Robert Silverman Plays the Diabellis
Posted by: Todd A on 10 October 2006
This post is a follow-up of sorts to this one.
I so enjoyed Robert Silverman’s complete Beethoven piano sonata cycle I procured earlier this year that when I learned he had recorded the Diabelli Variations, I determined to get my hands on the recording as soon as possible. I did.
The recordings of the Diabelli Variations and the 32 Variations on an Original Theme in C minor were recorded just over two years ago at Weber State University in the great state of Utah, and the recordings are very much an audiophile affair. (As one would expect given that the disc is being sold by Stereophile.) John Atkinson, the Editor-In-Chief of the magazine did editing and mastering duties, and Roy Kimber (of high-end cable manufacturer Kimber Kable) assisted, thus assuring the audiophile bona fides. More can be read on the Stereophile web-site.
To the music and playing itself – you know, the important stuff. Robert Silverman is not a pianist preoccupied with creating the most tonally lustrous sound. He’s a hard-hitting, muscular, dynamic range craving type of pianist, as this entire disc (and the sonata cycle, too) makes obviously clear. The great main work opens the disc, and the opening theme is brisk and potent and pointed, and nearly danceable in a very abstract sorta way. Large – nay, huge – dynamic contrasts are apparent almost immediately and they remain readily apparent throughout. Only Georges Pludermacher’s Transart recording offers a similarly broad dynamic range among the versions I’ve heard. I’m not going to go into each variation in great detail, so I’ll just cover a couple of spots that interested me, or otherwise caught my attention. The first variation is a more potent take on the opening theme, which delighted me quite a bit, and the second is punchy and perhaps a bit choppy. It’s as though the dynamic contrasts dictate a meaty staccato style – at least meatier than a number of other recordings. Silverman’s playing is not the most fluid or graceful I’ve heard. So what? Besides, the 7th variation is quite nice and goes some way to erasing any concerns – if concerns they be – about the playing style. The 8th does even more in that regard, with its comparatively placid sound, though the operative word here is ‘comparatively.’ Silverman maintains musical tension quite nicely. The 13th variation is a bit less successful than some of its brothers. The playing sounds a bit exaggerated and contrived; the long pauses and pounding (though not mere banging!) on the keyboard creates faux-drama. And where’s the high energy this music deserves? I like my Vivaces more vivacious and less histrionic, thank you. Such a slip is rare, though. More common is the uncommonly strong variation. Take the 23rd, for instance. Silverman dashes off the music in almost mad-cap fashion; it’s quite captivating. Ha! The concluding two variations offer a most satisfying and musical fugue and serious yet humorous restatement of the original theme. Good stuff.
The filler for the disc is the little 32 Variations ditty. I don’t even know how many versions of this work I have – I’m guessing 15 or so – and it’s not really a favorite of mine. Silverman makes more out of it than most. Again, there is his towering dynamic range, and his hard-hitting, steeled (but not steely) playing style. He tears into the work and at times the walls vibrated. Cool. Even Silverman can’t elevate this to match Lou’s best solo efforts, but it’s a cut above many recordings.
To the sound: it’s a tale of two works. Common to both is an almost miraculous clarity and neutrality. The recording sounds just like a Steinway in a performance hall played hard, with no artificial fillers added. It’s not warm, it’s not cold, it’s not clinical, it’s just there. And the dynamic range is as good as it gets on CD piano recordings. The sound is very slightly more distant than I usually prefer, but then Silverman needs the extra breathing room. At no point does the sound sound washed out or too reverberant. The only chink in the aural armor is a bit of faint, high-frequency buzz (or other spurious noise) that remains throughout the Diabellis. It’s obviously not a problem during louder passages, and it certainly isn’t obtrusive, but it’s there. Perhaps the microphones picked up an electric light or something in the distance. Whatever, it’s a minor issue in a superb recording.
In terms of overall achievement, Robert Silverman does not match up to my favorites in this work. Rudolf Serkin, Geza Anda (even stripped to the bone with respect to repeats), and Artur Schnabel still set my personal standard, Serkin especially. That Silverman doesn’t match them isn’t a surprise or a criticism. Rather, his recording is more on par with slightly lesser versions of the work. Piotr Anderszewski, say, or even Anton Kuerti (his sonatas still ain’t my cup of tea, but his über-quirkiness pays dividends here), or Claudio Arrau. Keep in mind that I like my LvB harder-hitting; those wanting a more mellifluous sound will be less enthusiastic. Anyway, I’m glad I got the disc. I think I should spin again tomorrow.
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I so enjoyed Robert Silverman’s complete Beethoven piano sonata cycle I procured earlier this year that when I learned he had recorded the Diabelli Variations, I determined to get my hands on the recording as soon as possible. I did.
The recordings of the Diabelli Variations and the 32 Variations on an Original Theme in C minor were recorded just over two years ago at Weber State University in the great state of Utah, and the recordings are very much an audiophile affair. (As one would expect given that the disc is being sold by Stereophile.) John Atkinson, the Editor-In-Chief of the magazine did editing and mastering duties, and Roy Kimber (of high-end cable manufacturer Kimber Kable) assisted, thus assuring the audiophile bona fides. More can be read on the Stereophile web-site.
To the music and playing itself – you know, the important stuff. Robert Silverman is not a pianist preoccupied with creating the most tonally lustrous sound. He’s a hard-hitting, muscular, dynamic range craving type of pianist, as this entire disc (and the sonata cycle, too) makes obviously clear. The great main work opens the disc, and the opening theme is brisk and potent and pointed, and nearly danceable in a very abstract sorta way. Large – nay, huge – dynamic contrasts are apparent almost immediately and they remain readily apparent throughout. Only Georges Pludermacher’s Transart recording offers a similarly broad dynamic range among the versions I’ve heard. I’m not going to go into each variation in great detail, so I’ll just cover a couple of spots that interested me, or otherwise caught my attention. The first variation is a more potent take on the opening theme, which delighted me quite a bit, and the second is punchy and perhaps a bit choppy. It’s as though the dynamic contrasts dictate a meaty staccato style – at least meatier than a number of other recordings. Silverman’s playing is not the most fluid or graceful I’ve heard. So what? Besides, the 7th variation is quite nice and goes some way to erasing any concerns – if concerns they be – about the playing style. The 8th does even more in that regard, with its comparatively placid sound, though the operative word here is ‘comparatively.’ Silverman maintains musical tension quite nicely. The 13th variation is a bit less successful than some of its brothers. The playing sounds a bit exaggerated and contrived; the long pauses and pounding (though not mere banging!) on the keyboard creates faux-drama. And where’s the high energy this music deserves? I like my Vivaces more vivacious and less histrionic, thank you. Such a slip is rare, though. More common is the uncommonly strong variation. Take the 23rd, for instance. Silverman dashes off the music in almost mad-cap fashion; it’s quite captivating. Ha! The concluding two variations offer a most satisfying and musical fugue and serious yet humorous restatement of the original theme. Good stuff.
The filler for the disc is the little 32 Variations ditty. I don’t even know how many versions of this work I have – I’m guessing 15 or so – and it’s not really a favorite of mine. Silverman makes more out of it than most. Again, there is his towering dynamic range, and his hard-hitting, steeled (but not steely) playing style. He tears into the work and at times the walls vibrated. Cool. Even Silverman can’t elevate this to match Lou’s best solo efforts, but it’s a cut above many recordings.
To the sound: it’s a tale of two works. Common to both is an almost miraculous clarity and neutrality. The recording sounds just like a Steinway in a performance hall played hard, with no artificial fillers added. It’s not warm, it’s not cold, it’s not clinical, it’s just there. And the dynamic range is as good as it gets on CD piano recordings. The sound is very slightly more distant than I usually prefer, but then Silverman needs the extra breathing room. At no point does the sound sound washed out or too reverberant. The only chink in the aural armor is a bit of faint, high-frequency buzz (or other spurious noise) that remains throughout the Diabellis. It’s obviously not a problem during louder passages, and it certainly isn’t obtrusive, but it’s there. Perhaps the microphones picked up an electric light or something in the distance. Whatever, it’s a minor issue in a superb recording.
In terms of overall achievement, Robert Silverman does not match up to my favorites in this work. Rudolf Serkin, Geza Anda (even stripped to the bone with respect to repeats), and Artur Schnabel still set my personal standard, Serkin especially. That Silverman doesn’t match them isn’t a surprise or a criticism. Rather, his recording is more on par with slightly lesser versions of the work. Piotr Anderszewski, say, or even Anton Kuerti (his sonatas still ain’t my cup of tea, but his über-quirkiness pays dividends here), or Claudio Arrau. Keep in mind that I like my LvB harder-hitting; those wanting a more mellifluous sound will be less enthusiastic. Anyway, I’m glad I got the disc. I think I should spin again tomorrow.
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