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Beethoven Piano Concerti Comparative Survey: May 2013

Overview

Concerto No.1 (72 versions compared)



Concerto No. 4 (94 versions compared)

Concerto No. 5 (106 versions compared)

Concerto in D, Opus 61a: Commentary

Recommended Recordings

© Graham Reid 2014. All Rights Reserved


Overview

The piano concerti of Beethoven occupy a unique position in the standard

repertoire. Before Beethoven, in the Early Classical period, we have offerings by

both Mozart and Haydn, and after Beethoven in the Romantic era, we have

countless choices to choose from, but in the height of the Late Classical period

there is only Beethoven. I know, I can hear the musicologist out there clamoring

about “transitional works” by Hummel or Weber or Moscheles, but please. How

often have you heard a concert featuring a concerto by Hummel or Moscheles?

Exactly. As I said: for concerti of the Late Classical period there is only Beethoven.

During Beethoven’s period he dominated the scene as both a barnstorming

virtuoso and as daring and mold-breaking composer. The only other composer of

this time period whom we have posthumously ascribed comparable stature to

Beethoven is Schubert. But Schubert didn’t have the disposition to write virtuoso

showcases and instead focused his creative energies on Lieder and more intimate

piano works.

Beethoven’s concerti have remained popular with audiences since they were first

premiered. The reason is easy to understand: they really are the only works which

perfectly integrate the readily-grasped forms of the Classical period with the

greater drama and expressive range that made Beethoven such a compelling and

larger-than-life force in the music world.

It is common practice in music history classes to divide Beethoven’s oeuvre into

Early, Middle, and Late periods, and that’s as good as any method to understand

the tremendous evolutionary range of this composer’s creative genius. But, there

were certain works of his early and middle period which looked more forward than

other opuses of the time, and there are actually plenty of instances where

Beethoven looked backward and reverted to earlier styles. Was this due to some

fond recollection or desire to return to simpler times, was it to quell the dissenting

voices of conservative critics, were they “facile” works intended for use by students,

was it expedience and financial need (to provide sustenance while greater creative

works were only the back burner), did it require less creative energy to revert back

to simpler, proven forms? None of the biographies or studies I’ve read on

Beethoven’s life satisfactorily answer all of these questions.

One thing is for certain: the concerti of Beethoven were more or less restricted to

his early and middle creative periods because as his hearing deteriorated it became

impossible for him to appear as a soloist in his own concerti. It is also quite

apparent that none of the concerti even come close to some of the radical, form-

breaking concepts of his late period. So within this span of his creative output, we

have six concerti that fall within this early and middle period. I count the

numbered concerti 1-5 and also include Beethoven’s own transcription of the

Violin Concerto, Opus 61 as a valid and worthwhile entry into the cycle of piano

concerti.


Now, it’s a seemingly odd anomaly that in conducting this massive comparative

survey, I discerned a clear pattern of certain performers being better suited to the

early period concerti, and others being better suited to the middle period concerti.

Why should this be? I mean, performing musicians are exposed to all eras of the

repertoire in music school, and are required to show adequate understanding of

each style. I myself have performed Bach, Scarlatti, Chopin, Reger, Messiaen and

others—a truly broad divergence of musical styles. It’s been a long while since I

actually performed anything, but when I did, I certainly didn’t feel like I was giving

short shrift to one style in preference for another.

If you sense a digression into psychological dispositions, you have caught on to my

way of thinking and working through apparent dichotomies. In the case of the

Beethoven concerti, do we require in a performer the ability to shift perspectives

and to actually retrace the evolutionary process of Beethoven’s creative style? Or

do we profess a preference for one style over the other: the more structured and

classical side of Beethoven, or the more free and expressive side that brought forth

the dawn of the Romantic era? With so many choices of recordings available, one

can easily find a performer who plays the entire cycle with a clean and classical

style, or one can find a performer who plays with a more round and romantic tone

with less rigid adherence to metric delineation.

Myself, I want to hear the evolution of styles in Beethoven, and believe it or not,

even with all the choices available out there, this makes it very difficult for me to

settle on one integral cycle as a reference point. The concept of integral cycles,

that is, complete bodies of works performed by a single interpreter, requires some

discussion.

I’ve never been one to buy a complete set of anything and then think I’ve done due

diligence and am done with it. Even as a teenager, I was always one to find the

best interpretations of each individual work. At one time I even made composite

tapes of every favorite work, with the best performances selected for each etude,

prelude, or movement. But I haven’t done that in twenty years because I find the

changing of gears more disruptive than any advantage gained in selecting

individual performers for each individual movement. Just the change in sound of

various pianos and acoustic venues is enough to disrupt any really deep

communicative bond with the music. But, I’m still reluctant to buy complete sets

of anything.

The advantages of a complete set are that we have one interpreter’s consistent

vision of how the various works should be characterized. By changing it up, one

conductor for this symphony, another for that, the casual listener is never sure

how much of why they may prefer this symphony or another is due to innate

musical characteristics, or the change in performer. A consistent interpretive

viewpoint allows them to focus first and foremost on the music.


Most of the online forums and “lists” proffered on Amazon or YouTube, or

discussion forums such as good-music-guide.com, concern which is the best

overall set of Beethoven concerti to have. If I knew a person was willing to own

two sets, I’d probably recommend Schiff and Arrau and be done with the

discussion. Those two interpreters offer the most complete contrast of style, Schiff

in the classical, chiseled style, and Arrau in the more rounded and romantic style,

yet both are utterly compelling in their own manner. The difficulty comes in

deciding which one set is “best” and that inevitably means that I must consider

who has made the most salient and defensible compromises between the two

extremes. And there is always the worry that by being neither hot, nor cold, one

ends up with a lukewarm tepidity that never really engages or inspires.

So to be up front, I don’t really whole-heartedly, and unequivocally recommend

any single complete set of the Beethoven Concerti. But that’s because while I can

enjoy Schiff in the earlier concerti, and Arrau in the later works, I find both of their

forays at the other ends largely unsatisfying. And safe bet, middle-of-the road

renderings such as Perahia, come close to satisfying on all accounts, but lack that

last bit of sparkle or depth or whatever that keeps me going back to my favorite

performances of each work.

So let’s return to the idea of individual preferences, because that may be the easiest

way to find performances that will satisfy. One thing that is certain: the liner

notes and concert program notes one reads are nearly worthless. If I have to wade

through another writer’s tiresome attempt (thesaurus in hand) at some new and

fresh simile at exposition, development and coda I’m sure I’ll suffer an aneurism.

That is not how people listen, and it is not how composers intended that they

listen. So give it all a rest, please!

If you’d really like to explore the issues of listener psychology refer to my 60-page

essay on the topic, Listener Psychology: How We Perceive Music. Over the decades

I’ve tried all kinds of methods to try and distill to my students as succinctly as

possible the deeper levels of meaning in music. Now, for me, music is like a

religion, but I don’t expect every student or reader to approach music with the

same level of fervor. At the same time, I’m always seeking to bridge the gap

between “casual” listening and deep artistic immersion.

One of the first revelations I had about different levels of listening was back in the

early 80’s when Pogorelic first won international acclaim. A younger piano

enthusiast and player of some natural facility brought to me a review of Pogorelic’s

Chopin Sonata. Since he knew I was an avid record collector, he wanted to hear

what it meant when the reviewer said that the recording was “more Pogorelic than

Chopin” and he was also intrigued by the “extreme and explosive dynamic range”

the reviewer talked about. So I played the Pogorelic and compared it with

recordings by Perahia, Rubinstein and Cortot, and of the first three he thought

they all sounded the same, and that the Cortot sounded funny because it was such

an old recording. He really could not discern any differences at all between the


different interpretations. Disappointed by the experience, he confessed that by

reading the review he had expected that Pogorelic had broken out into some

improvisatory riffs, or whole scale shifts in dynamic levels, but merely shrugged at

the end of the exercise and said “they’re all just playing the same notes.”

Another time, when the early music original instruments movements was hitting

its peak of notoriety, I played for a group of adult students two movements from

two different Beethoven Symphonies, one as rendered by Norrington’s ensemble

on original instruments and the other as played with Mahler’s re-orchestrations.

To me the differences were night and day, as the experiment was set up to

demonstrate. Yet five of the six students heard no differences at all, other than

that “the sound of the two recordings was a little different.” The sixth heard some

difference, but not enough to decide in the favor of one over the other. This was

really a staggering revelation. Just as before, they were hearing “the same notes”

the commonality of the two recordings, but missing entirely any of the

distinguishing differences. They were hearing the outline of the notes, but not the

internal Spannung (connective tension) of the musical narrative.

These were adult students who all professed a love for classical music, and were

taking lessons from me to be able and play some classical music for their own

enjoyment at home. They were playing some of the easier sonatas of Beethoven

(the Pathetique or Tempest) and some were playing a few of the intermediate level

Rachmaninoff preludes. They all listened to the local classical radio station, and

all attended a classical concert or musical production at least once a year. This is

the very demographic profile that concert promoters and classical radio stations

target. Yet, their “enjoyment” of classical music was at a fundamentally simple

level that was at great odds with my own immersive experiences.

A few years later I had a couple of talented students, one of whom I took to a piano

competition, and I was determined to re-visit the idea of increasing their

perception of interpretive differences, if only to fine-hone their ear and help them

understand their own expressive tendencies. This time I played them various

recordings of works they were actually polishing for recital readiness. For the one

student who was preparing for a university audition as a music major, I played five

versions of the Rachmaninoff G-minor Prelude, and asked him to describe the

narrative story, or the mood. This time I actually had some success in getting

through. He very reasonably described the nature of each interpretation, the

moods, and even places where he though the artist was too literal or too liberal,

and which most closely approximated his own preference for how he would like to

play the work. With the Korean girl, I had less success, because she was focused

on which versions sounded the smoothest and most pleasing. But in either case,

they were actually able to talk about differences to a degree that we could all

communicate about a common experience.

The difference was that these were works that the students had actually studied

sufficiently to have a grasp of the intricacies of texture and structure and of the


underlying dramatic currents. The group that listened to the Beethoven

symphonies had never studied those works, and quite possibly had never even

heard those particular movements. For the casual listener, the outline of the

music, the most basic mood of the music, is all they can grasp.

All this to say that the more one listens with intent focus, the more one discerns.

But if you put on the same recording over and over as a sort of background music,

you will never progress in your ability to discern subtle distinctions in

interpretation. Such distinctions, as the wine connoisseur will attest, make all the

difference between mere beverage and an experience that inspires poetic rapture.

This is why serious collectors amass so many different recordings of works they

love; each offers a new perspective, a different scenic path, a different vintage from

the same vineyard. Differences that are relished and in some cases cherished. This

is the one fundamental failure of music education in the U.S.: the focus is on

history, form and structure, and not on how to actually listen to music. In this

regard, I often have much more meaningful conversations about classical music

recordings with audiophiles than I do with actual pianists or professors of music.

The audiophiles are actually listening, the pianists and professors may have one or

two recordings of the major works, enough to hear “how it’s supposed to be” but

can’t really get beyond tempo, ensemble cohesion, or other surface details.

So, back to the Beethoven Concerti, and why I care about the differences between

them. First off, I’m not so self-righteous that I would detest a person who may hold

dear performances that I don’t consider to be the best. In most cases I can

understand where they are coming from. What I have a problem with is people

who are belligerent and bellicose and try to shout down any other opinion. Now, I

don’t go as far as to say that anything goes, and “to each his own,” rather, I

encourage understanding of what conditions people to have the preferences that

they do.

Case in point. I knew a petite, sixty-year-old Chilean woman who revered

everything Claudio Arrau played. The starting point of her reverence for Arrau

must have surely been the common heritage of them both being from Chile. There

was pride and respect just in the way she spoke his name. Whatever first created

this bond, maybe she attended a concert of his (I don’t know), after some decades

of listening there evolved a congruence of musical aesthetics such that any other

noticeably different approaches came as a shock to her and were immediately

repulsed as “bad” or illegitimate. Imagine: for decades she has listened to the

Beethoven Emperor played by Arrau when suddenly she hears on the radio a

performance by Glenn Gould! Her entire sound world concerning piano playing is

based on the late-romantic manner of legato tone production, and now here is this

spikey music with odd lurching phrases and some harsh accents. “That can’t be

right” she thinks, “this guy doesn’t know what he’s doing.”


So I understand her world view, and if she loves classical music and supports the

arts, I accept her as a member of the family of music lovers, though it may be a bit

akin to accepting one’s doting old grandma and trying to avert the inevitable pinch

of the cheek.

Where I would draw the line on my patience would be if she were to launch

attacks on YouTube postings crying foul and “only Arrau understands” or “This is

terrible, listen to Arrau to truly understand the greatness of this music.” And I

really do read such postings all the time. Actually some of the proclamations go

even further into the realm of absurdity than that.

But people have preferences for some very specific psychological reasons. Much of

this has to do with the energetic level of the music. Some listeners thrive off of

nervous energy, incessant and edgy needling of the musical line. Others find that

abhorrent and disruptive to their enjoyment; they desire a relaxed presentation of

smooth equanimity so their thoughts can wander and flow with the contours of

the music. With that in mind I’ve made recommendations based on different

“listener profiles.” But as an overall endorsement for a Piano Enthusiast Reference

Recording, I do consider that there should be some allowance for a progression in

Beethoven’s evolutionary style, more clean and metrically propulsive (sort of like

Haydn on steroids) in the first two concerti, bigger-boned but not yet romantically

expressive for the third concerto and the D-major Op. 61b, and with more poetic

license in the last two, G-Major and Emperor.

Even decades later (over forty years!), after having grown up listening to Serkin’s

recordings, I’m still not entirely convinced by performances that veer too far off

from this model. Now I know that Serkin’s renderings were considered somewhat

rustic and bumptious, ascetic and austere, and lacking in grace and expressive

warmth. Yet that is exactly how I envision Beethoven; certainly not an elegant

dandy like Chopin, nor a romantic crooner. This was a man of fierce independence

and a certain degree of vulgarity. When I hear the smoothness of Arrau’s

Beethoven, it sounds a bit idealized to me, with some of the stark outlines

airbrushed with Rubinesque padding. So I have to listen very carefully to divine

the deeper, immutable message of Arrau’s conceptions. Likewise when I hear

lightweight, whistle-clean renderings that whitewash over some of Beethoven’s

coarser gestures.

In concept, I still consider Serkin a very authentic exponent of Beethoven’s true

character, but unfortunately, each of his various recordings have flaws, or an

unpleasant recorded quality, or less than perfect collaborators, such that none can

be considered go-to favorites whenever I want to put on a recording. The one

standout that I do go to is the recording of the Fourth with Ozawa and the Boston

Symphony Orchestra. Yes, the ’54 version with Ormandy is more vigorous and

propulsive, and the ’59 version with Munch is even more fiery (especially in the

cadenza) and in terms of interpretive concept those earlier recording come closer

to the energetic disposition I believe Beethoven had in mind. But, in those terms


they will always be vigorous performances that play second fiddle to more adept

and collaboratively cohesive versions by Backhaus, Kempff, or Gieseking. The

version with Boston is a singularity in the cosmos and plays second fiddle to none.

It may be more measured and less propulsive, but there is an inner glow and

understanding that comes from decades’ worth of reflection. Serkin’s tone was

never better than this: warm and loving and perfectly tapered in phrasing and

dynamic contour. Telarc captures all of this with an uncommon degree of realism

that makes it hard to go back to colorless and dynamically restricted historical

recordings.

As I say repeatedly in these surveys, there is not, and never can be, an ultimate,

perfect performance of any piece. Beethoven himself was known to vary certain

details from performance to performance because there is not a single solution

that can address every circumstance of ensemble, acoustics, or even mood of the

day. It is my job as a critic to recognize the legitimacy of various approaches, but

also recognize that regardless of perspective, regardless of the underlying artistic

intention, certain performances pull it all together better than others.

We need to recognize and laud those performances which give a “high-value

return” in terms of artistic depth and musical authenticity because it takes a lot of

effort and commitment to strive for a higher standard. And these days, as

concerns the limited budgets of classical recording companies, we need to applaud

the foresight of putting together compatible artists, and funding the initial and

sizeable financial risks for such ventures so that we preserve worthwhile artistic

legacies into the future. Though I attempt to remain positive, I will also cry foul

when performances or recordings pose as legitimate offerings but turn out to be

just hype and fail to deliver the full value of the musical experience. Why should

inferior productions sap financial resources from more worthy ventures? Why

waste your time listening to budget recordings of poor quality by unknown artists

when the catalogs are now bursting with budget releases of classic performances

that have beautifully captured the artistic insights of more accomplished

musicians? Another pet-peeve are recordings that are so eccentric and left field

that they really should have warnings on the front cover saying: This is an

experimental conceptualization of Beethoven. When I spend good money and

take valuable time to listen to renderings on the fringe of reality I am really irked.

Such performances end up on my “Hall of Shame” list. Let’s support what is good

within the arts, go to hear artists who offer edifying insights (as opposed to merely

efficient concert run-throughs) and actually buy some recordings instead of

mooching for free on YouTube. Keep a light on at home for the fine arts in our

lives, and keep the aspidistra flying!


Concerto No. 1 in C, Opus 15

In this concerto my usual analytical-critical thinking is overlaid with some mixed

feelings owing to my own personal experiences. The Opus 15 was one of the few

works I ever played with an orchestra, when at age 16 I was one of three finalists in

a regional competition. Even though it was a closed audition before judges (not a

public concert) it was fun to actually hear the orchestra instead of my teacher

playing the second part on a thuddy old piano. On the positive side, whenever I

hear this concerto some of that original enthusiasm comes back full force. On the

negative side are many jumbled feelings about the experience. First off, and

irrespective of the pianists involved, the girl who won played the Mozart D-minor.

I was aghast that the judges would choose Mozart over Beethoven for the honor of

the first prize and public concert. That went against any understanding I had at

the time. As a teenage male, Beethoven ruled, and Mozart was for “old ladies” like

Lili Krauss! My Beethoven was just better than her Mozart, period!

Secondly, I really felt like I was the more confident and experienced player, after

all she was a full year younger than me! Thirdly, I might have won if the conductor

hadn’t been such a stick in the mud. You see, I had prepared the first movement

to 144 beats per minute, a true Allegro con brio. But the conductor—some old guy

with hair growing out of his nose and ears—wanted a less hectic tempo of 126. Not

only that but he didn’t like the cadenza I had prepared and was so proud of. I

played an abridged version of the Czerny cadenza (from the Molto Allegro to the

end, without all the rhapsodizing modulations) which was written under the

subversion of Beethoven himself when Czerny was a student. In any case, the

conductor wanted one of the cadenzas actually written by Beethoven, so at the

last, I substituted the shorter cadenza (No. 2) written by good ole Louis himself.

The final straw, and a real talking point for years as I recalled events, was how the

clarinet player had squawked and ruined everything. My, oh my!

But, thinking back (and having no recording of the event to assess) I realize that in

my mind, if I played the music to tempo and made no mistakes then it was a job

well done. I really hadn’t yet developed any sense of tonal refinement. Perhaps

my vigorous Allegro was really too bumptious and the conductor merely reigned in

the tempo so it wouldn’t seem so forced and aggressive. Nah, I’m sure he was just

an old fuddy-duddy!

Whenever I hear a good vigorous performance at 144, and no clarinets squawking,

I sort of relive my experience vicariously, and emerge victorious. Now, psychol-

ogists among you, please don’t read too much into all of this, because in all

honesty, I haven’t felt the experiential pang of these events for forty years now. But

just writing all this down makes me ponder all the warped and distorted

viewpoints that talented teenagers and competition winners and losers must have

to process. The take-away from all of this is that a job well done deserves to be

praised, and that less than ideal performances may warrant a certain degree of


mercy from the critic’s sharp quill. Who is really to blame for sluggish tempos?

The pianist, or the conductor who can’t hear because he has hair growing out of

his ears? Maybe the pianist had an upset stomach. Maybe the piano was horrible

and unresponsive. Maybe that clarinet squawk or horn crackle was the only time

those players ever slipped, and they were duly mortified by the experience.

As a consumer looking for a recording to enjoy, you can be assured that I’ve

removed all the “ifs, ands and buts” and made recommendations that present as

idealized performances as possible. So let’s take a look at what it takes for a

winning performance!

Whenever I do these surveys I always look for connective commonalities;

tendencies and characteristics that the most successful, or least successful

performances, have in common. Usually, I find that energy level plays a key role,

especially micro versus macro dynamic inflection. I’ve also found that tempo plays

a role, even given the same relative input of energy from the performers. In this

regard I’ll never forget a demonstration at a master class where students were

asked to play their pieces one notch higher or lower on the metronome than they

did when they first sat down and played. Everybody in the class was amazed at

how much difference one small increment could make in bringing a lackluster

performance to life, or an edgy performance to a more focused and natural sense

of balance. All of these issues come into play in this concerto. But after

completing my evaluation of over seventy performances, I was still puzzled by a

few things that at first eluded a sense of connectivity.

That elusive element turned out to be, to put a succinct descriptive label on it,

masculine versus feminine characterization. That in itself requires some

definition. We might all have slightly different ideas about what that means in

terms of specific details, but in general, the archetype concepts of feminine and

masculine in music would be thus: feminine would tend toward gentler

disposition, less aggressive in terms of dynamics and articulation, and depending

on the type of music, might emphasize the lyrical over the dramatic and

declamatory, and tend toward a supplicating or conciliatory nature regarding the

portrayal of the music’s innate contrasts. Masculine, at its most overt would be

the opposite of those characteristics. Let’s not get the P.C. Police riled up here—I

don’t care if a performer is straight, gay, lipstick lesbian, dyke on a bike,

transsexual, celibate or eunuch (did I leave anybody out?)—I’m talking about

universal concepts of character.

I have reiterated often the idea that great masterworks seem to thrive on a variety

of different interpretive perspectives. Even so, some conceptions will seem to ring

truer (for most people) than others. Think of pianists as actors. Over their lives

they play many roles, and the greater the actor, the greater the extent of the roles.

But certain innate characteristics of personality put a limit on what types of roles

can be played with complete believability. The innate expressive tendencies of

composers may be said to be like particular genres of film or prose (drama,


comedy, mystery…). The idea is to consider which pianists might be best attuned

to certain composers. A savvy producer would not cast Sylvester Stallone in a film

like Shakespeare in Love. Likewise, we can be fairly certain that Schnabel and Liszt

would not be an optimal pairing of musical personalities if we are at all concerned

with the veracity of the end result.

I’m sure there are probably a few listeners who actively seek out the most unusual

interpretations of works who would find a Schnabel Liszt Sonata entertaining. I’m

not at all interested in perverse distortions which try to pass as some new and

profound artistic vision: “Let’s try the first prelude of the WTC all pizzicato, or

maybe very slow and fortissimo,” or maybe “let’s play the opening movement of

the Moonlight Sonata at twice the traditional tempo.” You won’t find me

advocating any such extreme notions in these surveys.

Assuming a serious attempt at musical verity, I find that the best interpretations,

the ones that have stood the test of time over the decades, seem to be neither

completely masculine nor completely feminine in disposition, but some blending

of both. I can think of some extremely muscular, pedal-to-the-metal performance

of the Chopin Etudes that I can appreciate at that limited level, while similarly

being captivated by another performance that is more lyrical and elegant and

reaches a true fortissimo level in but a few instances. For an entire program, or

when considering a definitive recording, I’ll probably look for something that

balances those two extremes. And of course we all know that Chopin said he’d

punch a hole in the piano if he had the strength, so we justify a lot of iron-fisted

and insensitive playing. Some works seem to require this most extreme physical

expression of Chopin, but in general, I consider Chopin a composer whose

elegance of line and texture more closely align with what I’m calling the feminine

attributes of music. Mozart and Schubert would also fit this profile. Beethoven, on

the other hand, is for me, entirely masculine.

There was a musicological study by Paul Farnsworth entitled “Masculinity and

Femininity of Musical Phenomena” published in 1951 which took responses by both

laymen and professional musicians regarding the perception of various composer’s

music on a continuum of masculine to feminine. Bach, Beethoven, Wagner and

Shostakovich were regarded as most masculine in character, whereas the music of

Schubert, Chopin and Debussy were most often considered of a feminine nature.

So, while the subject is somewhat obscure, at least I know I’m not entirely out in

left field here.

Any other labels I can think of—Mars versus Venus, passive versus aggressive,

coarse versus refined—quickly become awkward when trying to categorize certain

performance tendencies. Therefore, the concept of masculine versus feminine is

the only way I can explain how I can enjoy performances that span the extreme

ranges of tempo from Barenboim and Klemperer to Gould and Golschmann,

intimate chamber-like ensemble of Pinnock and the Ottawa Orchestra to the full

symphonic sonority of Davis and the London Symphony Orchestra, historic


performance practice of Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music to the

modern color of Blomstedt and the Concertgebouw, micro-dynamic inflection of

Schiff to the macro-dynamic inflection of Arrau. That covers a vast array of

interpretive perspectives, yet what they all have in common is an authentic

masculine character.

An example of an inauthentic approach would be that of Uchida. Here is a case

where the actor (actress) is miscast. Now, for a live concert, there’s no reason why

a conductor can’t consider any kind of performance (authentic or not) as an

exploration of interpretive range. There’s no reason why a small record label

might also record interesting artists who are to the right or left of the mainstream.

Rightly or wrongly, I sort of assume that any major, highly-marketed cycle of

cornerstone repertoire by a big label is an attempt to garner acceptance among

serious contenders for a limited piece of the consumer pie. Record executives have

to look at their catalog, see what is old and needing to be refreshed, which of their

artists are actively playing what, and which recording projects will have a possible,

if slim, payback in terms of investment. Given those criterion, I would have never

signed on Uchida for a series of Beethoven anything. Her Mozart is good, and I

can see her for more lyrical works by Schubert (the G Major Fantasy-Sonata, the

Impromptus, but not the dramatic works such as the Wanderer), I can see her for

fanciful works by Schumann (Carnaval), and I bet she’d be good in Bach, Debussy,

maybe even in mystical and prismatic Messiaen. Anything other than heavy

romantic works, or Beethoven.

Specifically, what I find inauthentic is this: she minimizes dynamic contrasts,

underplays dynamic levels (mf instead of ff), restricts her range of articulation to

always favor a refined and elegant tone, and in the cadenza she reads dolce to

mean Nocturna Serenata. Additionally, she takes one of the most colorful and

harmonically rich piano designs in the world (Hamburg Steinway) and has them

voiced for maximum homogeneity (might as well play a Kawai). Then, by adjusting

her touch, she further minimizes contrasts in textures and internal dialog, the

most obvious being the many passages in the rondo movement where the left hand

crosses back and forth over the right hand. What I want to hear, and what the best

performers do, is give the illusion of two operatic characters in an animated on-

stage dialog. If the piano doesn’t allow for distinctive contrasts of register, then

one must adjust one’s articulation (like Schnabel did on his harmonically linear

Bechstein). Even if you don’t buy into the masculine and feminine vocal analogy,

then the most simple, absolutist, contrast of register, such as even Bach would

employ on a two manual harpsichord—these are the contrasts which are made

one-dimensional and without color by Uchida.

Many people make the mistake of watching Uchida’s animated body language and

equating that with pianistic/musical character. Not so. Early Ashkenazy had the

same “problem” where he’d bop and “mouth” to every musical gesture when in

fact, what was coming out of the piano was rather limited in range. In both cases,


the body language fills in for what is missing in the keyboard/musical interface.

Now, not many listeners derive enjoyment watching a completely stoic pianist on

stage, irrespective of what range of pianistic colors emerge. But ideally, the most

feted artists of our time should demonstrate both: ability to communicate with an

audience, and ability to produce color and texture that can stand the scrutiny of

recordings and repeated listening.

This trend for live concert recordings disturbs me to no end, especially when a

serious artist such as Brendel continues to say in interviews that an audience helps

inspire him to reach deeper into the music. Maybe this has some merit when

comparing a program of solo piano music recorded at a live concert event such as

Carnegie Hall versus a late night studio recording where the pianist is alone at

their instrument and the recording technician is in a control booth or hiding

unobtrusively in the shadows somewhere. But for concerto recordings, you mean

to tell me that playing in front of a hundred fellow musicians and some of the

great conductors of our time is not sufficiently inspiring? The only possible

difference that playing live before an audience makes is that you can’t stop the

recorder and start over. This in itself creates some tension and self-consciousness

which may give one a shot of adrenalin, but which can only have the opposite

effect of reaching deeper into the music (not to mention disruptive elements such

as fits of coughing). If music making has become so routine that it is this shot of

adrenalin, this surging rise in blood pressure, that seems to impart new life to the

performance, then a good cup of coffee can do the same thing. I know from

personal experience that playing the same music I always play, but when I’m weak

from an illness, or have elevated blood pressure from coffee creates a bit of tension

between the intellect (the conception I have of how the music should be played)

versus the body which may be trying to pull this way or that.

The Russian conductor, Rozhdestvensky, when rehearsing an orchestra for a

performance of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, would determine at what tempo the

orchestra could play with accuracy, then for recording or live concert he would

intentionally notch up the tempo to put the players on edge and give the music a

sense of urgency. Glenn Gould would do numerous takes (up to 14 takes for one

Bach Partita) and listen to each carefully for differences in energy level, voice

leading, etc. One fugal entry a bit more vehement could start a whole chain of

events that would lead to an entirely different characterization of a movement.

I understand the need to extend beyond comfortable boundaries, and to explore

music in a variety of differing perspectives. But these should all derive from within

the performer and not rely on external conditions. Casals said the most meaningful

moments of music creation for him were his Sunday morning meditations with

just him and his cello playing Bach. I remain skeptical that external stimuli could

inspire deeper probity of conception or more beautiful playing.

Returning to the subject at hand, the next logical question is, of course, why I

consider Beethoven to be essentially masculine, and to the degree that a


performance such as Uchida’s would be considered inauthentic. First, even before

Beethoven’s hearing ailment became manifest and he consequently retreated

further and further from public life, he was always a contrarian. He had to be to

stand up to his father. He showed very little respect for his teacher Haydn, had

very little to say that was kind about Mozart or any of his contemporaries, and was

by every measure completely full of himself. Even when he used his extrovert

character to work a crowd, he was known to poke fun at those in his audience,

often with an acerbic and pugnacious sarcasm. And that was his good side. Other

times he would deride his listeners for reacting with such sentiment to his

expressive slow movements. And with his hearing problem he became increasingly

taciturn and anti-social. That’s a brief profile of his psychological disposition.

Musically, he was known to be a more forceful and dynamic player than anything

yet heard, and this long before the hearing problem and stories of broken

hammers and strings. His outsize personality pushed against anything that

restricted maximum impact, a tendency which in later works manifests into

writing that was considered impossible for instrumental or vocal performance.

In dress, speech, eating and drinking habits, sloppy penmanship, personal hygiene,

defiance against privilege, explosive rage… in just about any characteristic we

know, he was the opposite of an elegant, refined dandy in the musical world. This

is why I say that an authentic performance needs to have, well, if not exactly some

rough edges, then at least a bold and masculine disposition. Not the refined

elegance and manicured hygiene we hear with Uchida.

So, let’s look at some very different perspectives, and see how they all manage to

offer an authentic Beethovenian experience.

The first topic is tempo. My belief is that Allegro con brio means that the first

movement should be rendered at a quick pace, and with a good deal of gusto. By

gusto, I mean dynamic vigor and incisive articulation. Brendel and Kissin offer

both, and imbue every phrase with the utmost character. Sokolov is a bit more

measured, more stately if you prefer, but gives superb characterization and

authority to every phrase. Gieseking with Rosbaud is the fastest on record but does

not give us sufficient vigor or contrast in the phrasing. His later version with

Kubelik demonstrates more color and articulational vigor, but it is still clearly in

the more refined and feminine sphere of performance. Both he and Sokolov play

the shorter cadenza No. 2, yet playing the exact same music Gieseking clocks in at

an astounding 11:35 versus Sokolov’s more measured 15:12. So we see that speed

isn’t everything; strength and vigor seems to be more important.

Now consider Barenboim and Klemperer, one of the more broadly paced

performances. A few other versions have attempted such a tempo (Arrau, Aimard,

Afanassiev…) but end up sounding too relaxed or downright lethargic. I give credit

to Klemperer here; from the very start he never loses the attention of the listener.

His tonal balance and long-lined intensity is unique, only Davis and the London


Symphony Orchestra come close. Part of the secret is long bowing from the

strings where other conductors like to use short bowing for early Beethoven.

Barenboim for the most part plays in a manner similar to Arrau: long-lined, mostly

macro-dynamic, mostly with solid voicing of the supporting harmonic foundation.

The key to success with both conductor and pianist is the concentration that never

lulls or allows for dead spots, and the fact that neither have any use for fussiness or

superficial cosmetics. This is grand and noble Beethoven, with a decidedly

masculine character. Not my reference pick, but certainly authentic.

The manner of the pianist’s touch and tone also conveys a lot about the musical

characterization. Again, I find that a more robust, more masculine tone seems

more authentic. Many pianists voice too much to the top, like they would for

Chopin, or maybe they’ve listened to some fortepeiano performances and

determine that the instrument that Beethoven actually played on was nowhere

near as robust and sonorous as a modern Steinway. Yet, those fortepianos reveal

that that the bass line, raspy and reedy as it was, was always clearly heard against

the more reticent upper range. We don’t want to base our enjoyment of the music

on the limitations of past instruments, but I think an ideal solution is to give more

melodic projection like we are used to, but balanced with a clear bass line that

underpins harmonic structure. In other words, what pianists call “donut voicing,”

all top and bottom and nothing in the middle. Radu Lupu does this better than

anybody, with an unforced upper projection and solid bass line. This gives us a

deeper-set masculine voice, the opposite of an elegant, top-only voice. Bronfman

and Rubinstein do this to a lesser degree. Arrau and Barenboim employ solid top-

to-bottom voicing (the donut and the donut-hole), with the advantage of a sound

that is never lightweight or tinkly-winkly.

I mentioned earlier that slight adjustments in tempo could make a big difference

overall. For one thing, the level of articulacy, and/or level of acoustic saturation in

any given venue, may cross a certain threshold with a very minor degree of change

in the tempo. But, even considering a neutral acoustic not so affected by those

concerns, a few beats more or less per minute does make a big deal. Take Perahia

and his three commercial recordings. The three conductors are each quite

different—Solti, Haitink and Marriner—and the sound of each orchestra has its

own color. But the biggest difference is in Perahia. The difference is not because

of any change in conception or technical delivery which is almost identical in each

case. The difference is because with each uptick in the tempo, he is pushed a little

further from his comfort level. The slowest version with Solti (in a surprisingly

sedate performance) clocks in at 18:21 and finds that Perahia is unchallenged to the

point of almost sleep walking through many passages. The highly-praised version

with Haitink clocks in at 17:43, just enough to have required a bit more attention

on Perahia’s part. The result is that the proceedings are not too relaxed and the

music progresses with better flow. However, by far the finest version is the one

with Marriner and the Academy of Saint Martin in the Fields. Here the timing is

16:44, which shaves a full minute off the Haitink version, and even more off the


Solti version, and Perahia’s passage work is full of sparkle and elan. Elsewhere I

found the Marriner/Perahia collaborations rather dull, but every concert is its own

event, and on this occasion the stars and planets were all aligned just right. (So,

you might wonder, does this lend credence to the concept of live recordings? My

thinking is that if during the sessions with Haitink he had done two or three takes

of each movement at slightly different tempos we might have ended up with

something even better, for with Haitink there was certainly the advantage of the

superior orchestra and acoustics.)

Even more than tempo, the biggest factor for a pass/fail grade from me is vigor.

The outer movement simply must convey some of that characteristic Beethovenian

swagger. I can’t believe how many versions I had to sit through that dissipate

energetic vigor at every opportunity. Perhaps they feel that this provides more

contrast with the louder tutti sections. But Klemperer and Davis (and Hogwood

amongst the historic group) prove that big and bold do not have to fatigue the ear

or wear down the senses. Beethoven’s orchestration provides more than sufficient

contrast without tinkering or second guessing.

I could go measure by measure as I have in some of the other surveys, but I’ll limit

myself to just one sample: the very first four measures. Here is one of the most

basic, even banal, thematic ideas ever: a half-note C followed by three staccato

quarter-note C’s an octave higher. Not even a melodic fragment, just a pure, raw,

thematic idea that works only because of its propulsive and insistent knocking out

of the three upper notes. Only Beethoven could have had the audacity to base an

entire work on such an idea. But he was the master of taking the simplest ideas

and letting them flower into the most astonishing creations. He seemed to enjoy

the challenge of working with unpromising material, as witness the Diabelli

Variations from much later in his life. Anyway, all of the older recordings I

surveyed seem to get the basic thematic disposition correct, but many of the more

recent versions have this tendency to dissipate energy when it is neither indicated

by the composer, nor a natural interpretation of the thematic idea. And it is

certainly contrary to the con brio indication. The list would be long of conductors

who have this revisionist thinking, but I was surprised that even Harnoncourt, a

noted scholar, places a diminuendo on the third repeated C, which falls on a

strong downbeat. This goes against all reason. The whole idea of the theme is the

latent rhythmic thrust, and even if you don’t buy into that idea, there’s the issue of

metric contour and stronger beats within the measure, especially in a movement

marked Allegro con brio.

Such inflection strikes me as more suitable to a withering and differential Schubert

than to a confident and swaggering Beethoven. Just listen to Szell in the 1961

recording with Fleisher. The rhythms are rendered with taut military corners, and

there is a sense of masculine virility in the characterization. Now that is some real

swagger.


In measure four we again find some conductors who draw back the dynamics for

expressive shading, imposing a diminuendo from the tonic to dominant. In a more

expressive movement with a slow or moderate tempo, one could allow for such

inflection. But not here, not when the show’s just begun and we’re just getting our

bearings in what should be a straight-forward exposition. My belief, and some

conductors agree, is that Beethoven may have very well emphasized the abrupt

stop on the second beat (just the opposite of what the recent trend seems to be

for). In any case, the safest bet is to neither dissipate nor emphasize, but just let

the thematic exposition proceed without any manipulation.

Probably the most absurd extension of this tendency toward dissipation comes

from pianist-conductor Olli Mustonen. He must surely lay awake at night

pondering how to most perversely disrespect good music. He is the master of the

sucker punch, the imploding anti-accent, and impish mischief. The orchestral

exposition sounds more like a Mozartean serenatta than a Beethovenian Allegro

con brio. There is nothing bold or brio about it, it’s all indecisive and lacking

direction. His solo entrance starts with a tentative pizzicato, takes a moment for

some tender loving caresses, then proceeds with full folly like a sniggering

prankster or tinker-bell fairy gone rogue. What really amazes me is why other

critics haven’t cried foul on this. Students would flunk music school playing like

this, yet several critics consider this all within the realm of valid, if quirky, artistic

expression. Well, Gould at his quirkiest fits that definition, but Mustonen goes

way beyond any of that. Pletnev is another that I found to be full of self-indulgent

grand-standing, yet with Pletnev, there were moments where the spirit of

Beethoven peers through with a nod and a wink of approval. With Mustonen I

can’t even say he is “out in left field” because he’s not even in the ballpark!

Back to reality. I want to emphasize that appropriate vigor doesn’t have to mean a

big and bold full-size symphony. Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music

give us full-throttle Beethoven without any prissiness or detours down sentimental

lane. Smaller chamber orchestras needn’t give up vigor and masculine swagger for

lack of numbers. It all depends on how the instruments are played, and the vision

of the conductor to keep the music forwardly propelled. Case in point would be

the Columbia Symphony Orchestra conducted by Vladimir Golschmann for the

recording session with Glenn Gould. This was a smaller-sized ensemble of free-

lance players, mostly from the New York Philharmonic, who piled into Columbia’s

smallish 30th Street Studio. The players are completely energized and play like

demons. The celli and double basses play with such vehemence that there must

have been a dust cloud of rosin in the air. You can tell when woodwind players are

relaxed and when they have the blood-cursing intensity in their breath, and the

articulation, the plosives of each note are very vivid. Yes, the recording technology

of that time gives a somewhat dated sound, but at least on my system the intensity

of the playing gives me goose-bumps.


The advantage of a smaller ensemble is of course more lithe rhythmic precision

and quicker response time in the give and take between soloist and ensemble. Yet,

most of the smaller ensemble recordings I surveyed also opted for a more intimate,

less masculine conception, rife with “tender loving care” and relaxed, serenade-like

disposition. It can be a very pretty sound, but also rather petty compared to the

grander vision of Beethoven is really after. Andnes is so diminutive that the

opening sounds like a string quartet. Guy and Jordan give us a conception that is

hushed and wispy of texture and with phrases that always seem to run out of

breath. I already talked about how Harnoncourt misguides the Chamber Orchestra

of Europe. Andrew Parrott and the Norrköping Symphony Orchestra start out like

they are going to be another of these annoying renderings, with clipped phrasing

and short, lightweight bowing. But I was soon won over as this lightweight,

scampering character also gave way to more vigorous tutti playing. And even in

the most quiet episodes, there is always an underlying sense of bristling energy

and forward movement.

Beethoven wrote three different cadenzas for the first movement of this concerto.

Most play the longer cadenza No. 3, a few play the shorter cadenza No. 2 and only

Arrau played the cadenza No. 1, though he doesn’t make a particularly compelling

case for it. In fact, none of the cadenzas are really top drawer Beethoven, but at

least No. 2 has the advantage of being to the point. The long cadenza No. 3

meanders all over the place, building to a big climax then fizzing out while

contemplating the next move with some trills or filigree. Most chose the long

cadenza because it has the most dramatic display of virtuosity, but thankfully, a

few performers realize that enough is enough and have made some careful

incisions between trills to give us a more succinct and abridged version.

The other thing that bothers me with the long cadenza are the long sequences of

pounded diminished chords. Most pianists just put the pedal down and go crazy,

and all sense of rhythmic continuity is lost. I give high praise to Fleisher, Katchen

and Richter for playing these sequences with judicious use of pedal so that the

thematic articulation and rhythmic component are not loss in a blur of noise.

Thank you!

Following are some of the impressions I had of various renderings of cadenzas:

Cadenza No. 1: Arrau

Cadenza No. 2: Andsnes, Argerich, Backhaus, Gieseking, Kissin, Kempff (with

some minor modifications and improvements), Lupu (nicely done!), Pletnev,

Sokolov (rather too stoic and without joy), Solomon.

Cadenza No. 3: Afanassiev (like hearing a technical exercise in slow motion),

Aimard (cautious and even stodgy, from a guy who plays the Hell out Ligeti??),

Bernstein (glad he didn’t give up his day job), Brautigam (nicely done, has some

fun with it), Brendel (wonderfully vivid characterization in the Levine version, the


other versions have less energy and panache), Bronfman (gets some titters from

audience), Gulda (one sees why he became bored with classical music and gave it

up), Guy (quirky), Katchen (one of the best), Kuerti (a second-rate Brendel),

Michelangeli (annoying hesitations), Perahia (competent but not very

imaginative), Pollini (erstwhile but unimaginative), Rubinstein (truncated version;

adds thirds and low octaves), Schiff (superbly characterized!), Shelley (generic,

thankfully truncated), Serkin (version with Ozawa runs over five minutes! Like an

old man gnashing his gums!), Uchida (like a tender serenade, Beethoven-lite with

zero calories!), Vladar (Na ja).

Other Cadenzas (not by Beethoven): Ashkenazy, Barenboim (very nice!), Gould

(Regerian jolly folly), Mustonen (a Chromatic wandering fantasy).

No Cadenza: Cortot

Well, we need to take a quick look at the next two movements, so onward…

It will probably come as no surprise to any readers here that I have very little use

for dawdling in the slow movement. Overall timings don’t seem to be the biggest

issue, because I had favorites ranging from 9:15 to 13:08, a differential of about 30%.

What I don’t care for are pianists who stretch every phrase, slowly taper every

cadence, and milk their time in the spotlight for all its worth. Yes, a few selective

moments of poignant expression are desirable, perhaps the final valedictory

farewell if nowhere else. But I don’t want to feel like I’ve got rubber legs trying to

walk on a water bed. To milk every phrase and lose all sense of forward motion is

a tiresome indulgence. Just listen to Backhaus and how beautiful the music sounds

with simple, straight-forward playing. My only disappointment with that one was

that the conductor couldn’t get the pizzicatis to come together for his life. Another

who can’t get the pizzis or anything to come together with the pianist is Pinnock

with Sokolov. This was a live-performance recording of perfect rapport in the outer

movements, which just fell apart in the slow movement. I have to blame the cult-

status guru pianist himself for wandering off into his own world, and leaving the

conductor and orchestra guessing as to what his next move would be. Even so, a

shelf-puller for the superlative outer movements.

Another one that is on the brisker side is Brautigam and Parrott who also give us a

straight-forward rendering that is simple and unaffected, and sings with all the

heartfelt cantabile one could desire. Parrott gets the pizzicatos spot on every time,

and BIS captures the resonant bloom of the double basses with exceptional

realism. I’ve dubbed this central episode with the pizzicatos the Elvira Madigan

section, as the music hearkens back to an idea that Mozart put to good use in his

Concerto K. 467, a work which Beethoven would have been familiar with, and

which was used as a soundtrack in the film Elvira Madigan.

Klemperer and Barenboim give us the slowest version on record, but it is still very

effective because, while the tempo is slow, Barenboim doesn’t go all rubbery on us.


And Klemperer is a master at sustaining the long line. My overall favorite is

probably the new version with Evgeni Kissin, Sir Colin Davis and the London

Symphony Orchestra. At 10:30 the music has just enough breadth to give a sense

of a true Larghetto, while never devolving into a series of unconnected expressive

vignettes. The back and forth between pianist and orchestra is exceptional and

gives us music making of the highest order.

The final movement, marked Allegro scherzando, is another winning rondo from

the master. Writer Harry Goldschmidt describes it thusly: “One jest after another

is fired off, transforming artistic brilliance into aggressive wit. A fiery spirit,

blazing with impatience, confronts the world he so ardently loves.” I like the

imagery this evokes, though I’d probably not say that Beethoven is confronting the

world so much as offering his own master concoction on a silver platter and

inviting the world to behold something new and unique that they’ve never

experienced before. Notice the strong words Goldschmidt uses: “fiery,” “blazing”

and “aggressive wit.” Once again, even in the lighter mood of the concluding

rondo, Beethoven gives us music with a strong and emphatic character.

It will come as no surprise to readers to discover that I have very little patience for

wimpy, dandified, candified renderings. I want the bawdy barroom jokes

unexpurgated, and Tico-Tico a tad tipsy. (The central A-minor section of the

rondo reminds some listeners of a silly little novelty piano tune called Tico-Tico,

though the manner of the pianist’s inflection may or may not make this

connection apparent.)

First off, Harnoncourt comes to life and redeems himself in this movement, with

one of the most dynamic and energetic renderings. However, Aimard plays Tico

straight, with no Hungarian humor, and doesn’t give any lift to the upward

sweeping scales in the final pages. So, with this recording it seems that when

Aimard was on Harnoncourt was off, and vice-versa. I’d like to hear both of them

with different partners and see what happens.

The late versions by elder pianists Arrau and Serkin simply lack sufficient vigor

and panache to negotiate the fiery and aggressive wit that is needed.

Versions that are full of fun and wit and bristling energy are: Brendel, Brautigam

(astounding 7:53 is really more of a Presto than an Allegro, but I’m not

complaining!), Gould (well-behaved and the breakneck speeds have the players

really energized!), Kissin (superbly articulated and what energy on those ascending

scales in the final pages!), Schiff (relatively lightweight but delightful nuances of

metric play and cross accents).

There you have it. You can read the ratings below. I hope I’ve pointed out a few

interesting performances for you to explore. Enjoy!


Piano Concerto No. 1: Discography 72 versions compared, May 2013

Afanassiev/Soudant Aimard/Harnoncourt Anderszewski/soloist & cond. Andsnes/soloist & cond.

Argerich/Ozawa Argerich/Rabinovitch Argerich/Sinopoli Arrau/Davis Arrau/Haitink

Ashkenazy/Haitink Ashkenazy/Solti Ax/Masur Backhaus-Schmidt-Isserstedt Badura-

Skoda/Scherchen Barenboim/Klemperer Barenboim/soloist & cond. Bernstein/soloist & cond.

Brautigam/Parrott Brendel/Haitink Brendel/Levine Brendel/Rattle Bronfman/Blomstedt

Cortot/Desarzens DeLarrocha/Chailly Eschenbach/Karajan Fischer/Fricsay Fleisher/Szell

Gieseking/Kubelik Gieseking/Rosbaud Gilels/Boult Gilels/Masur Goode/Fischer

Gould/Golschmann Gulda/Böhm Guy/Jordan Horszowski/Casals Huang/Masur Katchen/Gamba

Kempff/Leitner Kempff/van Kempen Kovacevich/Davis Kissin/Davis Kuerti/Davis

Lewis/Bělohlávek Lubin/Hogwood Lupu/Mehta Michelangeli/Giulini Mustonen/soloist & cond.

Oppitz/Janowski Perahia/Haitink PerahiaMarriner Perahia/Solti Pletnev/Gansch Pollini/Abbado

Pollini/Jochum Richter/Munch Rubinstein/Krips Schiff/Haitink Schiff/soloist & cond.

Schnabel/Sargent Serkin/Ormandy Serkin/Ozawa Shelley/soloist & cond. Sokolov/Pinnock

Solomon/Menges Tan/Norrington Uchida/Rattle Uchida/Sanderling Vladar/Wordsworth

Vogt/Rattle Zacharias/Vonk Zimerman/soloist & cond.


Piano Concerto No. 1: Survey Results

Only professionally recorded performances are considered for evaluation; no pirate recordings or amateur YouTube postings. Most review sources were from CD or SACD, some from LP, MP3 downloads (or direct streaming from online service), and some video postings on YouTube of televised broadcasts.

Shelf Pullers are the ones I’ll reach for first when I pull a CD off the shelf for a listen. These are the recordings that will likely give listeners the most overall enjoyment in terms of artistic merit and sound quality.

Keepers are just that: I couldn’t bear to let them go. While a notch below the “go to” shelf pullers, they offer their own distinctive perspectives and reward an occasional listen.

Expendable recordings offer neither distinctive artistic vision nor listening enjoyment. Many historical recordings are simply no longer competitive, and frankly a waste of time when others offer so much more.

Hall of Shame recordings are singled out as being the worst in the survey, and not merely expendable but actually a shameful travesty against the music.

All the recordings that are not singled out into the above classifications are sort of lukewarm performances that are not as immediately compelling as the Shelf Pullers or Keepers, but competent enough that they can hardly be considered expendable or not entirely competitive. If you own one of these recordings and derive enjoyment from it, fine. Fans of certain pianists will want to have those recordings irrespective of what conclusions I’ve made. However, if your only exposure to this music is a recording that I’ve ranked among the expendable or Hall of Shame group, you may want to explore some other options in order to hear the full potential of the music. In some cases I have given a rough score of each movement based on a scale of 1-10.

Sound Quality ratings are given on a scale of 1-3, one being reasonably listenable, two being clear and enjoyable, three being vivid and most realistic. n is for poor sound; strictly for study purposes.

Shelf Pullers

Brautigam/Parrott (BIS ***)

Brendel/Levine (Philips **)

Kissin/Davis (EMI **) Reference pick

Schiff/Haitink (Teldec **)

Sokolov/Pinnock (Opus 111 **)

Keepers Backhaus/Schmidt-Isserstedt (Decca *)

Barenboim/Klemperer (EMI **)

Gieseking/Kubelik (M & A *)

Gould/Golschmann (Sony **)

Katchen/Gamba (Decca **)

Kempff/Leitner (DG **)

Lubin/Hogwood (Decca **)

Competents Aimard/Harnoncourt (Teldec **) Andsnes/soloist & cond. (Sony **)

Argerich/Ozawa (BR **) Brendel/Haitink (Philips **)

Brendel/Rattle (Philips **) Bronfman/Blomstedt (**)

Fleisher/Szell (Sony *) Goode/Fischer (Nonesuch **)

Kempff/van Kempen (DG *) Lewis/Belohlavek (Harmonia Mundi **)

Oppitz/Janowski (BMG **) Perahia/Haitink (Sony **)

Perahia/Marriner (Decca **) Tan/Norrington (EMI **)


Expendables Afanassiev/Soudant (**) Anderszewski/soloist & cond. (Virgin **)

Arrau/Davis (Philips **) Arrau/Haitink (Philips **) Ashkenazy/Solti (Decca **) AX/Masur

DeLarrocha/Chailly (Decca **) Eschenbach/Karajan (DG *) Fischer/Fricsay (*) Gieseking/Rosbaud

Gilels/Boult Gilels/Masur (n) Horszowski/Casals (M & A n) Kovacevich/Davis (Philips **) Kuerti/Davis (CBC **)

Schnabel/Sargent (Naxos n) Serkin/Ormandy (Naxos n) Serkin/Ozawa (Telarc ***)

Hall of Shame Mustonen/Soloist & cond. (Ondine **)


Concerto No. 2 in B-flat, Opus 19

As mentioned in the overview, the B-flat concerto is the least popular among the

canonized five, and like most collectors I find that I seldom reach for it when I’m

in the mood for a Beethoven Concerto. Heck, I even play the D-major, Opus 61a

more often than this. Yes, the final movement can be a pleasant toe-tapper; the

local classical radio station where I live likes to play catchy single movements from

larger works, and the Rondo from this concerto is played often. I enjoy it every

time I hear it, because Beethoven never wrote a rondo I didn’t find immediately

appealing. The problem was always with the first movement.

Well, the good news is that doing a massive comparative survey such as this has

given me renewed appreciation for this work, and also shed some light on why the

first movement (and oftentimes the second movement) had failed to engage me in

the past.

Now, I’m not one of those acolytes who deem that everything Beethoven ever

pinned is an unassailable masterpiece and that we are all unworthy scabs hiding in

the shadows of his lingering greatness. There is no question that the Ninth

Symphony is a greater creation than his First, and that as concertos go, the later

ones are better than this one. Beethoven said as much himself.

I won’t repeat the well-known facts behind the how and when of this concerto’s

origins, being written before the C major Concerto which came to be published as

No.1. Suffice to say, I completely understand why Beethoven withheld publication

of this work until after he had written a more extroverted and flashy concerto (the

C Major, Opus 15) with which to pin his name as composer and virtuoso soloist. I

also understand why the so-called forgotten student concerto never saw the light

of day.

Beethoven had impressive musical talents and the kind of personality (before his

hearing loss) that thrived on public performance and adulation. The composer

that we think of as characteristic Beethoven didn’t begin to develop until his

twenties. But this is only natural. Does anyone really argue that Bruckner’s early

efforts were just as great as his final symphonies? Or consider the most famous

prodigy of all: Mozart. Do we really consider that his first nine piano concertos are

worthy of discussion in the same breath as the later concerti which are so much

more nuanced and complexly layered? Composers, more so than performers, really

require a lot of practical experience, and even more importantly, life experience,

before really substantial works can be created.

This concerto is clearly cut of the same cloth of Haydn and Mozart, it just requires

a performance that brings out the bold embroidery on this cloth which gives the

undeniable stamp of Beethoven. Compositionally, I find the exposition quite weak,


and the thematic discourse limited to so much noodling on the tonic and

dominant seventh. As I said, even Mozart started out like this. And talking of

Mozart, I’d take any of his final dozen concertos over this first movement. So why

wouldn’t I just put on a lovely Mozart concerto and be done with it? That’s the

key question. I don’t want second-rate Mozart, or the concerto Haydn wish he

wrote, I want Beethoven, the defiant scruffy-necked lad who stood up to his

drunkard father! So many performances are so effete and tinkly-winkly that I’d

really even take the Hummel B-minor over this. But… when done right, this work

comes to life, and becomes so infectious that I find myself humming its themes all

day long. That doesn’t sound like a “loser” or lost cause to me.

What makes it come to life, and what gives it the indelible stamp of “Beethoven” is

the use of vigorous dynamic contrast. This is not an option, depending on the

temperament of the performer, for me, and I suspect most listeners, the lack of

sufficient dynamic vigor is why the Second Concerto sits on the shelf while we pull

out the bigger and bolder later concertos. Yes, it’s all Beethoven’s own fault for

going on to write bigger and better things, but at least this little guy, the runt of

the litter, should be given a fighting chance.

When I talk of dynamic vigor, I don’t mean muscular, bludgeoning playing or

weighty sonority from the Steinway. One of my favorites in the survey was

Wilhelm Kempff, who plays as clean as a whistle, with minimal pedal, and with

sparkling light passage work. But when he sees an accent or a sforzando, he gives

it the good strong jab that Beethoven well-nigh demands. Without the forceful,

and sometimes startling, effects of these sudden dynamic jabs, the concerto does

indeed sound like second-rate Mozart. With them, the work is propelled into an

entirely new dimension.

Sadly, fewer than half of the recordings surveyed seem to take the sforzandi

seriously. When you start with a subdued, or polite, dynamic profile, and combine

that with a relaxed, Sunday-morning tea-sipping tempo, and give the upper third

of the piano a lightweight Tinker Bell voicing, the results are far from what

Beethoven ever had in mind. Some of the fortepiano versions I heard have

stronger and rounder-voiced trebles than some of the modern pianos I heard.

Some were so bad they sounded like spinet pianos or even toy pianos to my ears.

For this reason alone it was a sheer joy to hear the full-bodied tone and harmonic

color of Arrau’s Steinway. His version with Haitink is quite enjoyable, and not the

sluggish old-man meanderings of his later version with Davis in Dresden.

Yes, after dynamic vigor, tempo is the next key ingredient in our perfect recipe.

The middle movement can go either way, as a moving and lyrical cantabile, or as a

more solemn hymn-like fantasy, but the outer movements absolutely require a

sense of forward progression. The first movement timings in this survey ranged

from 12:35 (Serkin ’54) to 15:53 (Afanassiev). Very few of the recordings clocking at

more than 14 minutes made it to my final round of contenders. Some of the worst

are those that have slow, measured and deliberate tempi, combined with strong


dynamic vigor as means of compensation. That only results in a stiff and awkward

sounding rendition. Therefore, while the more ruminative Fourth may tolerate the

more expansive and philosophic approach of the elder Arrau, this concerto,

written when Beethoven was still feeling his oats, requires a younger and more

energetic pianist.

After dynamic vigor and tempo, we may then consider all the felicities of color,

and phrase sculpting that make for a fully nuanced performance. As for color, not

all listeners are as keenly sensitive to this as I am. You may read all about the

psychology behind this in a separate 60-page essay: Listener Psychology: How We

Perceive Music. If you regularly enjoy listening to historic recordings, or find a

simple boom box perfectly satisfying for your musical playback, then you are

probably not sensitive to the issue of tone color. I’m very particular, as my piano

tuner/technicians can attest! Many listeners actually hear sound in a kind of Ansel

Adams black and white and tend to focus more on matters of structure or dynamic

relationships. Myself, I want to hear the very particular kind of harmonic profile of

a clarinet as opposed to a double reed such as the English horn, and not just the

overtones, but also the resonant characteristics. Some scholars have derided

Beethoven’s early efforts at orchestration, but I enjoy his instrumentation, it’s the

simplistic harmonic profile of the thematic ideas that bother me. So, let’s take a

look at how all these issues play out…

First off, the tempo is Allegro con brio, not Allegro moderato e grazioso. The

dotted rhythms need to have some snap! I can tell in the first few measures who is

lazy with rhythm and who is alert and energized. After the brief modulation to D-

flat we hear a series of interwoven lines from different instrumental groups, and

this passage can sometimes sound a bit confused. It requires an alert conductor,

not merely a passive time keeper, to sculpt these phrases so that they emerge and

taper out in a manner that makes sense. I also want to hear the accents from the

horns, either subtle or more forward, but they don’t crop up after twenty measures

of silence just to go unheard! The acoustic character of the venue also plays a role

in how much ambient bloom (if suitably controlled) contributes to instrument

color and balance of the ensemble.

All that as a preface to point out a few good and bad performances. Two of my

favorite orchestral introductions are by Haitink and Szell. When I speak of

Haitink I mean when he was working with his home team at the Concertgebouw.

His version with the London Philharmonic Orchestra (with Brendel) is dull and

flat-footed (at least as recorded by the Philips team, who may have been less

familiar with this hall). His version with Dresden is better, but still, he never

equaled what he was able to do in Amsterdam in the wonderful acoustic venue of

the Concertgebouw. His version with Arrau is probably my all-time favorite: crisp

rhythms, perfect ensemble cohesion, wonderful tone color. It’s playing like this

which can convert a reluctant listener who doesn’t especially favor the music to

begin with. Arrau is also in best form here, with a beautiful piano tone, and no


stodgy gravitas to spoil the fun. Haitink’s other fine version in Amsterdam was

with Perahia, but Perahia is (surprisingly) even more relaxed in tempo than Arrau,

and overall the performance is just too low-energy.

I mentioned Szell as another standout, and I was thinking that finally here was a

performance from the Szell/Fleisher set that I could get enthusiastic about. Szell

sets up a remarkable introduction, full of nuance and instrumental color, and the

Columbia recording team didn’t blow things as they did with the earlier recorded

Fourth Concerto. I was so excited I could actually feel my blood pressure rise!

But, then Fleisher enters rather hum-drum and straight-faced, and with perhaps

the most grey and colorless, cardboard-sounding piano in the entire survey. I

assume he played on a New York Steinway, but Jeez, what a dull instrument!

Maybe the Columbia team used a different kind of microphone for the piano,

because, as I said, the orchestra is full of color and harmonic sheen. Fleisher’s

insensitive cadenza (the dry, un-pedaled left hand tremolos sound like muted

bongos) is nothing to redeem his minimal contributions in this performance.

Two other favorites in terms of orchestral performance are the latest from Sir Colin

Davis (with Kissin) and a version by Sir Charles Mackerras on a now out-of-print

Conifer recording with pianist Mikhail Kazakevich. The two approaches represent

near polar opposites in terms of conception, but both are perfectly rendered within

those conceptual frameworks. With Mackerras and the English Chamber

Orchestra the sense of scale is of course more intimate, and though rhythms are

taut, and ensemble cohesion is perfect, the feeling conveyed is more amiable than

driven, much like a setting scene from a Mozart opera.

With Davis and the London Symphony Orchestra we have a more clearly large-

scale symphonic approach which utilizes the full dynamic range and sonority of

the modern symphony orchestra. Davis sounds to me like a more fit and agile

Klemperer. The similarity between the two is the rendering of the long line. No

other conductor impressed me more with this ability to take long 8, 16, or 32

measure sections of music and give them their own expressive arch within the

overall framework. Other conductors nudge the line here and there but retain a

relative static approach to the long line. By this I mean there can be small

expressive swells and instrumental textures that weave in and out, but the overall

connective line should have a sense of being drawn from and blossoming forth

from a common connective tissue. Nobody shapes these over-arching lines better

than Davis.

To illustrate this concept further, I’ll give two examples of conducting that I find

less satisfying. Levine and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra have their good

moments in this complete set (recorded live with Brendel), but in this concerto it’s

as if Levine just opened the score for the first time. I hear whole segments of the

music without any shape or direction. The playing and ensemble are as good as

one would expect, but this is a case of the long lines being flat and without the

overall arch that I hear with Davis.


Rattle seems engaged being at the helm of the Vienna Philharmonic and

partnering with the esteemed Mr. Brendel, and that in itself is enough to make this

an enjoyable listen on the first go-around. But as for repeated listens, all the

calories don’t add up to a satisfying meal. By that I mean that Rattle actively

nudges the music in this direction or that, lots of highlighting of interesting details

or expressive nuances. But the long lines have no arch, no breath of their own.

Each section of the music is like the last, with lots of little passing moments which

don’t build a bigger picture.

Now, let’s talk about pianists. I’ve already mentioned that a pet peeve of mine is

for pianos that have been voiced with what I call a Tinker Bell top. Pianos that may

very well have a pleasant and singing middle range but which have a brighter more

bell-like treble which in louder passages or in octave work can produce a sparkling

sense of brilliance. However, this is not Tchaikovsky. Beethoven often writes

expressive lines in single notes in the top range of the piano, and if the hammers

are too hard or have minimal surface contact with the string then any deeper

sonorities from the soundboard do not emerge. In some cases the pianist just

shows up in town and has to sit down and play whatever instrument is at hand,

but presumably, for a purposes of a recording the artist has had some say in the

choice of the piano, and at the very least the manner of its voicing. Therefore, I put

the blame on the pianist for not selecting an instrument suitable for the repertoire

being performed. An example of the tinkly-winkly treble would be Schiff and his

special Fabbrini piano. An example of a good, soulful piano would be Arrau and

his Hamburg Steinway in the Concertgebouw of Amsterdam. Another good piano,

with both brilliance and colorful harmonic sheen is the Steinway Kissin plays on

his newest recording with Sir Colin Davis. Going the other direction, it is of course

possible to voice the piano too softly and without sufficient articulacy, and that

was the problem I had with Kazakevich’s choice of instrument. On the one hand,

by choosing a softer sounding piano, many wonderful details of orchestration

emerge that are normally buried under all the hyper activity of merely decorative

passagework. But I often wished for more projection, especially in lyrical passages,

from Kazakevich. That was one of the main reasons why I didn’t select that

recording as my overall reference.

Piano tone per se doesn’t interest some listeners, but suffice to say, there is a

reason why they don’t just roll a spinet piano into the recording studio and put a

microphone in front of it. It’s the same reason why a violinist would covet a

million dollar Strad or Guarneri. Music isn’t just a string of organized pitches,

there is also the matter of aesthetic beauty. So, let’s move on and just assume the

pianist has an instrument that we’re going to enjoy spending a half an hour with.

As I emphasized earlier, dynamic vigor is essential. And as I also mentioned, vigor

doesn’t have to mean muscular. Energetic vigor can also contain a wealth of fine

details in terms of both micro-dynamic inflection and pin-point articulation. It is

these exact elements which are so missing in Kovacevich’s rendering. His round-


voiced piano with minimal defining overtones (at least as recorded) and his big-

boned and rather blunt approach to passagework (which should for the most part

be lighter) has a cumulatively bludgeoning effect on the listener. This approach

works to Mr. Kovacevich’s advantage in the bigger, more muscular concertos No.3

and No. 5. Now to be fair, the BBC Orchestra doesn’t sound so great here either,

and they are certainly no match for the polish we hear with the London Symphony

Orchestra which was used for the Emperor Concerto. I have a feeling that the

sterile acoustic used by the BBC really put a damper on instrument color and

bloom. As a set, I give my highest praise to Kovacevich and Davis (and London

Symphony Orchestra) for their Emperor, and also find the big, masculine Third to

be a success. However, everything seems to conspire against the success of the B-

flat Concerto, and I don’t foresee ever returning to this performance for another

listen.

Speaking of the effects of venue, it is interesting to compare the two commercial

recordings by Kempff. The first with van Kempen seems to have been recorded in

a cavernous acoustic, and it’s a miracle that van Kempen can achieve such balance

and enjoyable characterizations. Of course it’s a historical document, recorded in

the pre-stereo days, so the upper string tone is rather harsh, but there is sufficient

foundation in the lower range to make the sound listenable without much ear

fatigue. Kempff’s piano is one of the tinkly-winkly type which sounds startling like

a toy piano upon first entrance. But one is soon won over by the vividness of

character and the masterful variety of touch and tone in Kempff’s playing.

The second version with Leitner was recorded in a rather dry and sterile acoustic

that dampened a good deal of the music’s natural resonant bloom and harmonic

sheen. Leitner does fairly well, but not with quite the degree of buoyancy of van

Kempen. The main thing I want to point out is that while Kempff’s approach was

almost identical both times (to within three seconds in the timing), his basic

performance style works much better in a liver, more traditional concert hall than

in the studio. His whole manner of articulation, crystalline passage work, crisp

rhythms and minimal pedal works best with some interplay from the acoustic. We

have to remember that his entire formative years as a concert pianist were

developed playing in the great traditionally-designed (“shoe box”) concert halls of

Europe. During the war many of these were destroyed or damaged and rebuilt

from the inside out, and a new era of less reverberant concerts halls was born.

Many of the great pianists from this time sound better in concerts halls than they

did in the more intimate studio acoustic. Horowitz, Kempff, and Backhaus are all

pianists I generally prefer to listen to when they were recorded in good concert

halls.

The next matter of discussion concerns the cadenza. The one that we hear most

often was written by Beethoven some fifteen years after the concerto itself was

written, and there is some noticeable incongruity of compositional style.

Personally, while somewhat interesting, I don’t find the quasi-canonic idea to fit


the personality of this concerto at all. And even if it did, what we have here is a

rather inchoate precursor to some complex ideas that resurface years later in the

Sonata Opus 101. Beethoven starts with a strictly canonic idea, then gives that up

and transitions to the more fluid motion of triplets in the left. This in turns begins

increasingly manic until sixteenth notes and an abrupt cadence bring the feverish

dervish to a self-conscious close. Also unconvincing to me is the strangely

contrived coda which predates some ideas that he later utilized to better effect in

the Hammerklavier Sonata. In between the canon and the coda the middle section

seems suitable enough, though mostly sequential busy-ness which is not one of

Beethoven’s most inspired creations. As a whole, the cadenza just doesn’t seem to

gel with the ebullient innocence of this concerto. If I were performing the work I’d

probably lop off the fugal stuff, insert a basic thematic echo for four measures and

pick up the cadenza as Beethoven wrote it at the start of the B-flat minor episode.

Kempff plays his own cadenza which I greatly prefer to the odd amalgam

Beethoven gives us (and I was happy to hear a younger pianist, Shani Diluka,

revive the Kempff cadenzas in a nice, modern-sounding recording). But the best

cadenza of all is the one written and played by Duchâble on his recording with

Menuhin. Finally, a cadenza that seamlessly and cleverly integrates the various

themes in a style that is perfectly attuned to the manner in which Beethoven was

writing at the time. This performance is good in all three movements but it is this

cadenza that seals the deal for me and keeps me coming back.

As I said, most play the weird cadenza Beethoven wrote, so let’s see who can make

the most convincing case for it. Most of the better pianists (with a reputation at

stake) make an extra effort of sheer concentration and will-power to give us good

clarity and delineation of voice-leading. Once the triplets enter things can get

pretty crazy and the listener is scratching his head wondering what is going on.

Carrying through the craziness requires some very careful negotiation of the white

water rapids. This may be achieved by either differentiating the articulation (legato

versus non-legato) or by dynamic level (loud versus soft). Aimard cleverly uses

rubato to suggest a series of improvisatory hesitations, though Argerich tried

something similar with a series of false feints and that didn’t come of so well

(version with Abbado). Some throw themselves into a self-devolving fury of

Beethovenian rage (probably more fun to see than to have to listen to). Any of

these approaches may be equally effective, and it gives an interesting insight into

the performer’s personality to see how they tackle the problem.

What we don’t want is tempo instability which further exacerbates the sense of an

unmoored ship being tossed about on rough waters. Buchbinder’s impossibly

high-pressure gambit of conducting and performing the entire cycle for a series of

live televised concerts in Vienna has its ups and downs. The up (way up!) was a

scintillatingly brilliant Fourth Concerto; the down was this concerto, which

probably saw the least amount of preparation on everyone’s part. Buchbinder just

can’t get a fix on a straight line. Even Arrau, in his otherwise masterly rendition


with Haitink, seems to get a little frazzled in the cadenza and rushes forward

somewhat frantically.

With Mustonen there is never any question of losing control, but it’s like he’s on

an intravenous feed of Red Bull which gives him off-the-charts energy levels in a

pizzicato-fest that’s far quirkier than anything Gould ever dreamt of. Going the

opposite direction is Perahia, who seems tired and sleepy-eyed (perhaps one of

those late night recording sessions?). Anyway, he could have used a little Red Bull

or a good strong cup of coffee. Then, and not to be cruel, but just to offer fair

warning to consumers, Annette Töpel, who is primarily noted as a teacher, just

doesn’t have the chops to negotiate this stuff. She wouldn’t pass the preliminary

rounds at any serious competition. My advice to her: don’t give up your day job.

It is no slight task for a pianist to negotiate this thorny oddball creation and make

me actually enjoy it. Therefore, I’m pleased to acknowledge three pianists who

went above and beyond the call of duty: Evgeny Kissin (EMI recording), Mikhail

Kazakevich (despite the soft-focus piano), and Martha Argerich (Sinopoli version,

not the Abbado version).

Now for the slow movement. This is one of those movements where the most

impossibly subtle differences in inflection can significantly impact the mood that

is created. But I say this coming from a perspective that doesn’t exactly embrace

the movement with open arms. Personally, I find the harmonic progression

awkward and unconvincing, and I just don’t hear it as a solemn hymn-like prayer

as so many other listeners apparently do. First off, I wouldn’t use the word solemn

for a work written in a major key, but that’s a semantic quibble. Secondly, dotted

rhythms that have gone all mushy and rounded to triplets just irritate me. Thirdly,

with all this lovey-dovey going on I don’t really want the pianist to come in all soft

and gooey like the Pillsbury Dough-Boy. Here’s an instance where I was thankful

for the more sober—yet far from insensitive—approach of Leon Fleisher and

George Szell.

Bernard Haitink has said that, right alongside the Largo e mesto of the Opus 7

Piano Sonata, he considers this movement as being the most important slow

movement in Beethoven’s early output. No way. I don’t consider them equals at all.

I agree with him (and Claudio Arrau and many other musicologists) that the Opus

7 Largo is one of the greatly overlooked masterpieces. But I don’t see that kind of

depth in evidence here. Beethoven does better with the E major slow movement

in the Opus 37, but doesn’t achieve true greatness with a major key slow

movement until the Emperor Concerto. So, as regards this movement, let’s just say

I’m a fussy customer, and it’ll take some pretty impressive salesmanship to get me

to buy it.

Fortunately there were some performances which I found completely convincing

and also quite touchingly poignant in expression. Menuhin gives a most earnest

and impassioned introduction, building to a strong level of sonority. Duchâble for


his part doesn’t dawdle or destroy the intensity that Menuhin establishes. Fleisher

and Szell are wonderful and Fleisher creates a moment of transporting

transcendence with haze of pedal sonority in the expressive recitativo (an idea

which appears again in the Tempest Sonata). Kazakevich and Mackerras are very

communicative, as are Argerich and Sinopoli. At a brisk timing of 6:28, Brautigam

and Parrott play the movement more as a flowing Andante cantabile, and I find it

works just fine that way without all the dragging about. But Beethoven evidently

wanted it slower. Katchen and Gamba are sufficiently slow but maintain a very

natural flowing line. Gamba is really good, and gives us one of the best endings of

all. I think his contributions as a conductor were somewhat overlooked.

Mustonen’s Tapiola Ensemble really play their hearts out so it’s a crying shame

that Mustonen ruins everything with his insane antics.

So who was best? My overall favorite was Arrau and Haitink. I may have

disagreement with Haitink in terms of semantics and specific comparisons but it is

obvious that his professed admiration for this movement shows in the finished

result, especially with a poet-philosopher partner like Arrau.

The final movement is another one of Beethoven’s surefire crowd pleasers. The key

to success is to convey some energy and excitement. In that regard, both Arrau

and Backhaus are limited by their old man energy levels, though both still give us

above-average musical shape and characterization. Brendel (Levine version) finds

a few moments of humor, especially the G major section near the end where the

tempo slows down temporarily as if he is taking us aside to share a clever little

joke. I quite like that enough to revisit the performance now and then (he also

does something similar with his version with Rattle). Argerich and Sinopoli also

create a jaunty, carefree mood that is winning (her other versions seem less fluent

and a bit stiffer). But for the final contenders it seems the “K’s” have it: Katchen,

Kempff, Kissin and Kazakevich.

Katchen is the fastest on record at 5:24 and conveys a lot of excitement at the

threshold of what is possible to articulate. Kazakevich at 6:02 does not have quite

the same breakneck tempo, but it is wonderfully shaped and Mackerras brings

forth many delightful details in the orchestration. What both Katchen and

Kazakevich lack is a piano with a sufficiently sparkling tone. Kempff (van Kempen

version) had a real Tinker Bell top on his piano, and that works well for this less

lyrical finale. However, with Kempff, one must settle for the dated mono sound.

That leaves Kissin as the last man standing. Both his versions are outstanding and

rendered with near-identical inflection. But the EMI recording has more depth,

Davis sings the long lines best (along with some audible humming which I could

have done without!), and Kissin’s piano is right on target for this work: lots of

sparkle and colorful sheen. Beyond all that, Kissin has the energy and technique to

really sculpt rapid-fire passage work so they come to life.


As concerns the complete cycle of concerti from Kissin and Davis I may have found

Kissin too indulgent in the later works (though nothing as crazy as Mustonen or

Pletnev) but for these younger, more brilliant works, he’s got what it takes to

convert a curmudgeonly critic such as myself. With a performance of this caliber

the “lowly” B-flat Concerto is going to get a lot more playtime in my house.


Piano Concerto No. 2: Discography 56 versions compared, May 2013

Afanassiev/Soudant Aimard/Harnoncourt Argerich/Abbado Argerich/Chmura Argerich/Sinopoli

Arrau/Davis Arrau/Haitink Ashkenazy/Mehta Ashkenazy/Solti Backhaus/Schmidt-Isserstedt

Biret/Wit Biss/Norrington Brautigam/Parrott Brendel/Haitink Brendel/Levine Brendel/Rattle

Buchbinder/Vienna Diluka/Ryan Duchâble/Menuhin Fleisher/Szell Gilels/Masur Goode/Fischer

Gould/Bernstein Gulda/Stein Guy/Jordan Katchen/Gamba Kazakevich/Mackerras

Kempff/Leitner Kempff/van Kempen Kissin/Davis Kissin/Levine Kovacevich/Davis Kuerti/Davis

Levin/Gardiner Lewis/Belohlavek Lubin/Hogwood Lupu/Mehta Mustonen/Tapiola

Newman/Simon Perahia/Haitink Pletnev/Gansch Pollini/Abbado Pollini/Jochum

Rubinstein/Krips Schiff/Haitink Schnabel/Sargent Serkin/Ormandy Serkin/Ozawa

Shelley/Opera North Solomon/Cluytens Tan/Norrington Töpel/Enkemeier Uchida/Sanderling

Vladar/Wordsworth Zacharias/Vonk Zimerman/Vienna






Expendable recordings offer neither distinctive artistic vision nor listening enjoyment. Many historical recordings are simply no longer competitive, and frankly a waste of time when others offers so much more.


All the recordings that are not singled out into the above classifications are sort of lukewarm performances that are not as immediately compelling as the Shelf Pullers or Keepers, but competent enough that they can hardly be considered expendable or not entirely competitive. If you own one of these recordings and derive enjoyment from it, fine. Fans of certain pianists will want to have those recordings irrespective of what conclusions I’ve made. However, if your only exposure to this music is a recording that I’ve ranked among the expendable or Hall of Shame group, you may want to explore some other options in order to hear the full potential of the music. In some cases I have given a rough score of each movement based on a scale of 1-10.

Sound Quality ratings are given on a scale of 1-3, one being reasonably listenable, two being clear and enjoyable, three being vivid and most realistic.

Shelf Pullers

Argerich/Sinopoli (DG *)

Duchâble/Menuhin (EMI **)

Kazakevich/Mackerras (Conifer **)

Kempff/van Kempen (DG *)

Kissin/Davis (EMI **) Reference pick

Keepers Arrau/Haitink (Philips ***)

Backhaus/Schmidt-Isserstedt (Decca *)

Brendel/Levine (Philips **)

Fleisher/Szell (Sony *)

Katchen/Gamba (Decca *)

Expendable Afanassiev/Soudant (**) Aimard/Harnoncourt (Teldec **)

Argerich/Abbado (DG *) Arrau/Davis (Philips **)

Ashkenazy/Solti (Decca **) Brendel/Haitink (Philips *)

Gould/Bernstein (Sony *) Pollini/Abbado (DG **)

Pollini/Jochum (DG*) Serkin/Ormandy (Sony *)

Serkin/Ozawa (Telarc ***) Shelley/Opera North (Chandos **)

Töpel/Enkemeier (Musicaphon *) Zimerman/Vienna (DG **)

Hall of Shame Mustonen/Tapiola


Concerto No. 3 in C minor, Opus 37

Although the G major and Emperor concertos eclipse this work in terms of

popularity, in many ways this is the quintessential Beethoven concerto. If I had to

imagine how Beethoven might have written a concerto—having never heard the

actual works—this is closest to what I would have expected. This is Haydn on

steroids, but unlike Haydn who almost never wrote in a minor key, this is set in

the truly Sturm und Drang key of c-minor, the same key Beethoven used for his

dramatic Pathétique Sonata and the later Fifth Symphony. The form may be

conventionally classical but Beethoven has dressed it up in black leather for a bit of

‘bad boy’ attitude. You won’t find any of the dry, analytical musicologists talk

about it that way, but I believe Beethoven, creator of everyman’s Fidelio, needs to

be understood in the vernacular.

While not as fiery as the later Fifth Symphony, it too seems to come alive most

when approached with a robust and somewhat macho stance. Mozartean elegance

or graceful passagework seem artificial in this context. Now, it’s true that most

great musical masterpieces can withstand a variety of perspectives, and we’ll talk

about that shortly. But in terms of an authentic experience—what Beethoven

conceived, and how he himself presented the work—then we need to look for

performances that are vigorous and not self-effacing in the slightest.

When I speak of an authentic experience I’m not talking about original

instruments nor am I advocating for the dogmatic purists who insist that every slur

or phrase mark be strictly observed to the letter. What I’m talking about is the

character of the work and the elements of performance which best bring this

character to full fruition.

Beethoven marks the tempo Allegro con brio, which means fast and vigorous, with

a quick and energetic pace. Softer passages are written for scampering string

pizzicatos or orchestrated for delicate woodwinds. Fortissimo passages are scored

robustly and with the same kind of fiery and iron-fisted cadential drama we find in

the C-minor Pathétique Sonata. The juxtaposition of these contrasted character-

istics, demonstrated not only by dynamic levels but also by the articulation and

nature of the orchestration, demands that a successful performance encompass

both macro and micro elements.

Some performers have a conception for the big-boned, symphonic, concertante

element, but miss out on the contrasting, scampering micro-dynamic aspect. Case

in point would be Paul Lewis who plays a round-voiced piano in a manner that

tends to blunt rhythmic definition, and conductor Belohlávek whose overall

conceptual balance favors a fulsome bass and lushly romantic textures. On the

other hand, Richard Goode and Ivan Fischer (who did so well in the Emperor

Concerto) take every opportunity to dissipate energy, to draw back and make

diminutive all the intuitively bold rhetorical gestures. Both of those versions ended

up near the bottom of the pile for me. In some ways, I was at least entertained by


some of the Gouldian pokes and jabs and silliness of Mustonen. Hardly an

authentic experience of Beethoven, but a fun and entertaining romp that actually

makes me chuckle at some of its silliness.

So let’s take a quick look at what it takes to bring this work to life. As with most

concerti of the classical era there is a long orchestral introduction which intro-

duces the various themes and acts much as an overture does before the curtain

rises at the opera. In this case Beethoven’s introduction at 108 measures runs about

a quarter of the length of the movement’s 444 measures. Quite a long time for the

soloist to sit idle. That means two things: the orchestral introduction must

properly set the mood and thoroughly engage the listener lest the mind begins to

wander before the featured soloist ever plays a note. Secondly, when the piano

does finally enter, it must be an attention-getter, a commanding utterance, and

not the whimper of a timid mouse. Many recordings fail on both counts.

Assuming that most pianists play the standard cadenza written by Beethoven, one

can tell a good deal just by looking at the timings of the first movement. Anything

longer than 17 minutes will require some really emphatic articulation to

compensate for the relaxed tempo. Either that, or it must have a good deal of

weight and gravitas, such as amply provided by Klemperer for both Arrau and

Annie Fischer; in both cases the slowish tempo does not make the listener

impatient because there is the compensatory mass and sustain of line (carefully

balanced by the master conductor). Without either weight and sustain, or vivid

articulation with etched sculpting of textures, the music seems to be spinning its

wheels and going nowhere.

Harnoncourt sets a relaxed tempo that can hardly be considered a true Allegro con

brio, yet he provides neither mass and sustain (which would go against his

philosophy), nor vivid and etched dynamics (which one would expect, and which

we get from other historic-practice conductors such as Norrington). Aimard, being

mostly a macro player and tone colorist doesn’t have the kind of rhythmic vigor

and punch to compensate. At 17:43 they are even slower than Arrau and Haitink at

17:12. I think Norrington would have been a better choice to try this hybrid concept

of modern piano with chamber orchestra playing with minimal vibrato.

Norrington’s recording with Tan is quite engaging, but one must be prepared for

the diminutive power of the fortepiano. As we all know, Beethoven constantly

prodded piano makers for bigger and louder instruments with more bass and more

extension of range, and this tendency even before his hearing became a problem.

If Beethoven were to get his hands on our modern concert grands I seriously doubt

he’d be having pangs of nostalgia for the gentle and twangy tones of his

fortepianos.

Besides setting a sufficiently propulsive tempo, the orchestral introduction should

also take advantage of the colorful range of instrumentation that Beethoven has

put in the score, and here I find that Harnoncourt has reigned in the expressive

character of the different instrumental groups. Observing the sforzandi (a marking


in the score indicating a sudden emphatic accent) is also critical to establishing a

sense of forward propulsion. I also look for textural layers in the orchestral

rendering, flutes hovering above and projecting off the top of the hall, double

basses have their own acoustic bloom and lingering resonance which seems to sit

more on the stage. There are a few old favorites among critics that I really can’t

abide because the sound is one-dimensional, the expressive range is flat, and for

me, a particular sensitivity is for any sense of harshness when the strings play

fortissimo.

But let’s assume all those things have been done well, I’m engaged, you’re engaged,

and we’re all enjoying the show so far, and now it’s time for the piano soloist to

join in. After waiting so long, the entry should be bold and unequivocal. It doesn’t

make sense for the pianists to quietly sneak in from backstage with a meek

introduction. Then again, Pletnev goes too far, playing the part of the egomaniac

who chews the scenery and steals the show at every opportunity. Pletnev comes in

at his own slower tempo (who cares what was going on before, right?), inserts

grand pauses between each iteration of the upward thrusting scales, and applies

good doses of rubbery rubato on the main theme. But let’s proceed with our

discussion and assume that the pianist and conductor are at least playing from the

same sheet of music.

First off, there needs to be some muscle in the left hand to tap into the modern

piano’s tactile physicality in this range. Otherwise it often sounds like a student

playing scales on a spinet piano. Secondly, the sforzandi are not there because

Beethoven had a little extra ink in his inkpot. Put some muscle behind it! I can’t

believe how many esteemed pianist just simply ignore these markings (not only in

the Henle Urtext but even in my old Schirmer score and all the various Breitkopf &

Härtel reprints I’ve seen). Perahia is too weak, and with Kempff, there is literally

zero distinction between the sf downbeat and any of the preceding notes in the

scale. Annie Fischer is another who does not observe the sforzandi, but she

compensates with a lingering tenuto, which effectively echoes the manner of

Klemperer’s exposition. But to hear this done properly just listen to Schiff. With a

little help from his foot slamming the pedal, we hear some really emphatic

sforzandi which give the music the drama it needs. Otherwise it’s just a simple

scale with no driving motivation.

Now, do I hear the grumblings of a few readers who believe they have caught me

in an apparent dichotomy of making self-conflicting statements? On the one hand

I’ve said I have little patience for the dogmatic musicologists who demand that

every dot and dash be carefully observed, and then I point out that Beethoven

didn’t put all those numerous sforzandi in the score just for decoration. I

practically slap the back hand of Kempff for not observing those markings, and

give high praise for Schiff who does observe them. What gives?

To retrace the thought process of this seemingly tangential discussion, I’ll

paraphrase a review I just read about Kempff’s recording of this concerto with


Maazel. In essence the reviewer says that unlike other egotistical virtuosos who

only do things to grab the attention of the listener, Kempff had the sagacity to be

the anti-virtuoso and underplay the overt dynamic elements of the score so that

the music itself could then speak unfettered by externally-imposed drama. In that

sense, I agree that there is something revelatory about Kempff’s conception, and in

fact, this has become one of my go-to versions of this work, whenever I’m in the

mood for an “alternative perspective.” But as enjoyable as it is, I don’t believe it

passes muster as an authentic rendition as Beethoven intended.

The reviewer also praises the finesse of Kempff’s playing, the unforced tone, and

the filigreed passagework. And that’s what caught my attention. Those are all

elements of fine nuance, like the detailed work on a Fabergé Egg. When the overt

drama of the work is emaciated these are the things that the listener will then

focus on. But a priori, tempo, metric impulse, dynamic emphasis and overall vigor

of presentation have a much greater impact on how we perceive the

characterization of a performance. In other words, in matters that concern the

psychological character of the work, tempo, dynamics and metric impetus—the

aspects which give the broad characterization of the work—I’m very adamant

about observing the composer’s intentions. When it comes to the minutia, I’m

much less concerned. Those are the little details and nuances which give

individual performances their own unique flavor. Miss a staccato here, or ignore a

crescendo mark for two beats, I’m not going to worry about it. What’s important is

the character of the presentation and whether or not we are hearing an authentic

experience.

It is for this very reason that I find Brendel’s Beethoven generally unsatisfying. He

is so focused on the little details of slurs and staccatos that he often misses the

bigger picture. He is like a fidgety mother hen fussing over her chicks. He is

obsessed with minutia to a point of neurosis. I don’t believe Beethoven was a fussy

and neurotic person. But one could say that Schubert more closely fits that profile,

and this is why these very same attributes of personality make Brendel a great

Schubert player. He also has an uncanny ability to tap into the somewhat crazed

world of Schumann. I never heard a better live performance of Kreislieriana than

by Brendel (alas, his recording of it was too self-conscious and fussy).

Heck, I’m liberal enough in considering interpretive liberties that I actually enjoy

Busoni’s emendations to the sanctioned Beethoven cadenza! Now, Alkan may

have gone a bit far a stream, and Fazil Say is not far behind him, but as long as the

character of the movement is not completely upended, I have no problem with

performers making up their own cadenzas. Let me draw a line in the sand here:

for “higher order” conceptualized compositions such as the late string quartets, the

Ninth Symphony, the Opus 111, these are masterworks that are not to be fooled

around with. But Beethoven’s early and middle-period concerti were conceived as

vehicles for public display of Beethoven’s own keyboard prowess. During the

premier performance many details were extemporized, and in some cases the


cadenzas were not written down until years later. What is interesting is that while

Beethoven often went back to touch up certain details in his compositions,

especially after a trial run of performances preceding publication, he never gave as

much effort to crafting the cadenzas. Cadenzas were just free-form bits of fun. He

even had a go at making up some cadenzas for concerti by Mozart, probably

because it was just something fun and easy for him to do. I applaud Backhaus and

Kempff for taking the time to craft their own cadenzas as it gives an interesting

and personal stamp to their performances.

In the second movement tempo is a key consideration. While it may seem odd at

first thought, I tend to prefer tempi that either move along with a free-flowing and

lyrical pace, or that are true Largos which “make time stand still.” It’s the whole

middle area that hardly ever seems to work for me (and maybe other listeners will

respond differently on this point). Most performances clock in at about 10 to 10½

minutes. But all of these versions seem to be too self-conscious in maintaining that

balance between forward motion and sense of stasis. Yet, at an ever-so-slightly

more flowing tempo (9:17), Kempff and Maazel achieve a wonderful sense of

natural lyricism that doesn’t run out of breath from its own gravitas. At the other

end of the spectrum is Katchen and Gamba (11:12) who create an otherworldly

sense of calm. That works for most of the movement but I do believe they run into

some problems with the bassoon and flute dialog (measures 39-51) which is hard to

bring off even at a more normal pace. All things considered, I think that a slightly

more moving tempo, such as advocated by Kempff, seems to convey suitable

heartfelt poignancy without boring the listener to tears.

The quality of the pianist’s tone (balance of voices, phrasing, pedaling) is also

important if the music is to convey something beyond a series of slow-motion

chords and glacial melodic movement. In this regard Solomon was a master, and

his performance is a stand-out. I was also somewhat surprised at how sensitively

voiced Serkin’s tone was in his 1953 version with Ormandy. The later version with

with Bernstein is almost as good and has the advantage of improved transitions.

Serkin’s ’53 concept was somewhat unusual in that he played a crescendo (not

marked) in measure 12 where the piano’s phrase comes to a cadence and the

orchestra enters. Most pianists play with a diminuendo (because of the con sordino

indication) and quickly taper off the phrase as an elision with the orchestral entry.

Frankly, it often sounds awkward (though some do it well enough), so I can see

what prompted Serkin’s re-thinking on the matter. It’s a very pragmatic, real-world

solution, and works just as well musically. However, the ’53 version was a little too

pushed and brusque, whereas the version with Bernstein is gauged for a perfect

transition. Overall, my favorite versions of this movement are for the

Serkin/Bernstein, Katchen/Gamba, Solomon/Boult, Kempff/Leitner, and especially

Kempff/Maazel.

The final movement is a spirited Rondo Allegro. The tempo is given two beats per

measure and most of the thematic note groups are two groups of sixteenths per


measure which indicates that the tempo should have a good sense of forward

motion. Certainly the music can make sense even at a much more moderate pace,

especially if given an overly emphatic metric demarcation, but that would hardly

fit with the Allegro indication. The sforzandi are more sparing here than in the

first movement, so this indicates Beethoven probably had in mind a more free-

spirited and zesty bit of fun than he did dramatic discourse. Another clue to

support that concept is that while Beethoven gives some spicy off-accents to the

piano soloists, nowhere does the orchestration mimic this characteristic, but

rather remains as a sort of steady and reasonable backdrop for which the soloist

can employ a variety of touch and tone to nuance the performance.

What it comes down to is macro versus micro psychology. The macro players see

the broad outline of the music, and tend to smooth over metric impulses. The

micro-dynamic players revel in the frisson that is generated from the constant

drive of metric impulse. I have to give credit to Arrau, who is mostly a macro-type

player, for really giving the music some verve and metric impulse. And of course,

this movement plays perfectly into the hands of Andras Schiff, who is one of the

great micro-players of our age. He makes the offbeat sforzandi sound perfectly

normal and tosses them off with a carefree ease that belies just how tricky they are.

I sat down to have a go at this myself (and I’m a guy who plays the Liszt Sonata

and some other knuckle busters) and I have to say it took me four tries to get the

knack of those off-beat accents without tripping up. Schiff’s variety of touch and

ever-present clarity of texture and metric impulse are absolutely masterly.

Regarding the Schiff recordings, there has been some discussion about the new

budget label Elatus having a different sound quality (and most saying better) than

the original Teldec versions, so even though I already had the complete set on

Teldec I went ahead and picked up the Elatus pressing of Concertos 3 & 4 for five

dollars. Well, some of these listeners evidently have even more acute hearing than

I do, because the differences are so slight that I’d wager 98% of listeners won’t be

able to hear a difference. The other 2% will be equally divided in preferring one

pressing over the other. Using high quality Beyer Dynamic 990 headphones at

louder than normal volumes I had the feeling that the Elatus pressing was

mastered at a slightly higher level of volume (maybe as slight as just 1 db) although

both CDs appear identical on my peak level meter. It could be that a different

DAC converter was used with a slightly different EQ slant, but I’d say the Elatus

version is ever-so-slightly more dynamic (making Schiff’s micro-dynamic

inflections even more lively) while the older Teldec pressing seems smoother and

with slightly more bass foundation. As I said, these differences are so slight they

hardly warrant discussion. I say, just pick up the Elatus budget version and enjoy

the music!

Now, back to the music at hand. The Serkin/Bernstein performance, which is of

consistently high quality in all the movements, finds Serkin more nimble than he

was in the ’53 recording which often had him frantically scrambling ahead of the


beat and smudging passagework. Serkin is not quite as articulate with metric

impulse as I’d like, but Bernstein is full-throttle with vigorous and even vehement

metric propulsion. The whole movement is a toe-tapper and there are no dead

spots in this performance. Another good finale is that of Lupu, especially the later

version with Mehta which has fine micro-dynamic inflection, metric impulse,

variety of touch and good presto conclusion. Too bad the first movement was

spoiled in both versions by dull and underplayed conducting which not even the

muscular Busoni cadenza could salvage.

I mentioned that many of the details of Beethoven’s performances were extem-

poraneous, and that he may have even played along in some of the tutti, especially

on the concluding cadences. Pletnev takes this fact as an invitation to invent all

manner of added chords and filler material, and mostly it is done in the proper

spirit of the work. As I said, as long as the character of the work is rendered

authentically, I’m not bothered by little details that frankly most concert-goers will

not even notice. A slow and lethargic tempo they notice, an added left hand chord

in a busy passage, probably only the pianists hear. Although I was quite perturbed

by Pletnev’s scenery chewing in the first movement, I’ll confess that his finale is

quite exciting and would doubtless get the nod of approval from Beethoven

himself.

On a final note, for those who have been asleep at the wheel and missed Marc-

Andre Hamelin’s incredible Wigmore Hall recital on Hyperion, part of the

program is a solo piano version by Alkan of the first movement replete with the

wildest cadenza you’ll ever hear. It’s a real decadent delight. Hamelin has the

right measure of this music and I hope that someday he will record the concerto

with orchestra. I’m not sure how the Alkan cadenza would play into my concept of

an authentic experience, but it would surely be an unforgettable experience! Or

how about a recording where the cadenza is given its own track and Hamelin plays

all the other interesting cadenzas so we can program our own favorite, or mix it up

depending on our mood? That could be real fun!


Piano Concerto No. 3: Discography 86 versions compared

Afanassiev/Soudant, Aimard/Harnoncourt, Andsnes/soloist & cond., Argerich/Abbado, Arrau/Davis,

Arrau/Galliera, Arrau/Haitink, Arrau/Klemperer, Ashkenazy/Haitink, Ashkenazy/Mehta,

Ashkenazy/soloist & cond., Ashkenazy/Solti, Backhaus/Böhm, Backhaus/Schmidt-Isserstedt, Badura-

Skoda/Scherchen, Barenboim/Klemperer, Barenboim/Schønwandt, Barenboim/soloist & cond.,

Brendel/Haitink, Brendel/Levine, Brendel/Rattle, Brendel/Wallberg, Cliburn/Ormandy, De

Larrocha/Chailly, De Larrocha/De Burgos, Feller/Nagano, Fischer/Klemperer, Fleisher/Szell,

Gavrilov/Temirkanov, Gilels/Berglund, Gilels/Boult, Gilels/Masur, Goode/Fischer, Gould/Bernstein,

Gould/Karajan, Graffman/Hendl, Gulda/Stein, Haskil/Markevitch, Hess/Toscanini, Katchen/Gamba,

Katsaris/Barshai, Kempff/Bernstein, Kempff/Leitner,Kempff/Maazel, Kempff/Van Kempen,

Kissin/Davis, Kovacevich/Davis, Kuerti/Davis, Levin/Gardiner, Lewis/Belohlávek, Long/Weingartner,

Lupu/Foster, Lupu/Mehta, Michelangeli/Giulini, Moiseiwitsch/Sargent, Moravec/Neumann,

Mustonen/soloist & cond., Oppitz/Janowski, Perahia/Haitink, Perahia/Marriner, Pizarro/Mackerras,

Pletnev/Gansch, Pollini/Abbado, Pollini/Böhm, Richter/Muti, Richter/Sanderling, Rubinstein/Krips,

Rubinstein/Leinsdorf, Rubinstein/Ormandy, Rubinstein/Toscanini, Say/Noseda, Schnabel/Sargent,

Serkin/Bernstein, Serkin/Ormandy, Serkin/Ozawa, Schiff/Haitink, Shelley/soloist & cond.,

Solomon/Boult, Tan/Norrington, Uchida/Sanderling, Vladar/Wordsworth, Webersinke/Konwitschny,

Weissenberg/Karajan, Westenholz/Schønwandt, Zacharias/Vonk, Zimerman/Bernstein



Only professionally recorded performances are considered for evaluation; no pirate recordings or amateur YouTube postings. Most review sources were from CD or SACD, some from LP, MP3 downloads (or direct streaming from online service), and some video postings on YouTube of televised broadcasts. Shelf Pullers are the ones I’ll reach for first when I pull a CD off the shelf for a listen. These are the recordings that will likely give listeners the most overall enjoyment in terms of artistic merit and sound quality. Keepers are just that: I couldn’t bear to let them go. While a notch below the “go to” shelf pullers, they offer their own distinctive perspectives and reward an occasional listen. Expendable recordings offer neither distinctive artistic vision nor listening enjoyment. Many historical recordings are simply no longer competitive, and frankly a waste of time when others offers so much more. Hall of Shame recordings are singled out as being the worst in the survey, and not merely expendable but actually a shameful travesty against the music. All the recordings that are not singled out into the above classifications are sort of lukewarm performances that are not as immediately compelling as the shelf pullers or Keepers, but competent enough that they can hardly be considered expendable or not entirely competitive. If you own one of these recordings and derive enjoyment from it, fine. Fans of certain pianists will want to have those recordings irrespective of what conclusions I’ve made. However, if your only exposure to this music is a recording that I’ve ranked among the expendable or Hall of Shame group, you may want to explore some other options in order to hear the full potential of the music. In some cases I have given a rough score of each movement based on a scale of 1-10. Sound Quality ratings are given on a scale of 1-3, one being reasonably listenable, two being clear and enjoyable, three being vivid and most realistic.

Shelf Pullers

Kempff/Maazel (Audite **)

Kovacevich/Davis (Philips **)

Say/Noseda (Hessiche Rundfunk **)

Schiff/Haitink (Teldec **) Reference pick

Keepers Moiseiwitsch/Sargent (Naxos*)

Rubinstein/Krips (RCA **) Serkin/Bernstein (Sony **)

Expendable Badura-Skoda/Scherchen, Fleisher/Szell

Gulda/Stein, Haskil/Markevitch Hess/Toscanini, Rubinstein/Toscanini

Webersinke/Konwitschny

Hall of Shame (None)


Concerto No. 4 in G, Opus 58

This is the one concerto that seems to take the longest time for listeners to find a

performance that they really bond with. I’ve read commentaries on YouTube from

collectors who have searched for decades to find a performance of this work that

really satisfies what they seem to long for. As is often the case, at the heart of the

matter is the music’s energetic disposition; is the work best suited to a low-energy,

reflective and ruminative poetic discourse, or is it best served by a livelier, more

energetic sense of vigor and brilliance?

To my mind, there is evidence which would seem to support the idea that

Beethoven had in mind a livelier, more brilliant manner of performance. This

concerto featured as part of a huge tour de force concert which Beethoven

organized to showcase three premiere performances of new works (in order of

programming): The Pastoral Symphony, The Fourth Piano Concerto and the Fifth

Symphony. Because of his growing difficulty in hearing, he considered the reality

that this would likely be the last time he would appear as a soloist, and eager to

leave a lasting impression of his ability as a virtuoso he made emendations in the

score up to the last minute for more extensive and more brilliant passages in the

solo part. He wouldn’t have done that if he felt the expressive character and

framework of the music couldn’t support it. A few recordings have used these

emendations, but most adhere to the first edition of the published score. In any

case, when we hear somebody like Arrau who plays the work as though it were

another Opus 111, we are really hearing the work recast into the more twilight years

of Beethoven’s creative world. There’s no question such a performance may be

sublime and tap into very deep pathos, and as such is a valid musical perspective,

but does it fit with the evidence of how Beethoven actually performed the work?

And if not, could one then argue the natural dichotomy between the solitary soul-

searching outpourings of the composer versus the more pragmatic ego-stoking

desires of the performer? Yes, he may have put on the performer’s hat and put on

a flashy display, but underneath, mightn’t the true artistic inspiration of the work’s

creative inception be better revealed by a more thoughtful and probing

performance?

The amazing thing is really how the work can stand up to the extremes of either

approach. This is why I have several favorite recordings of the work which

demonstrate the range of possibilities. For the brilliant, high-energy rendering of

the original premiere concert, I turn to Buchbinder (soloist and conductor!); for

the deeper pathos and deep sense of reverence, I turn to Arrau and Klemperer; and

for a more middle-of-the-road approach, profound in its simplicity, I turn to

Backhaus and Böhm. There are others that I enjoy as well: the soaring altruism of

Serkin and Ozawa, the razor-sharp exchange of inflections between soloist and

ensemble with Feller and Nagano or the color and vivacity which Sudbin and

Vänskä give. And then there is that existential performance of the slow movement

by Glenn Gould and Leonard Bernstein which seems to suspend time and distill all


human experience into a single dimension. How could any of these wonderful

experiences be singled out as the “best”?

Two particular details are worth discussion. The first is especially crucial because

it sets the tone of the entire performance, and that is the opening moments with

the piano entry and the subsequent answer by the orchestra. Right off, the

manner of legato or non-legato in the piano indicates a more external or more

internal mood (smoother, more legato being more passive and with lower energy,

while detached articulation conveys more readiness for action, more micro-

dynamic energy). Aside from the touch and tone from the piano (voiced to the top

for melodic contour or voiced for a more chordal harmonic solidity), there is the

musical question of whether the line should be considered as a single utterance, a

single breath, or if it contains within it two thoughts. There are good and not-so-

good examples of each approach. To get an idea of what I’m talking about just

compare Perahia (probably the best of the tapered, single-breath concept) and

Backhaus (probably the best of the two-breath concept). Most modern

performances seem to favor the single breath concept.

My thinking, and hence my preference for certain performances is that it contains

two impulses. My reasoning is thus: structurally, the five measure piano entrance

is a somewhat anomalous truncation (not mere thematic “foreshortening”) of the

eight-measure thematic structure that follows with the orchestra. Given the

asymmetrical structure of these five measures, the two component clauses will be

of unequal duration. The first thought, whether viewed as an amorphous state of

being (legato), or a more active state of doing (non-legato), comes to a peak in the

form of a raised question at the sforzando in measure three. This question then

subsides to a point of harmonic resolution (release of tension) and then we have

an afterthought, not quite answering its own question, but amending the question

with an optimistic tone (the upward ascending scale) that seems to rest on a

hopeful note (D major, with the melodic contour resolving to the fifth). Those

performers who view the line as a single utterance, seem to ignore the importance

of the upward ascending scale as a brightening of mood, or at least a hint of a

smile. If you agree that the line has this more upward lift of spirit then the cadence

need not drift off into near inaudible pianissimo, but may be more alert and open-

minded to what may come. The surprise (and the shock of audiences at the time)

comes when the orchestra enters even softer, and in a different key! By playing the

opening piano line as a long utterance that literally runs out of breath and finishes

with a whisper, one takes away a certain degree of effectiveness in the orchestra’s

surprising answer.

But these subtle degrees of characterization are what make the difference between

performances that we bond with and others that seem to be at odds with us at

every turn. If you view the work as a reverent sermon on the human condition,

then you will love Arrau and abhor Buchbinder. If you like more joyful expression,

less melancholy, you’ll be thoroughly engaged by Buchbinder and feel that Arrau is


a downer. Myself, I might seek out one or the other depending upon my mood.

Statistically, for every time I play the Arrau or the Buchbinder, I probably play the

Backhaus three times, and therefore, when push comes to shove, if I had to take

only one to a desert island, I would grab the Backhaus. If I could take a second, I

would go for Arrau, because I like the more inward places it takes me on its

journey than the more exterior (superficial?) excitement that Buchbinder

generates. Every individual listener has to make such decisions for themselves.

Besides the matter of energy (the manner of articulation and metric emphasis

giving a more active or more passive sense of narrative) tempo also places a key

role. Take for example: Lupu and Mehta. The tempo and overall timing of the

first movement (18:51) is not nearly as slow as some, yet because of Mehta’s

preference for a fulsome bass many of the passages sound lumbering at this pace,

whereas a lighter, more etched tonal balance (say Norrington or Szell) would

probably sound just fine at this tempo. Generally, I tend to favor performances

that have a sense of forward motion, as if compelled forward toward something,

and not just idly kicking pebbles down the path. For this reason I find

Gieseking/Galliera (16:36) or Katchen/Gamba (17:08) just about right. With Kuerti

(19:56) the entire discourse sounds like a symphonic lullaby, and on top of that he

has a tendency to slow down and dawdle at the end of every phrase. That’s not

true poetic expression. And don’t even get me started on Afanassiev, who clocks in

at a positively perverse 23:29!!

Of course there are a myriad of details to consider when evaluating various

recordings, and a good deal centers upon the nature of the collaboration, the

responsiveness and cohesion of the orchestra, color, tonal beauty and many other

matters. To give one interesting example, I would cite the three recordings by

Emmanual Ax. In each of the performances Ax plays almost identically, to the

nano-second of inflection; every cadential resolution is rendered the same, relative

dynamic levels are the same, tempi are closer in timing than other performers who

have multiple recordings. Yet, as a listener I respond most favorably to the London

performance with Previn, remain somewhat unmoved and neutral about the

Concertgebouw performance, and am actively annoyed with the Tilson Thomas

rendering. Yes, some of that is the simple fact that the San Francisco strings are

no match for the polish and depth of the Royal Philharmonic, but my favorable or

unfavorable responses are not due solely to the collaborations with different

orchestras and conductors. In fact, aside from some slight differences in recorded

balance employed by the different recording teams, and ambient characteristics of

the different halls, the biggest factor is Mr. Ax’s choice of piano. In the London

recording, the piano used is just about perfect: singing sustain, sparkling and clear

top end and growling bass when needed. For the Concertgebouw performance he

uses a rather non-descript piano with some singing sustain but little sparkle or

growl. For the San Francisco recording the piano is grey and one-dimensional and

this reduces all the endless upper treble filigree to joyless and colorless cardboard

cutouts of the musical line.


Frankly I can’t justify allocating my time to listen to a performance that has

neither awe-inspiring artistic merit nor aesthetic pleasure. For the same reason I

wonder why on Earth someone would chose to listen to Badura-Skoda’s old Vienna

performance (with Scherchen) which has neither revelatory artistic insight nor any

modicum of realism in the sound recreation. If you are a historical nut, there are

many more interesting—and better recorded—performances from the same time

period (Backhaus, Gieseking, or Solomon, to mention a few).

Assuming decent recorded quality and a performance with some insights worth

talking about, many of the innate attributes of each pianist remain somewhat

hidden under all the activity and back and forth between soloist and orchestra. A

good opportunity arises then to examine the expressive tendencies of the pianist

during the first movement’s extended cadenza. Choice of cadenzas also reveals a

lot. In this concerto Beethoven provided a choice between a longer and a shorter

cadenza, though the performer is free to make up their own cadenza.

There is a long history of composers and pianists writing their own cadenzas, and

the Beethoven Fourth has been a perennial favorite with entries by Brahms,

Henselt, Clara Schumann, Saint-Saens, von Bülow, d’Albert, Godowsky (wild!), and

Busoni’s emendations to the Beethoven original. Giomar Novaes and Edwin

Fischer both play the d’Albert cadenzas, while Kempff and Backhaus play their

own cadenzas, some of which I like even better than those written by Beethoven.

Rubinstein (the 1956 recording with Krips) plays the Busoni edition of the longer

cadenza to good effect. When it comes to cadenzas there’s no reason to be a purist.

But most performers choose to go with the sanctioned cadenzas actually written

out by Beethoven. Of the two, I prefer, and most play, the longer cadenza. Brendel

always played the shorter one and in each instance I found it startling and

disruptive to the mood of the movement. It is a strange Joycian stream-of-

conscious amalgam of half-born ideas, though I must give credit to Ivan Moravec

for making the best case for it in his 1963 Vienna recording where he refuses to

dawdle and rhapsodize as does Mr. Brendel. With the longer cadenza, Buchbinder

effortlessly tosses off a brilliant rendering of some really breathtaking virtuosity, to

the effect that Beethoven probably intended. Perahia, Katchen and Backhaus also

have nuanced and characterful cadenzas. But it is Arrau who amazes even more,

not for technical brilliance, but by the way he creates a whole island within this

greater work, a veritable exploration of every possible permutation of inflection, at

times angry and raging like in the Appassionata, at times weighted with the

burden of metaphysical meaning like a lost movement from the Opus 111—the

cadenza is a meal in itself but finally segues back to the orchestra and restores the

mood of the movement in a completely natural manner.

The second movement is a singular experience among the concerti. It can seem

dark and brooding and remote and a reflection in mood of the time when

Beethoven came close to taking his own life. When done right the movement can

have a powerful effect on the listener, but sometimes it just sounds like notes, as if


the performers weren’t really in that mind-set but were forced to have to give an

impression of it solely through their skills as cultivated professional performers.

That’s what I hear when I hear most younger musicians playing it (and I pick up on

this even when I hear a radio performance and haven’t heard who the performer

is). The clues are extremely subtle. Firstly, I believe the piano chords should be

voiced evenly, as if in a state of stasis or numbed despondency, not voiced for

melodic projection or for “comforting warmth” from inner voices. In this sense,

none have surpassed Gilels at the Edinburgh Festival in 1966. What an other-

worldly realm he creates! The pacing, the clarity of the finger legato, the tapering

of the phrase, and the great moment in measure 12 where the ornamental turn is

expansive and measured and utterly world weary! It is most unfortunate that

Barbirolli and orchestra were out of sorts that day, jagged and out of sync, and

without color. Unfortunate, too, that Gilels studio recording failed to quite reach

the heights of that one live performance, and again, with less than ideal orchestral

collaborator. Probably closest to Gilels in conception is the transcendentally

sublime version by Perahia with Celibidache, a performance of overall superb

musicality that is sorely in need of CD re-issue. Katchen and Gamba are also quite

poignant, and I’ve already mentioned the famous Gould/Bernstein performance

which is about as bleak and existential as they come.

Arrau is the other performer I like here. He is not as bleak as Gould, nor as

exhausted and sublimated as Gilels, but takes a different tact which by the end of

the course has a powerful cumulative effect on the listener. He starts out with a

much firmer, more robust tone, which combined with the slow tempo tells us he’s

feeling melancholy but he’s not yet down and defeated. In measures 31-34 he plays

firmly enough that he completely balances the intensity of the orchestra. Measure

47 again soars with an uncommon degree of forceful projection and then the

extended trills in measures 55-61 are built to a veritable fever-pitch of delirium.

Although he has the same conception in all of his numerous recordings, the one

with Bernstein for the Amnesty International concert is especially intense, really

pushing the piano beyond all beauty and composure, enough to even make

Bernstein glance over at the piano to see what’s going on. This building up in ever-

progressive arches to this final peroration is a truly powerful experience. Then the

final fading utterance from the piano has more meaning after such a struggle. But

damn it, Lenny! Uncomfortable in dwelling on such a depressing note he prompts

the orchestra for an immediate attacca of the ebullient rondo movement. Il segue,

yes, (as in no stopping to tune or shuffle around) but give us half a moment to take

a breath and say our respects to the (symbolic) dead. Celibidache times the

transition just perfectly in his live concert recording with Perahia (though Perahia

has to subsequently adjust the tempo upward from Celi’s more relaxed grazioso).

In the final movement, there are two issues to discuss. Firstly, the issue of micro

versus macro dynamic conception (seemingly the great divide among listeners)

which centers on the idea of whether inflection should call attention to itself, or

whether metric impulse should merely be hinted at. Arrau is not one to poke and


jab at the line, so some listeners prefer his smoother “Buick” ride which conveys a

relaxed and contented disposition. Others, such as myself, prefer a bit more

ebullience, more sparkle, and some spring in the step. Noted critic, David

Hurwitz, even argues that Olli Mustonen’s quixotic inflections (“hyper

articulations”) are perfectly suitable to this music. I wouldn’t go that far; often as

not I’m more amused by Mustonen’s indulgences than I am edified or taken to a

higher level.

The second issue is a slight detail which nonetheless bothers me a great deal when

not done to my liking, and that concerns the matter of how the string of trills are

rendered in the recurring rondo theme. Many pianists choose to string them

together into a continuous line of unbroken notes. Others, which follow my way

of thinking, clearly distinguish between the faster trill and the slower sixteenth

pick-ups, allowing an audible break between the ornamented figure and the

primary notes, and hence more clarity of contour, more delineation of the

thematic outline in the phrase. At the heart of the issue is one’s tolerance for mere

suggestion as opposed to a desire for maximum clarity of thematic ideas. For me,

amorphous outlines of musical shapes are acceptable in a slow, low energy

movement, but psychologically at odds in a lively and energetic movement. There

are always other mitigating factors such as the speech threshold of the piano’s

hammers and microphone placement, and of course, a master pianist, such as

Perahia, who plays the trills in an unbroken string, has such a delightful, feather-

light touch that I’m not bothered by the loss of thematic outline. Ashkenazy, on

the other hand, delineates the contour but has an overall bumpy and rough-hewn

touch. Probably the most clear and delineated is Moravec, but I don’t think his A+

performance in the final movement quite makes up for the somewhat lackluster

first movement. As I said, there are many issues to consider.

While energetic disposition is the most defining characteristic of a performance,

there are more subtle nuances that may add or detract from one’s enjoyment.

Pierre-Laurent Aimard likes to emphasize cross-accents and unusual metric con-

figurations as when in measures 353-360 he plays the string of six eighth notes in

each measure with a strong two-note grouping (phrasing and metric stress), when

in my score (and how I hear every other performance) the notes are grouped in

threes. It sounds like when somebody is walking at a comfortable pace and then

because of some irregularity in the surface suddenly takes smaller and more rapid

steps to keep the overall pace the same. It don’t mind it either way, and can very

well imagine Beethoven doing something like that just to keep the conductor on

his guard.

Another French pianist with some unusual ideas is Jean-Marc Luisada. His

predilection is for humorous bits of clashing dissonance. The most obvious

example of this happens in the last movement in measures 529-545 (with other

pianists the listener is not even aware that Beethoven has written some of these

momentary bits of clashing “wrong notes”).


A final note about Glenn Gould’s performance of this concerto. I listened again for

the umpteenth time wondering about how I could possibly describe such a unique

rendering in the context of this objectifying survey. Some of the other more

eccentric performances—those by Afanassiev, Mustonen, Pletnev and Kissin—I

have no patience for. But Gould is a special case, and I’ve always wondered how it

connects so deeply despite all the oddities and mannerisms. I hate the rolled

chords at the beginning, like a minimally talented minstrel strumming his lute, but

once I get past that I am drawn in fairly quickly. It helps that Bernstein didn’t take

the project as a joke, but approaches it all with heartfelt conviction. One need only

listen to the Andante con moto movement to realize that Gould’s unusual

inflections are not externally applied or in any way disrespectful of the music. His

inner world may have been a reflection of Asperger’s syndrome, but it is a world

that is keenly perceptive, serious of intent and poignantly felt. This stands as a

major difference from the other versions I cited which fall more into the camp of

silly antics and impish disrespect for the continuity of the music.


Afanassiev/Soudant, Aimard/Harnoncourt, Arrau/Bernstein, Arrau/Davis, Arrau/Galliera,

Arrau/Haitink, Arrau/Klemperer, Arrau/Munch, Arrau/Muti, Ashkenazy/Haitink, Ashkenazy/Mehta,

Ashkenazy/Solti, Ax/Haitink, Ax/Previn, Ax/Tilson Thomas, Bachauer/Dorati, Backhaus/Böhm,

Backhaus/Cantelli, Backhaus/Knappertsbusch, Backhaus/Krauss, Backhaus/Schmitt-Isserstedt,

Badura-Skoda/Scherchen, Barenboim/soloist & cond., Barenboim/Klemperer, Bezuidenhout/Brüggen,

Brautigam/Parrot, Brendel/Haitink, Brendel/Levine, Brendel/Rattle, Buchbinder/soloist & cond.,

Cliburn/Reiner, Curzon/Knappertsbusch, Curzon/Kubelik, De Larrocha/Chailly, Feller/Nagano,

Fleisher/Szell, Gieseking/Galliera, Gieseking/Keilberth, Gilels/Barbirolli, Gilels/Ludwig, Gilels/Szell,

Goode/Fischer, Gould/Bernstein, Grimaud/Eschenbach, Grimaud/Masur, Gulda/Stein, Haskil/Zecchi,

Hess/Boult, Hofmann/Mitropoulos, Katchen/Gamba, Kazakevich/Mackerras, Kempff/Leitner,

Kempff/Van Kempen, Kissin/Davis, Kovacevich/Davis, Kuerti/Davis, Lewis/Belohlavek,

Luisada/Franck, Lupu/Mehta, Moravec/Belohlavek, Moravec/Turnovsky, Mustonen/soloist & cond.,

Newman/Simon, Ney/Hoogstratten, Novaes/Klemperer, Oppitz/Janowski, Perahia/Celibidache,

Perahia/Haitink, Perahia/Marriner, Pizarro/Mackerras, Pletnev/Gansch, Pollini/Abbado, Pollini/Böhm,

Rosen/Morris, Rosenberger/Schwartz, Rubinstein/Beecham, Rubinstein/Krips, Schiff/Haitink,

Schnabel/Sargent, Schnabel/Stock, Serkin/Munch, Serkin/Ormandy (’54), Serkin/Ormandy (’62),

Serkin/Ozawa, Shelley/soloist & cond., Sudbin/Vänskä, Tan/Norrington, Tomsic/Pehlivanian,

Uchida/Sanderling, Vladar/Wordsworth, Weissenberg/Karajan, Westenholz/Schønwandt,

Zacharia/Vonk, Zimerman/Bernstein








All the recordings that are not singled out into the above classifications are sort of lukewarm performances that are not as immediately compelling as the shelf pullers or Keepers, but competent enough that they can hardly be considered expendable or not entirely competitive. If you own one of these recordings and derive enjoyment from it, fine. Fans of certain pianists will want to have those recordings irrespective of what conclusions I’ve made. However, if your only exposure to this music is a recording that I’ve ranked among the expendable or Hall of Shame group, you may want to explore some other options in order to hear the full potential of the music. In some cases I have given a rough score of each movement based on a scale of 1-10.

Sound Quality ratings are given on a scale of 1-3, one being reasonably listenable, two being clear and enjoyable, three being vivid and most realistic.

Shelf Pullers Arrau/Klemperer (EMI/Testament *)

Backhaus/Böhm (EuroArts DVD **) Reference pick

Buchbinder/soloist & cond. (C Major DVD**)

Fellner/Nagano (ECM **)

Katchen/Gamba (Decca **)

Sudbin/Vänskä (BIS ***)

Keepers Arrau/Davis/Dresden (Philips **)

Ax/Previn (RCA **) Bezuidenhout/Brüggen

Gieseking/Galliera Gould/Bernstein (Sony *)

Kempff/Leitner (DG *) Perahia/Celibidache (Originals **)

Perahia/Haitink (Sony **) Serkin/Ozawa (Telarc ***)

Zimerman/Bernstein (DG **)

Expendable Badura-Skoda/Scherchen, Gilels/Szell

Haskil/Zecchi, Kempff/Van Kempen, Kuerti/Davis

Hall of Shame Afanassiev/Soudant


Grand Concerto in E-flat, Opus 73 “Emperor” (1809)

It’s Reigning Emperors!

To give you an idea of the process of how I undertake these comparative surveys, the

following interpretive analysis is more extensive than I’ve provided for the other concertos,

but it is still a considerable distillation of much more extensive notes taken during the

process. With over a hundred Emperors evaluated, I doubt anyone would actually want to

read a complete and detailed blow-by-blow account of each recording as transcribed from

my actual listening notes. My focus, as always, is not so much technical analysis, but the

prevailing mood of each performance. In this case: which one will become the reigning

Emperor?

As nearly everybody knows from repeated telling, Beethoven himself did not give this

concerto the title “Emperor” (that came later at the suggestion of the publisher) but he did

specifically wish to acknowledge its exceptional proportion and magisterial bearing by

giving it the title “Grand Concerto.” In terms of scheduled performances on the prominent

concert stages of the world and in terms of the proportion of air time it receives relative to

the other concertos, this concerto is heard about as often as all the other concertos

combined. In fact, for the last three years running, my local classical radio station has a

top 100 list which is determined by listener voting, and the Beethoven Emperor has

consistently beat out all other piano concertos (by any composer) and rates much higher

than even the Grieg or Tchaikovsky or Rachmaninoff Second. Part of the reason is that it

can be listened to on several different levels. Although the captivating spirit-lifting

exuberance dominates, it also has moments of inward reflection and a tenderly lyric second

movement, but not enough of these reflective moments to bring one’s mood down from

euphoric to melancholic. Even though I’m quite fond of the G Major Concerto (No.4) I see

from my own listening log that in the last year (aside from conducting this massive

comparative survey) I listened to the Grand E-flat three times, the Pastoral G-Major twice,

the C-minor once, the D-Major Opus 61 once, and the two early concertos not at all. I’m

not sure if this counts, but I also listened to Marc Andre Hamelin’s Beethoven Third as

transcribed by Alkan twice (yes, yes: a guilty pleasure!).

As I noted in the overview, one’s innate psychological disposition will be a major

determinant in the interpretative approach that one prefers. Even though we all

acknowledge that the composer’s intentions should dictate the overall character of the

work, the fact is that it is hard to shake off certain fundamental characteristics of a

performer’s personality. Sir Clifford Curzon was a shy and reserved person and his concept

of an outsized “Grand Concerto” is at a polar extreme to the conception of a strong and

vigorous personality such as Sir George Solti.

Almost always, when I reach for a CD of the Emperor, I’m in the mood for vigorous. When

I’m in a more congenial and expansive mood, I’ll reach for the pastoral G major. So I don’t

expect to hear a more reflective, introverted performance of the Emperor. We may say that

every masterpiece reveals its true depth by the many perspectives it can be viewed from,

and such matters are interesting to broaden our own understanding of the work, but in

general, most works seem to show their greatest potential within a rather narrow range of

performance parameters.


I’ll point out some of the more crucial points of interpretation, the moments that really

define the character of the work, and performances that demonstrate the range of

interpretive perspectives. Ideally, this discussion would work best as a lecture, with sound

bites and overhead projector, or if I had the technical know-how, I’d have sound links

embedded within the text, and lawyers to figure out all the legality of copyright issues, and

I’d scan all the appropriate passages for those of you who can read music score. But alas,

time and energy dictate a more expedient solution. So I’ll just reference measure numbers

for those who want to follow my discussion with score in hand, and I’ll also give timings of

my overall reference performance (Kovacevich/Davis) so that one may cue up certain

passages to hear what I’m referring to. Already I’m wondering about YouTube postings of

mini-lectures where I would demonstrate on the piano or play short clips from recordings

(would this fall under the category of non-commercial and educational?). Anybody out

there who knows of these matters please feel free to send along some suggestions.

[Timings given in brackets are for Kovacevich/Davis performance on Philips/Decca]

Opening sequence, measures 1-10. [00:01-01:10] First off, it should sound grand and

majestic, and without self-conscious second-guessing. Let ‘er rip. This is not the place for

one of those reflective moments. In measure two just before the second big orchestral

tutti, both Brendel and Curzon rush and then brake with the descending slurred duplets.

Yes, it says espressivo, but an accelerando and a ritardando all within one figurative gesture

just sounds schizoid. I don’t want any fussiness at all to detract from these three imperious

proclamations. Even Horowitz sounds a bit lightweight in his passage work here. Serkin

(with Bernstein) has quite a commanding start but then does things that dissipate energy

and forward flow. Perahia begins to let off steam well before the espressivo. Schiff sounds

jerky in the second salvo; not the place for our hero to develop a limp. Kissin is pretty

good; at least there is no fussiness. One of the best? Arrau with Haitink! Most left-field?

Glenn Gould (of course)—but it does have a degree of spontaneous fancy to it.

Orchestral Exposition, measures 11-106. [1:11-4:16] Everybody talks about their favored

pianist, but for me most of the defining aspects of the performance are derived from the

orchestral rendering. Above all I want articular vigor that strides forward with confidence

and purpose. In this regard, no one has come close to Solti (with Ashkenazy). Now here’s

a recording to put on when you want to crank up the volume and do some aerobic air

conducting! Szell comes in a respectable second place (with Fleisher and especially with

Curzon). Reiner is clean but lacks vigor. Levine (with Brendel) gets excellent figurational

clarity from the upper strings, but the entire supporting foundation of the music (from all

choirs of the orchestra) lack incisive definition. Rattle (with Brendel) is probably the worst

with sticky, fat-fisted articulation, and uninspired playing from the orchestra (and what a

shame because this was an amazing and masterful effort from Brendel—a real crowning

achievement in his career).

Besides the vigorous exposition of the principal theme, we have a contrasting theme in E-

flat minor which appears measures 41-48 and then the imitative interpolation of this in the

major in measures 49-56. At measure 41 Rattle adjusts the tempo downward, but the shift

in both dynamics and to the minor key are more than sufficient to differentiate the mood

without putting the brakes on forward progression. Szell (with Curzon) gets a wonderful

quasi-pointillistic articulation from the London Philharmonic. Solti is also good but not as

nuanced as the Szell/London rendering. Measures 49-56 often see issues with imbalance,

usually the horn insufficiently projected to bring the thematic idea out. Here Levine is flat


and one-dimensional. Vänskä and the Minnesota orchestra (on BIS) really put some major

international orchestras to shame; here is a performance of tremendous color and

character, and a recording which captures the tremendous dimensionality of the entire

soundstage.

Piano entrance, measure 107. [4:17-4:56] The chromatic runs sound about the same in all

the versions, but the voicing of the chords in measures 111-114 demonstrates how sensitive

the pianist’s ear is for voicing. Do they just plop their fingers down and let the chords

sound forth how they will (Ashkenazy)? Or do they too obviously voice to the soprano and

thereby give us a thin and tinkly rendering (Curzon with Knappertsbusch)? Or are the

chords solid, rounded and smooth, dolce but self-composed and not too inward? Brendel

(version with Haitink) gives us the later, with wonderful warmth in the voicing of the lower

middle voices.

Besides voicing, there is the ever-present issue of energy. Perahia relaxes too much and we

lose the sense of an epic adventure unfolding before us. Throughout this whole section—

measures 115-178—Schiff seems intent on proving that this is actually a long lost concerto

by Bach. For example, the left hand arpeggiations in measures 176 and 178 he renders with

pristine pizzicatos, an effete bit of the courtly dance that sounds like it could belong to

Bach’s Italian Concerto. Certainly, this does not sound at all authentic for middle period

Beethoven.

Leggieremente, measures 151-157. [5:44-5:58] Here is where the piano first intones that

delightful minor-mode episode we first heard from the orchestra in measures 41-48.

Brendel’s Vienna rendering is simply magical, and puts to shame Rattle’s lame tempo-

adjusting tepidity. Hadn’t they conferred about any of the interpretive details?

Interestingly, Brendel had attempted very much the same effect in his previous recordings

but it always came off sounding eccentric. In the Vienna acoustic this type of gentle,

detached articulation in this range of the piano comes off to great effect. I noticed a

similar effect with Backhaus even though the two played on different types of pianos:

Brendel a Steinway and Backhaus a Bösendorfer. Arrau’s version with Haitink is just right

without quite calling attention to itself as does Brendel’s. Curzon (Vienna version with

Kappertsbusch) drops the dynamic level way too low and the entire sequence recedes into

its own interior autistic world. Ashkenazy is just too rough and tumble to care about

nuance here, but that’s not why one would otherwise enjoy his extrovert performance.

Euphoric stasis, measures 158-166. [5:59-6:18] I’ll say this: most of the major artists

(except Ashkenazy) at least try to do something here, and I’ll take that over a rote reading

of the notes any day. But I prefer that the tempo not slacken too much here. Going

against some of the commentaries I’ve read that only Central European performers (Schiff,

Backhaus, Brendel…) truly understand the sound world of the Viennese masters, I’d have to

say that by far the two best versions I’ve heard of this passage were by Russian pianists. My

favorite, is actually (to my surprise) Horowitz, proving that he is not just a crass technician.

In fact there are many places throughout the concerto where he obviously did some very

careful thinking about balances and bringing forth the appropriate character of the music.

The other one I liked was by Evgeny Kissin. Although he slows the tempo down, he avoids

a slackening of tension by using a more deliberate touch and then bringing the tempo back

before the re-affirming vigor of the orchestral tutti.


A trilling experience, measures 266-275. [9:27-9:47] Okay, I’ll confess something here:

before undertaking this survey I never paid much attention to the particular sound or

speed of different pianist’s trills. For me they are just a fluttering sustaining of the tone.

But one reviewer, comparing two performers, made a point of characterizing the two

pianist’s trills. Given that the trills are relatively exposed and in the upper range of the

piano, I can understand why some listeners would be sensitive to the speed, evenness and

relative smoothness or shrillness of their effect. Now I make more of an attempt to listen

for things that might be bothersome to listeners who are sensitive to this. Unfortunately,

now that I pay more attention, I’m also quite often disappointed when they are not

smooth. Just another thing to be critical of. But when done right—and provided you are

really listening to the nuances of trilling—it can add another level of appreciation for the

performance. Even so, for me to say that I find Ashkenazy’s trill rather coarse and uneven,

doesn’t in the slightest detract me from putting on this recording and enjoying the spirit-

raising vigor of the performance.

What does bother me is how the trills pass over to the broken arpeggio figurations. Schiff

is the worst here, with an awkward gap between the grace note and the arpeggios while he

waits for the orchestral entry on the downbeat. Kissin always arrives before Levine, but

that’s okay because the piano part is far more exposed and what the listener is focused on

(so in other words, nobody but a critic using headphones would even notice).

Developmental passagework, measures 276-291. [9:47-10:16] There is nothing really

significant going on here, just a few pages of passagework while the orchestra works

through some thematic sequential permutations. But there are many such sections in the

concerto, and this is often where “dead spots” occur because of lack of attention or

imbalance of ensemble. Case in point is Rattle. He lets the Vienna orchestra just coast

along on autopilot, far too recessed in dynamic level to Brendel. Rattle did the same thing

with Zimerman’s new Brahms Concerto recording: too reticent and inattentive to balance.

Sure, he’s a charismatic character, but in concerto work that is no substitution for

attentiveness to detail. You’ll never hear Solti or Haitink let an important thematic idea slip

by. I prefer to have the orchestra take the lead here, but a few pianists try different ideas to

make the hum-drum piano noodling sound more interesting. Kissin gives us an

exaggerated crescendo on each upward figuration in the right hand, and I suppose it does

lend a kind of breathless propulsion, but it probably works better in concert than it does

for the up close and personal experience of home listening. Schiff is fussy again, full of

Mozartean detaché, sans pedal. Curzon is so light he just falls off the map. Probably my

favorite rendering was by Horowitz who gives us a subtle (not in your face) dominant-tonic

play in the left hand: yum-poom-poom-poom.

Staccato octaves, measures 310-332. [10:53-11:31] Just before the launch of the staccato

octaves we have a full-body-contact exchange of blows between the piano and orchestra.

I’ve heard everything from staccatissimo chords to tenuto chords that ring through the

orchestra’s rejoinders, crisp rhythms, rounded rhythms (almost like duplets), and all kinds

of pauses or agogics before the piano proceeds with a resolute volley of fortissimo octaves.

The octaves themselves can be rendered bone dry or heavily dosed with pedal sonority. Elly

Ney plays double octaves for the entire passages, growling down and deep in the bass

register. Brendel’s Vienna version gradually slows down the tempo between 329-and 332

which gives the impression of the rage having run its course. This is not indicated in either

of the scores I have, but I like the psychological effect, which seems to balance the rather

abrupt beginning Beethoven gives to this episode. As I say repeatedly, I’m not as stickler


for slavish Urtext observations as long as artistic liberties are convincing and have some

underlying musical reason which makes sense. What I can’t tolerate are the willy-nilly

indulgences of musical egomaniacs who chew the scenery and destroy the organic flow of

the music. Case in point: Kissin’s remake with Sir Colin Davis which is rife with false

drama and moment-to-moment manipulations. In measures 309-310 he imparts a huge

rallentando latent with maximum gravitas, then his octaves proceed a tempo, light and

springy, as if it were all a false alarm. He changes directions in this performances as often

as Robin Williams changes accents and characters in a standup routine. Kudos to Davis for

expertly following such manic shifts in temperament (that’s some real virtuoso

conducting!).

The cadenza, measures 492-511. [17:36-18:17] Beethoven wisely indicates forte, not

fortissimo. Pianists that try to match the big blustery sonority of the preceding tutti only

produce a harsh tone and show the dynamic limits of the piano. Gulda’s overly-bright

Bösendorfer is most unpleasant here. In terms of crazy, I’m beginning to worry that Pletnev

may be following Pogorelic to the mental ward. His cadenza here really shows a staggering

irreverence for Beethoven just for a few moments worth of shock and awe. I can’t even

fathom the mental state of a musician as prodigiously talented as Pletnev letting loose with

some of this stupid shit. Maybe he thought he would just go out on stage and have fun;

forget all the stuffy formality of actually playing what Beethoven wrote. But if it has

become that boring and meaningless, then just move on over to jazz improvisation like

Gulda did. For serious artistry—playing Beethoven in manner that still resonates and has

meaning even after a hundred performances in this survey—look to Arrau, Backhaus,

Brendel or Kovacevich, each of whom is completely distinctive yet keeping the flow of the

music within the overall context.

Adagio un poco moto. I was surprised that fewer than half the recordings I surveyed

really had a completely satisfying orchestral introduction to this movement. It’s really just

a sequence of slow chords and melodic fragments, with the only tricky part being to get all

the lower strings to pluck at the same time with a slow beat from the conductor. Poor Karl

Böhm in a wartime Vienna recording with Elly Ney doesn’t get the players to come

together for a single pizzicato. If I were conducting I’d mark very clear eighth note beats

until the piano entry and then switch to more flowing quarter note beats. The cost of poor

ensemble is too much to risk in spoiling the mood, and eighth note beats will still not

come off as rigid given the slow tempo and chordal writing. I’m surprised that even some

studio recordings continued to record after some poor ensemble at the start. But even

when the ensemble comes together the overall mood can still be hum-drum and not really

engaging. Sawallisch, for example, rather throws away the intro and doesn’t become

inspired until Egorov starts playing. It’s all a question of very subtle degrees of balance

between the soaring and “optimistic” melodic line and the “soul-tugging” pathos of the

inner voices. In this sense, I have the utmost respect for Haitink who gave superlative

intros with the London Philharmonic for Ashkenazy, and the Dresden Staatskapelle for

Schiff. With a deeper and more romantic-toned inflection, Klemperer gives a soulful

rendering for Arrau in the 1957 recording with the Philharmonia London.

Tempo indications such as this—“slow but with motion”—always open up the door for

varied interpretations. One doesn’t really feel a sense of flow until the piano enters with its

triplet motion, and I notated timings from a slow of 9:43 for Egorov to a fast of 6:04 for

Pizarro. I felt Pizarro’s timing really stunted the expressive range of the music, and frankly,

even at such a tempo, Mackerras could have brought forth more dynamic contour. Also


relatively brisk (compared to the average timing) is Backhaus, who at 7:22 creates a

wonderful mood and with the help of the wonderful Vienna acoustic gives us a most

beguiling tone which floats right out of the piano. Ashkenazy’s Cleveland version is a very

popular posting for this movement, but to be honest I much prefer his version with Haitink

in London. That is a performance of keenly felt poignancy that really touches me. Another

who sings the line nicely is Gelber with Leitner. The trick with this movement is that the

melody really must be projected. Recently, there has been a fad for playing this movement

without any melodic projection, to keep the dynamic level of both hands at a veritable

whisper in order to emphasize the intimate nature of the movement. But that only brings

out the ostinato repetitions of the left hand in relation. Therefore my suggestion to

Grimaud: rethink the conception, the intimate whisper just doesn’t work for a concerto like

this; sing the melody!

Besides melodic projection, there is the matter of organic flow. I was really surprised at

how vertically stiff Perahia was, surely a misreading of Beethoven’s intent in writing the

phrased staccato notes. Others get all clumsy with the trill at the first cadential resolution

measures 25, and the pass-over to the orchestra until re-entry at measure 28. Kissin’s first

recording with Levine is seamlessly organic and flows so naturally you’d never expect that

anybody could mess up something so simple. And yet he does this very thing on his

scenery-chewing remake with Davis (was Kissin on meds??). There were surprisingly few

recordings in this survey which got both matters of projection and organic flow just right.

Aside from Backhaus, who really plays most closely to how I imagine Beethoven envisioned

the movement, and Ashkenazy and Kissin who are a bit more Chopinesque, I’ll admit

another favorite of mine is that of Youri Egorov. That performance is one of a kind. Yes,

it’s slow, but unlike Pletnev, or Mustonen, or many others who take artistic liberties that

draw attention to themselves, and which disrupt the authentic feel of the music, Egorov

seems completely in the service of a higher inspiration. That recording is available on a

super-budget release from EMI for about five dollars, but the performance is priceless.

Rondo allegro. I look for rhythmic vigor and high-spirits in this finale, and I don’t want

any silly antics to detract from my enjoyment. Right in the first few measures we separate

the wheat from the chaff. This is not the place for sluggishness or sloppy phrasing. Kuerti

is much too tentative and unsure, and even when he gets going a bit, the movement just

lacks some pep in the step. Articulation and metric contour must also be vigorous. On this

count, I not only disqualify Fleisher, but place him near rank bottom in the survey. He

consistently swallows up the second sixteenth note in the main thematic figure, though

Szell and the Clevelanders execute the figuration with perfect clarity. Amazingly, super

perfectionist AB Michelangeli also lacks a degree of definition of the thematic articulation.

I also prefer sharper, crisper dotted rhythms, and on this account, Zimerman and

Bernstein, who are otherwise quite vigorous, are too flat-footed and lack rhythmic

articulacy. Barenboim’s remake with the Berliners is full of bumpy rough patches and

disruptive pedal stomping. That’s a deal breaker for me, and I wouldn’t mind saying so to

whoever yelled Bravo after this lame performance. Brendel’s last recording with the Vienna

Philharmonic seems overly fussy with its imposition of unusual and unnatural metric

emphasis, though the reading of the first two movements is otherwise quite masterly.

Schiff seems to have Mozart, rather than Beethoven, in mind in his somewhat lightweight

and prissy rendering. His micro-managed attention to every metric subdivision in


measures 42-48 [0:59-1:08 in the reference recording with Kovacevich] is so startlingly

disruptive and unmusical that my only possible response is WTF? There’s a reason why

nobody else plays the passage like that. Beethoven certainly did not intend a literal

breakdown of notes in such a manner; the groupings are only to suggest an approximate

placement within the meter, but emphasizing the grouping with strong metric delineation

only sounds perverse and highly unmusical in effect. I can only imagine what Haitink must

have been quietly thinking to himself. Perhaps the Dutch equivalent of WTF. Additionally,

Schiff’’s special Fabbrini piano doesn’t hold its tune so well by the end of the movement.

Because of the nature of the writing and the transparent textures, unpleasant voicing in the

piano really comes out in this movement. On this count Lisita’s Bösendorfer was just too

bright and the concert was filmed during her more “percussive” phase. She really needs to

do a remake in London on Gerd Finkenstein’s piano, or on a better Bösendorfer. She seems

to be a natural for this one.

Speaking of pianos, Gerard Willems DVD performance on a Stuart & Sons piano was of

some interest. His performance, while seemingly undemonstrative to watch, was

nonetheless full of masterly touches and a keen sense for balance, and the smallish

ensemble out of Australia is full of color and has superb cohesion. As for the piano, some

commentary has been very positive, but I was personally quite put off by the sound. I

found the repeated left hand E-flats in the final movement to create a sort of feedback

resonance which sounded like metallic string buzzing to me, and even more bothersome

was the upper treble which had a glaring, high-pitched after-ring. Measures 164-172 [3;48-

4:00 in the reference recording] which use notes in the highest octave were just way out of

control for screaming harmonics. It’s fine to have all that extra sizzle on the top, especially

in a big, commanding concerto such as this, but the after-ring really needs to be controlled

by dampers so that the harmonic haze doesn’t create unintended dissonant effects. The

middle range had nice clarity, but if one prefers that over the warmer Steinway tone, then

the new Bechstein D-282 also has nice clarity but without the problems, top and bottom, of

the Stuart. Anyway, I’d love to hear Willems on a more traditional, and more suitable

piano, whatever the make.

A brief note about texture. Beethoven seems to have written this movement to showcase

just about every dynamic and textural possibility that was conceivable at the time, yet

many recordings I listened to have a prevailing uniformity of sound and lack of variation in

touch and tone from the piano. For example, Perahia has a very smooth and evenly-

balanced tone that has doubtless taken decades to cultivate. But it paints Beethoven in a

single hue that for me is too monotonic and one-dimensional. A specific example of this

can be seen by comparing measures 146-153 [3:23-3:33] written forte with the nearly

identical passage measures 173-180 [4:00-4:11] written pianissimo. With Perahia you really

have to be listening intently to hear any difference at all. Arrau, on the other hand, has

good intentions in providing utmost dynamic and textural delineations, but even on the

best of his numerous recordings the gossamer pianissimo passages recede so much that

they nearly drop off the map. The idea is good, but the reality, as projected in a large

concert hall with a large modern orchestra, just isn’t ideal. Even so I’d take Arrau over

Perahia because Arrau alters not only the dynamic plateau, but also adjusts his touch and

articulation. It’s simply a more colorful and texturally vivid presentation.

Minutia madness. Here’s a small detail which seems to bother me no matter much I try to

prepare for it. In measures 58 -62 [1:21-1:27] and again at measures 305-309 [7:01-7:07] we


have bold rolled chords in the piano followed by a more delicate rejoinder from horns and

then woodwinds. In the first occurrence the two chords follow a logical upward

progression established by the ascending melodic contour that precedes them, yet in the

second occurrence the second chord is written down an octave and it just doesn’t satisfy

the upward arch of the line. It’s not that Beethoven didn’t have the upper B-flat note,

which often explains such textural aberrations, but I have to consider that it must be an

oversight. Most pianists probably don’t even give this matter a second thought, so I

appreciate those artists who recognize not just the written notes but also the practical

manner in which the audience will hear them. In any case, I like performers who

emphasize the lower note of the first right hand chord and then emphasize the top note of

the second chord, thus fooling the ear into hearing the upward progression that makes

sense. Besides that, I would play a third chord to really complete the progression to its

natural point of resolution, and that being on the Tutti (“all together”) of measures 62 and

309, which according to all performance practices of the time also meant that the soloist

was free to join with the orchestra, much as soloists in an oratorio are also free to sing

(with less projection) with the chorus. Brendel and Backhaus are two notable performers

who play some of these tutti passages.

The matter of artistic liberty is not to be taken lightly. While playing a few tutti chords is

certainly justifiable some performers indulge in such eccentric antics that all legitimate

and authentic musical intent is sacrificed. Case in point, Kissin’s remake with Colin Davis,

Mustonen’s goofy pokes and prods and false starts, and perhaps craziest of all is Pletnev’s

abomination which comes off like the Sorcerer Apprentice’s Rage Over a Lost Penny.

So who stands out? Youri Egorov was delightful; full of characterful nuance at every turn

(the type of textural variation I talked about). Likewise for Sudbin, with outstanding color

and enthusiasm from the Minnesotans. Stefan Vladar (on Naxos) really put forth a precise

and highly articulate rendering with a small ensemble that together made for a dynamic

and cohesive chamber music feel. But, saving the best for last, I believe Kovacevich stands

apart from all others for his amazing rendition of this finale. Vigor, articulation, and

musicality all come together in about as perfect a performance as I can envision. I don’t

believe in definitive, “perfect” performances, but if I were ever to give perfect “10” score,

this would be it.



Afanassiev/Soudant, Aimard/Harnoncourt, Arrau/Davis, Arrau/Galliera, Arrau/Haitink,

Arrau/Klemperer, Arrau/Monteux, Arrau/Voorhees, Ashkenazy/solo & cond., Ashkenazy/Haitink,

Ashkenazy/Solti, Ax/Previn, Bachauer/Skrowaczewski, Backhaus/Krauss, Backhaus/Schmidt-

Isserstedt, Backhaus/Schuricht, Backhaus/Solti, Barenboim/solo & cond., Barenboim/Klemperer,

Brautingam/Parrott, Brendel/Haitink, Brendel/Levine, Brendel/Masur, Brendel/Rattle,

Cliburn/Kondrashin, Cliburn/Reiner, Curzon/Kanppertsbusch, Curzon/Kubelik, Curzon/Szell,

DeLarrocha/Chailly , Egorov/Sawallisch, Eschenbach/Ozawa, Fellner/Nagano, Fischer/Furtwängler,

Fleisher/Szell, Gelber/Leitner, Gieseking/Karajan, Gieseking/Rother, Gilels/Ludwig, Gimpel/Kempe,

Goode/Fischer, Gould/Ancerl, Gould/Stokowski, Grimaud/Jurowski, Gulda/Stein, Gulda/Szell,

Hofmann/Voorhees, Horowitz/Reiner, Istomin/Ormandy, Katchen/Gamba, Katz/Barbirolli,

Kempff/Leitner, Kempff/Raabe, Kempff/van Kempen, Kim/Chung, Kissin/Davis, Kissin/Levine,

Kovacevich/Davis, Kuerti/Davis, Lazaridis/Symeonidis, Leonskaja/Masur, Lewis/Belohlavek,

Lill/Weller, Lisitsa/Mester, Lubin/Hogwood, Lupu/Mehta, Michelangeli/Giulini,

Michelangeli/Martinon, Moiseiwitsch/Szell, Mustonen/solo & cond., Ney/Abendroth, Ney/Böhm,

Novaes/Perlea, O’Conor/Delfs, Ogdon/Horenstein, Oppitz/Janowski, Ortiz/Hickox, Perahia/Haitink,

Perahia/Marriner, Pizarro/Mackerras, Pletnev/Gansch , Pollini/Abbado, Pollini/Böhm, Rosel/Flor,

Rubenstein/Krips, Rubenstein/Ormandy, Schiff/Haitink, Schnabel/Dobrowen, Schnabel/Sargent,

Serkin/Bernstein, Serkin/Ormandy, Serkin/Ozawa, Serkin/Walter, Shelley/solo & cond.,

Solomon/Menges, Starkman/Naum, Sudbin/Vänskä, Tan/Norrington, Uchida/Rattle,

Uchida/Sanderling, Vladar/Wordsworth, Weissenberg/Karajan, Willems/Walker, Zacharias/Vonk ,

Zimerman/Bernstein.


Piano Concerto No. 5: Survey Results Only professionally recorded performances are considered for evaluation; no pirate recordings or amateur YouTube postings. Most review sources were from CD or SACD, some from LP, MP3 downloads (or direct streaming from online service), and some video postings on YouTube of televised broadcasts. Shelf Pullers are the ones I’ll reach for first when I pull a CD off the shelf for a listen. These are the recordings that will likely give listeners the most overall enjoyment in terms of artistic merit and sound quality. (“A” grade) Keepers are just that: I couldn’t bear to let them go. While a notch below the “go to” shelf pullers, they offer their own distinctive perspectives and reward an occasional listen. (“B” grade) Expendable recordings offer neither distinctive artistic vision nor listening enjoyment. Many historical recordings are simply no longer competitive, and frankly a waste of time when others offers so much more. (“C-minus” grade or lower) Hall of Shame recordings are singled out as being the worst in the survey, and not merely expendable but actually a shameful travesty against the music. All the recordings that are not singled out into the above classifications are sort of lukewarm (B-, C+ grade) performances that are not as immediately compelling as the shelf pullers or Keepers, but competent enough that they can hardly be considered expendable or not entirely competitive. If you own one of these recordings and derive enjoyment from it, fine. Fans of certain pianists will want to have those recordings irrespective of what conclusions I’ve made. However, if your only exposure to this music is a recording that I’ve ranked among the expendable or Hall of Shame group, you may want to explore some other options in order to hear the full potential of the music. In some cases I have given a rough score of each movement based on a scale of 1-10. Sound Quality ratings are given on a scale of 1-3, one being reasonably listenable, two being clear and enjoyable, three being vivid and most realistic.

Shelf Pullers

Arrau/Haitink: 9,8,7 (Philips **) Ashkenazy/Solti: 10,8,9 (Decca **)

Backhaus/Schmidt-Isserstedt: 9,9,9 (Decca *) Kovacevich/Davis: 10,8,10 (Philips **) Reference pick

Sudbin/Vänskä: 8,8,9 (BIS ***)

Keepers

Ashkenazy/Haitink: 8,10,9 (DVD) Barenboim/Klemperer: NR (EMI)

Brendel/Rattle: 7,9,8 (Philips) Egorov/Sawallisch: 8,10,9 (EMI)

Goode/Fischer: 9,7,8 (Nonesuch) Gould/Stokowski: NR (Sony) Kissin/Levine: 8,8,9 (Sony)

Vladar/Wordsworth: 8,7,9 (Naxos) Willems/Walker: 8,8,9 (ABC DVD)

Hall of Shame

Mustonen/Tapiola Pletnev/Gansch


Piano Concerto in D, Opus 61a

(1807)

Written between the Fourth and Fifth concertos, the Opus 61 was originally

conceived of, and as published as a violin concerto. However, violinists of the time

complained that it was too pianistic in conception and awkward to play. Given its

lukewarm reception with the public, Muzio Clementi suggested that Herr Ludwig

might have better luck and make a few more schillings if he revamped the work as

a piano concerto. This Beethoven did without much effort, and probably bored

with the task of re-inventing the wheel he left the orchestration virtually

untouched, simply transferred most of the violin line to the right hand of the piano

part, and provided only a sketchy harmonic outline for the left hand, in some cases

simply duplicating what the cellos and basses were already playing. More

interested in creation than in menial transcription work, he focused his attention

on an extensive and unique cadenza that is basically a duo for piano and timpani.

In 1970 musicologist Wilhelm Mohr tackled the problem of the sketchy left hand

writing and offered some ideas and revisions. The justification is that this was a

rush job and that Beethoven probably felt that any reasonably competent

performer could fill in the left hand part. This was Beethoven’s own practice when

performing his own works before settling on a finalized version for publication.

Some of the recordings utilize these revisions, some play only what was actually

published with Beethoven’s approval. Personally, given what Beethoven was

writing in the Third and Fourth Concertos, and especially given the evidence of his

personal performing edition of the Fourth Concerto (with all manner of more

brilliant flourishes added to the published version), I would go even further in

terms of adding sixths or octaves or other techniques to bolster and fill in the

sometimes threadbare passagework.

In the commentary about the B-flat Concerto Opus 19, I confessed that, aside from

the rousing rondo finale, I found the first movements rather uninspired and that

frankly I’d rather listen to the Opus 61a piano concerto. Whenever I’ve made such

a comment in the past, pianists would wrinkle their noses at the idea that the step-

child Opus 61a could be considered legitimate. And I never understood their

reluctance to embrace the work within the canon. After all, threadbare left hand

aside, this is still the same great music that has made this concerto one of the most

beloved in the violinist’s repertoire. Compositional and poetically, it’s just better

music than the Opus 19. However, I must make haste to point out two very

important qualifications: First, my earliest opinions regarding the Opus 19 were

based on exposure to lackluster performances. It wasn’t until I got the CDs of

Kissin/Levine and Duchâble/Menuhin that I began to take more notice of its

potential. Now that I have completed this extensive comparative survey and

discovered some compelling performances I have a more thorough grasp of the

issues involved. Second, as dumb luck would have it, with the Duchâble/Menuhin


performance in my library I happened to have one of the best performances of the

Opus 61a to captivate my interest. As I discovered when undertaking the

comparative survey, most of the performances of this work are decidedly stodgy

and not at all convincing. So now I understand the disconnect. If those are the

kind of performances my fellow pianists had in mind, no wonder they wrinkled

their noses!

The performance with pianist Rene Duchâble and conductor Yehudi Menuhin has

stood the test of time. Duchâble really has a marvelous sense for voicing and

balancing the line. Duchâble is able to project those uppermost treble lines with a

real feeling of lyrical sustain, and wisely keeps the filler material subordinate to

this singing line. The tempo of the first movement is a bit too relaxed, possibly a

reflection of Menuhin’s experience in playing the work on the violin, where slower

tempos are more convincing. The tempo in the final movement could also benefit

from a bit more lift. All of the cadenzas are nicely rendered by Duchâble.

The other standout version of the survey was the Brautigam/Parrott recording on

BIS, which has noticeably superior sound to the EMI disc (or any other in the

survey). Many pianists (and conductors used to the violin version version) make

the mistake of taking tempos that are too slow. The violin has the ability to

sustain the line with a sense of lyrical purity. On the piano, Beethoven has written

in some filler material so the line doesn’t just evaporate, but at a slower tempo

these can sound vapid and even banal. On the violin some of the successful

versions of the first movement have timings of 25 to 27 minutes. Variants in

cadenzas account for some of this, but of piano versions surveyed, anything over

24 minutes proved to be deadly, as in Dead on Arrival.

Brautigam and Parrott clock in at 20:47 and what infectious enthusiasm they

impart. It’s true that Brautigam’s inflection is more Mozartean than is ideal for

middle-Beethoven, but at least the music comes to life with vivid characterization.

There are no throw away passages here, everything is rendered with loving care.

Even the cadenza, which can sometimes seem to have sequences that go on and

on, proceeds with purpose and musical effectiveness at this brisker tempo. The

final movement is so effective, one temporarily forgets how much fun the violin

version is. It sounds as if it were written for the piano, not a poor substitute for

the violin version. The cadenzas in the final movement are completely engaging

and the work concludes with a truly rousing finish. Parrott, who is a sometimes

uninspired partner in the complete cycle, seems genuinely interested in this work,

and the ensemble is as good as ever. Thanks to BIS for capturing such music

making in vivid and realistic sound.

As concerns the pairing with the Fourth Concerto: this didn’t prove to be one of

my top picks when I did the comparative survey, but because the two opuses are

cut from some of the same cloth, they really make for a perfect pairing on disc, and


the in this context, and taken on its own terms (not compared to the great Arrau

or Backhaus), I find I enjoy the performance of the Fourth just fine. I know I’ll be

listening to this disc often.

The only other disc in the survey that I’ll probably re-visit is the one with Ragna

Schirmer. True, her first movement is a bit stodgy in tempo, the result of studying

too many violin recordings and trying to transfer that long-lined feel to the piano.

Nevertheless, it is far more nuanced and serious than any of the other versions I

heard, and she has done some carefully-considered integrations of the Mohr

version as well as some subtle re-shaping of passages based on the original violin

part. The orchestra is not the finest and one hears some intonation problems and

some crackling from the horns (a difficult part in the slow movement), but it’s not

enough to detract from the overall enjoyment. The real reason why I’ll return to

this disc is for the exceptional rendering of Franz Schimdt’s rarely heard

Concertante Variations on a Theme of Beethoven for Piano and Orchestra. This

fascinating work deserves wider exposure and more playtime on the radios and in

the concert halls! Schirmer plays the two-hand version which was completed after

Schmidt’s death by his pupil Friedrich Wührer. If you don’t know it, make it a

priority to get yourself this CD. I’m sure it will be a delightful discovery.

At the opposite end of the spectrum from delightful, in a place where I hate to

dwell (or even waste time writing about) is the recording by Bardarson and

Mitchell on Centaur. Why this was ever commercially released is beyond me. First

off, it sounds as though recorded in a cramped and acoustically challenged band

room. Secondly, the tempi are decidedly stodgy, and even at that the pianist is flat-

footed and slow on the jump. The final movement has no esprit, no dynamic lift,

no panache. Thirdly, the conductor offers very little direction: the slow movement

sounds flat and inexpressive like an organ chorale prelude stuck at the same

dynamic level. Anyway, all of that just to explain its place in the Hall of Shame.

A final note on the violin version. Although I intentionally avoided listening to the

violin version until after I completed my survey, I couldn’t help myself from then

pulling out the twelve recordings I happened to have in my collection and doing a

brief comparative survey. Oistrakh remains my favorite by a wide margin, and the

new re-mastering on Regis is quite good. But, being in a critical mood, I was

surprised at how ineffective many of the famous interpreters were. Szerying and

Grumiaux both sound old and tired and have some problems with shaky and

skittery bows. Zehetmair and Brüggen are decidedly vigorous and full of

enthusiasm. The historic approach with minimal vibrato in the strings allows the

soloist to really stand apart, and the final movement is a veritable whirlwind of

dynamic energy! Of modern recordings I most enjoyed Janine Jansen who has good

characterization and forwardly-propelled tempi. However, the real treasure on

that CD is the incredible performance of the Benjamin Britten Concerto. Again, if

you don’t know it, get on YouTube, or get yourself this CD. It’s music like this,


with vital and transcendent performances such as this that make classic music

more than a passive hobby, and really a life-enriching experience!


Piano Concerto in D, Opus 61a: Discography 15 versions compared

Balsam/Dahinden, Bardarson/Mitchell, Barenboim/soloist & conductor, Bashkirov/Csaba,

Brautigam/Parrott, Duchâble/Menuhin, Irons/Taddei, Jando/Drahos, Mustonen/soloist & conductor,

Pollini/Caracciolo, Schirmer/Boreyko, P. Serkin/Ozawa, Shelley/soloist & conductor, Spada/Gibson,

Webersinke/Masur

Piano Concerto in D, Opus 61a: Survey Results


Shelf Pullers are the ones I’ll reach for first when I pull a CD off the shelf for a listen. These are the recordings that will likely give listeners the most overall enjoyment in terms of artistic merit and sound quality. (A grade)

Keepers are just that: I couldn’t bear to let them go. While a notch below the “go to” shelf pullers, they offer their own distinctive perspectives and reward an occasional listen. (B grade)

Competent recordings are reasonably serviceable to the needs of the music, but hardly as inspiring as the top two tiers.



If your only exposure to this music is a recording that I’ve ranked among the expendable or Hall of Shame group, you may want to explore some other options in order to hear the full potential of the music.

Sound Quality: n = poor quality, not enjoyable

= reasonably listenable = clear and enjoyable

= vivid and most realistic

Shelf Pullers

Brautigam/Parrott (BIS ) Reference pick

Duchâble/Menuhin (EMI )

Keepers

Schirmer/Boreyko (Berlin Classics )

Competent

Jando/Drahos (Naxos )

Peter Serkin/Ozawa (RCA )

Shelley/Opera North (Chandos )

Spada/Gibson (ASV )

Webersinke/Masur (Berlin Classics )


Expendable

Balsam/Dahinden n Barenboim/English C.O. (DG )

Bashkirov/Csaba

Irons/Taddei (MWT )

Mustonen/Tapiola (Ondine )

Pollini/Caracciolo n

Hall of Shame

Bardarson/Mitchell (Centaur )

Not Evaluated

Berezovsky

Blumental


Recommended Recordings

The Reference Recordings The best recordings of each concerto

Concerto No. 1 in C major, Opus 15 (1798)

72 versions compared

Evgeny Kissin, Sir Colin Davis, London

Symphony Orchestra (2008) EMI

It was a close race for top honors in this concerto, with

Brautingam, Brendel, Schiff and Sokolov offering stiff

competition. In the end it was a list of very minor

considerations which had their cumulative effect and tipped

the balance in Kissin’s favor. The main advantage is that

Kissin was strong in all movements whereas the others all

had one movement that was weak and not as competitive.

The other plus is that the tempi were just right in each

movement. Davis also faced strong competition, especially

in the rondo movement from Parrott who was the most

vivid and colorful. This recording also has the advantage of EMI’s Abbey Road Studios sound which

offers far superior clarity to the overly-reverberant Dresden recording for Schiff, or the noisy and

dynamically-flat live recording for Brendel with Levine. The pairing with the Third Concerto offers a

strong and competent performance, but not a real top contender in the survey. Although these discs

are now offered at a mid-price level, it would still be helpful if EMI repackaged these offerings and put

the two earlier concert (Nos. 1 & 2) together, as they were clearly the best performances from Kissin’s

complete cycle.

Concerto No. 2 in B-flat, Opus 19 (1795)


Evgeny Kissin, Sir Colin Davis, London

Symphony Orchestra (2008) EMI

A clear standard performance from the survey. Kissin has

the energy and technique to make the brilliant passagework

come to life and extracts a wonderful array of touch and

tone. It helps that he has an exceptional instrument full of

colorful harmonic sheen. EMI has done well to capture the

piano’s tone and put it in perfect balance with the orchestra.

Davis plays the part of a more fit and agile Klemperer,

sculpting the long lines so they sing with a natural

breathing arch. There’s really nothing to niggle about in this

well-nigh definitive performance. The pairing with the

Fourth Concerto is not so perfect, but does have one of the more memorable slow movements since the

classic version with Gould and Bernstein. Now available at mid-line price.


Concerto No. 3 in C minor, Opus 37 (1800)


András Schiff, Bernard Haitink,

Staatskapelle Dresden (1996)

Elatus/Teldec

Schiff is really the only pianist in the survey who gives

sufficient vigor to the many sforzandi indictaions in the

score. This is absolutely critical to give dynamic thrust

to the rhythmic propulsion. His passagework is

sparkling clear and rendered with a variety of touch and

tone that is truly masterly. Many of these felicities are

simply ignored by other pianists. Haitink gets a fine

balance of ensemble in the tricky (and unusual) dialog

between bassoon and flute and pizzicato strings in the

slow movement. Schiff is infectiously lively in the finale.

The only thing that would have made it more perfect would have been a less cautious pace in the

concluding presto coda. Otherwise this is a version that satisfies and engages the listener with each

repeated listen.

Concerto No. 4 in G major, Opus 58 (1806)


Wilhelm Backhaus, Karl Böhm, Vienna

Philharmonic. (1967) EuroArts DVD

This recording beautifully captures the luminous tone of

Backhaus and his Bösendorfer which has both depth and

clarity and in lyrical sections seems to suspend itself like a

halo above the harmonic foundation. There is a sense of

timeless perfection like the fine proportions of classic Greco-

Roman architecture. Neither Backhaus nor Böhm seem to

add anything extraneous, nor short the music any of its

essential elements. It’s as if the music is so deep in their

bones that all become conduits for the music to express

itself. Watching the video Backhaus appears as relaxed as if

he were at home reading a book, and Böhm hardly ever

prompts the musicians or makes a dramatic gesture. This is

one of the better video productions of a piano concerto I’ve

seen, though most often I just play the disc for the music

without video. For those without a video system or a universal disc player I might suggest the recent

Yevgeny Sudbin and Osmo Vänskä performance which gives full characterization to the music and has

been beautifully recorded by BIS, or look over other recommended recordings or the survey results

particular to this concerto for other ideas.


Concerto in D major, Op. 61 (1807)


Ronald Brautigam, Andrew Parrott and the

Norrköping Symphony Orchestra (2009)

BIS

Here’s one that even avid collectors have overlooked:

Beethoven’s forgotten D major Piano Concerto. This is

Beethoven’s own transcription of his beloved Violin

Concerto, with the additional twist of a unique duo

cadenza for piano and timpani. Composed in the time

period, and of the same mood, as the pastorally poetic G

Major Concerto No. 4 which makes the pairing of the two

on this disc ideal. Of all the piano versions surveyed only

Brautigam and Parrott give us a first movement with a

sense of excitement to balance the more poetic tendencies. The medium-size Swedish orchestra plays

with wonderful color and lithe balances, and seem to follow the pianist and conductor with great

enthusiasm. Indeed, the rapport with the pianist has an almost chamber-like give and take. The Fourth

Concerto, when compared directly with the reference Backhaus version, does not have the same

poignant sense of transporting esperanto, yet this is certainly a sensitive and colorful rendering, and

taken together with the Opus 61a makes for a delightful listening session. The BIS SACD recording is as

exemplary as ever, giving us some of the most realistic sound you are likely to hear in a home

reproduction system. Great music, great performances, great sound… I know I’ll be playing it often.

Grand Concerto in E-flat, Opus 73 “Emperor” (1809)


Stephen Kovacevich, Sir Colin Davis,

London Symphony Orchestra (1969)

Of all the hundred plus performances compared

Kovacevich and Davis achieve here the most consistently

high standards between all the movements. Although

there are a couple more rapt and sensitively rendered

slow movements which I prefer, there is no question

Kovacevich is magisterial and commanding in the first

movement and with unequaled balance of vigor,

articulation, and musicality in the amazingly rendered

finale. Davis and orchestra match the soloist’s gusto and

perform with taut cohesion and propelling metric pulse,

without ever crossing that line of being over-the-top like the Ashkenazy/Solti version inclines toward.

The recording engineers give us a very vivid and realistic recreation of the performance. Now available

as a budget release, this is as close to a definitive Emperor as I’ve heard, and is paired with a fine

performance of the Concerto No.4. See interpretive analysis for more detailed comparisons and for

discussion of other noteworthy Emperors.


Something for Everyone

Whether seasoned or newcomer, most listeners should derive great satisfaction from all of

the Piano Enthusiast Reference Recordings featured above. However, there is no question

that there are an abundance of other noteworthy recordings. Listeners with a special

fondness for a particular concerto will want to have more than one version on hand in order

to appreciate the diverse interpretive perspectives that they offer. In other cases, some

listeners may simply have preferences that diverge from the criteria used in determining the

Reference Recordings. This latter consideration goes back to the issue of psychological

temperaments which I discussed in the overview. Therefore I’ve offered up some suggestions

of alternative perspectives from readily available recordings that were among the best and

most interesting from the survey (no out-of-print rarities such as the Sokolov performance on

Opus 111). Enjoy!

Arrau/Davis: Concertos Nos. 4 & 5. (Philips)

In a way, these performances might be considered just as much an

“alternative perspective” as those of Glenn Gould. Of course the

two inhibit worlds that are polar opposites from one another. One

will hear instantly how Arrau is very different from the reference

recordings selected for these works. But there is ‘good’ different

and ‘bad’ different, and these are different in a good way. Tempi are

slow and measured (some say stately), which allows the music to

unfold without prodding or adrenalin or external drama. In this

way, if you are prepared to relax and take a deep breath of pure

oxygen, you will hear each section with utmost compositional purity, not boring because there’s no

driving metric propulsion, but full of awe and wonder, as if beholding the world from the highest

summit. Then, of course, Arrau’s deeply burnished tone, which was always smooth and never

percussive, also won him fans all over the world who appreciate the masterpieces without all the clatter

and hectoring tone. Despite all these positives, I don’t consider these suitable reference recordings

because I don’t believe Beethoven played with such exalted nobility and profundity as Arrau. I believe

Beethoven was a more down and dirty kind of guy. But forget Beethoven the flamboyant virtuoso, or

Beethoven the taciturn and landlord’s nightmare; Arrau gives us an idealized vision of the underlying

inspiration behind Beethoven’s creative genius. Climb the summit and see a better world.

Brautigam/Parrott: Concertos No.1 & 3 (BIS)

These beautifully recorded performances provide a perfect alternate

perspective to supplement the reference selections. For the first

concerto you will hear right away the completely different feel of the

music between the more traditionally symphonic Davis/London

Symphony Orchestra and Parrott and the Norrkoping ensemble which

under Parrott’s direction employs some of the latest thinking on

historical bowing and phrasing. Although Brautigam is also well-

known for his fortepiano recordings, he uses a modern concert grand

for these recordings, and he and Kissin are not that dissimilar

musically, both providing true extrovert performances with plenty of

panache. With the Third Concerto, one again hears a big difference between the smaller ensemble, more

intimately recorded, in comparison with the Staatskapelle Dresden in its highly reverberant acoustic.

One also hears more difference between the pianists. Brautigam plays on a piano with a round and

fulsome tone, whereas Schiff plays on a specially-prepared Fabbrini piano which has a more etched and

focused sound. Schiff also plays with a lighter touch, nuanced with micro-dynamic inflection, whereas

Brautigam is more a macro-player and more vigorous overall.


Sudbin/Vänskä: Concertos No. 4 & 5. (BIS)

BIS seems to have a knack for pairing together musicians with complimentary personalities; Brautigam

and Parrott, and Sudbin and Vänskä. Sudbin plays with great élan and natural, unmannered musicality,

as scintillating and brilliant as Kissin, but also with a somewhat more

polished sense of elegance in his tone. The big surprise for me was just

how fantastic the Minnesotans are. What color and expression from

the each section of the orchestra. BIS puts us on the conductor’s

podium, with the textures of instruments vividly captured on a deep

stage. Musically, these performances are quite different from

reference picks: Backhaus in Vienna is more classically restrained,

Kovacevich in London is more youthful and full of boisterous swagger.

Collectors with more epicurean tastes might wish to explore dusty old

historical recordings, or obscure live concert recordings of favorite

artists, but for most listeners who want both superlative artistry and great sound, this disc must surely

be a Top 10 pick for any Beethoven collection.

Three Complete Sets Worth Considering

Gould/Bernstein. Sony

I imagine every serious collector already has these. Completely

unique and just as compelling as the day they were released

nearly five decades ago. Definitely an “alternative perspective”

but only because the music is taken into a very internal world

with a very personal and intense response to the music, which

is to say quite different from the merely eccentric, ego-stoking,

externally-motivated renderings of some other overly-hyped

versions out there. All of the performances are not without

some interest, the quality of the recording varying due to

different venues and orchestras and with No. 2 being the least enjoyable due to the poor, acerbic mono

recording (1957). No. 3 is a bit relaxed compared to the more fiery version with Karajan, which is also

not at quirky in the usual Gouldian ways, but it is for the Concertos 1, 4, and 5 that you’ll be coming

back. The latter two, especially, have achieved almost cult status: the Fourth for its transcendent

second movement, and the Fifth for the somewhat slower tempo which gives the work a truly regal and

majestic character.

Kempff/Leitner. DG

I’m picky about preferring some of Kempff’s performances in the

earlier mono recordings with van Kempen, and others in the stereo

versions with Leitner. But if one were to choose just one to explore,

the later version generally sounds better and is available at a very fair

price. I also prefer Kempff in the earlier concerti, finding his Emperor

less than imperious. But his style is inimitable, and he plays his own

cadenzas, which are always a delight.


Lubin/Hogwood. Decca

Period instrument performances of the symphonies are easy to enjoy, but for the pianist, historical

versions using a fortepiano instead of a modern piano is often a ‘love it or hate it’ issue. I believe it is

important to hear the sound that Beethoven actually worked with. Hogwood and Norrington are my

two favorites from among the half dozen versions available, but I

especially like this set because the sound of the fortepiano, while

extremely diminutive compared to modern pianos, is never tinkly or

effete, and has a nice sustain in the melodic range. Not only that,

but this set also gives you some really superlative renderings of

several solo piano sonatas, the Pathetique and Tempest being

especially noteworthy. With enthusiastic and vigorous playing from

the Academy of Ancient Music, I’ve enjoyed these performances time

and again. For under twenty dollars, this is a solid investment for any

comprehensive library.

Essential Music for the Classical Music Student

Teachers, parents, and relatives: Give the gift of music! I still have all the LPs I was given as a student; I

remember who gave them, where and when I first listened, and the sense of excitement and discovery of

that first time. These days, the question of format is the big issue. My son, who is now in college, has

never bought a CD and only downloads music from iTunes and other servers, then plugs his phone into

the computer dock, or the interface with the car audio system, so he has his 1000 tunes wherever he

goes. If this fits the profile of a student you know, I would suggest getting a gift certificate from a

classical music server such as classicalarchives.com, which is like a Netflix for classical music

enthusiasts. This online resource allows the student access to a massive collection of classical music

that is far more extensive and better organized than some of the other sources which offer a token

selection of classics. YouTube is haphazard, difficult to negotiate, and the quality is usually

substandard.

If your student or friend is an older adult who stills uses CDs, then the question is what to buy.

Seasoned collectors have already developed more specialized areas of interest, so let them be. But

beginning and intermediate level students are wide open and receptive to discover the great standards of

the classic repertoire. Of the six concerti I discuss in the survey, I’d say that the Emperor is the most

important for the music student to have exposure to, followed by the Fourth and Third concertos. The

CD with Kovacevich playing the Emperor also has the Fourth Concerto, is budget priced, and has good

vivid sound. Other ideas: Beethoven’s “named” sonatas (Pathetique, Moonlight, Tempest…), the

Chopin Etudes, and the Piano Concertos of Grieg and Tchaikovsky. That would pretty much be the

Irreducible Essential Library for any piano student.

© Graham Reid 2014. All Rights Reserved

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