Anda retrospectives continue to prove
salutary. Testament has devoted a number
of important re-releases to him, and
there is fortunately not much duplication
between them and this DG boxed set of
five discs – Kreisleriana and the later
Symphonic Etudes. The kernel of this
set is Schumann augmented by Bartók,
though not one of the more well-known
Anda recordings, and his famed Brahms
B flat major Concerto, and a wartime
record of which he was greatly proud,
the Franck Symphonic Variations. There’s
also the not inconsiderable pleasure
of listening to him in Chopin, in the
Diabelli variations, a Schubert sonata
and in some Liszt recorded at various
times during his career.
The Brahms is a majestic
performance not without some idiosyncrasy.
The initial horn statement is certainly
personalised – tone, pitch – and the
playing of the Berlin Philharmonic under
Fricsay is imposing and sometimes almost
rhetorical. Some of the brass work is
also a little self-regarding but Anda’s
passagework is alive to the merest detail,
excellently contoured and with great
tonal variety not least in the right
hand. The left hand makes strong dynamic
incursions, and the one or two split
notes are of no account given the dynamism
of the playing. The deliberate retardation
of rhythm in the first movement is notable,
as well as the vibrant and convulsive
staccato Anda cultivates in the treble.
Clarity is paramount in the second movement,
not taken too fast, and the slow movement
sees constant liveliness of colour and
texture, a fusion of the active and
the passive, and chamber sensitivity
in his responses to Ottmar Borwitzky’s
cello solo. The finale is capricious
and leisurely – cheeky winds and a relaxed
winsomeness.
The Bartók Rhapsody
is again with Fricsay in 1960, but this
time with the Berlin Radio Symphony.
It’s magnificently and generously dramatic,
with the piano certainly balanced well
(and too) forward. Still there’s blithe
wit here, rhythmic tang, Hungarian folk
snap and cimbalom imitation.
Turning to his Schumann
we are fortunate to have his Kreisleriana
from 1966. This is a deft, subtly inflected
and very characterful reading. Diminuendi
irradiate the opening whilst (2) is
elegant yet forward moving. (5) is crystalline
and light of texture and the Sehr
Langsam (6) gains in cumulative
weight and sonority. The Fantasia is
a slightly earlier recording, taped
in Berlin, and one that possesses a
controlled directness of approach and
an especially powerful middle movement
albeit one that possesses an unusually
sensitive contrastive central section.
The all-Schumann disc is completed by
the 1963 Symphonic Etudes. Fascinating
comparisons can be set up between this
taping and the wartime recording on
78 also made in Berlin in the Polydor
studios. The first recording, made when
he was in his very early twenties, is
that much more impetuous; speeds are
pushed that bit harder, corners turned
with a greater sense of youthful zest.
That said I prefer the more refined
temper of the later traversal – listen
to the exquisite left hand voicings
in Etude III or the drivingly witty
sixth, much less the superiority of
his treble sonorities cultivated in
Variation V. The finale is delightfully
warm even though the youthful Anda was
that much more incisive and driving.
The Davidsbündler
is another winning example of Anda’s
way with the composer. Listen to the
real legato delicacy of No.2, the drama
and fire of No.4, and the sheer dynamism
of No.8. Then again No.13 has splendidly
controlled rhythm and bass etching and
14. has a caressing lullaby beauty.
The Concerto with Kubelík
has a lyric elasticity that convinces
from first to last. The conductor is
not one to stint on some heft either
which means the first movement goes
wonderfully well, the intermezzo has
great warmth but no specious lingering
and the finale sports some particularly
deft orchestral interplay. In later
years Anda looked back at his 1943 Amsterdam
recording of the Franck Symphonic Variations
with unselfconscious admiration, wondering
whether he could ever have played as
well. With van Beinum an astute collaborator
this is certainly an exceptionally rewarding
reading – for the sense of an absolutely
right weight of touch, for the feeling
for direction and for real charm in
the Allegretto section. Digitally there
seems no hindrance at all.
The Diabelli variations
date from a Lucerne session in 1961.
As much as the faster variations go
so well, Anda explores the slower more
intimate ones with sagacity and tonal
nuance. He’s alive to the pomposo march
of the first variation as much as the
sheer dynamism of the fifth or indeed
the pawky and earthy humour of the ninth.
Nor does he stint the touching lyricism
of twenty-nine which he explores with
especial sensitivity. There is an example
of his Schubert as well – the sonata
in B flat major D960, moderate in tempo
but plentiful in colour, and also tempo
modifications, this is a personalised
but in many ways convincing reading
(though not everyone will be convinced
it has to be said). There’s sufficient
tonal amplitude and depth in the slow
movement, and it’s not over-emotive,
but the scherzo is rather slow in the
trio section. The finale is buoyant
and graceful.
The Chopin Preludes
are winning if not necessarily at the
topmost echelon. The fourth is just
a touch conventional and lacks the last
ounce of feeling. The eighth has great
clarity and rhythmic impetus, the fifteenth
again a touch sec, the seventeenth
sports fine left hand pointing, the
twenty-first dynamic shading of a high
order and so on. The good very much
outweighs the more idiosyncratic. There’s
also a genuinely terpsichorean Polonaise
(from 1959) with not too much pedal
but a strange blip (missed note? bad
edit?) along the way. There are three
other Chopin pieces from 1943 but with
rather high residual shellac noise.
Altogether this is
a worthy tribute to Anda. Not only that
but it’s valuable in its sweep and in
its selection priorities, in its transfer
skill and in astutely giving the collector
a consolidated collection of real musical
value. The poetry and the power can
be heard throughout; as much as he was
a troubadour he was surely every bit
as much the poet.
Jonathan Woolf
Géza Anda (piano) with accompanists as
above 
