Historic Beethoven Piano Concertos --Arabesque's revival of Schnabel's first cycle
Arabesque revives Schnabel's first Beethoven concerto cycle and it proves a revelation once again.
Reviewed by Harris Goldsmith
WITH HIS CHARACTERISTIC mischievous fondness for paradox, Artur Schnabel described the recording process as "self destruction through preservation." Yet this courageous and perceptive musician preserved a legacy almost unrivaled in its seriousness and magnitude. His many recordings include versions of all the Beethoven sonatas and concertos, and these uniquely vital interpretations-bolstered by his provocative printed editions of the Beethoven sonatas-keep alive the work of a sage who fomented, and then shaped, a viable and continuing tradition. Few re-creative artists of Schnabel's generation bequeathed so much of themselves to posterity.
His emergence, in a world filled with extravagantly Romantic pianists, did not meet with instant approval. At first, his playing was considered too businesslike (an impression perhaps enhanced by his business suit and anti-Romantic demeanor at concerts), but he persevered long enough to become the intellectual community's "establishment" figure. Common supposition has it that Schnabel's art remained constant and his public caught up with him. But greater perspective and a detailed com parison of his earliest recordings with those he made later somewhat clarify the difference between the younger iconoclast and the older guru. Many of the later versions of works he recorded more than once give an impression of eased tension and softened outlines: Tempos tend to be more spacious: more importantly, the pianist's temperament has be come milder. At that, his recordings offer a truncated view of his development.
PORTRAIT COURTESY MICHAEL GOODE/ARABESQUE RECORDINGS
He was almost fifty when he began to play for the microphone, and Claudio Arrau and others who recall his art be fore 1932 attest to a fiery (and note-perfect) virtuoso capable of storming the heavens in works like Liszt's B minor Sonata. (It has been suggested that the young Schnabel is represented "by proxy" in the recordings of his gifted pupil, Leon Fleisher.) Such are the ruminations inspired by a rehearing of Schnabel's first re corded Beethoven concerto cycle, reissued in this country by Arabesque and in England and France by EMI. Apart from a brief (and poor) transfer on the obscure German Top Classic label, these truly legendary recordings--made between 1932 and 1935, with the then-Doctor Malcolm Sargent at the helm--have been in limbo since RCA's deletion of LCT 6700 twenty-five years ago. Mean while, Schnabel's later Beethoven concerto recordings have circulated.
One coming to Schnabel's playing for the first time could hardly miss its lofty eloquence: but neophytes may find certain idiosyncrasies unsettling. It probably should be explained that the pianist's quest for structural clarification sometimes led him to editorialize rhythmic values and angularize passagework.
These slight exaggerations, heard with out understanding the intent behind them, may seem abrupt and willful. As examples, I cite the blocked-out execution of bars 272-86 in the Fourth Concerto's Rondo and the flippant treatment of the sixteenth notes in the Fifth's finale (bars 138-43). Too much has been made of Schnabel's (alleged) technical deficiencies and his (real) aversion to technical drudgery. Admittedly, the chemical interaction between his intellect and his emotion-his intense desire to present everything he felt about the music-occasionally caused him to lose his "cool": but most of the unconventional stresses and phrasings were fastidiously pre pared and deliberately executed with meticulous, un-convertional fingerings.
It has been my experience-and that of many others--that Schnabel's ideas become less shocking once they are fully understood. And to understand them, one has merely to examine the music it self more carefully.
Two things particularly impress me about this historic cycle: the incredible energy level of Schnabel's pianism and the surprising durability of the recorded sound. Indeed, the sonics are brighter and more convincing than in either Angel's or RCA's transfers of the later performances. To be sure, it's an unfair comparison, since the earlier dubbings were indifferently effected (and in Angel's case, crudely filtered); here, every effort has been made to achieve the best results. But more on the sound presently.
Another constant is the informality of Sargent's orchestral structures. The conductor has a sturdy general idea of Beethoven, and much of the individual instrumental playing is companionable and musical. But imprecise chording and excessive string portamento impart to these performances a certain impromptu character that some may not like. I find the swooping actively distasteful only in the Second Concerto's Adagio, bars 18 et seq., where the accompanying violins play a repeated-note figure and stick out like stage icicles. (The slithering bothers me less in the French pressing.) Early concerto recordings were rarely sufficiently rehearsed, but for all the sundry un-tidinesses, Schnabel and Sargent make a congenial team; they performed together often at the (old) Friends of Music, and their interaction is frequently more warmly communicative than Schnabel's later, more formal partner ships with Frederick Stock, Issay Dobrowen, and Alceo Galliera--all of which offer more sophisticated orchestral playing.
Not all of these performances are exactly as I had remembered them. The First Concerto, which I had recalled as spacious and rhetorical, is actually quite brusque and impetuous. Despite the timorous balancing of the brass, Sargent's opening tutti is emphatic and vital-an ideal foil, really, for the eloquent solo playing. The slow, spacious pacing of the Largo is expressive but perhaps just a wee bit static. The Rondo scampers with roguish brio (a far cry from the namby-pamby tempo in Walter Gieseking's rival 78 version), and the problematical slurs in the main theme are scrupulously observed. Characteristic ally taking the path of greatest resistance, Schnabel opts for the last, longest, and most difficult of the first-movement cadenzas.
I had always preferred Schnabel's 1946 account of the Second Concerto, but now I am not so sure; Sargent's fractionally slower tempo in the first movement now seems as attractive as Dobrowen's more unyielding frame work. Nor does Schnabel race ahead of the strings at bars 194-96, as he does in the later version. On the other hand, his 1946 playing of the first-movement cadenza is more disciplined; and again, I note those swooping violins in the Adagio. The Rondo is perhaps more elemental in the 1946 performance. In both versions, Schnabel achieves a noble effect by keeping the pedal depressed in the Adagio's "con gran espressione" coda.
The 1933 Third Concerto is vastly preferable to Schnabel's two later recordings. With George Szell in 1945, vigor became rigor. (The orchestral sound of this air check, Bruno Walter Society SID 721, is harsh.) And although the 1947 recording with Dobrowen has moments of serene poetry, it tends toward flaccidity and rhythmic discursiveness. That version, in fact, was rejected by the pianist, who had absent mindedly neglected to play a flourish at first-movement bar 370. (The same mis take, interestingly, appears in the 1945 broadcast; it had obviously become a habit over the years.) But in the 1933 reading, is Schnabel simplifying those runs in the first-movement cadenza? The effect is marvelous, yet I cannot believe that anyone could play all those notes in such short order! I once described Schnabel's conception of the Fourth Concerto as a "marvelous compendium of raw-nerve feeling, chuckling humanity, luminous tone color, and limpid, undulant pianism." Again, his incomparable reading is captured at its best in the 1933 recording.
That with Stock and the Chicago Sym phony (1942; RCA Victrola VIC 1505) is ruled out by its confused, hollow sound.
---All three Emperor recordings are worthy, but the 1932 is the most dynamic of all.---
The generally excellent Dobrowen/Philharmonia version (1946; Angel, deleted) errs in the opposite direction; close placement of the piano and dynamic constriction unearth much detail but at the same time make Schnabel's playing seem heavy-gaited, lacking in delicate nuance. Despite some strident violins and obviously older sonics, the 1933 re production is kindest of all to the soloist's intentions.
All three of Schnabel's recorded Emperor Concertos are worthy, but the 1932 is the most dynamic of all. The imperious sweep of the roulades, the caressing legato, and the bristling octave passages (done with a hair-raising accelerando) produce a powerful effect. The piano tone is clangorously reproduced, but even its harshness sounds reasonably appropriate. (I'd rather listen to this honorably aged reproduction than to the un bearable steely screech of the 1961 Ser kin/ Bernstein version.) The 1942 version (RCA Victrola VIC 1511) may be even more frenetic and-thanks to its sound more colorful, but this one is clearer technically and better controlled rhythmically. The 1947 account with Galliera (Angel, deleted) recaptures some of that rhythmic control but seems careful and conventional alongside either of its predecessors.
In the British release, EMI includes bonus performances of Far Elise and the Op. 34 Variations and the first "official" release of the Andante favori and the C major Polonaise (which had appeared on Bruno Walter Society BWS 724); in France, only the concertos are offered.
Arabesque (presumably unable to issue the pieces already included in Seraphim IC 6067) gives us the Andante and the Polonaise, in both of which Schnabel is superb. I have not heard the British edition, but the French pressing (2C 153-03881/4) sensibly couples the Second and the Fourth Concertos, thereby avoiding Arabesque's division of the Third across two discs. Although Keith Hardwick's transfers were used for both French and American pressings, the sound is notably dissimilar. Both, I has ten to add, are thoroughly acceptable; but compared to the warmth and impactful solidity of the HMV discs. Arabesque's sound is crisper, harder, and brighter, and the American discs are cut at a lower level. Arabesque's quiet surfaces are fully comparable to the superbly silent French discs, and the set is far less expensive. Whatever format you choose, these are performances you will want to own.
Note: In England, new transfers of Schnabel's Beethoven sonatas are appearing. Seraphim should consider re placing its own, older versions with these more vital dubbings.
BEETHOVEN: Concertos for Piano and Orchestra (5); Andante favori, in F, WoO. 57; Polonaise in C, Op. 89.
H R. Artur Schnabel, piano; London Sym phony Orchestra', London Philharmonic Orchestra', Malcolm Sargent, cond. ARABESQUE 8103-4, $27.92 (mono: four discs, manual sequence). Tape: 9103-4, $31.92 (four cassettes) [from RCA LCT 6700; recorded 1932', 1933-35', 19381. Concertos: No. 1, in C, Op. 15'; No. 2, in B flat. Op. 19': No. 3, in C minor, Op. 37': No. 4, in G, Op. 58'; No. 5, in E flat, Op. 73 (Emperor).
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