A disc devoted to Gieseking’s Bach and Beethoven recordings
is one that ploughs repertoire that may be unfamiliar to his
more mainstream admirers, for whom he was the ne plus ultra,
the bee’s pyjamas, of the French repertoire. Nevertheless
this supposedly auxiliary repertoire - in fact it was in many
ways central to him - reveals him as a luminously clarity-based
exponent of Bach and even as a headstrong Beethovenian. The recordings
were made between 1931 and 1940 in London, New York, Vienna and
Berlin.
Given the occasionally inflated offerings from some of his contemporaries
and indeed successors, his Bach evinces attention to detail without
undue emphases. His Italian Concerto was recorded in Berlin in
1940. It treads a perfectly posed pathway between the Scylla
and Charybdis of ebullience and asceticism.
Things here, conversely, are naturally phrased, and the rhythm
is buoyant, expression is discreet and apposite and never inflated.
There is liveliness in the finale but it is of the playful and
not pummelling variety. We can regret - but do nothing about
- the torso that is the B flat major Partita. Only four movements
were recorded - in Berlin and Vienna, in 1934 and in 1939 - so
this remains a compromise and composite performance; two movements
at a time five years apart in two different cities is no real
substitute for an organic performance, but the natural directness
of the playing remains unchanged, the focus on clarity too.
The fifth and sixth Partitas are, happily, complete, and were
recorded in New York in 1939. Columbia’s New York studio
was notably drier than the Austrian and German counterparts,
and this imparts a less warm sound stage. It barely impinges
however on the heart of the affair - playing of crisp, unostentatious
clarity. The Sarabande of the G major and the Corrente of the
E minor are particular highlights but it’s invidious to
select from among so many. There’s a single movement from
the French Suite No. 5, which was recorded at the same session
that produced the Fifth Partita. His Jesu, Joy of Man’s
Desiring isn’t as affecting as Hess or Lipatti but
it’s noble enough in its own way.
Beethoven’s Tempest sonata was recorded in Central
Hall, Westminster in London in 1931 and is the earliest inscription
in this collection. The recording imparts something of a distance,
but it’s not damaging. The performance itself is shorn
of repeats in the outer movements but is otherwise driving, powerful
and at times genuinely tumultuous. The sense of engagement and
extroversion, of commitment, is palpable throughout.
It completes a notably fine selection, finely engineered and
well annotated.
Jonathan Woolf
Walter Gieseking (piano) 
