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Mozart Concerti Survey March 2014

Mozart is credited for taking the concerto idiom out of its Baroque concerto grosso style,

where the soloist mostly just plays along in ripieno-style with the other instruments, into the

type of musical setting that we now readily recognize as a concerto. By using the sonata

exposition form Mozart extended the length of the orchestral ‘introduction’ to create a more

purposeful and contrasting entrance of the solo instrument, and he gave the featured soloist

many prominent solo passages and cadenzas. In the final, mature concertos, Mozart sets up

the soloist as a kind of expressive alter-ego, in contrast to the orchestra. Beethoven would later

expound upon this idea of contrast, and he purposely ramped up the virtuosic element to

make the concerto a perfect display piece for the virtuoso pianist. Brahms and Liszt would

take the idiom even further, oftentimes pitting the piano as a heroic voice against the

antagonistic orchestra.

Mozart’s concertos are well-nigh perfect in terms of their formal structure and seamless

integration of themes and textures. There are 27 concertos in the official canon, 25 for solo

piano and orchestra, one for two pianos and orchestra, and one for three pianos and orchestra.

There are also some other incidental works for piano and orchestra, probably the most

frequently heard being the Rondo in D, but we’ll focus only on the solo piano concertos.

For this survey I have taken a different approach than with previous comparative surveys. And

this is good, because I’ve been looking for a way to cut back the length of these surveys, which

have regularly hit the 60-90 page mark. Instead of exhaustive interpretive analysis and

detailed discussion of multiple performances, I’ve decided to just talk about a few stand-out

recordings that deserve the attention of all listeners whether beginner or avid collector.

When I first set out to compile a working discography of recordings at my disposal—with 23

concerto performances on LP, 308 on CD, a further 157 performances available from my online

streaming service, and 4 more found on YouTube—I realized the sheer quantity of recordings

was far too extensive to consider an in-depth comparative survey. With all the mainstream


integral sets by Anda, Ashkenazy, Barenboim, Bilson, Brendel, Perahia, Schiff, Uchida, and

Zacharias, plus all the classic releases by Haskil, Kempff, Fischer, Hess and others, and all the

more recent newcomers such as Kissin, Brautigam, Bezuidenhout, Kirschnereit and others, I

was looking at a whopping total of 492 concerto performances! In the end I spent over four

weeks immersed in Mozart from dawn to dusk for this project.

With over forty years of collecting I’ve accumulated some ‘dead weight’ in my collection that

I’ve listened to and put post-it notes in the CDs, so why waste time talking about them?

Instead I’ll save you time by focusing only on the standout performances of key concerti, and

I’ve saved myself some time by vastly simplifying the discography, listing only the pianists’

names and concertos recorded, but not the dates or record label, and noting the conductor

only in cases where the pianists may have recorded more than one version of a concerto.

The Early Concertos The first four concertos of the canon are not actually original works by Mozart but re-

workings and transcriptions of other composers, principally Schobert, Raupach and C.P.E.

Bach. For this reason, many of the concerto cycles you find do not include the first four.

Mozart created these works, pulling favored tunes and passages for this movement or that,

and used them as performance pieces during his early tours. The quality and character of the

works varies depending on the source. The first concerto, K. 37, is really foursquare and even

banal, while the other three have some delightful moments and pleasant scoring.

Recordings have been made on harpsichord, fortepiano and modern piano. I like the singing

quality that a properly-voiced piano brings to this music, but among performances with

fortepiano, Brautigam makes this music sparkle and come to life in a way that Mozart would

have actually heard on the instruments of his time. The picture below shows Mozart’s music

room in Salzburg. Some historical investigators question whether the instrument was actually

used by Mozart, but it gives us a fairly close indication, in any case.

Mozart’s fortepiano in the Salzburg Mozarthaus


Among modern piano performances of these early concertos, none have done better than

Geza Anda. It helps that he has the wonderful playing of the Salzburg Mozarteum Camerata

which lives and breathes Mozart. There is a lovely chamber-like give and take between soloist

and orchestra, and one senses right away that these recordings were not just done off the cuff

for the purpose of being complete, but that everybody involved actually loves the music and

loves sharing it without anyone who cares to listen. Yes, this is ‘minor’ Mozart, but there is still

much to delight the listener.

Mozart’s first original work is what we now call the Concerto No. 5 in D major, K. 175. Mozart

liked this work enough that he continued to perform it for some years (and to positive

reviews), but I find it somehow contrived and ‘pushed’ in its attempt to maintain a festive

‘concertante’ spirit. This is clearly a juvenile work, with a pleasant, toe-tapping finale, but with

themes that are not very memorable. The only performance that

I’ve heard of this work that I enjoy is that of Barenboim with the

English Chamber Orchestra. The reason for this success is that

Barenboim imparts a vivid sense of musical characterization,

imbuing each phrase with a natural

rise and fall of expression, while

others are more flat, restrained, and

undifferentiated in their phrasing.

Barenboim’s performance engages

from start to finish, while others

quickly tire the listener with an

interminable sameness.

The Concerto No. 6 in B-flat, K. 238, has, at last, the sound and style that we associate with

Mozart. It has more innate contrast and use of color, so it works better even with less

imaginative performers. It is a work which prominently features the horn, an instrument

which captivated Mozart and for which he later wrote four concertos. Ashkenazy is too

brusque and roughhewn, but most other pianists give credible and enjoyable performances.

Anda is especially lovely and elegant in the first movement, but it is again Barenboim that gets

my top vote due to the wonderfully expressive slow movement, and the vividly characterized

finale. Barenboim also has the advantage of perfect balance and superb recording, so the horn

parts which are oftentimes either too recessed, or too forward and ‘scenery chewing,’ are here

just right, and most enjoyable to hear.

Daniel Barenboim and the English Chamber

Orchestra: vivid musical characterization and engaging joie de vivre from start to finish.

The early concerti are not just given quick run-throughs for the sake of being complete, but are elegantly and lovingly rendered with a wonderful chamber-like give and take between Anda and the Mozarteaum orchestra. The CD re-mastering of these DG recordings is vivid, well-balanced, and with plenty of color and dynamic nuance. Avaialable only as a complete set on DG (8 CDs) but well worth the investment.


The seventh concerto for three pianos was written to showcase the talents of the family (“der

kleine Bub” Wolfi, Nannerl, und Papa) during those early family tours. Mozart tends to noodle

a lot in the eighth concerto, so it helps to have an enthusiastic performance to make the most

of it. Linear or macro-oriented players such as Perahia or Hewitt tend to try my patience,

while performers with more micro-dynamic energy (Schiff) or more expressive phrasing

(Barenboim) are more likely to engage the listener. In any case, I find the sixth concerto much

more colorful and enjoyable.

The final concerto from this early period is the Concerto No. 9 in E-flat, K. 271. As Charles

Rosen points out in his book, The Classical Style, it wasn’t until this concerto that Mozart

really achieves a high level of compositional skill, and finally absolves the last remnants and

lingering traditions of the High Baroque period. This is the only concerto from the early group

that makes it on the Top Ten list of Mozart Concerti as determined by popularity of

recordings, concert programming and radio playtime. This list closely corresponds to what

most musicologists (Landon, Rosen, Badura-Skoda) would consider to be the most important

works. In descending order, starting with the most important/most popular:

Avid collectors will want to have multiple versions of these most significant, Top Ten

Concertos, and at least one complete set, while students will probably want to focus on just

the top three—20, 21, and 23—which are each quite different from one another and

demonstrate the fullest range of Mozart’s conceptualization of the concerto idiom.

But back to Concerto No. 9. I’ll confess that for the longest time I didn’t find as much to

admire in this concerto as Brendel and Rosen, who are both quite enthusiastic about it. Even

now I’d still take a good performance of Number 6 over a placid and undifferentiated account

of No. 9. If everything falls into place just right, the concerto can be most effective and it

certainly proves its merit of being counted among the top ten. However, there are some

compositional challenges which almost guarantee some performance miscalculations.

Let’s look at a few of the ‘problems’ and see how the best performers avoid them. The opening

theme with its upward bouncing pattern on three repeated notes is remarkably similar to

Top Ten Concertos

Concerto No. 20 in D minor, K. 466

Concerto No. 23 in A major, K. 488

Concerto No. 21 in C major, K. 467

Concerto No. 24 in C minor, K. 491

Concerto No. 27 in B-flat, K. 595

Concerto No. 19 in F major, K. 459

Concerto No. 17 in G major, K. 453

Concerto No. 9 in E-flat, K. 271

Concerto No. 12 in A major, K. 414

Concerto No. 25 in C major, K. 503


Mozart’s D major Sonata, K. 545 (written many years later) which also has an almost identical

rejoinder. I’m generally no stickler for slavish observance of Urtext details, but when it comes

to the principle theme of a work—its core hermeneutic implication—matters of phrasing and

articulation formulate the very expressive nature of the work. Therefore, I find it inexplicable

as to why so many pianists play the left hand chords with a choppy, non-legato touch. In the

corresponding dominant passage Mozart has written a phrase mark, and in the development

section with sixteenth-note fill-in he has written “legato.” Even without either of these clues it

doesn’t make sense to impart a different flavor of articulation from that of the orchestra.

Perahia gets away with playing staccato only because he plays the left hand so gently and

recessed to the background that it doesn’t disrupt from the expressive arch of the right hand.

On Brautigam’s thin and ‘pinched’ fortepiano such a staccatissimo touch is deadly, when he

should really strive to capture every bit of sustain the instrument can muster. Andreas Staier

also plays staccato but makes it sound convincing through really emphatic articular gesture.

It’s as if Mozart is standing akimbo and teasingly challenging the orchestra. Whether staccato

and emphatic, or full-voiced and legato, doesn’t really matter to me as long as both soloist and

orchestra convey the same character. I think Staier is good, but I also like Barenboim on the

modern piano and playing with a completely different character. In both cases the soloist and

orchestra are on the same sheet of music, so to speak.

Compositionally, Mozart takes relatively simple material—playing back and forth on the tonic

and dominant—and stretches it to the brink of all plausibility. The so-called ground-breaking

structural and harmonic forms of the slow movement sound like a composer experimenting

with half-baked ideas that are not always convincingly organic to the innate thematic

hermeneutic expression. Yes, the dolente declamation at the end is a nice touch, but the

movement (in most performances) just doesn’t hang together of its own accord; it takes a

master musician to piece it together with pacing and phrasing that makes sense.

The Rondeau presto finale sounds like a rather banal musical moto perpetuo (perpetual

motion) that brings to mind a hyper-active puppy chasing its own tail. The movement is

redeemed only by the spritely second theme, which is then often interrupted by one of the

crazy cadenzas that have come down the line. One of the silliest, which some pianists still use,

is found in the old Steingraeber edition. Mozart tries again his hand at slipping in a

contrasting minuetto section in the middle of a rondo, as he had done so effectively in the G

major Violin Concerto, K. 216. The idea in itself is risky and even Beethoven kept such mood-

shifting passages to a minimum (his Piano Concerto in B-flat); it worked in Mozart’s violin

concerto, didn’t work so well in this concerto.

All of this to point out that this particular concerto doesn’t really ‘play itself’ as do some of the

others, and requires a really compelling and masterly performance to avoid all the innate

landmines which can derail otherwise erstwhile efforts. My overall favorite performance of this

concerto is with Schiff and Vegh. Schiff is as good as ever: well-balanced, alert, and texturally

transparent. But it is Vegh who masterfully steers clear of any of the problems I noted before.

He transforms the problematic slow movement into a compelling and deeply moving

masterpiece. Many top artists have such a developed natural talent that they can sit down and

sight-read music with better expressive poise than a music student who has labored

extensively over the piece. That ability comes in handy when flying from city to city and

working with new orchestras and in different halls and with different pianos. But works like

this cannot just run on autopilot. With so much potential for awkward miscalculation this

concerto really only shines forth when the artist and conductor have spent the time to let its


secrets seep into their bones. Schiff and Vegh are obviously of this class of musician. I imagine

Vegh went about his day humming themes to himself and working out the tiniest adjustments

of tempo and phrasing in his mind until the expressive arch of the phrase was as natural as

breathing. Many of the versions I heard sound like the pianists were proficient professional

performers and the conductors reasonably schooled in reading a score, but it seems to me that

among conductors only Vegh really got to the point where all the subtle variables and

balances finally clicked into place.

Barenboim’s self-directed version with the English Chamber Orchestra is as colorful and

characterful as the other early concerto performances, though there are moments here and

there (especially with the horns) that a keen conductor would have kept the ensemble in

better balance. Barenboim’s finale is also very good, despite a rather deadpan delivery of the

spritely grace notes in the second theme. Barenboim does one thing that is critical to avoid the

dreaded run-on sentence effect of the moto perpetuo, and that is his use of micro catch-

breaths between phrases. This is really quite a feat of deft articulation at this tempo, but the

extra effort allows the phrases to be set apart from one another and that in turn allows for an

expressive arch in each of the abutted phrases.

Kempff’s performance impressed me from start to finish,

though the dated sound from a provincial 1953 mono

recording is not at all enjoyable. Nevertheless, every student of

this concerto should hear the amazing arsenal of touch and

tone he has at his disposal. This masterful use of touch and

tone helps hide the fact that Mozart has spread his material

thin. This is especially helpful in the final rondo, which in

lesser hands always threatens to become an endless and

irksome run-on sentence.

Perahia puts forth a tasteful performance and makes better sense of the crazy cadenza by

linking the contrasting andante-presto phrases with trills. Uchida gets all the inflections

wrong, the phrasing too effete, and the grace notes in the finale sound like hiccups. Shelley is

good, both limpid in tone and buoyant in phrasing, though as with Perahia, the recorded

sound could be more vivid and less reverberant. Gieseking is completely manic, and so fast

that even he can’t properly delineate the phrases.

A set of the most consistently

high standard. Schiff, Vegh, and

the Mozarteans have this music in

their bones. Even minor works

sound like masterpieces. Vegh’s

phrasing and sense of balance are

both impeccable and inimitable.

The full-price set is a substantial

investment, but an absolute must-

have for any lover of Mozart.

Kempff: Master Mozartean with

myriad colors and nuance


Finally, Brautigam (on fortepiano), who seemed to miss a few opportunities in the first

movement, redeems himself with such a wonderfully invigorating finale—breathless and

rousing in its speed and metric propulsion—that the performance is a must-have simply to

hear this one movement. Yes, some of the other performances may be more ‘refined’ and less

bumptious, but the Mozart of this time was more über-talented showman than conscientious

composer, so I imagine this is exactly the kind of spirited rendering the young Mozart

envisioned.

My final picks for Concerto No. 9 are thus: played on

fortepiano, Staier (for the compelling first movement)

and Brautigam (for the rousing finale); on modern

pianos Schiff and Vegh are supreme, though

Barenboim with the English Chamber Orchestra is

also highly rewarding with a slightly more extroverted

character.

The Middle Concerti There was a break of five years between the Concerto K. 271 (No. 9) and the Concerto K. 413

(No. 11). In 1782 Mozart quickly pinned three new piano concertos, Nos. 11, 12, and 13. As with

Bach’s Cantatas, written on-demand for weekly liturgical services, not all of Mozart’s

commissioned works are as fully inspired as the works written with clearly creative impetus.

As with Bach, even the ‘weakest’ of these works is clearly the work of a skilled composer, and

clearly above the level of second-rate composers such as Clementi or Salieri. But let’s be

honest, not all of Mozart’s concerti are standout masterpieces, and concertos such as number

11, K 413, are entirely forgettable, not to mention the vapid fluffery of No. 18 with its banal

wedding march theme. But even among the lessor works there are moments that delight, such

as the wonderful finale of No. 14 in E-flat which plays back and forth between a double and

triple feel and has an almost contrapuntal exchange of thematic development.

Concerto No. 15 in B-flat (K. 450) also has many delights, and an overall infectious high

spirit. Mozart enjoyed performing it, and it was also a favorite of Leonard Bernstein who

performed it and made a recording of it acting as both soloist and conductor. Bernstein’s

recording is certainly enthusiastic, but also rather roughhewn in places. To get the full

measure of this work listen to Brendel and Marriner, who in general seem to shine the most in

these middle period concerti (12, 13, 14, 15, all exemplary). Brendel distances himself from

virtually every other pianist with incredibly nuanced dynamic shadings and impeccable

phrasing which bring alive even the simplest passages. The playing from the Academy of St.

Martin in the Fields is warm and colorful, with especially standout playing from the

woodwinds.

Concerto No. 16 in D (K. 451) is considered by Charles Rosen to be a weak and undistinctive

work. Nevertheless, when you listen to as many versions as I have you find performances

which make the music come alive and provide for true Mozartean delight. I find the first

movement quite compelling in its contrast of coy figurations and more ruminative minor

Fasten your seatbelts! Brautigam

gives us the fortepiano super-

charged on high-octave fuel.


modes. True, some performances are one-dimensional and make the piece seem like an ‘on-

demand’ mood maker for some festive occasion. But the performances with nuance and color

really bring forth more dimensionality and an almost narrative quality to the unfolding story.

Brendel brings forth all kinds of colors and textures which captivate the listener, so it’s too bad

that the recorded balance in this particular concerto makes the orchestra seem a bit dull and

colorless. Much more colorful is Marriner’s conducting with the Stuttgart ensemble in the

version with Zacharias, which bristles with excitement and micro-dynamic inflection.

The second movement can seem to warrant Rosen’s epitaph as one of Mozart’s least inspired

creations, and I had just about written it off (especially after hearing Barenboim’s cold

porridge rendering) when I heard Brendel’s version after many years of not listening to it.

What suppleness of inflection and inventive ornamentation with elaborative figurations to

keep the music floating in the clouds! As for the last movement, I don’t think I heard a bad

version, not even Barenboim’s meat n’ potatoes account which is saved by his nicely singing

melodic contour. Brendel and Zacharias are also enjoyable, and Schiff and Vegh impart

wonderful micro-dynamic inflection, rhythmic thrust and crisp articulation, but the winner

here has got to be Anda who bristles with excitement and whose cadenza is delightfully

characterized. Anda’s older recording sounds a bit grainy on the forte string sounds, but

unless you compare it directly with warmer-sounding modern recordings, the sound is

satisfying enough that it won’t detract from Anda’s great performance.

Considering the concerto in its entirety my top pick would be for Zacharias and Marriner. As a

complete set I can’t recommend Zacharias because the results are somewhat inconsistent

given that it was recorded with various conductors and ensembles over a span of more than a

decade. However, there are a few standout performances such as the Concerto No. 16 where

everybody involved was clearly full of enthusiasm. The brisk tempi help convey a sense of

excitement and forward momentum and Zacharias’ clear and articulate passage work sparkles.

The overall results are enough to edge out masterful renderings by Brendel, Schiff and Anda. I

got my integral set with Zacharias on sale for only $23 – so that’s a fair enough price even if

just for those few selected standout performances.

Well, for reasons of economy we must move on, so I’ll focus more fully on the concertos that

are listed among the top ten: numbers 12, 17, and 19.

Mozart’s Salzburg


The Concerto No. 12 in A, K. 414 is a concerto that I’ve liked in my head more than I’ve ever

liked in actual performance. This is exactly why there are so many performances of major

works, and why small differences in interpretation can suddenly make a work click for certain

listeners. I happen to read the score and hear it in my mind at a tempo that is a little more

vigorous than anything I’ve yet heard. I’m not talking about an extreme tempo, just a few

clicks of the metronome faster and an interpretation of Allegro character that leans more in

the direction of brio than grazioso (Mozart simply wrote ‘Allegro’). But this concerto is

apparently perfectly satisfying to listeners with the more relaxed and genteel presentation that

is customary. I say all this because I recognize that my preferences may lie somewhat outside

of the norm, and I tend to hold performances in higher regard if they come closer to my own

conception of the work. Nothing wrong with that, or with listeners who may have the opposite

idealization.

The other reluctance I have at coming to a decisive recommendation is that I’ve heard a few

versions where the orchestral ensemble impressed me, and a few where the pianist impressed,

but thus far, not both in the same performance. Schiff and Vegh are of one accord, and highly

responsive (as they are throughout the entire cycle), but their rendering was even more

relaxed than most, and further away from my own conception. As for pianists, I really like

Brendel’s characterization and phrasing best, but Mackerras, who is normally more energetic,

seemed to flatten the dynamic contour of phrasing and hold back the orchestra (as we found

out later, he was not in good health, and died shortly thereafter). Brendel is also good in the

version with Marriner, but the Academy seems less alert than usual and somewhat ‘sticky’ in

articulation. Irrespective of my own reactions, most listeners will find either of those two

versions—the Brendel/Mackerras or Schiff/Vegh—completely satisfying.

Brautigam is as energetic as usual, but the instrument he uses in this case is not as richly

resonant or with the same level of sustain as the instrument used for other performances in

the cycle. Furthermore, the conductor seems to be imposing some subito dynamic concepts in

the phrasing that are not convincingly organic. Ashkenazy, who is often overly brusque,

decides to walk on eggs in this concerto. That leaves Barenboim and the English Chamber

Orchestra which comes closest to what I consider to be an appropriate tempo and level of

energy. Other reviewers have liked this performance, too, but usually qualify their

recommendation by saying that some listeners may find the performance too ‘in your face’ for

comfort. I say: give me more!

The Concerto No. 17 in G, K.453 is probably my favorite from the middle period group. Here

we find the perfect integration of all of Mozart’s strengths during this period: seamless

transition of primary and secondary themes, perfect clarity of orchestration, and memorable

tunes that are in themselves perfectly formed self-contained structures (where Haydn and,

later, Beethoven, were more likely to use open-ended melodies or fragments in order to tease

out compositional variation).

In reading thus far, you may have determined that I have positive opinions of Schiff, Anda,

Brendel, Barenboim, and Brautigam for Mozart. But there are several well-regarded pianists

for whom I do not have a favorable impression: Perahia, Uchida, Zacharias and Pires. The

reason is that none of these pianists explore the realms of color, articular texture or micro-

dynamic inflection. I often talk about textural nuance yet many readers may not fully

understand what this is or why I consider it a vital component of a proper Mozartean

technique. For more on this topic read the section on tone and texture in the separate essay

Mozart on the Piano.


We see this same division of pianistic conceptualization in this concerto. Perahia stays

decidedly in the macro-dynamic realm and plays with a well-cultivated legato tone (which

many enjoy), but to the sensualist (and Mozart certainly was one!) this constant warm blanket

of tone is airless and suffocating. Uchida has the opposite problem in constantly playing too

lightly and delicately, and hardly ever with any textural nuance.

Probably the most interesting contrast in performances comes between two versions using

fortepianos and authentic instruments: Bezuidenhout with the Freiburger Barockorchester

and Brautigam with the Kölner Akadamie. Bezuidenhout’s bracing and non-romanticized style

is certainly thought-provoking. The Freiburg strings play with zero vibrato (oftentimes rather

Piano or Fortepiano?

The fortepiano, as an evolutionary extension of the harpsichord, is an instrument best suited for

Hausmusik. Indeed the composer himself made chamber music versions of many of the middle-

period concerti for just this purpose. There is also no question at all that as an instrument for the

solo sonatas, the fortepiano has a much greater range of color and expressive potential than the

harpsichord ever had. However, as an instrument for a concerto, even with a small 24-piece

ensemble, the fortepiano is not really the best choice compared to the obvious choices of trumpet,

horn, or violin. But even compared against instruments of less carrying power, such as the

recorder, flute, or oboe, the fortepiano is really so diminutive that one questions its very

suitability as a concerto instrument. Modern day makers of fortepianos have been able to juice

out a little more volume and melodic sustain, but such a sound was probably more of an ideal

than reality considering what Mozart was actually likely to have used.

Brass and woodwind instruments have had only minor mechanical changes since Mozart’s time,

but the sound remains very close to what it was then. The violin hasn’t changed at all except for

matters in how it is played (vibrato, bowing). Meanwhile the fortepiano, with the prompting of

Beethoven and Liszt, kept evolving until the late 1880’s with the introduction of the Steinway D.

At this point, composers seemed happy with the instrument and it has remained very much the

same since that time. Whether Mozart would have embraced the modern piano (as did all

subsequent composers) is not the real issue.

The real question is: why so many concertos from Mozart for an instrument that was basically a

novelty and hardly as musically effective as some of the other popular solo instruments? One

answer is that keyboards were becoming more fashionable in the homes and palaces of the

aristocracy, and these very same patrons of the arts (and source for many of Mozart’s

commissioned subscription concerts) were always interested to see them performed by an expert,

especially the composer himself. But the better answer is that the keyboard, being Mozart’s

primary instrument of self-expression, was the best way for the composer to present himself

before the public. There is no question that the extroverted party-man would relish the

opportunity to be at the center of everybody’s attention. In such a case, the sound of his

instrument didn’t matter nearly as much as the promotional and marketing value of the composer

being seen and feted in public.


acerbic during forte passages), and the dynamic contours of phrases give a different feel than

what we are used to. The final movement sounds coarse and chaotic and gives the impression

of the merriment of drinking buddies grabbing their instruments for some spontaneous and

quite rustic Hausmusik. I’ve enjoyed Bezuidenhout’s solo sonata recordings for the vivid

characterizations he brings, but here he seems more reined in (perhaps by the influence of the

conductor), and the instrumental sound, even though it’s the same instrument he uses for his

solo works, has a more lean and austere tone as recorded. Even so, the primary consideration

here is the sound of the orchestra. Could this be how Mozart actually heard this music? The

overall impression here is of Mozart as more of a continuation of the Rococo style than

anything hinting at the pathos of the operas or choral masterworks to come later.

I’m more comfortable with the sound and conception of Brautigam and the Cologne group.

Brautigam’s instrument is apparently not the one he used for the later concerti; this particular

instrument sounds less fulsome and melodic, almost like a harpsichord. Nevertheless,

Brautigam plays with great character and elan, and the Cologne ensemble, while also

eschewing vibrato in the strings, is somehow warmer and more inviting than the sound of the

Freiburg group. The phraseology and expressive arch of the work is also more in line with

what we are used to hearing. Another fortepiano version worth a listen is that of Andreas

Staier, who has the best sounding instrument for this concerto. It would behoove all students

to take a listen to any of these historic versions, and especially the two quite different

realizations of Bezuidenhaut and Brautigam, and contemplate how our modern ears respond,

and ultimately how we feel when we hear the music through this ‘revisionist’ historical lens.

Setting historical matters aside, let’s talk about a modern piano version that we can just sit

back and enjoy! In the opening Allegro movement tempo is not the primary determinant of

character, but rather, metric and textural delineation. The most convincing versions have a

sense of moving forward, even if the tempo is rather relaxed. Metric contour may be subtle,

but it must be present to carry us along. The next item is orchestral color and how the

different instrumental timbres interweave within the phrases. This is where the English

Chamber Orchestra disappoints in the version with Barenboim; too sticky and homogenized.

Much more vividly colorful (at least as recorded) is the version with the Philharmonia and

Ashkenazy on Decca. Of all the versions I heard, this had (for me) the best sound and sense of

color and texture. Oftentimes Ashkenazy is simply too bumptious and roughhewn in these

concerti, and here his vehement staccato accents can push the limits, but the listener soon

accepts this as part of the overall characterization. In the slow movement, Ashkenazy ignores

Mozart’s own letter to Nannerl insisting that this movement be played as an Andante and not

an Adagio, and Ashkenazy’s 12:12 timing clearly puts this in the Adagio category. But when one

hears the poignantly expressive entry of the piano, one forgives such musicological quibbling.

In no other version have I heard such a moving rendition. Clearly one of the standout

performances from Ashkenazy’s cycle.

In terms of a more appropriate tempo for the Andante, I’ve already said that Ashkenazy’s

timing of over twelve minutes really makes the movement an Adagio, and at the other extreme

we have Brautigam at 8:30 which seems to occasionally push the music along uncomfortably.

Among the top contenders, Shelley and the London Mozart Players clock in at 9:49 and that’s

fairly convincing, though in my ideal world I might have wished for something in the 9:00 to

9:30 range. What matters is whether the music engages, and in this regard both Ashkenazy

and Shelley achieve moments of true expressive poignancy.


The final movement is a pleasant Allegretto which after much teasing finally breaks into an all

out Presto. Some pianists, like Barenboim, like to hold back the first part so that the Presto

really stands out. Barenboim’s really lets his hair down in the Presto and gives us the wildest

romp of any version on record; the orchestra can hardly keep up, and that was probably part

of the fun! Schiff is another who holds back at first and then springs to action at the Presto.

But my overall favorite is Shelley. What I appreciate, besides the exciting tempo and brisk

timing of 7:29, is that sequences and long passages that are often played in mono-dynamic

chunks are rendered with expectant swells and teasing diminuendos, and even the simple

chords in the left hand are given a contrasting tension and relaxation from measure to

measure. In fact, throughout the entire concerto, Shelley gives us so many felicitous delights,

and plays with such polish (while retaining that vital sense of spontaneity) that I have to give

his version the nod for my reference pick. Schiff and Vegh were very close for being a

reference pick, but since everybody knows Schiff is good, and his cycle is considered one of the

benchmarks for this repertoire, I thought I’d give a shout-out to Shelley, whose fine work

seems to have been inexplicably unrecognized. In any case, the three I couldn’t be without are:

Shelley, Schiff, and Ashkenazy.

Concerto No. 19 in F, K. 459. Although the first two movements are not the catchiest or most

memorable tunes Mozart ever penned, the last movement is a bonafide masterpiece. If one

were to consider all the movements of all of Mozart’s concertos—whether for piano, flute,

violin, or other—and compile a top ten list, this movement would certainly be among them.

Indeed, noted musicologist Charles Rosen doesn’t hedge his bets when he says outright that

this is the “greatest of all Mozart’s concerto finales.” The tune is catchy, the back and forth

between soloist and orchestra is cleverly done, and there are even a couple of masterly fugal

episodes thrown in for good measures.

But what of the first two movements? Well, thematically they’re clearly a step above the banal

themes of concertos 11 and 18, though still not exactly the most memorable of tunes like we get

in concertos 15, 16, and 17. In terms of craftsmanship they are also more developed, but it

requires just the right balance of tempo and texture for many of these hidden felicities to

emerge.

Part of the secret to revealing these hidden felicities is simply to have the proper orchestral

balance. Several versions I heard were too homogenized when it’s actually the contrast of

colors weaving in and out that contributes to the sense of linear motion. The orchestral sound

must not be too string-dominant in order to allow the warm inner textures of woodwinds to

emerge. In this regard, Marriner was right on target for both his versions with Brendel and

Zacharias. Ashkenazy also had a keen ear for orchestral balance, and the Decca recording is

Howard Shelley and the London Mozart

Players: underappreciated but superb

performances of the concerti. Their Concerto

No. 17 is a reference pick and the orchestral

colors and piano tone beautifully recorded.

Shelley plays with wit, humility, spontaneity,

and damn-near perfection. Give it a listen!


probably the most realistic I heard. Barenboim’s recording with the English Chamber

Orchestra is oddly dull and homogenized whereas other concerti in the series had more color

and sense of vivid presence. The producer (Suvi Raj), sound engineer (Neville Boyling), and

recording venue (Abbey Road Studio) are the same as for the others, so I can only surmise that

the various sessions (recorded over a span of eight years) must have experimented with

different microphones and placement configurations. Nevertheless, the recording is still a top

contender simply because Barenboim and the ECO had such a finely tuned sense of rapport,

and of course, for Barenboim’s masterly sense of phrasing.

Shelley and the London Mozart Players also have the proper orchestral balance along with a

Steinway that is voiced ideally to convey both a singing melodic range and a mid-bass range

that has just the right amount of weight and harmonic color. Shelley also plays with a

lightness and buoyancy of line that reminds me of the comic opera side of Mozart. This

suppleness of line and buoyancy of rhythm also contribute to a sense of linear motion without

excessive or undo metric emphasis. Buoyancy, it would seem, matters more than the actual

metric tempo in influencing the overall character of the movement.

Haskil’s conception goes in the opposite direction of fluid tempo and suppleness of rhythm,

with a measured and stately tempo and rigidity of rhythmic inflection. I’m puzzled as to why

collectors debate as to which of her versions is best, and practically wet their pants when some

new live concert recording is discovered. I found nothing artistically redeeming in any of the

versions which only manage to convey a sense of arthritic stiffness and micro-dynamic

lethargy.

Speaking of lethargy, Perahia’s sleepy-eyed version is so lacking in energy as to be reduced to a

naptime lullaby. Even Uchida sounds positively bristling with energy by comparison. At the

opposite end of the spectrum we have Rabinovitch with a provincial Italian orchestra. He is

obviously unafraid to poke and jab a bit to get his point across, and everybody seems to be

enjoying themselves, the result being enthusiastic but a bit roughhewn. For a live concert this

kind of vehement presentation would be fine, and preferred to hearing yet another touring

concert pianist somnambulating their way through the outlines of the music, but for repeated

listening (the purpose of a recording) we need a little more refinement than some of the

coarse voice-leading miscalculations we get here. But who’s to say that for casual and non-

scrutinizing listening (perhaps as background music while doing some tedious chores), the

contagious enthusiasm of this recording may appeal to many listeners. In my view Rabinovitch

is a more roughhewn version of Argerich, and he certainly does not have her suppleness of

touch or technical polish.

A final talking point on the first movement concerns the piano entrance (and all subsequent

appearances of the principle theme) which has the melodic theme stated against and Alberti

bass in the left hand. Why do nearly all pianists play the melody with a staccatissimo touch?

Mozart indicates that the phrasing and articulation should be the same as for the orchestra,

which is: tenuto, soft dotted rhythm and two detached (but not staccato) repeated notes.

Some pianists also outright ignore the legato indication for the left hand and play pizzicato as

if in cute imitation of a toy piano. Why? It bothers me when soloist and orchestra have

different articulation and characterization of key thematic elements. Passagework is another

matter, and there are plenty of opportunities for staccato articulation, or ‘interpretive’ liberties

(even to the point of going against Mozart’s actual written directions), but don’t mess with the

character of the primary theme!


Barenboim was one of the very few to get it right and play with the same articulation as the

orchestra. Maybe other listeners are more tolerant of the silly, tinkly toy piano stuff, but I

appreciate how Barenboim imbues the phrases with a natural singing arch. Ashkenazy is about

as staccatissimo as they come, yet he does other things so well that I don’t let it bother me as

much as with other less masterly pianists.

In the second movement, tempo itself is again not nearly as important as the inflection of

dotted rhythms and for the nature of the underlying sense of linear motion. Mozart wrote in a

letter to his sister that this movement should be Allegretto, and that there should never be any

slow, lumbering Adagios in his concertos. That may have been overstatement, simply aimed at

keeping the music flowing and with a sense of some life pulse in the veins. In looking at my

notes I found a range of timings from 6:19 for Brautigam to 8:12 for Anda, and that’s a

substantial differential in overall tempo. But even Brautigam’s brisk tempo doesn’t sound like

an Allegretto because the phrasing is too subdued and vertical. It all comes down to a sense of

interweaving colors and supple but springing articulation of dotted rhythms that gives a much

needed sense of linear motion. Perahia was probably the least effective, with a totally wooden

and lifeless rendering of dotted rhythms that were positively funereal. Best by far, was Schiff

and the masterful insights of Sandor Vegh leading the Mozarteum ensemble. I’ve said it

before, but whenever there is a problematic movement that seems to show an awkward side to

Mozart’s compositional craft, Vegh finds a magical solution to turn it into a newly-discovered

masterpiece. If you’ve never found this movement to add up to much, give Schiff and Vegh a

listen!

Now, for the ever-popular finale. With the numerous off-accents, syncopations, and elision of

short phrase groups, a keen sense of micro-dynamic articulation is critical. Schiff and Vegh are

masterful here, the passing of the baton back and forth is done with razor sharp precision.

Uchida and Tate also have a lovely rapport here and a characterful conclusion which brought a

smile to my face. Barenboim also comes to life in the final pages for a rousing finish.

Besides articulation and phrasing, orchestral balance is again more important than many

realize. In the two fugal episodes, ensembles with insufficient weight from the lower strings

fail to maintain a clarity of contrapuntal lines as the upper instruments soon devolve into a

cacophony of competing counterpoint. A solid bass foundation is critical in rendering the

proper clarity. This is where the ECO with Barenboim really shine, with proper weight and

vigorous articulation the two fugal episodes makes perfect sense. The ECO’s later version for

Tate is undernourished in the lower strings, and we get the usual contrapuntal cacophony.

The Philharmonia with Ashkenazy has both proper weight and nimble clarity of textures for a

satisfying rendering. McGegan manages to pull off good textural clarity in the fugal episodes

with his small ensemble, but in this case, the lack of lower string weight renders the pedal

point just before the cadenza ineffective. With proper weight on the sub-dominant pedal

point, there is a tremendous sense of expectant energy, without it, it’s just another passage

that doesn’t set the stage for the final cadenza.

I haven’t talked about cadenzas because so many other matters are far more important in

defining the character of the performance. But, obviously, some pianists are better than

others. Among the least convincing were Rabinovitch, who is like an eager puppy let off the

leash, and Zacharias who seems to be going out of his way to try experimental extremes just to

be different. Among versions which were exciting without chewing the scenery: Schiff,

Barenboim and Ashkenazy. Turns out these three were my final top picks, so maybe the

cadenzas are, after all, a good indication of the pianist’s overall sense of musicality.


The Late Concerti

When we get to the later concertos there is definitely more meat on the bone here, and with

themes that are more distinctive and memorable. However, the biggest difference is the

increasing influence of opera in his musical imagination [see separate essay Mozart on the

Piano for discussion of the operatic connection]. This is where so many of the performances

that I heard come up short. They may be poised and cultivated, rendering the music as

polished and elegant gems for the so-called ‘armchair connoisseurs’ to appreciate. But they

miss out on the real drama, both its seething undercurrents and its outright operatic

exclamation.

Curzon and Uchida are examples of the reticent style of Mozart which may have its own level

of appeal but which seems utterly inauthentic to me. At the other end of the spectrum we

have more Earthy, red-blooded interpreters who espouse a more romantic legato singing line

and firmer bass underpinning. Rubinstein and Hess are examples of this style, and while not

exactly correct in terms of historical style, I would prefer to err on this side of perfection as it

at least demonstrates the fullness of Mozart’s human experience.

It is for this reason that when I hear a performance by

Curzon I consider that it has fundamentally missed the

mark. In the D-minor Concerto, just as he does in the

Emperor Concerto, he dissipates energy at every turn,

minimizing the turbulent underpinnings and poignant

yearnings, and in the cadenza recedes to such an

intimate hush that one has to strain to even hear the

notes. On a ‘pass or fail’ grade, it fails, as simple as that.

Ditto for Uchida. Much of what Pires does is also too

understated, though both Abbado, and more recently

Bruggen (as least as recorded), both further compromise

the musical vitality by completely flattening the

expressive arch of the orchestral phrases. With more

vehemence and characterization from the orchestra

Pires would be more convincing.

I wish Arrau had recorded some of the Mozart concerti,

his solo piano sonatas have the right dramatic and

operatic sensibility, but unfortunately they were

recorded well past his prime and suffer from slow and

lumbering tempi. Horowitz, hardly the middle-

European classical scholar, also imparted a more

authentic sense of operatic characterization in his latter day recording of the A major, No. 23. I

honestly think that gets us closer to the heart of what Mozart is all about than all the dainty

poise and polish of Uchida.

On paper Mozart’s operas look no different than the textures and orchestration found in the

symphonies and concerti, so when I talk about the later concerti needing more dramatic

intensity, more of the same kind of characterization that we hear in his opera performances,

I’m talking about performance traditions and listener expectation, not the written notes. I

certainly do not mean that pianists should try to replicate the sheer aural intensity of the

Not Mozart for babies!

The operas are full of intense

music and dramatic characters,

such as the Queen of the Night

pictured here.


human voice, or pound on the piano like one might for Bartok. It is possible to have elegance

and a cultivated tone, but through a greater range of micro-dynamic inflection convey more

frisson and excitement. In his televised Master Classes, Andras Schiff has demonstrated quite

effectively that banging and harsh tone production are not needed in Mozart or even in

Beethoven, but that articulation, and voice-leading of harmonic elements can convey more

than enough dramatic tension. This is what I’m talking about. The pianist can’t just set their

fingers on the piano and expect the music to play itself, they must energize the music and

make it come alive for the listener.

Geza Anda and Andras Schiff both exhibit a proper understanding of classical style along with

the life-giving sense of energy and characterization. It helps that for their recordings of the

Mozart concerti they both had the advantage of wonderful color and phrasing from the

Salzburg Mozarteum orchestra. In either case, these are hardly roughhewn or overblown

versions that would bring Beethoven to mind, but they sing lyrically and have a sense of joy

and wonderment that takes them beyond merely polite and circumspect pretention.

What about Rubinstein? Now, here is a pianist who isn’t afraid to give us some beef from the

bass register, and he also sings the melodic line with a wonderfully natural lyric quality. Even

though certain stylistic details are not exactly historically correct, I hear honest music making

without all the powder-puff prettiness. I especially like his A-major K.488 (No. 23) from 1961.

In terms of tonal luster, the latest CD re-issue is much better than the earlier CD versions and

sounds more like I remember his tone in concert.

However, what I prize most highly is a musical performance that has both the forthright

natural expression of Rubinstein, but with more micro-dynamic inflection of Schiff and greater

range of color and articulation. Before we talk about some performances that come closer to

this ideal conceptualization, a final harping note on the nature of the piano sound as a key

component in realizing a convincing conceptualization of these last, great concerti.

I’ve talked about the choice of pianos and the contradictory needs for a firm bass foundation,

yet without the fat and bloated textures that the fulsome Steinway D often imparts. Many

pianists who love the singing quality of the Steinway simply ignore the left hand for fear of

unleashing too much power. Angela Hewitt’s ongoing project using a Fazioli remains

unconvincing to me simply because there is very little tonal modulus on the piano she uses.

As I’ve said before, an example of ideal modern piano would be that of what we hear with

Howard Shelley’s recordings on Chandos. Here is a piano that sings nicely in the melodic

range (the opera connection), has good clarity in the inner voices, and has that suitable growl

in the mid-bass to authentically replicate some of that fortepiano character. I can’t overstate

this issue, which for me is very critical in trying to recreate the kind of textural balance that

Mozart would have heard and based his compositional choices upon. Shelley is able to play

the bass octaves firmly and with a masculine virility, thus providing a much needed harmonic

foundation, but without inarticulate bloat from dull hammers. Of course, it’s great to have a

perfect piano, but let’s give Shelly some credit for knowing how to use it for the best possible

musical results!

Another that I like is the piano Youri Egorov uses in his recording of the D-minor, such a

beautifully pellucid and bell-like tone in the treble, and with suitable growl and resonance in

the bass. The piano is uncredited but sounds like a Bechstein to me. Whatever it is, the voicing

allows Egorov to convey distinct characterizations in the different registers to mimic multiple

‘actorants’ in an operatic scene.


Okay, are you primed and ready for some outstanding recordings that will do Mozart proud?

Concerto No. 20 in D-minor, K. 466. I was somewhat surprised by Charles Rosen’s

dispassionate account of this concerto as being more of a living legend than an actual

masterpiece. He compares the iconic status of this concerto as being Mozart’s most serious to

that of how the public perceives Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Try as I may, I simply cannot

come to the same conclusion that this concerto is more mood than substance, as does Rosen. I

really do believe this is the preeminent masterpiece among Mozart’s concerti (well, at least

rightfully placed among the top three, let us say.)

Badura-Skoda has a fourteen page analysis of this work in his book, Interpreting Mozart on the

Keyboard. In this case, with the exception of his discussion of the opening introduction, I was

surprised that he didn’t talk about any of the issues which I found to be defining

characteristics in my comparison of different performances. The very beginning of the

concerto has an agitated state about it that reminds one of the famous G-minor Symphony,

but here, the layers of texture, and hence the possibility for hermeneutic permutation, are

even deeper. Depending on the manner of articulation and metric emphasis the performers

may convey an ominous sense of foreboding, or a nervous and fidgeting sense of dread, or as

Badura-Skoda suggests, “the rising phrases in the bass have something mysterious and

disturbing about them.” Those are really three related, yet distinct, emotional states.

Badura-Skoda talks about the relative balance of the syncopated chords against the rising bass

figurations as being most critical, but I heard many different degrees of emphasis one way or

the other, each convincing in its own manner, depending on the specific type of emotional

state the performers were trying to convey. When conveyed with smooth and dynamically

subdued phrasing, the upward rising bass figures (mostly as triplet sixteenth notes) impart a

sense of world-weary resignation. When more emphatically stated, the hermeneutic

implication is for a more fearful and agitated state. Psychologically this is a big difference, as

one way is more passive and allowing things to happen as they may, the other is more active

and with a sense of unresolved struggle as the drama unfolds in the present-tense.

Once the mood has been established the issue of balance between the three components

(syncopated chords, agitated figurations, and slowly emerging thematic element) are less

important than the overall dynamic arch of those first fifteen measures. Badura-Skoda doesn’t

talk about this, but I found it to be the biggest differential in conveying present-tense versus

reflective action when I listened to different conductors and ensembles. A flattened dynamic

scheme conveys a sense of stasis that lies somewhat outside of the active and present-tense

drama, possibly a numbed and catatonic response, or even something beyond human

emotion. A more heightened dynamic contour, with rising and falling of emphasis, conveys a

sense of present-tense drama, and underlying pathos. In these kinds of interpretations we find

that the music captures the same emotional state that we hear in the opera, Don Giovanni.

In the final measures of the orchestral introduction, measures 70-76, I agree with Badura-

Skoda that many conductors don’t make enough of the rising and falling melodic fragments

against the moving inner parts and shifting harmonic foundation. The degree of emphasis on

the optimistic rise (or striving grasp) of the upward fifth, versus the level of resignation in the

falling and sighing minor second really conveys to the listener key clues as to the actual

emotional state of unfolding events.


The actual entry of the piano soloist may mimic what the conductor has just set forth, or may

provide a contrasting response, and that in itself, more than any specifics of phrasing or

dynamics, can tell a lot about how we perceive the ‘protagonist’ as he interacts against the

forces of fate. Of course, on a purely dynamic level, the subtle clues from the left hand thirds

tell us whether the protagonist accepts fate (a flattened sense of stasis) or whether there is still

passion and yearning for resolution (sculpted rising and falling dynamic contour).

Well I could go on and on, but I think that we can fairly clearly see from just these first few

pages that there is something here of deep substance, and that the concerto is not just a mood

piece. The only latitude I might allow Rosen in his criticism is that in the finale, the 14-

measure thematic idea divides with strong cadential points in the third, fifth seventh, ninth,

twelfth, and fourteenth measures, giving a somewhat foursquare and fragmentary

presentation of ‘fits and starts.’ It’s not the most elegant of Mozart’s themes, but it is very

strong in terms of hermeneutic gesture. There are also a few less than perfect (by Mozart’s

standards) bits of orchestration in the interchange of soloist and orchestra in measures 247-

262. Certainly the back and forth of textures is not as sleek and well-crafted as in the famous

finale of the K. 459. Nonetheless, listeners since the time of Beethoven have enjoyed the strong

drama and characterization of this concerto’s three contrasting movements. All things

considered, the concerto is well deserving of its status as the number one concerto on the Top

Ten list.

A quick note about cadenzas. Mozart did not leave us any written cadenzas for this concerto,

so 9 out of 10 pianists choose to go with the Beethoven cadenzas as they are the most

contemporaneous. Beethoven did in fact like to play this particular concerto as a warm up act

for his own concerto performances. The cadenza for the first movement is good, but the one

for the last movement is not one of Beethoven’s best efforts. In this regard I agree with

Badura-Skoda that the cadenza is rambling and disjointed and that the string of trills at the

end can really try the patience of the listener. My favorite cadenza is the poignant and

expressive creation of Geza Anda. True, the seventh suspensions over a dominant pedal point

are pretty far from anything Mozart ever wrote (it brings to my mind Liszt’s Bells of Geneva),

but the spirit of inner turmoil is in complete accord with his conception of the first movement.

Alfred Brendel gives us the most authentically Mozartean cadenzas and Eingange (cadential

flourishes) and they are reason enough to listen to Brendel’s recordings. Zacharias’ strange

cadenza indulges in too many fits and starts that tease and toy but go nowhere.

The most unsuitable ‘cadenzas’ (if you can call them that) are heard in the recording by Peter

Breiner. He unleashes jazz improvisations that purposely try to touch upon every possible

style from Gershwin to stride to tango and blues, and it’s all a slap in the face to the deep

emotional pathos of what Mozart has written. This is my big issue with hybrid performers who

try to blend jazz and classical. Classical music is not just notes that can be considered solely as

musical style of a particular era, like the stride bass of Fats Waller conveys a different feel from

Thelonious Monk or Miles Davis. Beyond the notes, there are psychological and hermeneutic

meanings which take a receptive listener well beyond the realm of passive ‘entertainment.’

Imagine watching a dramatic film about grief and suffering and in the middle the actor turns

to the camera with a big grin and says “let’s take a break from all this downer stuff” and then

does some crazy slapstick comedy. It’s such a change of gears emotionally that all authenticity

of the earlier experience is lost. Some of these hybrid fusions are more tasteful than others

(John Lewis and his Jazz Bach), but in general I do not support this concept of intermixing of

genres, and am glad that the trend is on the wane.


Another performance practice that I seriously question is the increasing trend for soloists to

conduct from the keyboard. Yes, this is how Mozart and Beethoven did it, but standards of

performance were not as high back in the pre-recording era of listening. Nearly every version

I evaluated that had the soloist conducting (Uchida, Barenboim, Kissin, Gulda) demonstrated

numerous instances where a dedicated conductor could have kept tempo or textural dynamics

in better balance. Kissin was the most obviously flawed, where his solo piano contribution was

of the highest order but where the ensemble was not always in the best balance, and even

more egregiously, Kissin yields to the tendency to play softer passages at a slower tempo and

louder passages at a faster tempo. This was so irritating that I find the performances almost

unlistenable when a separate conductor could have keep things in better order. Kissin

certainly has some good ideas, so I hope in the coming years he’ll have yet another go at it

with a sympathetic conductor (his recording of Concerto No. 24 with Sir Colin Davis was

outstanding).

I don’t know why people think it’s such a cool thing when the pianists also conducts... look he

can walk and talk at the same time! He must be so talented! Just do one thing right, I say. The

notable exception to this curse of the self-conducting concept is heard with Anda and the

Mozarteum Camerata. Every time I listen to those performances I’m amazed at the razor sharp

response of the ensemble which is always in perfect sync with the soloist.

Let’s talk about specific performances and see how some of the best versions of this concerto

have defined the most vital and defining aspects of its interpretive presentation. Each of these

top versions will give the listener a different perspective of the moods and ‘meanings’ of the

work, but to be considered a top version, the overall conception and realization must be

convincing, and of course, the best versions will always show the soloist and orchestra in

complete sympathy in terms of consistency of phrasing, articulation and interpretive

intention.

Starting with the oldest recording, Geza Anda’s account with the Mozarteum must still be

counted among the top versions on record, though the dated sound precludes this from being

a reference pick. It’s unfortunate about the sound because both soloist and the highly-

responsive orchestra are in top form. Even in the re-mastered release louder string passages

are rendered with an uncomfortable glare, though the piano and woodwinds have been

captured fairly well. For me, I have always had the strongest emotional attachment to this

recording, and I hope to explain some of the psychological reasons as to why this is so.

The introduction favors a state of dynamic stasis which is only broken with the abrupt arrival

of the tutti forces at measure 16. These loud interjections are not vehemently articulated as in

some other versions, so what we have here is a contrast between the unchanging forces of fate

(with a slight flickering pulsation from the triplet figurations) and monumental and

unflinching determinism, the result being that instead of present-tense drama we have

something more akin to the re-telling of an epic Greek tragedy. That is all good, but the

question remains as to whether Anda will continue in this passive re-telling mode, or take us

on a different turn of personal engagement. He does the latter. In this case, in a deft balancing

of authentic Mozartean elegance with a touch of romantic pathos, he draws us inward to a

tender and vulnerable place of grieving and loss.

How do we as listeners pick up on these subtle clues? The first indication is dynamic level (no

specific indication in the score), which some play in a declamatory mezzo-forte, or even fully

robust forte, to match the preceding orchestral exposition, but Anda instead draws the


dynamics back to a much softer and recessed introspective state. Others such as Perahia and

Curzon have done likewise yet remain unconvincing. What does Anda do differently? Anda

retains a legato singing line without the use of articular separation and this further reinforces

that this is neither declamatory utterance nor simply receding into the background, but

reactive in a tender inner voice to overwhelming forces. The next clue is that while the left

hand remains fairly strict in timing, the right hand is wonderfully fluid and expressive (an

early type of rubato that Badura-Skoda talks about in his book). Every single interval is given

maximum hermeneutic meaning, as for example, the upward octave leap which has a slight

agogic as if to convey a real sense of effort to reach upward to that point of optimism. The

most masterly touch is how Anda gives us a slowly measured turn figure (m. 85) so often

merely a throwaway bit of ornamentation, but here a most poignant cry of grieving

bewilderment. Not merely quiet and withdrawn (Curzon, Uchida) but actively processing

myriad emotions.

Other masterful insights abound throughout the performance, oftentimes unique inflections

or shifts in mood which I didn’t hear in other performances. Case in point would be measures

95 – 107 in the first movement. Most pianists maintain a steady dynamic level in measures 95-

107 until the change in texture at measure 108 which mimics the vigorous orchestral response

that follows. A few pianists gradually work in a crescendo to the arrival of measure 108, and at

least one oddball (Zacharias) does it all in reverse, playing measure 108 with a subito piano

and delicate staccatissimo chords. In nearly every instance, the passage just sounds like

transitional material. With Anda, because of subtle changes in articulation and metric

emphasis, the gradual crescendo also carries with it increased tension until by the time we get

to measure 108 we nearly have a stomach knot of nervous anticipation for what’s going to

happen.

Another masterly touch, difficult to convey in words or to non-pianists, comes in the first

measures of the piano entrance in the final movement. Many pianists emphasize the thematic

fragmentation and awkward cadential stopping points, but Anda somehow manages an

extremely fluid sense of linear direction. This solution better segues into the orchestral

response which handles the theme without such strong points of cadence. Masterful

throughout, I would certainly count Anda among the top three versions for this movement.

Turning from the oldest recording among the top contenders to the most recent, we have

Brautigam on his super-charged fortepiano with the indefatigable Willens and the Kölner

Akademie as partners. This is a stand-out performance for its turbulent and foreboding drama

which foretells Don Giovanni, and for its vivid characterization throughout which conveys an

engaging and even riveting sense of active, present-tense drama. From the very first measures

Anda’s classic recordings with the Mozarteum are

cultured and elegant on the surface while also hitting

all the deeper notes and underlying pathos. Anda is a

master Mozartean who fully understands all of

Mozart’s shifting moods. What better guide in the late

concerti to take the listener through the composer’s

journey of suffering and joyful release?


the listeners know this will be no Sunday picnic like they get with some of the other posers

and pretenders, but a stormy voyage fraught with drama and peril. The vehement thrumming

of the basses, the incisive brass and pounding timpani convey an almost fight-or-flight level of

anxiety and tension, yet Willens oversees the musical balance and long line of phrases with

superb expressive nuance. This is one of the best and most exciting performances of this work

in over two decades, and even with fortepiano and a smallish historical instrument ensemble

it can stand proudly amongst the finest modern instrument versions.

Brendel has always been held in high esteem (and rightly so) for his performances of this

work. In carefully comparing both of his commercial recordings, the earlier version with

Marriner and the later version with Mackerras, I find much to admire in both, yet find myself

wishing for a hypothetical third version which would combine the best aspects of each. In the

earlier version Brendel has more articular vigor and elan, yet Marriner and the Academy of

Saint Martin in the Fields seem to be less engaged and provide a merely polite and correct

backdrop for Brendel. In the later version, Mackerras is much better than Marriner, fully up to

the drama of this work, and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra provides a little more color than

the bland ASMF (some of this may merely reflect the quality of the different recordings), yet

Brendel has clearly lost some degree of energy. In the end, I vote for the Mackerras version

simply because the level of engagement and the masterful touches such as the agogics at

measure 68 are not to be found anywhere else. And of course, in either version you get

Brendel’s enjoyable and stylish cadenzas, published by Doblinger. Neither is a reference

version for me, but at least one of them should be in every serious collection and heard by

every student learning this work.

Rubinstein’s version with Wallenstein was an unexpected choice for my final top contenders.

I have always liked his manner with the gracious A-major concerto, but for some reason I

hadn’t listened to his D-minor for several decades. Part of the reason is that I have an

audiophile pressing of the A-major on LP which sounds very good, while I only had a flimsy

American pressing of the D-minor, and neither sounded very good in the earlier CD

incarnations. Now, the new re-master of this 1961 recording sounds better than many modern

recordings. Listening afresh I was totally taken in from start to finish. Most listeners will

never notice that Rubi plays trills from the principle note instead of the upper (as we now

know to be correct), but they will notice that his tone is fulsome and naturally expressive and

that the orchestra seems to be far more engaged (even possessed) compared to some of the

other tame (and lame) versions we hear. As with nearly every Rubinstein recording I’ve ever

heard, there are splices evident which clean up some of Rubi’s less than tidy moments (an

especially obvious cut occurs in the cadenza when one second you hear other musicians

rustling around the stage and the next moment, after a pop, the stereo image reverses and the

acoustic changes because the room is now empty after everyone else has gone home!). Ah,

well, nothing in that that is disruptive of the overall vigor and expressiveness which is most

compelling.


My final top contender and ultimate reference pick was for Argerich and Rabinovitch. It

seems almost surreal in writing that, and I’m just as surprised at this outcome as many of you

might be. Argerich is certainly not mentioned in serious discussions of top versions of the

Viennese masters, and furthermore, I myself have been rather critical in some of the other

surveys for her tendency to be overly impulsive and to chew the scenery. But, keeping an

open mind, this performance really meets all the desired criterion for dramatic, theatrical,

operatic expression that we want in late Mozart. If what you are after in Mozart is pleasant

background music for a Sunday brunch, then Argerich, and especially Rabinovitch, will seem

over the top. But as I’ve argued at length, this tea-time version of Mozart is not the true

Mozart, especially in a dramatic work such as this D-minor.

First off, Argerich is very well behaved, and contributes nothing in excess to what the score

indicates. If anything it is Rabinovitch who pushes the envelope. Even so, when one considers

some of the highly charged opera scenes Mozart was writing at the time, this all seems

perfectly in line. Rabinovitch (and Willens for Brautigam) do not pull their punches and they

allow the orchestra to play with the same kind of vigor that they would for the dramatic

characters on the stage. There are two spots where Rabinovitch has a rather quirky inflection

that bothers me a bit (the three note sequence measure 33 to the resolution on measure 34,

which he renders with a strong accent and diminuendo on the first note, while others either

give a diphthong strong-soft-strong, or a gradual taper from strong soft), but otherwise,

everything is well-nigh perfect. I was impressed by the engagement of the provincial Italian

orchestra, and the quality of the Teldec recording which is both vivid and realistic to the

warmth and color of the instruments.

Just now everybody is talking about the new recording of Argerich with Abbado. This was

recorded live at the Lucerne festival just before the maestro’s death, and has the “critics

searching for new superlatives” as the marketing banner exclaims This version is also good,

and well worth a listen, with Argerich giving us an even more poignant entrance in the first

movement and a better considered tempo in the finale (which was bordering on Presto in the

earlier version). But there are several reasons why I consider the earlier recording superior.

First off, much of the hype centers around Abbado’s departing, and the inevitable reverence

bestowed on final recordings (not always as good as they are tauted). Second, Abbado just

didn’t have the ideal level of energy for this live concert and the opening lacks vigor and

expressive arches are flattened. He later gets a shot of energy from Argerich’s contagious

enthusiasm. Third, Abbado is (was) not the most stylish conductor for Mozart. A key example,

one that really sets me on edge, is measures 195-196 of the last movement. At the end of a

vigorous tutti passage Mozart has three strong quarter notes and a half note all repeated on

the same E octave. Abbado does a subito piano and quick tap of the brakes. This is a trick

Forget the little white alabaster statuette

on the shelf, Rubinstein and Wallenstein

give us a living and breathing Mozart full

of passion and jubilation of spirit. Rubi

proves Mozart can be a ‘trilling’ experience

even if started on the wrong note! The

wonderful accounts of the D-minor and A-

major sound great in the newly re-

mastered release.


often used in opera buffa (the sucker punch) but never in opera seria or dramatic symphonic

works! He also blows it in the companion work, the C-Major Concerto, K.503 where in the fifth

measure of opening thematic statement he dissipates energy and begins a diminuendo. This is

so egregious it warrants an unqualified “WTF!” (You will find Abbado’s artistry praised

elsewhere in these surveys, but not for Mozart!) Fourth, the live concert recording lacks a

certain depth and warmth, and this most adversely affects Argerich’s piano tone which is not

nearly as flattering as on the Teldec recording.

I’d love to hear what Argerich and Harnoncourt would do together in this work, but in the

meantime either of these Argerich versions deserves a place among the top contenders. All

things considered—vigor, hermeneutic continuity, sound quality—I recommend the Teldec

version as an overall benchmark recording for this work. This recording is now available for

next to nothing on Teldec’s budget Apex label.

Concerto No. 21 in C, K. 467. This concerto has been sliced and diced and served up in so

many different compilations and crossover concepts that it is now hardly ever heard in its

entirety. Although the slow movements is the most famous, and was featured in a soft-focus

film some years back, all three movements can be found variously in collections with titles

such as Mozart for a Picnic, Mozart for Babies, Chilling with Mozart, Mozart for the Mind, and

countless others.

There is no question the middle movement, a lovely and nostalgic Romanza, belongs among

the elite listing of Top Ten Mozart movements, not so much for clever craft as for heartfelt

simplicity as only Mozart could render profound. I encountered performance timings ranging

from a fairly brisk Allegro moderato of 5:10 (Zacharias) to a sleepy-time lullaby tempo of 8:29

(Curzon) yet it always seems to come off fairly reasonably no matter the timing. For me, the

biggest issues are orchestral balance and melodic projection. Many conductors flatten the

dynamic arch and reign in the melodic line so that it always remains captive within the overall

texture. If the tempo is too slow and the phrasing lacks lightness and suppleness of rhythm to

compensate then the overall mood can actually be rather morose, as witness Ashkenazy. What

a difference to compare that with Anda and the Mozarteum, who give us both bittersweet

nostalgia and rays of sunshine at the same time.

Many pianists also seem afraid to let the melodic line sing up and out of the piano. Remember

the operatic connection? Even a gentle lyric soprano like Dawn Upshaw would project more

than this. Let it sing!

Beyond tempo and balance there are areas where only a masterful artist can take us. Anda’s

classic version (the one used in the film score) is justly famous, but even more impressive, and

Rarely heard in solo recital, we can be

thankful that Argerich still enjoys the

camaraderie of concerto collaboration. She

and Rabinovitch give us a vigorous and

dynamically-charged Mozart D-minor, a real

benchmark recording that shows the so-called

Mozart specialists how it should be done.


in much warmer sound is the version with Brendel and Marriner. At 6:31 the tempo flows

nicely and Brendel has a nice legato singing tone. What sets this version apart from all others

is the masterly inflection of dynamic nuance and voice leading, and the relative sense of active

or passive melodic projection which creates varying “micro moods” within the overall context.

These subtle changes are like the facial expressions of a good actor that show us deeper and

sometime conflicting feelings of the character. We hear these inflections in the outer

movements as well, especially notably in the two minor-key episodes in the first movement,

which appear like momentary passing clouds on a sunny afternoon. In all three movements

Brendel is at his most masterly. Keep in mind that this ability to reveal “micro moods” is

different from what I criticized Kissin for doing in the D-minor, that is slowing down to be

expressive and introverted, and speeding up to convey a more extroverted physicality. The

difference is that Brendel always maintains the integrity of the long line.

In the first movement, the most successful performances kept the overall timing under 14

minutes, or else, if slower (like Barenboim), then with compensatory emphasis of phrasing.

One can also tell within the first few measures whether the orchestra is lithe and buoyant or

whether the phrasing is heavy and lumbering. For all the hype surrounding the new Lisiecki

recording on DG, I found the orchestral sound bloated and inarticulate (not helped by the

somewhat obfuscatory acoustic) and the pianist who himself, to be frank, sounded no better

than many students I’ve heard.

The final movement also benefits from a brisk pace. Ashkenazy is quick but too bumptious

and frantic. How can I say that when I criticize other pianists for lacking vigor and not getting

into the more dramatic spirit of operatic characterization? Glad you asked. First off, even at

his most bumptious Ashkenazy is a serious artist and has more to offer than many other

pianists in the survey, and I’d take that over a dainty tea-cup Mozart any day. But ideally, the

artist will find ways to convey excitement, and more masculine vigor (if that’s the intention)

while minimizing voicing irregularities or uneven accents of the line. And it doesn’t help that

his piano is voiced with an exaggerated transient envelope (possibly with hammer hardeners).

Some listeners are actually disdainful of pianistic polish and consider that a sure indication

that the artist’s depth is only “skin deep.” But I know from extensive comparative evaluations

that it is possible to have both, and that’s what we’re looking for in this survey.

In this particular movement I believe it is in keeping with the overall character of the concerto

as a whole that a lighter touch better conveys the scampering character of the roundabout

romp. How do I know it’s supposed to be scampering and not bumptious? The manner of

orchestration, the textures of the piano writing, and the fact that most of the musical activity

resides in the range above middle C tells us that sonority, weight or visceral impact are not the

intention. Therefore, for scampering nimbleness, Brendel, Schiff, Anda, and Kirschnereit were

most effective. I give top honors to Kirschnereit and the Bambergers for enthusiastic

articulation and superb dovetailing of rapid-fire exchanges where one mimics the dynamic

contour of the other, chasing each other up and down.

The matter of cadenzas in this concerto is a source of some consternation. Of all the different

cadenzas written and performed, I didn’t hear a single one that was 100% convincing. Some

were downright annoying, and I’m not talking about the goofy antics of Fazil Say, which are

actually quite entertaining if you imagine Mozart at his most infantile (as portrayed in the film

Amadeus), but so many were mere fragmentary bits of rhapsodic noodling thrown together

and oftentimes disruptive of the mood of the movement. Even Brendel’s cadenzas, normally

so compelling and authentic in style, seem overly divergent here. Probably the best cadenzas I


heard were by Schiff and Kirschnereit. Besides cadenzas, there is also the matter of the

Eingänge, which are cadential flourishes indicated wherever Mozart has written a fermata.

Some pianists give us silly up and down scales or strings of trills, but I appreciate the effort of

artists who try to incorporate thematic elements that lead directly back to the written material

(without the trills or vapid and empty figurations). Brendel and Kirschnereit are best, Schiff

introduces some heavy bass elements which are out of place in this movement (though still far

better musically than most of the versions I heard).

All things considered, Brendel was the standout performance for this concerto. Most

disappointing was Rubinstein, whom I have praise for his superb D-minor and A-major but

here in a recording of such bad sound that the piano tone is almost unlistenable (recorded the

same year as the D-minor, which sounds so good, I’m wondering if different engineers were

employed for the re-mastering?).

Concerto No. 22 in E-flat, K. 484. This concerto is not very popular and not listed among

the Top Ten Concerti. Nevertheless, Charles Rosen has effulgent praise for this concerto and

praises Mozart’s “colorful and imaginative use of orchestration for ravishing effects of tone

color.” It could be that Rosen was merely trying to find something positive to talk about in a

concerto with such a weak secondary theme, or perhaps he was merely playing the role of

contrarian provocateur. In any case, if you want to hear this work at its greatest potential, look

no further than Schiff and Vegh who often transform even the most minor works into

eloquent gems. Speaking of contrarian, also make a point of listening to Müllejans and the

Freiburger Barockorchester, who render this concerto with a punchy, irascible character that

is quite engaging in its own way, though hardly as graceful and singing as the Mozarteum

under Vegh.

Concerto No. 23 in A major, K. 488. In concerti where the expressive intent is clearly

evident, be it the turbulent drama of the D-minor’s first movement, the lively spirit of No. 19’s

finale, or the gentle playfulness of No. 27’s rondo scherzando, my duties are fairly clear in

pointing out which performers best bring those characterizations to the fore. However, with

concerti such as No. 12, No. 17, or No. 23 under discussion, the characterization is less overt,

and can best be described as a ‘state of contentment.’ In such cases, very subtle degrees of

inflection, sometimes hardly even noticed, are all we have to go on in shaping our impression

of a performance. In lieu of obvious rights or wrongs, it is these subtle degrees of inflections,

each with their own cumulative effect, which I must describe to the listener.

Generally, the most defining element of performance is either for a micro or macro disposition

toward dynamics and articulation. And it is also true that performers with micro-dynamic

tendencies (such as Brautigam or Schiff) will have a more vivid metric contour and sharper

contrasts of articulation, while performers with a macro-dynamic tendency (such as Perahia or

Rubinstein) will play to the long line and minimize metric sub-divisions. But in this concerto

we find interesting hybrid styles, where performances with strong metric impetus seem steady

and less propulsive, while legato-lined macro players imbue a sense of forward expectancy.

One has to look very closely at the details to discover where performances find their

distinctive voice and defining character.

Let’s look at just a couple of samples. In the orchestral exposition, measure 32 seems

innocuous enough, but here is where we hear time and again the subtle psychology of the

performers. A micro-dynamic performance such as by Willens (for Brautigam) has clearly

defined metric impulses which give a vivid sense of presence. Yet in this measure the


descending figure is held tightly in control, neither leaning forward nor holding back.

Harnoncourt is more macro and long-lined in this passage, the orchestra leaning forward with

a barely perceptible increase in speed and dynamic energy which gives the listener the

impression of expectancy. It doesn’t matter that this leaning forward lands on a soft downbeat

(not accented) because the very inflection of the descending figure gives a sense of forward

propulsion. Normally, the micro dynamic performances tend to be more exciting (from

rhythmic vigor) while macro-dynamic performances tend to be more restrained in any overt

characterization. Performances that have neither metric vigor, nor forward propelling

inflection, tend to give an impression of comfortable stasis. Kempff, for example, sounds like

another day in paradise, strolling through some muted Utopian vision with no expectation

that anything is going to happen to spoil the mood.

Measure 46 gives us another clue. How vigorous are the tremulous figurations in the strings?

Do they portray a sense of active drama, something happening right now? Or are they muted

and recessed well behind the thematic disposition, passive and hardly worth our notice? The

prevailing mood of the movement may be for contentment, but we all have different

interpretations of what our ideal lazy day might be. Napping on a hammock, or watching the

dolphins frolic in the distance, or exploring some new pathway in the forest? It is for this very

reason that you and I may have different preferences between various performances.

The second movement is hardly a stroll in paradise. This is one of Mozart’s most profound

and poignant utterances on the human condition, specifically in the realm of loss,

vulnerability, bewilderment, disillusionment, and tender grieving. Many performers try too

hard to be profound, the biggest mistakes being to try and play so softly and intimately that

the music doesn’t breathe or sing forth. This kind of carefully guarded playing only comes

across like ‘walking on eggs’ and has the effect of creating a frozen and catatonic sense of

stasis. Much more human is to allow the music to cry. Just listen to the young Grimaud

attempting gravitas (and not convincing) versus the natural expressiveness of the elder

Rubinstein. The only place where a conscious awareness of dynamics should come into play is

on the low E-sharp in the second measure. Steinway artists need to be aware of the power of

this register on the Steinway and not let this note boom out of context. And please, let the

music breathe! Ashkenazy plays with such a long and continuous legato line that I found

myself involuntarily gasping for air! The phrase marks are there for a reason, and it’s not just

some archaic carryover from violin bowing, but because of the importance of intervallic

hermeneutic meaning.

Many listeners may not notice or care, but there is some disagreement between conductors,

even among the so-called Mozart specialists, as to how the passage at rehearsal letter E should

be played. About half the conductors had both string parts play pizzicato (plucked strings)

while the other half had the bottom part plucked and the top part bowed detaché. I much

prefer both parts played pizzicato so that the single melodic line of the piano stands out with

as much sustain as possible. Oddly, Marriner does double plucks for Moravec while he has the

upper line bowed for Brendel. Perhaps the pianist has some say in how they want it to be

played. Then of course, there is the matter of ornamentation in the slow movement. Most who

ornament do so very tastefully, but I have to say that I think Brendel blew it in this movement.

Maybe others will respond differently.

In the final movement the manner of articular emphasis on the opening thematic motive with

its upward leaping octave, and especially the degree of accent on the tenuto downbeat of the

second measure, will dictate the level of momentum and propelling energy of the


performance. Minimal inflection takes us back to that contented day in Paradise, while more

vigor demonstrates a more spirited and fun approach to life. In this regard, I thoroughly

enjoyed Kempff, who decided that perhaps one day in Paradise (the first movement) was

enough, and now we get along with our top down in the sports car cruising through the

countryside. His gossamer pianissimo passagework conveys a scampering sense of lightness.

Even more brisk, and a bit bumptious, is Barenboim who takes us on a wild Presto hayride.

Hang on for dear life! This is really at the limit of the ensemble’s ability to articulate clearly,

but what a rousing finish. (Yes, musicologists debate about various old editions which either

state Allegro Assai or Presto; it doesn’t matter to me the actual tempo as long as the music

comes across spirited and full of character and not like some dry up and down scales.)

Let me profile a few performances that each take a different scenic route through this

contented landscape (with its detour through the tragic slow movement). I’ve already

mentioned Barenboim, who is good in all three movements, and Kempff who was rather

generic for my taste in the first movement but highly sensitive in the slow movement and

most pleasant in the final. Schiff is good, if somewhat more reticent than usual, and

Rubinstein has an unforced sense of natural expression that is often quite poignant. Kocsis is

the most thrilling of all, setting speed records in the outer movements, but above all,

cognizant of phrase marks and the need to let the music breathe. Buchbinder and

Harnoncourt are also very engaging from start to finish. Horowitz is Horowitz, with the

occasional bit of scenery chewing where he simply cannot resist the growling power of his

customized Steinway, and for this reason I could never consider this for serious contention

among the top versions, yet, surprisingly, he is quite convincing in conveying Mozart’s

operatic sense of theater. The elder Giulini maintains a deft line from the La Scala players, not

at all lumbering and slow as he had become by that time.

My overall top pick goes to Kirschnereit with the Bambergers (who also provided fine playing

for Kempff many years earlier). This is a finely-etched micro-dynamic performance with many

nuances of inflection in even the most undifferentiating passagework. The final movement,

while less driven than Barenboim, is perky and fun, and the orchestra plays with excellent

clarity and characterization. Besides Kirschnereit, I listed Buchbinder/Harnoncourt as my

favored historic instrument choice, and Kocsis with the Virtuosi di Praga as a fun and spirited

rendering, with equally poignant slow movement. Besides these, I personally would not want

to be without Barenboim (whom I am enjoying now as background music while I write) and

my audiophile pressing of the Rubinstein which will doubtless receive many more spins (the

CD re-master is good, too, and more convenient than having to clean and fuss with the LP).

Matthias Kirschnereit. Not very well known

outside of Germany, Kirschnereit provides

sparkling, dynamic enthusiasm to every

measure of the music. His A-major, No. 23, with

the spirited collaboration of Beerman and the

Bambergers, made for a reference-quality

performance to beat out many more famous

names. Recordings are available from Arte

Nova/BMG.


Concerto No. 24 in C-minor, K. 491. The expressive character of the principle theme

seems relatively straightforward when played on the piano. But, when played by strings and

woodwinds, the range of hermeneutic inflection can be considerable depending on the

intervallic stresses. This is achieved by many subtle degrees, but one of the most defining

occurs on the final note of the phrase (the E-flat in measure 4 if you’re following the score).

On this note different characterizations of the underlying psychological state will be conveyed

to the listener depending on whether the note is given a sharp or soft staccato, and more

importantly, the dynamic intensity which will reveal to the listener the degree of ‘threat

assessment’ and whether we respond in a passive mode or with a perception of imminent

threat. What this all means is that the listener’s impressions may range from ominous

foreboding (Davis with Kissin), tremulous beseeching (Solti with DeLarrocha), or the

ambiguous interpretation of humor/danger with the lurking presence of a mischievous gnome

(Marriner with Brendel). The size and weight of the orchestra also greatly amplifies this

hermeneutic inflection: Davis and the London Symphony Orchestra have a bass-heavy almost

lugubrious sound, Marriner and the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields have a much lighter,

more present sound.

For the most part the pianists didn’t contribute nearly as much in the shaping of the music’s

characterization. Whenever something is noticed it is usually negative, as when Kissin over-

exaggerates some accents (something we may accept in concert, especially with his body

language to ‘explain’ the emphasis, but not for repeated listening of a recording). Depending

on the pianist’s weight and articulation of the argeggiandi in the coda (jeu perlé like Brendel

or deeply etched like Barenboim), the listener’s perception of the drama may be either active

or passive. In passive mode, the effect is like an ancient Greek tragedy where a non-acting

observer-oracle approaches the front of the stage and presents an epilogue.

It is impossible to know what Mozart’s true intentions were, but I wouldn’t let that persuade

us into thinking that a safely neutral middle-of-the-road interpretation somehow allows us to

hedge our bets. I think it best to pick two contrasting but fully characterized renderings and

live with each one for a period of time to see which one settles best with our own listening

psychology. I really like the tremendous drama that Solti imparts, but unlike his Concerto No.

25 which was outstanding from start to finish, this performance from a different time and

orchestra is less consistent from both the orchestral players and the soloist. Brendel is also

unique in his conception of the finale as a ghostly visage, but in the Andante I would have

preferred he pull himself up out of his turtle shell and project the melody more.

Among older recordings it is interesting to compare Kempff and Fischer. Kempff’s piano

entrance is about as insulated as a scared child huddled up in the fetal position. It conveys a

sense of an overwhelmed soul, alone and cold in a frightening world. Kempff makes a

convincing case for this kind of conception, but Fischer’s more resolute declamatory style is

more in keeping with my own conception, which is that of a lone and solitary hero who

displays an almost stoic evenness after a long and tiring battle. Fischer also has a wonderful

Andante, simple and heartfelt (the stoicism gone), and with a wonderful ending. Both are

excellent in the finale, Fischer a bit more enlivened of touch and articulation, but Kempff

elegant and with an unforced naturalness of expression.

Among modern performers, Sudbin has elements of Kempff and Fischer, with a touch of

Schiff’s micro-dynamic energy thrown in for good measure. He certainly doesn’t play like the

stereotypical Russian virtuoso, and that’s a good thing in Mozart. Sudbin and Vänska are

superb together, and the Minnesotans play with wonderful color and expression. This would


have been a reference contender had it not been for the somewhat indulgent romantic-style

cadenza (as fun as it is to hear the first time around in concert, probably not the best idea for a

recording). That leaves Schiff and the Mozarteum ensemble under Vegh as the top pick.

Other conductors get the broad contrasts of loud and soft, but Vegh captures the sense of

inner and outer worlds better than anybody else.

Concerto No. 25 in C major, K. 503. Here’s a case where for the longest time I remained

on the sidelines about this concerto. Sure, as a student I read all the commentary about how

this concerto demonstrates the fully-developed symphonic style of Mozart at his most

resplendent. And I always respected the recordings of Brendel, the more assertive Barenboim,

and above all the graceful and buoyant Schiff and Vegh. But it wasn’t until I heard the version

with Solti that everything clicked for me. Here’s an instance where my typically measured

objectivity was shaken, and I just had to exclaim “Wow!” Other conductors with large

orchestras have had a similar sound canvas, but no one has painted the music more vividly

than Solti. Nobody else has the resolutely purposeful propulsive energy on the opening dotted

notes, and nobody has matched Solti’s soaring splendor in the ecstatic measures 41-43. For the

first time I heard the connection to Handel’s Messiah (which Mozart had made a project of

studying and re-orchestrating). If this isn’t music for a welcoming at the Pearly Gates, I don’t

know what is.

But it’s not just in the glorious and emphatic that the larger-than-life Solti scores, he also finds

a wealth of color and nuance in the quieter and more urbane parts.

Basically, he doesn’t just let the musicians play on autopilot for the

umpteenth time, but guides them and inspires them to something

special. I’ve also been on the fence about DeLarrocha, and heard her

play Mozart in concert on two occasions, neither exactly a highlight

among my season ticket concerts. But here she is right on the

money, and I think more inspired by Solti’s energy than she was for

the recordings with Davis. In any case, the two together give us

something as near-definitive as anything I’ve heard in this survey.

The only other performance of this concerto that shook my preconceptions was the new

recording with Buchinder (on fortepiano) and Harnoncourt. Again, my reaction stems mainly

from the conductor, who, if anything tries to outdo Solti, but with a historical instruments

group! If they had played any more vigorously there would have been strings snapping and

valveless brass players blowing a lung. I’m not sure if this may in fact be overdone and tire

with repeated listening, but we all know about Harnoncourt’s philosophy of bringing the

music to life for the moment, and not for recordings that will be scrutinized for the next fifty

years. (If you’ve read my essay on Listener Psychology you know my response to that.)

Nicolas Harnoncourt: would you trust this

man with your precious Strad? Wild-eyed and a

bit crazy, Harnoncourt pushes the historical

instruments to the max, and Buchbinder is up to

the challenge. Is this real Mozart? Absolutely!

Remember, Mozart once goosed a soprano very

rudely to get the kind of shriek he wanted for an

opera production. This is not Mozart for wimps!


I can just hear the doubters and naysayers right now. I highlight the two most outlandishly

over-the-top performances simply because my ennui ears have fallen prey to the ‘shock and

awe’ of it. No, that’s not it. These are the exactly the kind of dramatic performances that I’ve

talked about in elevating Mozart’s music from the status of tea-room Muzak to dynamic, life-

affirming experience. It’s not that these are over-the-top, but that many others are so reticent

and lifeless. This is a core philosophical belief on my part that Baroque and Classical music,

whether Bach, or Haydn, or Mozart, should be expressive and actively engaging, not

something to ponder passively with precious and prettified performances.

My other top pick for this concerto is Barenboim. He lets the brass blow with a mighty virility,

and at the piano he finds wonderful characterization at every turn (try the coy slurred

sixteenths in the first movement). I also find his cadenza one of the most effective. If Solti,

Harnoncourt or Barenboim are simply too much for you, then Vegh can always be counted on

to find grace and buoyancy to perfectly compliment Schiff’s micro-dynamic frisson.

Concerto No. 26 in D, K. 537. After the magnificence of the great C major, K. 503, or the

string of inspired masterpieces from the D-minor onward, this simpleton of a concerto seems

like a second-rate effort at best. Even among concerti not featured among the Top Ten this

falls short in every movement in terms of memorable thematic material. Concertos 14, 15, and

16 all have more memorable thematic ideas and less obvious doodling just to fill out the

canvas. But you know what? This is still Mozart! By this time in his life even a work composed

on autopilot makes for enjoyable music. As with much of Haydn, this is a sunnier, more

optimistic work where after hearing it you always somehow feel better than you did before. I

can honestly say that after I crossed each successive recording off my evaluation list, I still

looked forward to the next, and enjoyed listening to each new performance. Not sure I could

say that if I were to undertake a survey of Weber’s or C.P.E. Bach’s Sonatas, or concerti of

Dussek, Hummel, or any other lessor composers.

Since this isn’t on our Top Ten list I’ll keep my comments short. Firstly, I found the historical

(1940) performance of Wilhelm Backhaus quite fascinating. Some Urtext fanatics might cry

foul and say that his free addition of octaves, chords and left hand filler-material distorts

Mozart beyond all recognition. What fascinated (and surprised) me was just how ‘distorted’ a

performance can be and still we recognize the music as unmistakably of Mozart. Beyond that,

I actually enjoyed the characterization he bestows upon the music, and would take that over

the precious tea-cup Mozart we hear from certain Mozart specialists.

I often look for correlations between performances that are successful and those that are not

entirely convincing. Oftentimes there is a sweet spot for the tempo where phrasing and

articulation seem to come together just right. Other times, as here, a more emphatic

characterization may breathe life into an otherwise lethargic tempo. Barenboim’s performance

on the slower end of tempi (14:33) thus engages the listener through more vigorous dynamics

and articulation. Without this vigor, many faster versions seemed to just plod along tepidly.

But at a certain threshold a brisk pace does help propel the music forward, as witness

Brautigam and Willens (12:32) who flow along naturally without over-emphasis of exaggerated

timpani and trumpets as we hear with Bilson and Gardiner (who make the work sound

imitative of Handel’s ceremonial Royal Fireworks Music). If you are just now discovering this

concerto, I recommend starting out with Brautigam and Barenboim as opposites so you get an

idea of the range of possibilities that work. Barenboim also has one of the most effective

cadenzas, with a quasi music box episode that is quite endearing (more so than Zacharias who

uses a taped recording of an actual music box).


I also like Perahia in this concerto, his piano playing as nuanced as ever, but either through

prompting or permission, the orchestra plays with more vigor and dynamic contrast than most

of the other concerti in his cycle. The result is both poetic (in the slow movement) and

dynamically engaging (in the final movement), and one of the only times his name shows up

among my top picks. DeLarrocha and Solti are also one of the better versions, though by

comparison to Perahia they come up short. Their performance here with the Chamber

Orchestra of Europe is less vigorous and dynamically charged than the earlier recording of the

Concerto No. 25 made with the London Philharmonic. In sum: among modern piano versions

I recommend Barenboim and Perahia; among period instrument versions Brautigam and

Willens flow along very naturally with light and lithe phrasing.

Mozart Monument in Vienna

Concerto No. 27 in B-flat, K. 595. I was disappointed with all the classic performances,

primarily because the tempos were too slow. The final movement of one such performance

was actually packaged in a collection entitled “Music To Wake Up To.” I just don’t hear it that

way. I don’t happen to have the latest Urtext version of this score on hand but my Schirmer

score indicates Allegro scherzando for the tempo, and has scherzando and brillante indications

throughout. The natural phrase grouping with slurs and staccatos within this 6/8 meter would

automatically indicate a jaunty and even teasing character. Not the lethargic idyll that we

often hear. The first movement is also taken at such a tired tempo that the sixteenth notes can

almost be treated with melodic inflection. In my head I hear a tempo and overall timing that

would put this movement at about 12:30. It’s no coincidence then that my overall favorite

version was also the fastest, and that was Jando at 12:49. Uchida is positively lifeless at 15:08.

Everybody is playing the same cadenza here (written by the composer) so a simple look at the

timings tells a lot.

The slow movement is also played much too slowly, oftentimes at a Lento rather than the

Larghetto cantabile indicated, which would indicate a reasonable singing tempo if you allow a


catch breath mid phrase. There’s no way a fortepiano could sustain the melody at some of the

tempos we hear. The best versions are right about 7 minutes or under, and give a singing

projection of the melodic line (Backhaus at 7:05, Badura-Skoda at 6:42, Brendel at 6:55, and

Jando at 7:27, being the best). Gilels is positively deadly at 9:01. Penguin’s Rosette for the Gilels

reflects a personal reaction to the otherworldly simplicity of Gilels, and the fact that he doesn’t

project the melody is interpreted as ‘transformative.’ Others may react similarly, but I do not.

To me, cantabile means singing and hence with melodic projection. The other issue with the

Gilels is the glassy string tone typical of DG’s recordings from this period.

My overall Reference Recording with Jando and Ligeti doesn’t have ideal sound either (a 1989

recording on Naxos), but the lively reverberant acoustic doesn’t detract from the tone and

color of the soloist or orchestral instruments. What’s important here is motion in the first

movement, projection in the second movement, and jaunty phrasing in the third movement.

My second pick, not as overtly characterized as the Jando, is Badura-Skoda with the Prague

Chamber Orchestra on Valois. The piano tone is lovely (and sounding similar to Backhaus I’m

guessing it is a Bösendorfer), pianist and orchestra are supple in phrasing, and the orchestra

doesn’t force the strings all the time. Lastly, Brendel’s earlier version with Marriner is quite

pleasant in a more relaxed presentation, with nice color from the ASMF, and with Brendel

more enlivened than on his later remake with Mackerras.


Top Picks for Each Concerto

Here is a simple list of performances (culled from 492 contenders!) that may considered as reference points for

each concerto. In cases where there is not a single incontrovertible standout performance alternative selections

have been listed which each offer their own individual distinctiveness and help contribute to a better overall

understanding of the work’s potential. Underlined are the most import concerti (on the Top Ten list).

No. 1 in F, K. 37 (1767). Anda/Mozarteum.

No. 2 in B-flat, K. 39 (1767). Anda/Mozarteum. (Barenboim/ECO)

No. 3 in D, K. 40 (1767). Anda/Mozarteum.

No. 4 in G, K. 41 (1767). Anda/Mozarteum. (Barenboim/ECO, Perahia/ECO)

No. 5 in D, K. 175 (1773). Barenboim/ECO. (Schiff/Vegh)

No. 6 in B-flat, K. 238 (1776). Barenboim/ECO. (Anda/Mozarteum)

No. 7 in F for Two or Three Pianos, K. 242 (1776). Perahia/Lupu/ECO.

No. 8 in C, K. 246 (1776). Barenboim/ECO.

No. 9 in E-flat, K. 271 (1777). Schiff/Vegh. (Barenboim/ECO, Brautigam/Willens, Staier/Köln)

No. 10 in E-flat for Two Pianos, K. 365 (1779). Perahia/Lupu/ECO.

No. 11 in F, K. 413 (1782). Barenboim/ECO.

No. 12 in A, K. 414 (1782). Barenboim/ECO.

No. 13 in C, K. 415 (1782). Brendel/Marriner.

No. 14 in E-flat, K. 449 (1784). Brendel/Marriner. (Zacharias/Maksymiuk)

No. 15 in B-flat, K. 450 (1784). Brendel/Marriner.

No. 16 in D, K. 451 (1784). Zacharias/Marriner. (Brendel/Marriner)

No. 17 in G, K. 453 (1784). Shelley/London Mozart Players. (Schiff/Vegh, Ashkenazy/Phil.)

No. 18 in B-flat, K. 456 (1784). Schiff/Vegh. (Barenboim/ECO)

No. 19 in F, K. 459 (1784). Schiff/Vegh. (Barenboim/ECO, Ashkenazy/Philharmonia)

No. 20 in D minor, K. 466 (1785). Argerich/Rabinovitch. (Anda/Mozarteum,

Brendel/Mackerras, Brautigam/Willens, Rubinstein/Wallenstein)

No. 21 in C, K. 467 (1785). Brendel/Marriner. (Anda/Mozarteum, Kirschnereit/Beermann)

No. 22 in E-flat, K. 482 (1785). Schiff/Vegh. (Bezuidenhout/Müllejans)

No. 23 in A, K. 488 (1786). Kirschnereit/Beerman. (Buchbinder/Harnoncourt,

Kocsis/Bêhlohlávek, Rubinstein/Wallenstein)

No. 24 in C minor, K. 491 (1786). Schiff/Vegh. (Brendel/Mackerras, DeLarrocha/Solti,

Kempff/Leitner, Sudbin/Vänskä)

No. 25 in C, K. 503 (1786). DeLarrocha/Solti. (Barenboim/ECO, Buchbinder/Harnoncourt)

No. 26 in D, K. 537 (1788). Barenboim/ECO. (Brautigam/Willens, Perahia/ECO)

No. 27 in B-flat, K. 595 (1791). Jandó/Ligeti. (Badura-Skoda/Prague, Brendel/Marriner)


Recommended Recordings

Many classical listeners who already know they enjoy Mozart and are willing to invest in a

complete set of concerti for their listening library often prefer the convenience of having

everything in one neat and tidy package. Other collectors like to have at least one complete set

to have as a kind of uniform interpretive baseline which can be supplemented later on with

individual performances of favorite concertos. As I’ve said before, there are advantages in

hearing a cycle performed by a single pianist, because each work will be approached with the

same kind of performance psychology, thereby allowing the listener to focus on differences

that are innate characteristics of the composer’s writing. However, when it comes to complete

cycles there’s much more to consider than just finding a pianist whose style or temperament

you like.

I’m always amazed anew at how I can like a certain pianist for one concerto, and be highly

disappointed with how they play another concerto. The reason is simple: the circumstances

under which recordings are made are never consistently perfect over the duration of such

involved undertakings as the complete Mozart concerti. Consider just these rudimentary

realities: the pianist’s mood and/or energy level may be different, the temperature in the

concert hall may be uncomfortably warm or cold, the piano may be different than the last time

(or voiced and tuned by somebody different), the soloist and conductor who saw eye-to-eye on

one concerto may have divergent conceptions of the concerto being presently recorded (and

hence some sort of compromise that makes neither exactly enthusiastic), the assistants setting

up microphones may alter placements (and mere inches can sometimes make a difference), a

new producer may step in and have different ideas on the balancing mix, and those are

variables just off the top of my head.

I find it impossible to simply recommend one single set which I consider to bring sufficient

justice to every concerto. I’m more comfortable in recommending two contrasting sets, in this

case Barenboim and Schiff. These two offer a good starting point, and each brings a

completely different flavor to the works. The Barenboim set with the English Chamber

Orchestra on EMI is now available in a mid-price boxed set on sale for about $30. The Schiff,

is still full-price, and one of the most expensive boxed sets of Mozart you can buy. I’ve never

seen it on sale for less than $79.99 and the regular price is upwards of $115. That’s a substantial

financial investment that most students or new collectors are likely to pass on. Therefore,

most will opt for the Barenboim. If you find a good sale on the Brendel set, that is also worth

considering, especially since his masterful renderings of the middle period concerti are not

available separately. The set with Anda and the Mozarteum is also very good, and often at

attractive sale prices. I don’t recommended it as reference set if you are sensitive to sound

quality (because the others sound better), but there are some real gems in there that I simply

could not live without. In any case, avoid Ashkenazy, Buchbinder, Perahia, Uchida, or

Zacharias.

Looking at the survey results from a statistical point of view, by assigning two points for every

Reference pick, and one point for every alternative pick, we see that among the most

important Top Ten Concerti the point tallies are as follows: Schiff leading with 7 points,

Barenboim following with 5 points, Brendel/Marriner and Kirschnereit with three points, and

a dozen or so other names with 1 or 2 points each. So, it seems that the idea of having Schiff

and Barenboim as contrasting sets is a pretty good idea. If you open it up to all of the concerti,

and not just the Top Ten, Schiff and Barenboim still lead the pack, but Anda and Brendel are


right behind them as a solid second tier. Of course, if you have a strong preference for

Concerto No. 18 and don’t care about No. 23, then you’ll just want to get the top picks for your

favorite concerto. But statistical results are valuable tool for radio programmers or for

recommending sets that will appeal on the broadest, most macro level.

For those who by choice or budgetary restraint prefer to invest in a just a few recordings, they

will want to know they are getting the best possible performances, and the focus should be

centered around the most famous and noteworthy concerti. Here are a few individual

performances that stood out. For reasons of sound quality my default recommendations are

for CDs, but if your preferred format is computer audio files simply look at the recommended

picks for each concerto and download from your online service.

Modern Piano Versions

Concertos 15, 21, 23. Brendel/Marriner. Philips. This single CD

gives you two reference performances (Nos. 15 & 21) and a pleasant

rendering of No. 23. The recorded sound is warm and inviting, with

just the right perspective to capture both the intimate and large-

scale episodes. The re-mastered sound is superior to the earlier CD

version. Pair this with a performance of the D-minor, No. 20

(sticking with Brendel, go with the later version with Mackerras, or

else try the Argerich or Rubinstein versions recommended) and you

will have the two most essential CDs for your Mozart collection.

Concertos 24, 25, 26, 27. DeLarrocha/Solti. Decca (2 CD)

All the performances here are very good, but the C major No. 25 is

one of the most thrilling performances of the entire survey. Solti has

the orchestra positively electrified, and DeLarrocha is likewise

inspired to give more characterization than she did in her recordings

for Sir Colin Davis. If the splendor and magnificence of this

recording fails to move you then you might want to check and make

sure you have a pulse!

Concertos 17, 20, 21, 23, 24. Rubinstein/Wallenstein. RCA

Going into this survey I didn’t really expect Rubinstein to emerge

among the top recommendations, but time and again, his

naturalness of expression won out over the precious delicacy of the

so-called Mozart specialists. No. 20 sounds amazingly fresh in the

re-master, and better than many more modern recordings. If you

are listening to earlier CDs, thin dynagroove pressings, or, worst of

all, YouTube, you are not really hearing the wonderful tone quality

of this master. No. 23 is another standout in both performance and

recorded sound. Nos. 21 and 24 are not as dimensional and open

sounding, but even so, there is no denying the communicative power of Rubinstein. Priced at about $18

for the 2-CD set, and sometimes less when on sale, every piano lover should have this in their library.


Historic Fortepiano Versions

Concertos 20, 27. Brautigam/Willens. BIS.

Reading through the survey you will find favorable mention of

performances by historical-instrument practitioners such as

Bezuidenhout, Brautigam, Buchbinder, and Staier. But if I had to

pick just one performance that stood out from the pack it would

have to be the D-minor from Brautigam and Willens. From the

very start the listener is immediately compelled into a maelstrom

of turbulent drama. Brautigam’s instrument may be one of the

finer examples of the fortepiano craftman’s art, though still

diminutive compared to the modern Steinway, but Brautigam plays with such fire and intensity that the

listener hardly has time to register such comparison. The recorded sound is exemplary.

Concertos 23, 25. Buchbinder/Harnoncourt. Sony

Not to rain on Buchbinder’s parade, but the real star here is

Harnoncourt. All Buchbinder has to do is keep up! Same for all

the orchestral players who are pushed to the max of what is

possible. This doesn’t mean that expressive slow movements are

short-changed, because Harnoncourt digs deep for every bit of

poignancy that Mozart poured his heart into. This is the first

release in an anticipated complete traversal, so I can hardly wait to

hear subsequent releases. Good, vivid sound.

© Graham Reid 2014. All Rights Reserved


Mozart Concerti Discography 494 performances evaluated

Anda (Cologne) 20, 21, 22, 23 Anda (Mozarteum) 1-27 Ambache 14, 18 Andsnes 17, 20 Argerich/Abbado 20, 25 Argerich/Rabinovitch 10, 20 Ashkenazy 1-27 Ashkenazy/Kertez 6, 8, 9 Bachetti 11, 12, 13 Backhaus 26, 27 Badura-Skoda 20, 22, 23, 25, 27 Barenboim/ECO 1 - 6, 8, 9, 11 – 27 Barenboim/Berlin 20-27 Barenboim/Solti 10 Bernstein 15 Bezuidenhout 17, 22 Bilson 5-27 Brautigam 7, 9, 10,12, 19, 20, 23, 25,27 Breiner 20 Brendel/Mackerras 9, 12, 17, 20, 24 Brendel/Marriner 5-27 Buchbinder 5, 6, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 17, 18,

19, 20, 21, 22, 23 Buchbinder/Harnon. 23, 25 Casadesus 21 Collard 14 Corea 23 Curzon 10, 20, 21, 24, 27 Dalberto 20, 22 DeLarrocha 9, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24,

25, 26, 27 Demus 21, 23 Egorov 20 Eschenbach 19, 23 Fialkowska 11, 12 Fischer, Annie 20, 23 Fischer, Edwin 20, 25 Fleisher 7, 12, 23 Gieseking 9, 21, 23, 27 Gilels 10, 27 Goode 17, 23 Gould 24 Grimaud 19, 23 Gulda/Abbado 20, 21 Gulda/Harnoncourt 23, 26 Gulda (Munich) 20 Haebler 1, 2, 3, 4 Haskil/Baumgartner 13 Haskil/Fricsay 19, 27 Haskil/Karajan 20 Haskil/Klemperer 20 Haskil/Markevitch 24 Haskil/Munch 20 Haskil/Paumgartner 20 Haskil/Sacher 9, 23 Hess/Boult 23 Hess/Walter 14, 20

Hewitt 6, 8, 9, 17, 27 Hohenrieder 23 Horowitz 23 Huang 23 Istomin 21, 24 Jando 9, 12, 21, 27 Jarrett 21, 23, 27 Katchen 13, 20, 25 Katsaris 8, 14, 15 Kempff 8,9,15,20,21,22,23,24,27 Kirschnereit 15, 20, 21, 23 Kissin 20, 27 Kissin/Davis 24 Kissin/Spivakov 12, 20 Kite 20 Kocsis 23 Kovacevich 20, 21 23, 25 Kraus 12, 20 Levin 1, 2, 3, 4 Lisiecki 20, 21 Lupu 12, 21, 23 McCawley 9 Menuhin, J. 5, 12, 14, 23 Michelangeli 13, 15, 20, 25 Moravec 20, 23, 24, 25 Osario 14, 23, 25 Perahia 1 - 27 Pires/Abbado 14, 17, 20, 21, 26, 27 Pires/Bruggen 23 Pletnev 9, 20, 23, 24 Pollini 12, 17, 19, 21, 23, 24 Pommier 23 Rabinovich 10, 19 Ranki 24 Richter 20 Rubinstein/Davis 23 Rubinstein/Krips 24 Rubinstein/Wallen. 17, 20, 21, 23 Say 12, 21, 23 Schnabel 20, 21, 24 Serkin, Peter 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 Serkin/Abbado 9, 12, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20,

21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27 Serkin/Szell 19, 20 Schiff/Solti 20 Schiff/Vegh 5 - 27 Shelley 9, 12, 17, 19, 20, 23 Staier 9, 17 Sudbin 24 Tan 18, 19, 24, 25 Uchida 9, 20, 21, 23, 24, 27 Uchida/Tate 5 - 27 Vasary 17, 21 Vladar 20, 25 Vogt 20, 23 Westenholz 20, 23 Zacharias 5 - 27

Mozart Concerti Survey - Piano Enthusiast · Mozart Concerti Survey March 2014 Mozart is credited...

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