Friedrich Gulda Plays Beethoven

What would happen if you could combine, in one pianist, the best traits of some of the best pianists? Say you could combine the passion of Annie Fischer, the mercurial wit of Artur Schnabel, the serious-mindedness and technical acumen of Maurizio Pollini, and even a degree, however small, of the tonal grace of Wilhelm Kempff. You’d end up with Friedrich Gulda! Okay, I exaggerate, but only a bit. While it’s not possible to combine all of those elements to an ideal degree – hence the impossibility of any one pianist being able to play this New Testament of the keyboard perfectly – it is possible to experience a pianist who encompasses them to a certain degree. Friedrich Gulda does that to an extent.

Since receiving the complete piano sonata and concerto cycle yesterday, I’ve already managed to listen to the first seven sonatas and the Emperor. I’ll save my thoughts on the concertos for later, and will instead focus for now on the early sonatas. Gulda is almost uniformly superb across the board. Almost. I’ll just start with the Op 2 sonatas. These are winners! Unlike a number of other pianists, including even the great Wilhelm Kempff, Gulda takes all of the works at a refreshingly brisk clip. Some may find his tempi a bit too fast at times, with Allegro sections veering closer to Presto relatively often. But that’s a good thing. The first sonata is delectably delivered: Gulda’s articulation is truly remarkable, each note so utterly clear and perfectly executed, and the textures so clear, that one revels in all of the puckish humor while never once losing sight that this is Beethoven. (See, Schnabel meets Pollini. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.) The closing movement is very swift and quite passionate, at least compared to some accounts. Sure, Annie bests him in this department, but the lighter sound benefits Mr Gulda. The second and third sonatas leave the indelible impression of a pianist moving from strength to strength. Perhaps one may want to hear more of the influences of Haydn and Mozart – though those influences can be heard – and perhaps the unrelentingly determined passion of Ms Fischer still makes her impossible to top in my book, but Mr Gulda now assumes a place of pride in my collection of the first three works.

The Op 7 is not quite as successful. The watchword here is speed. The next watchword? Swiftness. Gulda brings the whole thing in at just over 25 minutes, and at times the excessive reliance on speed detracts from the piece. The opening movement, for instance, more or less completely lacks a nice, flowing feel. There’s no early, quasi-Pastorale (as in Op 28) feel. For those who like jaunty, punchy playing, this recording is a feast, though. The second movement, though labeled Largo never really lingers or hangs on an idea in the fashion I like. It’s swifter, emphasizing that clear articulation. Gulda’s tone, which varied rather nicely, if within a limited range, in the first works, here is relegated to either a coarser, more percussive and sharp staccato with little in the way of pedal enhanced flavor or to an unusually dainty and quiet, feathery sound. Take those delicious little three note arpeggios about mid-way through; things go from near-hammering to too soft. “Where’s them notes?” I wondered. Anyway, as the final two movements are played, the unyielding swiftness remains. Clearly this isn’t for me? Well, I noticed something. As well as I know this piece, I was listening unusually intently – more so than when I last listened to it just over a month ago, in John O’Conor’s extraordinary rendition – and I noticed my toes, they were a-tappin! This is thought provoking pianism, even if it’s not perfect.

My final works for now are the Op 10 sonatas. ‘Tis back to form! Like Claude Frank, Gulda launches the first sonata very quickly and succeeds marvelously. He’s not straining, and his rock-steady rhythmic prowess ensures that the right hand can crank out the melodies while the left hand keeps everything on solid ground, as it were. Perhaps his experience playing jazz helped here, who knows? One thing is certain: that rhythmic prowess is there in each of the first seven works. Anyhoo, back to the sonatas. After the rapid-fire open, it’s on to an equally successful second and then third movement. The finale is a joy. So, too, is the entire second sonata, including that almost incomprehensibly delightful Presto finale. Here Gulda doesn’t ever push the speed barrier; it is never in danger of veering into prestissimo territory. It’s more of the same for the final sonata, and here Friedrich is right on target in every way. Indeed, as a set, this emerges as the only uniformly credible rival to Claude Frank’s take on this batch. A welcome addition to my collection, indeed!

I shall post my reaction to more sonatas from time to time as I work my way through the cycle. (I don’t think it will take very long.) For the boring physical attributes: the piano sound is close, immediate, and dry, with a bit of break-up in some very loud passages (though blessedly few so far), and dynamic range, while quite good, is not as good as can be had. That written, it does hang between and behind the speakers well enough. Amadeo did a good job. Decca did an even better job by repackaging it as a budget box five years ago. I can’t wait to hear more!