The Emperor
Posted by: Todd A on 19 July 2008
Here's the last entry from last July, with links to the prior thread.
At last! For years I’ve wanted to hear Annie Fischer play the Emperor, and a year or so ago I read about a bootleg version, though I was never able to track it down. Fortunately, the good folks at Doremi have finally delivered what I’ve been waiting for! An actual performance of the work by St Annie! (I don’t know if it’s the same performance as the bootleg.) The performance comes as part of a three disc set – 2 DVDs, 1 CD – that includes eight concertos and a couple encores, recorded from the ‘60s through the ‘80s. Alas, the performance doesn’t find her paired with one of the great conductors of the age – I was rather selfishly hoping for a performance with Klemperer or Fricsay, with whom she regularly collaborated – but with one Peter Mura, and the orchestra is the Hungarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, hardly one of the great bands. Ultimately that is of no matter, or at least little matter. No, it’s the concerto that matters. And here there’s much to enjoy, and some things to be less thrilled about. The Allegro that opens the work encapsulates all of the strengths and weaknesses. Annie opens with superb weight, exciting intensity, and cutting articulation, but she also misses some notes and mangles a few others. She’s a bit uncertain, maybe a little nervous. (She was never a flawless technician, and having heard a number of her other live recordings I expected as much.) It doesn’t sound horrible, and it doesn’t really detract from the proceedings, but it’s there. The sound quality is decidedly all about Annie, as well, which means that she can and does overpower the notably small orchestra. Mura, when he and his band take over, sound well rehearsed and eager, but also a bit scrappy and not of, say, BPO quality. They also have what I’ll call an Olde Tyme sound, even for the ‘60s. It seems they are informed by even earlier decades. They also lack the intensity of Annie. Anyway, when Annie returns after the orchestral interlude, she delivers fine trills, some nicely nuanced quieter passages, some thrilling faster passages, and an undeniable impetuousness during the transitional passages. Her first take at the distinct left-right passage is superb, with equal weight given to both parts, and the few slips actually seem to enhance the effect. She hammers out the ascending and descending scales a bit later on before tapering off perfectly. The Grand Flourish is grand indeed, and sweeping and propulsive: this is Annie at her formidable best. She’s absorbed in the music, and as a result her music making is absorbing. (When she’s not playing, she’s discreetly but obviously moving along with the music.) Her playing is uneven and temperamental, there’s no doubt, but that adds to the allure. The Adagio un poco mosso finds the orchestra playing quite nicely, but again, it’s Annie’s show. She plays with what I can only describe as firm tenderness. That is, she plays with obvious tenderness and even delicacy, but she never wallows in the music and never lets it become sappy. Mura’s band veers dangerously close to sappy territory at times, but Annie reins them in it seems. The more intense middle section is suitably intense, and then the movement returns to the opening material with enough distinction and difference to satisfy. The concluding Rondo thunders into being under Annie’s fingers. Incisive and potent, she drives the music forward, but she also knows, almost instinctively it seems, when to vary her touch and when to back off. The band does its best to keep up with her, but it’s not a fair match, and the unbalanced sound really doesn’t do them any favors. The energy and excitement of the whole thing compels one to listen greedily to the end. So, here it is, an Emperor by Annie, and I’m quite happy with it. It most definitely is not the best version I’ve heard, and there are disappointing elements in the performance. The orchestra and conductor aren’t at Annie’s level, and the heroine of the performance isn’t in top form, either. But there’s enough there to admire mightily and there’s definitely reason enough to listen many times. Sound quality isn’t as bad as I had feared: it’s good mono – for the 50s. There’s a wide enough dynamic range, and more than enough detail. The balance favors the soloist, which is fine by me. Image quality is about what I’d expect from an over 40-year old Hungarian source. So, this doesn’t join Pollini, Serkin (with Ormandy), or Katchen at the top of the heap, but I’m thrilled to have it.
The next recording in this survey offers pretty significant contrast. This most recent recording I’ve heard, pairing François-Frédéric Guy with Philippe Jordan and the Orchestre Philharmonique De Radio France, is more about subtlety and details. Sure, the orchestra opens with more than enough heft in the Allegro, and the energy level is quite high, but when it comes to Guy, well, he’s different. He seems to want to do it all, and in many ways he does. He’s nimble and swift and nuanced and strong. When he returns after the orchestral interlude his playing is a model of Gallic pianism: feathery-light, super-clean trills; ultra-nuanced piano and pianissimo playing; grace and detail; perhaps more surface than depth. The first left-right split (and the second one, too) is of about average clarity, but it displays a certain “organic” trait – it’s blended and seems to emerge perfectly from what came before. The trills that come a bit later end up sounding dry and front-loaded, if you will (ie, precise and clean, followed by a gradual, gentle blurring). The Grand Flourish is broad and fluid and a bit on the small side. Afterward, Guy seems to stop and smell the roses, as it were: he revels in the dynamic and stylistic contrasts of the music, and he takes his time. The orchestra plays superbly throughout, but then between about 17’ and 18’, they do something I’ve not heard in any other recording, at least to this extent. They terrace the dynamics up and down. It’s really quite impressive. (Could it be an engineering trick, or at least aided in the engineering process?) Moving on to the Adagio finds something new. The orchestra plays with a sort of prim, crisp romanticism, with especially fine low strings. Guy is in his element here, his almost hypersensitive touch harking back to Schnabel and Serkin (with Bernstein) – almost. The movement more or less remains a mix of these two elements throughout, with the more vigorous middle section sounding just a bit soft. The Rondo opens with playing that lacks the nth degree of power and energy, but it definitely sounds confident and clear. Superb orchestral execution tied to more nifty terracing make for a fine contrast to Guy. All these strong elements never quite seem to jell completely though. It’s lower wattage than I tend to prefer. And that is the case with the whole thing. Guy is a supremely talented pianist, no doubt of that, and both conductor and band display modern day technical skill, but it never really ignites. That written, I know why some people may like this a lot. Sound is state of the art, and the instrumental balance is concert hall realistic – no supersize piano here.
Time now for the great Youri Egorov’s version. Here’s a version I was hoping to love, to place in the upper echelon of recordings. Alas, I cannot. There’s just too much that gets in the way. The first doubts arrive at the very beginning. Egorov opens the Allegro with a smooth, swelling sound, but it never becomes as big and forceful as it should. It’s just a bit too lush and relaxed. Not helping any is Wolfgang Sawallisch’s somewhat heavy-handed conducting of the Philharmonia, which results in a slightly thick and not so driven sound. Egorov’s return is lighter and nimbler with some of the best trills I’ve heard. He definitely excels in the quieter sections, particularly since his louder playing can become a tad too metallic. It seems he can find shadings and nuances lost to most pianists. He’s almost like a super-virtuosic Kempff in that regard; he produces literally gobs of aural beauty. The left-right split shows his versatility, too; it sounds almost like two different pianists, the left hand rich, spacious, and fluid, the right taut and more precise and nimble. Unfortunately, when the Grand Flourish arrives, Egorov produces undernourished playing. But the trills that come later are simply superb: feathery and buttery smooth and clear all at the same time. So the opening movement is mixed. The same cannot be written of the Adagio. Put succinctly, this is the most beautiful rendition I’ve heard. Sawallisch has the band take it slow, and it delivers some glorious string playing. Egorov then slows everything down some more, and he proceeds to produce a seamless flow of gorgeous pianism. Each note and phrase is imbued with tonal variety and subtle dynamic inflection. It’s lush. It’s gentle. It’s decidedly on the romantic end of the spectrum. His trills here are ethereal. (Oh, if only he had recorded Op 111!) Throughout everything is rightly done to keep all focus on Egorov – the recorded balance, the accompaniment. It’s all so glorious. But then it’s back to less glorious reality. The Rondo opens with notable strength from Egorov, but not really much musical force. Sawallisch brings that, but he also brings back the heavy hand. Egorov generally doesn’t deliver the heat and weight I prefer, though there are extended passages where he keenly displays his chops, gliding effortlessly along. Ultimately, though, one movement does not a concerto make. If he could play the whole thing at the same artistic heights as the Adagio, this would be one of the great recordings. But the outer movements lack the intensity this piece needs.
Next up is a recording by a pianist I now include among my favorites: Christian Zacharias. His 1988 recording with Hans Vonk and the Staatskapelle Dresden displays all of Zacharias’ traits, which I thoroughly enjoy, but it also demonstrates that not every pianist with formidable gifts records a great Emperor. That’s not to write that such a pianist can’t record an enjoyable one. Take the Allegro. Zacharias and his cohorts both deliver excellent openings. The orchestra sounding swift, athletic, and smooth. Zacharias plays with panache. His playing is light, smooth, effortless, and just a bit superficial. He displays superb independence of hands throughout, and he tosses off the trills with mellifluous nonchalance. The left-right passage is superbly clear, yet it still emphasizes the right hand, quite purposely. (The second one is more evenly balanced.) The Grand Flourish is sweeping and incredibly nimble, but it’s also lightweight. All throughout the movement it’s obvious that Zacharias is at his best in the less assertive music, but unlike Guy or Egorov, he dashes off the most intense music with an ease that recalls Gieseking. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with the orchestra playing in lean, light, swift style and then Zacharias enters, playing comparatively swiftly, though he manages to deliver a taut overall tempo blended perfectly with immaculate control and ear seducing tonal beauty. (Zacharias never produces a single unpleasant sound throughout the recording.) In the middle he becomes slightly more forceful as required, and the long trills sound uncommonly lovely and clear. The Rondo opens with outstanding agility on Zacharias’ part, but it’s definitely lightweight stuff. The orchestra doesn’t do much to add heft or martial strength, either. Vonk knows how to support his soloist, though one may ultimately want something more intense. And so it goes until the end. Everything is delivered with immaculate attention to detail and superb articulation. But it’s also just a tad too lightweight. This isn’t stormy, intense Beethoven, this is light, fun Beethoven. That works extremely well in the C major concerto, say, but less well here. Work well it does, though, but I can’t say this joins my favorites.
Always on the lookout for a good or hopefully great new recording, I decided to try Hélène Grimaud teamed with Vladimir Jurowski in their 2006 recording, also with the Staatskapelle Dresden. I’ve tried Grimaud in some other works, and while she can certainly play, she really hasn’t done much for me. I didn’t expect a powerhouse reading – technically or interpretively – but there’s some good stuff here. To start, Grimaud plays the opening ascending passage in a slightly staggered, blocky fashion that catches one’s ear. So too does her bright tone. Jurowski leads a very solid, powerful sounding orchestra to support her, with every musical i dotted and t crossed. It’s here that one of my biggest quibbles with this recording crops up. The sound quality isn’t what I look for. Oh, yes, there’s heft and clarity and details, details, details. Too many details, in fact. This is very modern, very processed recording. The violas sound lovely, for instance, but I seriously doubt they would leap to prominence and then fade out in concert like they do here. (They certainly didn’t the two times I heard this work in concert.) Ditto for various wind instruments. Anyway, back to the playing: Grimaud’s return is somewhat conventional in conception, but it’s excellent in execution. She flits across the keyboard, with coruscating trills and runs. The left-right passage is not ideally clear, and once again there is a right hand prominence. The Grand Flourish is nicely scaled and has just about enough oomph. This becomes another somewhat lightweight take, though. The Adagio opens with cool but sumptuous playing from the band before Grimaud delivers on her promise and plays with careful, delicate beauty. It’s an almost idealized but ultimately too calculated attempt at light romanticism, and there’s even some heavy breathing to enhance the effect. The Rondo bursts into being, with both Grimaud and her supporters playing with a combination of intensity and bouncy energy. Grimaud throws in some nuanced playing here and there, but mostly this is an energetic reading. It may read like I’m not enthusiastic about this recording, but I am. Yes, I have a number of quibbles, from the lightweight approach to the artificial sound, but somehow – and I’m not at all sure how – when taken as a whole, I really like this recording. This recording doesn’t scale Polliniesque heights, but it offers more than enough to bring me back.
Next up is yet another appearance by the great Rudolf Serkin, this time collaborating with the equally great Rafael Kubelik and his Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra in the Orfeo release. In stark contrast to the Grimaud / Jurowski recording, this live recording offers “natural” balance and detail. Nothing jumps out too much. Perhaps as a result, the whole performance takes on a “just right” balance and feel, though one with a few limitations. Serkin opens the Allegro with clean, strong, but slightly cautious and stiff playing. It’s certainly not the barn-storming approach he took decades earlier. (His audible humming shows that his appreciation of the score hadn’t diminished in those decades.) On the plus side, his tone is much more attractive in this recording than in all his other recordings. Kubelik, a master conductor, knows just how to accompany the great pianist, with a lyrical yet energetic style. It may lack that last bit of bite, but such an approach doesn’t seem warranted here. Serkin’s return is lighter and more playful (!) than in earlier versions, with attractive but not world-beating trills and a left-right split ever so slightly favoring the right hand. The Grand Flourish is delivered with suitable intensity and it assumes slightly broad dimensions. One thing is certain, though: Serkin’s absolute command that he displayed in earlier years isn’t present. He’s not sloppy or anything, he’s just not as assured as in earlier versions. He seems to be working a bit harder. (A slightly mistimed reentry by the orchestra mars the proceedings a bit, too.) The Adagio ends up being the strongest movement in this recording, which comes as no surprise given the actors involved. Kubelik directs warm, tender playing from his band (though the low strings sound a bit too plummy). Serkin delivers even more beautiful playing. There’s none of his hard-edged incisiveness here. He almost veers over into sentimentality, or at least the closest approximation of it that Serkin would ever play. It’s almost as attractive as Egorov’s playing, and the overall effect is almost as captivating as in his recording with Bernstein. There’s a beautiful restraint from all involved in this movement. It takes on a calm, autumnal feel, if you will. Serkin starts the Rondo in explosive fashion, though he gives up a bit of clarity and command in the process. Kubelik and his band pack enough punch too, but as the movement progresses, there seems to be more of a cheerful, triumphant mood than an heroic one. That’s fine. There are still hints of Serkin’s earlier muscularity at times, but this time it’s married to a warmer humanity, though those who like the Serkin-y cutting sound will find a few moments of it to cherish. Of the four Serkin recordings I’ve heard, this may in some ways be the weakest. It certainly cannot measure up to his recordings with Ormandy and Bernstein – which are two of the best recordings out there – but Serkin’s older, wiser approach offers something worth hearing.
That brings me to the last recording in this survey, the much lauded recording by Stephen Kovacevich and Colin Davis and the London Symphony Orchestra from the 1970s. Kovacevich is a sometimes maddening pianist. At his recorded best, he is simply great. But his greatest accomplishments seem to be limited to his late Schubert and middle and late Beethoven. (He’s also maddening because in recital he sounds different than on record. When I heard him play Beethoven, Bach and Schubert in recital, his tone had none of the cutting, metallic edge it often has on record.) I did come to this recording with high hopes. But they were dashed. I’ll just write it now: I don’t like this recording. There are some strong points, but overall this one is yet another over-lauded concerto recording from Mr Kovacevich. The Allegro displays both strengths and weaknesses. Kovacevich opens with nice energy and a not unpleasant cutting, metallic sound. Davis, predictably, leads a forceful accompaniment. The orchestra executes superbly, with a sort of industrial efficiency, rather like some of George Szell’s recordings. Kovacevich’s return is very fine and actually shows a bit of nuance, though here it’s mostly about dynamic shading. Tonal variety is not much in evidence. Given the almost one-dimensional nuance, it’s not surprising that the effect is of faux emoting. This is what Kovacevich thinks emotional playing sounds like. The left-right split is not particularly clear and is very right-hand focused, and in the more intense passages his tone takes on a gruff sound and feel. The Grand Flourish is fast ‘n’ furious, and metallic and gruff. The Adagio offers a nice contrast to the opening movement in that it is more attractive – albeit in a sort of mass-produced, by-the-numbers way. While Kovacevich is softer and more delicate here, the monochrome playing off-sets any gains. To boot, the middle section is too restrained. Nothing clicks. Now, one would assume the Rondo would fare better, and it sort of does. It’s stronger, and Kovacevich’s cutting sound is a good thing here. But whether one considers the somewhat lackluster opening, or the not too exciting middle, it just doesn’t seem to click. The playing picks up in the last third or so, but by then it’s too late, and besides, what’s on offer isn’t very appealing. I’ve never really cared for any of Kovacevich’s concerto recordings – the Bartok concertos are brutalized, the Schumann and Grieg concertos are turned into monochrome, unsmiling musical lead – and unfortunately I don’t like the Beethoven concertos either.
So, seven new versions down, and nary a titanic recording among them. Annie Fischer’s comes closest, but it is hampered by a few too many caveats to scale the heights. Hélène Grimaud and Christian Zacharias both offer excellent recordings that I will turn to again to hear lighter takes on the work. And Rudolf Serkin’s recording offers many fine things. But no knock-outs this time around. My collecting pace for this work has slowed in the last year. There are few versions out there that interest me now. (The newly reissued Anton Kuerti cycle and the new John O’Conor cycle head the list.) So perhaps I won’t find a new truly great recording to match my existing favorites. But I don’t know if I can ever give up the search.
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At last! For years I’ve wanted to hear Annie Fischer play the Emperor, and a year or so ago I read about a bootleg version, though I was never able to track it down. Fortunately, the good folks at Doremi have finally delivered what I’ve been waiting for! An actual performance of the work by St Annie! (I don’t know if it’s the same performance as the bootleg.) The performance comes as part of a three disc set – 2 DVDs, 1 CD – that includes eight concertos and a couple encores, recorded from the ‘60s through the ‘80s. Alas, the performance doesn’t find her paired with one of the great conductors of the age – I was rather selfishly hoping for a performance with Klemperer or Fricsay, with whom she regularly collaborated – but with one Peter Mura, and the orchestra is the Hungarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, hardly one of the great bands. Ultimately that is of no matter, or at least little matter. No, it’s the concerto that matters. And here there’s much to enjoy, and some things to be less thrilled about. The Allegro that opens the work encapsulates all of the strengths and weaknesses. Annie opens with superb weight, exciting intensity, and cutting articulation, but she also misses some notes and mangles a few others. She’s a bit uncertain, maybe a little nervous. (She was never a flawless technician, and having heard a number of her other live recordings I expected as much.) It doesn’t sound horrible, and it doesn’t really detract from the proceedings, but it’s there. The sound quality is decidedly all about Annie, as well, which means that she can and does overpower the notably small orchestra. Mura, when he and his band take over, sound well rehearsed and eager, but also a bit scrappy and not of, say, BPO quality. They also have what I’ll call an Olde Tyme sound, even for the ‘60s. It seems they are informed by even earlier decades. They also lack the intensity of Annie. Anyway, when Annie returns after the orchestral interlude, she delivers fine trills, some nicely nuanced quieter passages, some thrilling faster passages, and an undeniable impetuousness during the transitional passages. Her first take at the distinct left-right passage is superb, with equal weight given to both parts, and the few slips actually seem to enhance the effect. She hammers out the ascending and descending scales a bit later on before tapering off perfectly. The Grand Flourish is grand indeed, and sweeping and propulsive: this is Annie at her formidable best. She’s absorbed in the music, and as a result her music making is absorbing. (When she’s not playing, she’s discreetly but obviously moving along with the music.) Her playing is uneven and temperamental, there’s no doubt, but that adds to the allure. The Adagio un poco mosso finds the orchestra playing quite nicely, but again, it’s Annie’s show. She plays with what I can only describe as firm tenderness. That is, she plays with obvious tenderness and even delicacy, but she never wallows in the music and never lets it become sappy. Mura’s band veers dangerously close to sappy territory at times, but Annie reins them in it seems. The more intense middle section is suitably intense, and then the movement returns to the opening material with enough distinction and difference to satisfy. The concluding Rondo thunders into being under Annie’s fingers. Incisive and potent, she drives the music forward, but she also knows, almost instinctively it seems, when to vary her touch and when to back off. The band does its best to keep up with her, but it’s not a fair match, and the unbalanced sound really doesn’t do them any favors. The energy and excitement of the whole thing compels one to listen greedily to the end. So, here it is, an Emperor by Annie, and I’m quite happy with it. It most definitely is not the best version I’ve heard, and there are disappointing elements in the performance. The orchestra and conductor aren’t at Annie’s level, and the heroine of the performance isn’t in top form, either. But there’s enough there to admire mightily and there’s definitely reason enough to listen many times. Sound quality isn’t as bad as I had feared: it’s good mono – for the 50s. There’s a wide enough dynamic range, and more than enough detail. The balance favors the soloist, which is fine by me. Image quality is about what I’d expect from an over 40-year old Hungarian source. So, this doesn’t join Pollini, Serkin (with Ormandy), or Katchen at the top of the heap, but I’m thrilled to have it.
The next recording in this survey offers pretty significant contrast. This most recent recording I’ve heard, pairing François-Frédéric Guy with Philippe Jordan and the Orchestre Philharmonique De Radio France, is more about subtlety and details. Sure, the orchestra opens with more than enough heft in the Allegro, and the energy level is quite high, but when it comes to Guy, well, he’s different. He seems to want to do it all, and in many ways he does. He’s nimble and swift and nuanced and strong. When he returns after the orchestral interlude his playing is a model of Gallic pianism: feathery-light, super-clean trills; ultra-nuanced piano and pianissimo playing; grace and detail; perhaps more surface than depth. The first left-right split (and the second one, too) is of about average clarity, but it displays a certain “organic” trait – it’s blended and seems to emerge perfectly from what came before. The trills that come a bit later end up sounding dry and front-loaded, if you will (ie, precise and clean, followed by a gradual, gentle blurring). The Grand Flourish is broad and fluid and a bit on the small side. Afterward, Guy seems to stop and smell the roses, as it were: he revels in the dynamic and stylistic contrasts of the music, and he takes his time. The orchestra plays superbly throughout, but then between about 17’ and 18’, they do something I’ve not heard in any other recording, at least to this extent. They terrace the dynamics up and down. It’s really quite impressive. (Could it be an engineering trick, or at least aided in the engineering process?) Moving on to the Adagio finds something new. The orchestra plays with a sort of prim, crisp romanticism, with especially fine low strings. Guy is in his element here, his almost hypersensitive touch harking back to Schnabel and Serkin (with Bernstein) – almost. The movement more or less remains a mix of these two elements throughout, with the more vigorous middle section sounding just a bit soft. The Rondo opens with playing that lacks the nth degree of power and energy, but it definitely sounds confident and clear. Superb orchestral execution tied to more nifty terracing make for a fine contrast to Guy. All these strong elements never quite seem to jell completely though. It’s lower wattage than I tend to prefer. And that is the case with the whole thing. Guy is a supremely talented pianist, no doubt of that, and both conductor and band display modern day technical skill, but it never really ignites. That written, I know why some people may like this a lot. Sound is state of the art, and the instrumental balance is concert hall realistic – no supersize piano here.
Time now for the great Youri Egorov’s version. Here’s a version I was hoping to love, to place in the upper echelon of recordings. Alas, I cannot. There’s just too much that gets in the way. The first doubts arrive at the very beginning. Egorov opens the Allegro with a smooth, swelling sound, but it never becomes as big and forceful as it should. It’s just a bit too lush and relaxed. Not helping any is Wolfgang Sawallisch’s somewhat heavy-handed conducting of the Philharmonia, which results in a slightly thick and not so driven sound. Egorov’s return is lighter and nimbler with some of the best trills I’ve heard. He definitely excels in the quieter sections, particularly since his louder playing can become a tad too metallic. It seems he can find shadings and nuances lost to most pianists. He’s almost like a super-virtuosic Kempff in that regard; he produces literally gobs of aural beauty. The left-right split shows his versatility, too; it sounds almost like two different pianists, the left hand rich, spacious, and fluid, the right taut and more precise and nimble. Unfortunately, when the Grand Flourish arrives, Egorov produces undernourished playing. But the trills that come later are simply superb: feathery and buttery smooth and clear all at the same time. So the opening movement is mixed. The same cannot be written of the Adagio. Put succinctly, this is the most beautiful rendition I’ve heard. Sawallisch has the band take it slow, and it delivers some glorious string playing. Egorov then slows everything down some more, and he proceeds to produce a seamless flow of gorgeous pianism. Each note and phrase is imbued with tonal variety and subtle dynamic inflection. It’s lush. It’s gentle. It’s decidedly on the romantic end of the spectrum. His trills here are ethereal. (Oh, if only he had recorded Op 111!) Throughout everything is rightly done to keep all focus on Egorov – the recorded balance, the accompaniment. It’s all so glorious. But then it’s back to less glorious reality. The Rondo opens with notable strength from Egorov, but not really much musical force. Sawallisch brings that, but he also brings back the heavy hand. Egorov generally doesn’t deliver the heat and weight I prefer, though there are extended passages where he keenly displays his chops, gliding effortlessly along. Ultimately, though, one movement does not a concerto make. If he could play the whole thing at the same artistic heights as the Adagio, this would be one of the great recordings. But the outer movements lack the intensity this piece needs.
Next up is a recording by a pianist I now include among my favorites: Christian Zacharias. His 1988 recording with Hans Vonk and the Staatskapelle Dresden displays all of Zacharias’ traits, which I thoroughly enjoy, but it also demonstrates that not every pianist with formidable gifts records a great Emperor. That’s not to write that such a pianist can’t record an enjoyable one. Take the Allegro. Zacharias and his cohorts both deliver excellent openings. The orchestra sounding swift, athletic, and smooth. Zacharias plays with panache. His playing is light, smooth, effortless, and just a bit superficial. He displays superb independence of hands throughout, and he tosses off the trills with mellifluous nonchalance. The left-right passage is superbly clear, yet it still emphasizes the right hand, quite purposely. (The second one is more evenly balanced.) The Grand Flourish is sweeping and incredibly nimble, but it’s also lightweight. All throughout the movement it’s obvious that Zacharias is at his best in the less assertive music, but unlike Guy or Egorov, he dashes off the most intense music with an ease that recalls Gieseking. The Adagio un poco mosso opens with the orchestra playing in lean, light, swift style and then Zacharias enters, playing comparatively swiftly, though he manages to deliver a taut overall tempo blended perfectly with immaculate control and ear seducing tonal beauty. (Zacharias never produces a single unpleasant sound throughout the recording.) In the middle he becomes slightly more forceful as required, and the long trills sound uncommonly lovely and clear. The Rondo opens with outstanding agility on Zacharias’ part, but it’s definitely lightweight stuff. The orchestra doesn’t do much to add heft or martial strength, either. Vonk knows how to support his soloist, though one may ultimately want something more intense. And so it goes until the end. Everything is delivered with immaculate attention to detail and superb articulation. But it’s also just a tad too lightweight. This isn’t stormy, intense Beethoven, this is light, fun Beethoven. That works extremely well in the C major concerto, say, but less well here. Work well it does, though, but I can’t say this joins my favorites.
Always on the lookout for a good or hopefully great new recording, I decided to try Hélène Grimaud teamed with Vladimir Jurowski in their 2006 recording, also with the Staatskapelle Dresden. I’ve tried Grimaud in some other works, and while she can certainly play, she really hasn’t done much for me. I didn’t expect a powerhouse reading – technically or interpretively – but there’s some good stuff here. To start, Grimaud plays the opening ascending passage in a slightly staggered, blocky fashion that catches one’s ear. So too does her bright tone. Jurowski leads a very solid, powerful sounding orchestra to support her, with every musical i dotted and t crossed. It’s here that one of my biggest quibbles with this recording crops up. The sound quality isn’t what I look for. Oh, yes, there’s heft and clarity and details, details, details. Too many details, in fact. This is very modern, very processed recording. The violas sound lovely, for instance, but I seriously doubt they would leap to prominence and then fade out in concert like they do here. (They certainly didn’t the two times I heard this work in concert.) Ditto for various wind instruments. Anyway, back to the playing: Grimaud’s return is somewhat conventional in conception, but it’s excellent in execution. She flits across the keyboard, with coruscating trills and runs. The left-right passage is not ideally clear, and once again there is a right hand prominence. The Grand Flourish is nicely scaled and has just about enough oomph. This becomes another somewhat lightweight take, though. The Adagio opens with cool but sumptuous playing from the band before Grimaud delivers on her promise and plays with careful, delicate beauty. It’s an almost idealized but ultimately too calculated attempt at light romanticism, and there’s even some heavy breathing to enhance the effect. The Rondo bursts into being, with both Grimaud and her supporters playing with a combination of intensity and bouncy energy. Grimaud throws in some nuanced playing here and there, but mostly this is an energetic reading. It may read like I’m not enthusiastic about this recording, but I am. Yes, I have a number of quibbles, from the lightweight approach to the artificial sound, but somehow – and I’m not at all sure how – when taken as a whole, I really like this recording. This recording doesn’t scale Polliniesque heights, but it offers more than enough to bring me back.
Next up is yet another appearance by the great Rudolf Serkin, this time collaborating with the equally great Rafael Kubelik and his Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra in the Orfeo release. In stark contrast to the Grimaud / Jurowski recording, this live recording offers “natural” balance and detail. Nothing jumps out too much. Perhaps as a result, the whole performance takes on a “just right” balance and feel, though one with a few limitations. Serkin opens the Allegro with clean, strong, but slightly cautious and stiff playing. It’s certainly not the barn-storming approach he took decades earlier. (His audible humming shows that his appreciation of the score hadn’t diminished in those decades.) On the plus side, his tone is much more attractive in this recording than in all his other recordings. Kubelik, a master conductor, knows just how to accompany the great pianist, with a lyrical yet energetic style. It may lack that last bit of bite, but such an approach doesn’t seem warranted here. Serkin’s return is lighter and more playful (!) than in earlier versions, with attractive but not world-beating trills and a left-right split ever so slightly favoring the right hand. The Grand Flourish is delivered with suitable intensity and it assumes slightly broad dimensions. One thing is certain, though: Serkin’s absolute command that he displayed in earlier years isn’t present. He’s not sloppy or anything, he’s just not as assured as in earlier versions. He seems to be working a bit harder. (A slightly mistimed reentry by the orchestra mars the proceedings a bit, too.) The Adagio ends up being the strongest movement in this recording, which comes as no surprise given the actors involved. Kubelik directs warm, tender playing from his band (though the low strings sound a bit too plummy). Serkin delivers even more beautiful playing. There’s none of his hard-edged incisiveness here. He almost veers over into sentimentality, or at least the closest approximation of it that Serkin would ever play. It’s almost as attractive as Egorov’s playing, and the overall effect is almost as captivating as in his recording with Bernstein. There’s a beautiful restraint from all involved in this movement. It takes on a calm, autumnal feel, if you will. Serkin starts the Rondo in explosive fashion, though he gives up a bit of clarity and command in the process. Kubelik and his band pack enough punch too, but as the movement progresses, there seems to be more of a cheerful, triumphant mood than an heroic one. That’s fine. There are still hints of Serkin’s earlier muscularity at times, but this time it’s married to a warmer humanity, though those who like the Serkin-y cutting sound will find a few moments of it to cherish. Of the four Serkin recordings I’ve heard, this may in some ways be the weakest. It certainly cannot measure up to his recordings with Ormandy and Bernstein – which are two of the best recordings out there – but Serkin’s older, wiser approach offers something worth hearing.
That brings me to the last recording in this survey, the much lauded recording by Stephen Kovacevich and Colin Davis and the London Symphony Orchestra from the 1970s. Kovacevich is a sometimes maddening pianist. At his recorded best, he is simply great. But his greatest accomplishments seem to be limited to his late Schubert and middle and late Beethoven. (He’s also maddening because in recital he sounds different than on record. When I heard him play Beethoven, Bach and Schubert in recital, his tone had none of the cutting, metallic edge it often has on record.) I did come to this recording with high hopes. But they were dashed. I’ll just write it now: I don’t like this recording. There are some strong points, but overall this one is yet another over-lauded concerto recording from Mr Kovacevich. The Allegro displays both strengths and weaknesses. Kovacevich opens with nice energy and a not unpleasant cutting, metallic sound. Davis, predictably, leads a forceful accompaniment. The orchestra executes superbly, with a sort of industrial efficiency, rather like some of George Szell’s recordings. Kovacevich’s return is very fine and actually shows a bit of nuance, though here it’s mostly about dynamic shading. Tonal variety is not much in evidence. Given the almost one-dimensional nuance, it’s not surprising that the effect is of faux emoting. This is what Kovacevich thinks emotional playing sounds like. The left-right split is not particularly clear and is very right-hand focused, and in the more intense passages his tone takes on a gruff sound and feel. The Grand Flourish is fast ‘n’ furious, and metallic and gruff. The Adagio offers a nice contrast to the opening movement in that it is more attractive – albeit in a sort of mass-produced, by-the-numbers way. While Kovacevich is softer and more delicate here, the monochrome playing off-sets any gains. To boot, the middle section is too restrained. Nothing clicks. Now, one would assume the Rondo would fare better, and it sort of does. It’s stronger, and Kovacevich’s cutting sound is a good thing here. But whether one considers the somewhat lackluster opening, or the not too exciting middle, it just doesn’t seem to click. The playing picks up in the last third or so, but by then it’s too late, and besides, what’s on offer isn’t very appealing. I’ve never really cared for any of Kovacevich’s concerto recordings – the Bartok concertos are brutalized, the Schumann and Grieg concertos are turned into monochrome, unsmiling musical lead – and unfortunately I don’t like the Beethoven concertos either.
So, seven new versions down, and nary a titanic recording among them. Annie Fischer’s comes closest, but it is hampered by a few too many caveats to scale the heights. Hélène Grimaud and Christian Zacharias both offer excellent recordings that I will turn to again to hear lighter takes on the work. And Rudolf Serkin’s recording offers many fine things. But no knock-outs this time around. My collecting pace for this work has slowed in the last year. There are few versions out there that interest me now. (The newly reissued Anton Kuerti cycle and the new John O’Conor cycle head the list.) So perhaps I won’t find a new truly great recording to match my existing favorites. But I don’t know if I can ever give up the search.
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