What do the names Ted Perry, Brian Couzens and Klaus
Heymann have in common? Answer: Chief Executives of record companies
whose main concern was always the music. In the case of Klaus Heymann
the Hong Kong Philharmonic’s loss has been every music-lover’s gain.
Had it not been for that orchestra’s short-sighted refusal to record
a concerto with his wife, the violinist Takako Nishizaki as soloist,
we might never have benefited from the gift that is Naxos. Heymann’s
decision to form HNH International that would record his wife has given
us records of unrivalled value and a company that challenges the main
record companies’ market dominance. Given that the price of a Naxos
disc is unaltered from the first records it released 15 years ago, it
is all the more remarkable that the company has not simply stuck to
the core repertoire or to re-releasing other companies’ back catalogues.
Instead it has explored lesser known works, and composers who should
be better known. Naxos has also produced spoken word, nostalgia and
jazz discs, and has recently added historical performances to its ever-widening
range.
There is no doubt that for a rapidly growing segment
of its catalogue HNH is beholden to those specialists, collectors and
audio engineers, who specialise in preserving our musical inheritance.
Several people are doing sterling work in that field. However, different
techniques produce different results and there are times when I wonder
if the non-specialist music-lover can benefit from owning such discs.
A proliferation of clicks and pops, hiss and general surface noise can
make the result of dubious value to ears that have experienced so many
refinements in recording methods over the years. Some people still hold
that CDs are too clinical and I felt the same to start with, but, with
the passage of time I have been won over – I just want to hear the music
and am only too happy to have any surface noise relegated to recording
history. Its not that I’m not interested in artists of yesteryear. I
remember with pleasure the old record catalogues my parents had with
tiny photos of such greats as Tetrazzini, Kirsten Flagstad, Caruso,
Gigli, Toscanini, Backhaus, Gieseking and Schnabel. If such a legacy
can be preserved in as clean a sound as possible it is to be welcomed.
However, if an artist sounds as if they are singing or playing through
a blanket of noise the result may have a value only for another artist.
Naxos’s latest offering in their historical series
is of Artur Schnabel playing Beethoven Sonatas 11-13 and does the artist
proud. These recordings, made in Abbey Road Studios between 1932-34
are fine examples of the transfer artist/engineer’s proficiency. The
sleeve-note informs us that Mark Obert-Thorn, who describes himself
as a ‘moderate interventionist’, has tried to find a "third way"
to produce these transfers which has resulted in a remarkably true sound.
Even original purchasers of the 78s (via subscription and totalling
a staggering 204 sides) cannot have been fortunate enough to have experienced
sound as clear as this disc gives us. I have to agree with the sleeve-note
which says that. after a while. any remaining surface noise is screened
out by your mind leaving you free to concentrate on Schnabel and Beethoven.
Beethoven’s piano sonatas are to me the supreme achievement
in writing for the instrument and I never tire of listening to them.
Each time I do I discover new things to revel in. This is not surprising
since great pianists will say the same about new discoveries they make
each time they play them. It is fascinating to note that Schnabel was
the very first artist to record all the sonatas and it is from these
recordings that this disc was made. The best examples of 78s from all
over the world were sought to ensure the best possible result.
What do we look for in a disc such as this? For me
it’s as true a rendition of the artists’ interpretation of the music
as possible according to my ears. I own two versions of Sonata No. 11
and one of all 32. So I have tried to make a comparison with Bernard
Roberts, whose complete set is on Nimbus, and a Soviet vinyl record
of Emil Gilels on a transfer from a Polydor recording. These versions
of Sonata No. 11 were both recorded in 1985, and both artists had had
many opportunities of hearing other pianists’ recordings of this work,
and no doubt learned a great deal from them. Schnabel, on the other
hand, had an almost pioneering role by comparison, and I tried to bear
this in mind while listening.
The first thing that struck me as soon as I started
to play the review disc was how fast it sounded and I noted with interest
the timings of all three pianists for each movement:
Schnabel Roberts Gilels
1) 6.38 8.00 8.06
2) 9.01 7.36 11.15
3) 3.16 3.17 3.47
4) 5.16 6.34 7.18
In an article written in 1970, pianist and critic Harris
Goldsmith expressed reservations concerning Schnabel’s recording of
Sonata No.11, describing the opening movement as having a ‘hard-bitten,
businesslike aggressiveness’, and I have to agree for although it is
marked ‘allegro con brio’ the notes seem to be gone before you can appreciate
them, propelled by a speed entirely inappropriate for the music’s delicate
feel. Bernard Roberts, by contrast seems to have it just right and,
when comparing his version with Gilels, I realised that it was not just
the tempo that made it so, critical though it may be. Bernard Roberts
has a considerably lighter and more delicate touch, not at all aggressive,
whilst Gilels seems to be hammering at the keys of a piano that has
an altogether darker, lower tone, not unlike a pub piano. Goldsmith
noted that for him Schnabel did have an occasional ‘tendency to maul
rhythm and jump beats’ and that’s what I felt he was doing in this first
movement. It was almost as if he was rushing to get it over with because
he had something better to do afterwards! There are no pauses to allow
the mind to anticipate the next phrase – all the notes rush headlong
towards the movement’s conclusion. What a contrast then the second movement
is and it is clear to see how Goldsmith came to describe Schnabel’s
playing in this as ‘sublime’. So it is - the phrasing, tone and tempo
quite perfect, the whole movement beautifully constructed. It is hard
to believe it’s the same pianist as played the first movement, so sensitive
is his handling of it by comparison. Here we have someone who appeared
to understand Beethoven’s intentions thoroughly. What surprised me then
was that I felt the same about both of my versions – Roberts seemed
to have a perfect rapport with the music and the tempo felt just right
though it was a different take on it to Schnabel’s. Imagine how amazed
I was to find that I felt that Gilels had redeemed himself, despite
playing it 34% slower than Bernard Roberts and 2 minutes slower than
Schnabel. All three had a love for the music that shined through and
that transcended the widely varying speeds at which the movement was
taken.
All three seemed to agree that the menuetto should
be played at a similar speed and it was only that Roberts’ recording
was digital and thus crisper and clearer that made it stand out as the
more accessible.
The final movement has Schnabel playing faster than
either of the other two but the notes sound more mannered to my ears
and don’t flow with the ease the music appears to demand. At other times
one is aware of the odd notes being lost in a flurry. Bernard Roberts
has a lovely sound and shapes the movement perfectly whilst Gilels sounds
slow and heavy. This recording was his last and he was gravely ill at
the time so that probably accounts for his overall treatment of this
wonderful work.
In Sonata No. 12 Schnabel takes the opening movement
terribly slowly and it sounds extremely ponderous with its brightness
lost to an approach that is deliberate and which calls to mind a student
who seems unsure and has to feel his way through the notes. Bernard
Roberts, however, has a touch which is light and confident and with
a fluidity that reveals the humour and the humanity in this opening
movement.
The two pianists have a similar approach to the scherzo
and deliver equally beautifully sounds.
However, they differ widely in the marche funebre despite
their tempos being almost exactly the same. In the insert of the Schnabel
disc the full title of the movement is given as a funeral march on the
death of a hero, but I felt that his playing made his hero seem still
alive and strutting around in a most pompous fashion. Bernard Roberts
though finds just the right measure of dignified respect.
The final movement sees Roberts delivering a crisp
performance whilst Schnabel takes it much faster and the whole thing
is over before you know it and I felt it lost definition in the process.
In Schnabel’s hands, however, the opening of Sonata
No.13 is taken at a tempo perfectly in keeping with this beautifully
written movement and whilst some of the lower notes seem lost in the
thickness of sound the whole is a pleasure to listen to. This sonata
is the one in which, it seemed to me, both pianists came closest to
an almost identical reading.
For the rest of this sonata Bernard Roberts’ performance
was eloquent and masterly and I’m very pleased to have had cause to
listen to these records in order to compare them in this way. I now
feel perfectly happy to remain with them as my main source of these
wonderful works.
Artur Schnabel sounded very much at home with this
Sonata and there were some really lush moments and all of it absolutely
gorgeously played and left me with no reservations about it. This fact
made any hiss remaining simply melt away and did not spoil my enjoyment
one bit.
All in all this was a fascinating journey to make with
a pianist who has been dead for over half a century. Indeed it must
be remembered that these recordings were made over 70 years ago and
it is quite remarkable that the art of recording has enabled us to hear
such a great pianist who was at the very height of his powers when he
played these sonatas at the age of 50. In his youth Schnabel was learning
these works only 70 years after Beethoven’s death. As I said at the
beginning of this review Schnabel was the first to record these sonatas
and therefore was not able to ‘benefit’ from listening to a number of
other recordings by other pianists of the day as those today can do.
Harris Goldsmith said in 1970 that ‘I like Schnabel’s
approach to this music over all the competition’. It would be most interesting
to know whether the ensuing 30 years could have changed that opinion.
For myself I found Schnabel’s recording enthralling and I must agree
with Goldsmith when he said that these recordings of the Beethoven sonatas
remain ‘a price-less legacy from a legendary musical thinker and ought
to be considered basic to every record library’.
I am still glad that the great strides in recording
techniques have enabled our generation to enjoy near concert hall sound
in our own living rooms, and, though I am pleased to have historical
recordings on my shelves, I am equally pleased that I can enjoy the
clarity that digital recordings can give. That said, when one considers
that such a disc can be bought for a scant £4.99 (in the U.K.) it only
remains for me to reiterate my thanks to Naxos for such an enterprise,
and to thoroughly recommend it. I’m sure we will benefit from many more
of these invaluable historical recordings. Bravo!
Steve Arloff
Artur Schnabel (piano)