn’t dazzle with hyper-virtuosic displays. That’s not to say that he’s dull or soporific. He’ll play quick and strong as needed, but he’ll use just enough speed and power to get the job done. No excesses here. And he plays with an involved detachment. That is, he obviously loves (at least some of) these works, yet he doesn’t want to let loose. He sort of seems to be toying with ideas at times, injecting something of particular interest and insight without disturbing the surrounding music. But he must maintain a bit of detachment. It will be interesting to hear if this holds true through more of the works.
But starting with Sonata Number 1, his approach holds true. As does something else: his playing is individual. That’s apparent from the beginning. Heidsieck is for those who like pianists who apply rubato liberally. Take the opening passage: he very subtly but very noticeably emphasizes the pause between the first couple notes in the phrase and not in those that follow. Innumerable times (well, I suppose you could count them), he’ll deviate ever so slightly from what might be considered normal phrasing, accenting certain notes and tweaking their tempi before moving on. He expertly utilizes short but noticeable pauses, as if to build up tension, and then lets the notes (sort of) flood the listener. It’s all very controlled and eminently tasteful at all times, though. And then he’ll do something unexpected. For instance, the opening of the finale is reasonably strong and quick and is certainly suitably dramatic, but then in the second section, he completely switches gears, playing ebullient music, before switching back. The best part is: it works! His individuality – his idiosyncrasy, I guess you might say – enlivens the work. He never makes it sound too heavy, he certainly doesn’t brutalize it like Stephen Kovacevich does, but nor does he make it seem too light or too quirky. Yes, one could consider his playing a bit quirky. But quirky in a good way.
That is amply demonstrated in the second sonata, too. The opening movement contains more of the same traits as before, but it is the Largo that really stands out. It starts off very slow, and while it picks up a tad, it always sounds slow. Heidsieck stretches the musical line, but he maintains it, and as the movement unfolds, he keeps all clean, pensive, and attractive. It’s difficult to describe the effect adequately. Anyway, the Scherzo comes off lightly and with good humor and is, well, quietly impressive. The concluding Rondo shows that Heidsieck can and does play with greater energy and power when necessary – but never too much. The whole work stands somewhat apart from the other versions I’ve heard, yet it’s utterly fascinating and completely absorbing!
The third is even better! Again, Heidsieck uses unique phrasing everywhere, with hardly a 30-second stretch going by without some minor tweak. But it all works. Marvelously. He remembers and lets the listener remember that this work is in sunny C major, and the opening movement is all smiles. Even the slow second movement, while not upbeat, never descends into seriousness or sadness. Perhaps some will want something meatier, but this is early Beethoven, not late. Both the Scherzo and final movements are played briskly and with a bit o’ pep. Heidsieck shows that he can play quick, light, and dazzling if need be, but it’s never showy. He’s not out to prove anything really. He’s just out to make some good music and maybe poke at some people with rigid sensibilities with his tiny alterations. It’s refreshing. This mightily successful opening trio ended up serving two purposes for me. First, it acted as a refreshing foil to the brutish Kovacevich recordings. Second, it proves that a Frenchman can play these works! The other two Frenchies in my collection – Jean-Bernard Pommier and Yves Nat – both play a little too slow ‘n’ heavy for me. Heidsieck, he hits the spot!
Things just get better with one of the most purely enjoyable recordings of Op 7 I’ve heard. Generally, I prefer a more relaxed, almost pastoral tone to the piece, but Heidsieck succeeds in playing faster than normal and better than normal. The opening movement is a veritable feast of fleet, light, and smooth legato. Fingers glide across the keyboard creating a stream of charming melodies. The second movement, by contrast, is most definitely Largo, con gran espressione. Heidsieck plays the whole thing very slowly, but in a very dramatic though never heavy way. It’s just right. The two concluding movements return to fleet and light, though never slight mode. One can hear that the pianist was either having fun or was really good at pretending he was. The final movement does contain some strong playing when needed, but never does one forget that this is youthful music. All of that unique phrasing and those unorthodox accents just add to the allure.
The first of the Op 10 sonatas manages a neat trick to start. Heidsieck starts off a bit slower than I usually like, but here I like it. He maintains generally slower than usually ideal tempi throughout, but he plays with such clarity and oddly effective accenting that I just sat enamored. During the final third of the opener, Heidsieck plays with more power and builds up an impressive wall of piano sound before ending in suitably reduced fashion. The Adagio is played in a similar fashion to the Op 7, though it’s a bit quicker and a bit more serious. The concluding Prestissimo is a treat. Once again, fleet and dazzling ivory tickling take center stage when needed, but these little virtuoso outbursts flank slower, more measured playing. It’s such a wonderful mix of playing that I wanted it to go on a bit more.
Op 10/2 comes off a bit more serious and dramatic than I expected, almost as a sort of miniature preview of what’s to come. It’s not storming-the-heavens dramatic by any means – Heidsieck achieves his outcome playing subtly – but it’s got a bit of oomph. That’s quite alright. The only less than enjoyable thing is the slight (and I mean slight) metallic tinge to the sound.
The final sonata of the other early trio is probably the most successful of the bunch. Heidsieck plays with a bit more gravitas, a bit more weight – but not too much. Indeed, all those traits that inform the earlier sonatas are here. He combines just right. The outer movements come across as substantial but not overly serious. The Largo second movement shows that Heidsieck really feels at home in slow movements. And the delightful little Minuetto is, well, delightful. Everything comes together.
Whew! After the assault that is Stephen Kovacevich’s take on the early sonatas, hearing these recordings proved to be useful tonic. I enjoyed these, every minute of every one. (Okay, I like Mr K’s take on the last two of the Op 10, though they’re still rather, um, assertive.) They ain’t earth-shaking; they ain’t so profound that they’ll help you learn the meaning of life. They are, on the whole, light fun, with enough of the heavier stuff to satisfy when more is needed. In some regards, Heidsieck reminds me of Friedrich Gulda in his Amadeo cycle. Both take a lean, pointed approach. Both play with remarkable agility and swiftness, Gulda almost always so, Heidsieck interspersed with more flexible playing. Both play in an intellectual manner; that is, neither use an of-the-moment approach and both have strong, previously worked out ideas. There are substantial differences, though. Gulda is serious and orderly and intense. Heidsieck is more flexible and mercurial and slightly detached. Gulda keeps uniquely individual statements to a minimum, or at least those he displays are more within a straight-shootin’ approach to Beethoven. Heidsieck adds little touches everywhere. It’s almost as though Gulda is Germanic and Heidsieck is Gallic. Hey, that’s it! Gulda’s Amadeo cycle is clearly the better cycle for me up to this point, but it’ll be interesting to hear how things progress.
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