The Emperor - Addendum 2
Posted by: Todd A on 23 December 2006
Here's the prior addendum.
Straight to the top tier goes Julius Katchen’s 1963 Emperor with Piero Gamba and the LSO. It’s just that simple. And it’s apparent from the opening seconds. A forceful orchestra underpins, or rather would underpin, the whole affair but for Katchen’s thundering entry, heavy ‘n’ burly in the lower register, powerfully projected, and recorded in a most enticing front-and-center style. He offers some amazingly strong, deep-key playing while maintaining far more than adequate articulation. Well, that’s when he needs to. It doesn’t take very long for Katchen to show he’s no one-trick pony (and if he were, this recording would still be among the best!), for he slows up and softens things just so, in the midst of an orchestral free-for-all, just ‘cause he can. And should. When the orchestra takes over, Piero Gamba shows himself to favor an unabashedly physical approach to the music, taking it at a fast pace and imbuing it with world class oomph. It’s as if he turns the entire big band into a heavyweight contender and throws pulverizing punch after crushing blow. Subtle it may not be, but viscerally exciting it certainly is. The strings, particularly the low strings, sound a bit scratchy and scrappy, but that’s quite alright. When Katchen makes his return, his playing displays a tasteful, meticulous, and soft-ish touch, with most attractive trills to tickle one’s ears. Thereafter he cruises along with hypervirtuosic ease, with nary a passage offering even a hint of a challenge. But that softer playing never seems too far away. He always imbues little diversions with a contemplative, even tender feeling. It’s pretty nifty. But he also remembers that this is Beethoven at his most eroica, and so eruptive crescendos sound suitably volcanic. More impressive still is the first left-right passage, which Katchen dispatches with Pollini-esque command. Katchen delivers more superb trills after 9’, even if even he doesn’t quite match up to Yukio Yokoyama here. But he surpasses nearly everyone in the ascending-descending runs afterwards, which start off with breathtaking power and gradually taper off to a nice quiet conclusion. The Grand Flourish is among the grandest around, almost literally throwing one back into one’s listening seat (depending on the volume, of course) and, again, fully matches the magisterial command Pollini offers (circa the late ‘70s). So far, this recording is a virile, at times almost violent reading. That’s good – damn good – but not necessarily good enough to catapult this or any recording into the Emperor upper reaches. What’s needed, of course, is a solid (or preferably much better) Adagio. That’s what one gets here! Gamba opts to open it using a vigorous, heart-on-sleeve approach that is, as the accompaniment in the opener, a bit short on subtlety. Katchen is not. In stark contrast to the opening movement, he plays gently, with subtle dynamic and tonal gradations adding meaning to each note, chord, and phrase. While the movement never really evokes any romantic imagery of note, it creates a slightly melancholy and decidedly introspective oasis in an otherwise extroverted reading. Katchen even sees fit to play some passages in such a way as to sound like anguished cries, especially after 5’40” or so. To conclude the work, though, it’s back to the more vigorous style of the opener. Katchen explodes the movement into being, hammering (but never banging!) the music out, fortissimo style. Gamba leads the orchestra back into the fray with not a little martial force. Everyone knows just when to back off, but this is mostly a massive, virile, masculine take of the movement in a similarly styled overall take on the work. Excitement follows excitement, energy follows energy; this is stirring rendition of this work that makes much rock music seem puny, weak, and worthless by comparison. (Of course, most of it is.) There are, of course, other ways to present this work, but this is without question one of my favorites. Complaints are few (mostly to do with spotlighting and some less than truly top notch orchestral playing here and there), and praise is extensive. An amazing recording.
Less impressive, but impressive nonetheless, is Yefim Bronfman’s 2005 recording with David Zinman and his Zurich Tonhalle Orchestra. Messrs Bronfman and Zinman also adhere to a more-is-more approach to the music as far as energy and force go. The orchestra opens the work in bold, punchy fashion, and Bronfman goes for an agile, fast, athletic approach. Zinman, as he does in other core works, adheres to some period practice with his modern instrument band. As one would expect, that creates superb clarity and tempi tend to be quick and the performance taut. Sweet horn work, (almost) crystal clear timps, and sprightly strings all add to the allure of the recording. Back to the soloist: Bronfman’s return is a model of virtuosic ease and grace, much like Katchen, only suppler. He varies his tone nicely, too, though in a somewhat narrow range. (He’s no Moiseiwitsch, that’s for sure, but more on that later . . .) The left-right split is excellent, with the cascading then ascending left hand almost unnervingly exact. The Grand Flourish is expertly dispatched, if not in as impressive a fashion as with Katchen. The Adagio, too, is quite good. The strings sound lovely, though the low strings are a bit plummy for my taste, and Bronfman enters and mostly plays in a nicely subdued style. He varies his approach as appropriate, but he doesn’t offer quite the same range that Katchen does, and his (and Zinman’s) approach is somewhat literal. This isn’t especially evocative music making, but rather it comes across as a sort of rest between towering movements. The Rondo finds Bronfman kicking things off with a muscular display, though, again, Katchen bests him here. If Bronfman is muscular, Zinman leads a positively Jay Cutler-esque follow-up. The playing is more forceful than in the Allegro, even if it avoids the near fierceness that Gamba brings. Bronfman easily rates among the most technically talented pianists to record the work, and he never strains even once, all being dashed off with vigorous insouciance. This can and does create a sort of surface-only feel to the whole thing, but that doesn’t detract a great deal from the recording. So, it is a step down from the dizzying heights of the Katchen & Co recording, but it is a superb one. Take excellent sound and a silly cheap price, and it seems that this one should be heard by all fans of the work.
The last recording in this very small survey is an historic recording of not a little interest, particularly for fans of Ukrainian pianism. I write of Benno Moiseiwitsch’s 1938 recording with George Szell and the LPO. Allowances need to be made for the sound – very much of its era, though superbly transferred by Ward Marston for Naxos – and some of the interpretive devices more common then than now, but such allowances are easy to make. True, the orchestra sounds too distant and muffled in the Allegro to really add the needed oomph, and yes, Szell offers his typically efficient conducting, though it is more flexible than some of his late recordings, but one comes to this disc for one reason and one reason only: Mr Moiseiwitsch. He glides into the piece effortlessly, with surprisingly varied tone (not hidden in the surface noise!), and a peculiar and wonderful mix of grace and strength that few can quite match. Szell leads a somewhat curiously underdriven orchestral interlude, but again, it’s all about the pianism. Moiseiwitsch’s return is the apogee of tasteful middle period LvB, yet it still contains ample excitement. Then something unexpected happens: Moiseiwitsch slows things way down – daringly so – after 5’50” and plays with sustained slow beauty. The effect is simultaneously contrived and spectacular. The left-right passages, both of them, are poised and clear, with each part pronounced, and the Grand Flourish is satisfyingly grand and deliciously fluid. Moiseiwitsch simply cannot succumb the garish display; he keeps things under control. The Adagio is the glory of the recording. Things get off to a great start with a beautiful, almost touching (from Szell!) orchestral intro. After that, it’s all Benno, and he’s in his element. Beauty, grace, tenderness, yes, this movement becomes a romantic oasis, but never does it threaten to tip over into excessively sentimental music making. This great strength of Moiseiwitsch’s is what makes him the one pianist I actually greatly enjoy in Rachmaninov’s music. The music making is somewhat abstract – no Schnabelian ‘30s movie here – but ranks among the most beautiful renditions I’ve heard. The Rondo opens with Moiseiwitsch opting for a playful style. Szell throws in the heroics. Even in the most heated passages, the pianist never produces an ugly sound, and if the movement and whole work lack the overwhelming power and energy of the prior two recordings, it makes up for it with old school aristocratic allure. This is probably not a recording for everyone, but for fans of the key artist, it is.
So a quick trio, and I must say that I’m far happier with the results than last time. Nary a dud is to be heard, and Mr Katchen offers one of the best around. Hopefully the next batch will be as good.
-
Straight to the top tier goes Julius Katchen’s 1963 Emperor with Piero Gamba and the LSO. It’s just that simple. And it’s apparent from the opening seconds. A forceful orchestra underpins, or rather would underpin, the whole affair but for Katchen’s thundering entry, heavy ‘n’ burly in the lower register, powerfully projected, and recorded in a most enticing front-and-center style. He offers some amazingly strong, deep-key playing while maintaining far more than adequate articulation. Well, that’s when he needs to. It doesn’t take very long for Katchen to show he’s no one-trick pony (and if he were, this recording would still be among the best!), for he slows up and softens things just so, in the midst of an orchestral free-for-all, just ‘cause he can. And should. When the orchestra takes over, Piero Gamba shows himself to favor an unabashedly physical approach to the music, taking it at a fast pace and imbuing it with world class oomph. It’s as if he turns the entire big band into a heavyweight contender and throws pulverizing punch after crushing blow. Subtle it may not be, but viscerally exciting it certainly is. The strings, particularly the low strings, sound a bit scratchy and scrappy, but that’s quite alright. When Katchen makes his return, his playing displays a tasteful, meticulous, and soft-ish touch, with most attractive trills to tickle one’s ears. Thereafter he cruises along with hypervirtuosic ease, with nary a passage offering even a hint of a challenge. But that softer playing never seems too far away. He always imbues little diversions with a contemplative, even tender feeling. It’s pretty nifty. But he also remembers that this is Beethoven at his most eroica, and so eruptive crescendos sound suitably volcanic. More impressive still is the first left-right passage, which Katchen dispatches with Pollini-esque command. Katchen delivers more superb trills after 9’, even if even he doesn’t quite match up to Yukio Yokoyama here. But he surpasses nearly everyone in the ascending-descending runs afterwards, which start off with breathtaking power and gradually taper off to a nice quiet conclusion. The Grand Flourish is among the grandest around, almost literally throwing one back into one’s listening seat (depending on the volume, of course) and, again, fully matches the magisterial command Pollini offers (circa the late ‘70s). So far, this recording is a virile, at times almost violent reading. That’s good – damn good – but not necessarily good enough to catapult this or any recording into the Emperor upper reaches. What’s needed, of course, is a solid (or preferably much better) Adagio. That’s what one gets here! Gamba opts to open it using a vigorous, heart-on-sleeve approach that is, as the accompaniment in the opener, a bit short on subtlety. Katchen is not. In stark contrast to the opening movement, he plays gently, with subtle dynamic and tonal gradations adding meaning to each note, chord, and phrase. While the movement never really evokes any romantic imagery of note, it creates a slightly melancholy and decidedly introspective oasis in an otherwise extroverted reading. Katchen even sees fit to play some passages in such a way as to sound like anguished cries, especially after 5’40” or so. To conclude the work, though, it’s back to the more vigorous style of the opener. Katchen explodes the movement into being, hammering (but never banging!) the music out, fortissimo style. Gamba leads the orchestra back into the fray with not a little martial force. Everyone knows just when to back off, but this is mostly a massive, virile, masculine take of the movement in a similarly styled overall take on the work. Excitement follows excitement, energy follows energy; this is stirring rendition of this work that makes much rock music seem puny, weak, and worthless by comparison. (Of course, most of it is.) There are, of course, other ways to present this work, but this is without question one of my favorites. Complaints are few (mostly to do with spotlighting and some less than truly top notch orchestral playing here and there), and praise is extensive. An amazing recording.
Less impressive, but impressive nonetheless, is Yefim Bronfman’s 2005 recording with David Zinman and his Zurich Tonhalle Orchestra. Messrs Bronfman and Zinman also adhere to a more-is-more approach to the music as far as energy and force go. The orchestra opens the work in bold, punchy fashion, and Bronfman goes for an agile, fast, athletic approach. Zinman, as he does in other core works, adheres to some period practice with his modern instrument band. As one would expect, that creates superb clarity and tempi tend to be quick and the performance taut. Sweet horn work, (almost) crystal clear timps, and sprightly strings all add to the allure of the recording. Back to the soloist: Bronfman’s return is a model of virtuosic ease and grace, much like Katchen, only suppler. He varies his tone nicely, too, though in a somewhat narrow range. (He’s no Moiseiwitsch, that’s for sure, but more on that later . . .) The left-right split is excellent, with the cascading then ascending left hand almost unnervingly exact. The Grand Flourish is expertly dispatched, if not in as impressive a fashion as with Katchen. The Adagio, too, is quite good. The strings sound lovely, though the low strings are a bit plummy for my taste, and Bronfman enters and mostly plays in a nicely subdued style. He varies his approach as appropriate, but he doesn’t offer quite the same range that Katchen does, and his (and Zinman’s) approach is somewhat literal. This isn’t especially evocative music making, but rather it comes across as a sort of rest between towering movements. The Rondo finds Bronfman kicking things off with a muscular display, though, again, Katchen bests him here. If Bronfman is muscular, Zinman leads a positively Jay Cutler-esque follow-up. The playing is more forceful than in the Allegro, even if it avoids the near fierceness that Gamba brings. Bronfman easily rates among the most technically talented pianists to record the work, and he never strains even once, all being dashed off with vigorous insouciance. This can and does create a sort of surface-only feel to the whole thing, but that doesn’t detract a great deal from the recording. So, it is a step down from the dizzying heights of the Katchen & Co recording, but it is a superb one. Take excellent sound and a silly cheap price, and it seems that this one should be heard by all fans of the work.
The last recording in this very small survey is an historic recording of not a little interest, particularly for fans of Ukrainian pianism. I write of Benno Moiseiwitsch’s 1938 recording with George Szell and the LPO. Allowances need to be made for the sound – very much of its era, though superbly transferred by Ward Marston for Naxos – and some of the interpretive devices more common then than now, but such allowances are easy to make. True, the orchestra sounds too distant and muffled in the Allegro to really add the needed oomph, and yes, Szell offers his typically efficient conducting, though it is more flexible than some of his late recordings, but one comes to this disc for one reason and one reason only: Mr Moiseiwitsch. He glides into the piece effortlessly, with surprisingly varied tone (not hidden in the surface noise!), and a peculiar and wonderful mix of grace and strength that few can quite match. Szell leads a somewhat curiously underdriven orchestral interlude, but again, it’s all about the pianism. Moiseiwitsch’s return is the apogee of tasteful middle period LvB, yet it still contains ample excitement. Then something unexpected happens: Moiseiwitsch slows things way down – daringly so – after 5’50” and plays with sustained slow beauty. The effect is simultaneously contrived and spectacular. The left-right passages, both of them, are poised and clear, with each part pronounced, and the Grand Flourish is satisfyingly grand and deliciously fluid. Moiseiwitsch simply cannot succumb the garish display; he keeps things under control. The Adagio is the glory of the recording. Things get off to a great start with a beautiful, almost touching (from Szell!) orchestral intro. After that, it’s all Benno, and he’s in his element. Beauty, grace, tenderness, yes, this movement becomes a romantic oasis, but never does it threaten to tip over into excessively sentimental music making. This great strength of Moiseiwitsch’s is what makes him the one pianist I actually greatly enjoy in Rachmaninov’s music. The music making is somewhat abstract – no Schnabelian ‘30s movie here – but ranks among the most beautiful renditions I’ve heard. The Rondo opens with Moiseiwitsch opting for a playful style. Szell throws in the heroics. Even in the most heated passages, the pianist never produces an ugly sound, and if the movement and whole work lack the overwhelming power and energy of the prior two recordings, it makes up for it with old school aristocratic allure. This is probably not a recording for everyone, but for fans of the key artist, it is.
So a quick trio, and I must say that I’m far happier with the results than last time. Nary a dud is to be heard, and Mr Katchen offers one of the best around. Hopefully the next batch will be as good.
-