Mine was not the only generation to have grown up in
a musical world in which the pre-eminence of Wilhelm Kempff as a Beethoven
interpreter was virtually unquestioned. He donned this mantle naturally
with the demise of Artur Schnabel and established his position with
his mono cycles of the sonatas and concertos in the early fifties. Stereo
re-recordings appeared in the 1960s and consolidated a primacy gradually
assumed in the digital era by Alfred Brendel. Truth to tell, as a young
student I was never terribly impressed by such of his recordings as
I heard; I rather suspected that Deutsche Grammophon had seized upon
him at a moment when the great pianists of the age were all contracted
elsewhere and had created the Kempff myth by astute marketing. My view
received a degree of confirmation from my much-revered teacher Ilonka
Deckers-Küszler (a particular friend of Edwin Fischer) who commented
that, from all the many occasions on which she had heard Kempff live,
the only performance to have stuck in her memory was that of a Chopin
nocturne which he had played as an encore.
That being so, DG were perhaps unimaginative in recording
him in such very circumscribed repertoire; one of the major revelations
of the "Great Pianists" series was Kempff’s long-forgotten
performances of Liszt’s two Legends, and these were recorded during
his brief flirt with Decca, as were the Mozart, Schumann and Liszt concertos
in the present limited edition.
Kempff was in fact a man of wide-ranging views. He
was also a composer (his second symphony was premiered by Furtwängler),
a fine chamber musician and one of the few pianists who was sufficiently
expert as an organist to have performed publicly on that instrument.
He was also a widely sought-after teacher. He did not perform such contemporary
composers as Schönberg, Bartók or Stravinsky; nor did he
show any interest, to the best of my knowledge, in Debussy or Ravel,
but neither should he be remembered as purely a German performer whose
repertoire began with Beethoven and ended with Schubert. Rather to my
surprise the performances in this box which I valued most are not
those of the Beethoven cycle.
If Kempff’s name was not especially coupled with Mozart,
the present concerto coupling suggests that this was merely because
he was not often asked to perform that composer’s music or, in the case
of three concerto couplings on LP with Ferdinand Leitner, because he
was allotted a somewhat heavy-handed conductor. Münchinger’s bright
little band, with added wind-players from the Suisse Romande, approached
phrasing much as might be expected from an original-instruments group
today; probably it sounded brittle back in the 1950s but it is unlikely
to shock anyone in 2003. The effect is compounded by the tendency of
Decca recordings of that time to have extreme brilliance in the treble
frequencies; since the piano is rather backwardly recorded and has a
very mellow sound, any attempt to have cut back the treble in this transfer
would clearly have done the pianist no favours. Oddly enough the difference
between the upfront, brilliant orchestra and the sweet-toned pianist
calmly doing his own thing in the background is more disarming than
incongruous. Unwittingly (I presume) Kempff, Münchinger and the
engineers have produced something close to the balance that emerges
when a small but gentle-toned piano of Mozart’s own day is used.
As to Kempff’s playing, it radiates sheer enjoyment
in the music, every note a pool of light. It is striking how he gives
an impression of spontaneity and expressive freedom without resorting
to rhythmic distortion. This is beautifully scaled Mozart playing, unhurried
and communicative. In particular his finales are taken at steady tempi,
but such is the individual sheen on each semiquaver that he achieves
great vitality and brilliance nonetheless. Of his slow movements it
could be said that they radiate light rather than plumb the depths;
Géza Anda was later to show how the Andantino of K.271 can assume
a Bachian gravity, but this was not Kempff’s way. A lovely coupling,
even if the oddities of the recording make it a disc for the specialist
rather than the general music lover.
A more normal piano/orchestra balance was achieved
by DG in their Beethoven recordings, even if the relative closeness
of the piano produces a degree of hardness at times. Kempff’s playing
displays the same characteristics as his Mozart and it is again remarkable
how free he sounds when a metronome would tell you that his tempi are
adhered to pretty strictly. It all goes to show that true expressive
freedom is something far profounder than mere rhythmic licence. Here,
too, the finales are taken at steady tempi which actually exude a great
deal of vitality. And, once again, while one has heard the slow movements
interpreted with more gravitas, Kempff’s gentle songfulness has its
own attraction.
If this was much as I had expected, I had not expected
to be so convinced by no. 3 interpreted in the same manner. Paul van
Kempen has clearly taken some trouble to understand what Kempff was
trying to say and together they avoid all attempt to thrash away just
because this is BEETHOVEN IN C MINOR; mindful of Mozart’s concerto in
that key they evince a gentle, but vital, serenity which may not be
the only solution but which is especially recommended to those who resist
a more massive approach.
In a sense the excellence of no. 4 could be taken for
granted. But when we hear Kempff light upon the rapid scale in the fourth
bar as if he had only just discovered it, or launch the finale as if
he were making it up on the spur of the moment, we realise that he himself
took nothing for granted. And here a word about his cadenzas; in all
the first four concertos he writes his own. A purist might say that,
since Beethoven provided cadenzas himself, we should use them. On the
other hand, Beethoven’s purpose was merely to provide an option for
performers who had not the wit to improvise cadenzas themselves. Whether
improvised or written-down, Kempff’s sound spontaneous enough in their
alternation between listener-friendliness and sheer zaniness. This goes
for the first three concertos, but those for no. 4 are something else
again, suggesting that a genuinely subversive spirit lay beneath Kempff’s
gentle exterior. They put the finishing touch on a unique experience.
I much looked forward to hearing an "Emperor"
played in the same gentle manner as the 3rd, but it didn’t
work out like that. Kempff seems to have got it into his head to show
that, in this work, he can make as much noise as the next man. Unfortunately,
his chosen manner of tone production, which seems able to unleash the
upper frequencies of the piano and so produce that light-filled radiance
which was the secret of his lyrical poetry, appears unable to harness
any great weight of tone. I had already noticed, but not been
unduly disturbed by, a tendency to make jabbing sforzatos (try
the coda to the finale of no. 3); here the whole thing seems to consist
of accents and the sound is hard and aggressive when it should be full.
Some of this seems to affect van Kempen as well and the outer movements
of the concerto tend to slog; I got most enjoyment from the songful
slow movement.
I see that generations of critics have blamed the clattery
tone quality on the recording. I am afraid I disagree, and am convinced
that this is a case where the pianist, not the engineers, has to be
shot. Either way, there seems a general agreement that this is not an
entirely satisfactory "Emperor".
Kempff recorded a fair amount of Schumann’s solo piano
music in his later years; maybe too late since the general feeling was
that he was unable to identify with the composer’s more passionate Florestan
moments, thus weakening the attractive poetry he found elsewhere. A
late recording of the Concerto with Kubelík made little impact.
This recording with Krips, on the other hand, seems pretty well ideal.
The first movement unfolds at a pace which permits an alternation between
incandescence and gentle reminiscence with a minimum of actual tempo
variation. The Intermezzo is slower than usual; this certainly pleased
me since I find most performances of it uncomfortably fast. Even if
you don’t agree, give this a hearing; a more sheerly lovely performance
would be hard to imagine. The finale is notable for Kempff’s unmannered
treatment of the syncopated second subject (often mauled out of shape)
and concludes with real vitality. Josef Krips, at another time and another
place a somewhat obsequious partner to Rubinstein in this concerto,
interacts with Kempff very positively indeed. Since this recording is
probably technically the best in this set, this is a version that should
never have been forgotten.
After the experience of the "Emperor" my
expectations of Brahms 1 were not high. I was quite wrong. First of
all I much impressed by Konwitschny’s unfolding of the opening ritornello,
at a tempo which allows for both exultation and relaxation; the music
just flows majestically forward. It is not deliberately dramatic, as
are the several versions conducted by Georg Szell, but it proves an
ideal setting for Kempff’s playing. He does not attempt the massiveness
of some interpreters but his tone is always warm and rounded and it
always seems to be enough. He also gives an object lesson in how to
present the second subject in a lyrical, singing manner rather than
note-by-note.
In the slow movement there is a slight tendency for
Konwitschny, a notable Wagnerian, to dwell warmly on his orchestral
passages while Kempff moves ahead on his entries, but this is minimal
and suggests spontaneity rather than outright disagreement. A steady
but vital finale completes a performance which does not try to take
by storm but which will provide much satisfaction of a deeper kind.
The piano is rather backwardly placed in the Liszt
concertos, but this does not mask some pretty enthralling playing. Kempff’s
digital virtuosity is the equal of anyone’s, but it is used to entirely
musical ends, distilling a rare poetry from both scores. In no. 1 Fistoulari
sometimes tries a bit too hard with his orchestral interludes, becoming
slow and portentous, but such moments are few and in no. 2 he is an
ideal partner. Anyone who still turns his nose up at Liszt should sample
the gradually awakening poetry at the start of this concerto to hear
what two imaginative musicians can make of it. All this tends to reinforce
the impression that Kempff should have been encouraged to cast his net
a little more widely.
Casual listeners are advised that even the best of
these recordings shows its age, but those interested in the history
of piano-playing in the post-war period will find some indispensable
– even revelatory - items here.
Christopher Howell
London Symphony Orchestra/Anatole
Fistoulari