Mozart: Piano Concertos Nos. 23
and 25. Rudolf Buchbinder, piano; Concentus Musicus Wien conducted by
Nikolaus Harnoncourt. Sony. $11.99.
Bach: The Six Partitas for
Harpsichord. David Korevaar, piano. MSR Classics. $19.99 (2 CDs).
Remembranza: Music of Piazzolla,
Villa-Lobos, Ernesto Nazareth, Granados and Albéniz. Rosa
Antonelli, piano. Albany Records. $19.98.
Maestro or Mephisto: The Real
Georg Solti. A film by Andy King-Dabbs. Arthaus Musik DVD. $24.99.
Anyone who thinks
there is a single “right” way to perform Mozart or Bach will be disabused of
the notion when hearing the new recordings by pianists Rudolf Buchbinder and
David Korevaar – and there is even more personalization to be had in
Argentinian pianist Rosa Antonelli’s heartfelt playing of the music of her
countryman, Astor Piazzolla, and the works of the other composers represented on
her new CD. Buchbinder’s Mozart disc is actually a personal expression not only
for him but also for Nikolaus Harnoncourt, who – unlike Buchbinder – is
well-known for period-instrument performances.
Harnoncourt’s handling of the orchestral parts of Mozart’s Concertos
Nos. 23 and 25 is exemplary, and indeed better than some of his occasionally
quirky recent recordings of other music. By presenting his accompaniment in a
fairly straightforward manner – with clear edges in the strings and winds that
burst through the texture whenever they are called upon – Harnoncourt
highlights the ripieno of his
37-piece orchestra in a way that makes the solo playing of Buchbinder all the
more effective. Buchbinder here plays a very fine Paul McNulty fortepiano
copied from a 1792 original by Anton Walter, possibly the most prolific of all
fortepiano builders; and the choice is an excellent one, allowing Buchbinder and
Harnoncourt’s ensemble to communicate on nearly equal and very effective terms.
Buchbinder’s cadenza in the first movement of No. 25 is a wonderful display
piece for his instrument, yet not out of keeping with historical practice, and
the grandeur of this concerto comes through very effectively from start to
finish. No. 23 is not quite as
successful – the balance between piano and orchestra is not quite as good,
which may be due to the recording rather than the interpretation (the two
concertos were recorded live at two concerts in June 2012). No. 23 is a touch stiff here and there,
without the easygoing lilt that it can have; but this is nevertheless an impressive
performance that fully utilizes period sound and performance practices to show
Mozart in ways that no reading with a modern piano can – the difference between
the modern instrument and that of Mozart’s own time is simply too great.
And of course, the
difference between a modern Steinway D and the harpsichord of Bach’s time is
greater still. In common with other piano performances of Bach harpsichord
works, Korevaar’s version of the complete partitas labels the pieces as being
for “keyboard,” but this is a dodge, since they were written for harpsichord
and most assuredly not for anything
resembling the modern piano. The argument over whether these works are better
heard on harpsichord or piano is unlikely ever to be settled, but certainly
Korevaar makes a strong case for the emotional depth that a piano can bring to
the partitas without delving too deeply into wholly unacceptable interpretative
Romanticism. In fact, Korevaar’s
lightness of touch is what prevents the partitas from appearing too dense when
heard on piano, and his fascinating way with ornamentation – he really mixes it
up, handling different movements in very different ways – makes the set a
fascinating listening experience. These are nuanced and emotional recordings
that do not, however, swoon. Korevaar does an especially fine job of contrasting
the slow Sarabande movements of the Partitas with the faster surrounding
movements, with the Sarabande from Partita No. 6 particularly heartfelt. The opening movements of the works – such as
the short Fantasia in No. 3 and much longer Ouverture in No. 4 and Toccata in
No. 6 – provide strong contrast to the lighter dance movements, and Korevaar
adeptly draws out the different moods without overdoing them. The
recorded sound is rich and warm, adding to the effectiveness of Korevaar’s
interpretations – which some listeners may find on the slow side, but which the
pianist makes convincing because he uses the frequently relaxed tempos to bring
out the nuances and many beauties of the music, not to expand it beyond the
proportions it was intended to have.
Korevaar knows Bach extremely well, as his fascinating booklet notes and
elegant playing both show; and if his performances of the partitas do not quite
make an unassailable case for hearing this music on a modern piano, they do
show that listeners who prefer the piano sound can get all the detail, all the
sensitivity and all the beauty from this music that Bach put into it – when a
performer as skillful as Korevaar handles the works.
The music on
Antonelli’s very personal CD is nowhere near the level of the music of Mozart
or Bach, and Antonelli does not play it as if it belongs on that elevated
plane. Instead, she imbues the works with emotional warmth that comes partly
from her own heritage, partly from her 2011 Carnegie Hall debut (where she
played a number of these pieces), and partly from the works themselves, all of
which are relatively brief (the longest runs nine minutes) but all of which
encapsulate memories of Spain and Latin America and release them for performer
and audience alike. Antonelli performs five tangos here, four by Piazzolla and the
very brief Odeón—Tango Brasilero
by Ernesto Nazareth (1863-1934), the least-known composer on this CD. Of the
four Piazzolla works, only Adiós
Nonino has been recorded in a piano version before; these are world première recordings of the piano versions
of La Ultima Grela, El Mundo de los Dos
and Imperial. Antonelli has a marvelous affinity for the
tango, especially in the modernized version created and championed by Piazzolla
– yes, it is a dance, but it is not just
a dance, any more than the best waltzes of the Strauss family were just waltzes. Antonelli pulls the tango
beyond its roots, as Piazzolla himself did, to show it as a musical miniature,
capturing its heritage and Latin flavor just as surely as many Strauss waltzes
encapsulated the joys and tribulations of Austria-Hungary in the 19th
century. Wisely, Antonelli mixes the
tangos with other evocative pieces: Villa-Lobos’ Poema Singelo and Valsa da
Dor; Granados’ Quejas ó
La Maja y El Ruiseňor from Goyescas and the Allegro de
Concierto in C; and Albéniz’
Granada and Cádiz from Suite Espaňola,
plus L’Automne Waltz – the last of
these showing Antonelli’s skill and comfort with dance forms beyond that of the
tango. If there is a flaw in this
recording, it is that it comes across mostly as a series of encores: some
pieces are more substantial than others, but there is nothing here with the
depth and extent of fully worked-through sonatas or descriptive suites.
Nevertheless, the choice of works makes a statement of its own, and Antonelli’s
clear personal commitment to the music produces an evocative and involving
recital that will make listeners wonder when the pianist will attempt something
of really grand scope, such as the entirety of Albeniz’ Iberia.
It is sometimes
forgotten that conductor Georg Solti (1912-1997) started out as a pianist,
working as a répétiteur coaching Hungarian State Opera singers and playing at
rehearsals. Solti always had his sights set on a conducting career, and
conducted The Marriage of Figaro as
early as 1938 – but during World War II, living in Switzerland, he could not
get a work permit as a conductor and supported himself as a piano teacher. He
must have been a highly demanding one, since his early reputation as an
extremely tough conductor – coupled with his bald head – led some wags to label
him as “the screaming skull.” Maestro or Mephisto, a biographical
Solti film that is slightly less hagiographic than others, could have used a
bit more of a sense of humor to offset the extreme seriousness with which Solti
emerges here (although Kiri Te Kanawa’s description of Solti as “naughty” is an
amusing moment). Solti’s early pianism and wartime experiences get short shrift
here, as Andy King-Dabbs focuses primarily on the conducting characteristics
for which Solti was justly famous and sometimes controversial: his strong willpower,
tremendous drive and very demanding style.
Solti left an extensive recording legacy that shows him to have mellowed
somewhat in later years: some of his more-recent performances are less driven
and hectic, less intense, than his earlier readings of the same works. But his
strength and musicianship never flagged. Forceful, almost ferocious on the
podium, Solti almost always led performances that were worth hearing and that
frequently brought something new in sound, balance or emphasis to
standard-repertoire music. And some of his accomplishments remain unmatched:
his Der Ring des Nibelungen
recording, completed in 1965, is generally considered the best version of the
cycle even today, despite the vocal weaknesses of the aging Hans Hotter as
Wotan. Maestro or Mephisto contains
the usual mixture of comments by fellow musicians – most of them, not
surprisingly, admiring. It also offers a number of remarks by Solti himself,
including some retrospective ones from near the end of his life in which he
talks about his challenges and achievements and is clearly trying to shape his
legacy. Solti was a larger-than-life
figure in classical music, which explains why a number of film biographies
about him have been made. King-Dabbs’
(+++) film is nicely positioned among them: it does not reach out to anyone
beyond those already familiar with Solti, but it gives those who do know and
admire him yet another set of comments and discussions explaining why he was
held in such high esteem despite the distinctly prickly parts of his
personality and podium manner.
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