Ludwig van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827)
Eleven Bagatelles, Op 119 (1822) [16:24]
Thirty-Three variations on a Waltz by Anton Diabelli, Op 120 (1819-23) [58:34]
Bagatelle, WoO59 in A minor ‘Für Elise’ (c 1810) [3:31]
Imogen Cooper (piano)
rec. 2018, Snape Maltings, Snape, UK
CHANDOS CHAN20085 [78:32]
“It is a wonderful journey, and one of the most joyous I have undertaken. I am instantly in a good mood when practising or performing this piece and every challenge provokes not so much a groan as a shake of the head and a smile at Beethoven’s sheer genius of invention”
My first thoughts on hearing this characterful and outstandingly executed performance of the Diabelli Variations were of the evident affection Imogen Cooper has for the piece; it is abundant in every bar. Reading the pianist’s own words (quoted above) in her note in the booklet afterwards merely confirmed the obvious. Her account radiates complete identification at every turn. Each note, every phrase may on the one hand seem carefully considered, but there are episodes, which may comprise as little as a bar or as much as an entire variation which sound so uninhibited they could almost be extemporisations. I would never use the word ‘behemoth’ to describe it but Op 120 is still a big ask; a seemingly artless theme, and thirty-three diffuse variations which at times are so unusually juxtaposed it’s easy for the listener (let alone the performer) to lose sight of the fact that it amounts to a complete piece, and only in the finest performances does the architecture of the whole emerge unscathed. In this regard my preferences boil down to four accounts from two pianists; Kovacevich recorded the work for Philips in 1967 (475 755-6), and four decades later for Onyx (ONYX4035), while Andras Schiff’s revelatory readings on two very different period pianos emerged on an ECM set (ECM 2294-95) in 2013. For me, Cooper’s reading belongs in that exalted company, although I accept that some of the dramatic gear changes she applies between one variation and another may not be to everyone’s taste. But to quote Cooper directly again: “The idea of play is paramount. Humour, sometimes tongue-in-cheek, sometimes wistful, sometimes pompous, sometimes desperate, must be at the front of the performer’s mind- as well as the capacity to switch suddenly to moods that are sombre, reflective and holy”. That she manages these abrupt changes without losing sight of the shape of the whole strikes me as a feat in itself.
It’s as though Cooper really hams up the artlessness of the Diabelli’s little tune, for what follows is an extraordinary compendium of adventure and expressivity which is hard to reconcile with its source. It is so difficult to pick highlights, because this pianist finds originality and wonder at every bend in the road. As early as the second poco allegro variation, she projects a sleek modernity which almost suggests minimalism while the little three-note fanfares that ricochet around in the fifth convey both playfulness and a kind of reined in, latent power. At this point one becomes more aware of another splendid, yet unobstrusive Rachel Smith production for Chandos. Cooper draws a ravishing array of colours from her Steinway, each of which emerges vividly yet naturally. This is especially apparent during the delightful interplay between right and left hand in the sixth variation. Cooper reveals telling but subtle contrasts in the quick tempi that predominate in the first half of the work, unfailingly drawing out the wittiness and weirdness of Beethoven’s unpredictable modulations and pauses (sometimes tastefully elongated here) in the first thirteen variations.
But come the fourteenth, marked Grave e maestoso, and we are abruptly transferred to the presence of a quite different Beethoven. The descending three note clusters are suddenly more enigmatic and questioning, rendering this variation perhaps the emotional core of the work. With Cooper again making the most of the cavernous pauses, she illuminates how masterfully the composer completely flips the twee essence of the theme. The playing is especially rapt and intense from 3:50 and Cooper reinforces the depth of this episode in her beautifully tiered dynamics. And while the contrasts and colours, the nods, winks and smiles of the quicker variations that have gone before and are to follow are magnificently brought to life, it is in the slower music that this pianist truly moves this listener. So after the choppy 28th variation (Allegro) Cooper finds repose, wistfulness and resignation respectively in the trio of slow variations that precede the penultimate fugue. This is sharply and robustly conveyed, with perfectly weighted inner parts and virile, but never overwhelming bass. The intensity of its conclusion is magnified by Cooper’s tastefully inflated caesuras. In the final variation she finds yet more spontaneity and an almost improvisatory spirit of adventure, as though she is conjuring the music anew on the hoof, before its final, insouciant shrug.
Imogen Cooper’s reading of the variations is heartfelt, imaginative, and occasionally even borders on the experimental. And yet there is more to this generously filled disc. In his Op 119 set of Bagatelles, published in 1822, Beethoven collated five study-like miniatures thought to have been composed in his late twenties (nos 1-5) and added another five (7-11) he’d completed (in 1820) for the publication of the third volume of a teaching manual (Starke’s Wiener Piano-Forte-Schule). The eventful sixth piece, almost a tiny sonatina in itself, was the last to be written, shortly prior to the publication of the set. Cooper elegantly takes up the varied technical challenges presented by each of these pieces; the evenly projected arpeggios in the left hand of the second, the crystalline staccati in the second half of the fourth, the rolling bass trilling at the conclusion of the more overtly virtuosic seventh, the tenderly nuanced presentation of the eighth. The set includes the Allegramente No 10, at fifteen seconds the briefest of all Beethoven’s works; an astonishing foil to the monumentality of Op 120.
Unexpectedly perhaps, the programme ends with a chaste and unspoilt Für Elise; even this ubiquitous, potentially irritating lollipop emerges unscathed and newly minted in Imogen Cooper’s hands. Over a forty year career, this humane and generous musician has made surprisingly few records. She remains the epitome of refinement and good taste; an intelligent, unaffected artist who puts herself squarely at the service of the music. Her recent discs for Chandos have been consistently probing and enjoyable by turn, but I suspect this Beethoven issue is the best yet. Her nuanced account of the Op 120 is among the most compelling I have heard on disc, and the outstanding Chandos sound does both composer and pianist great credit. William Drabkin’s readable and detailed analyses complete a fine issue.
Richard Hanlon
