Furtwängler conducted the Ninth more than 100 times, of which about a dozen were recorded; none of these was done in studio (which he disliked on principle) and all were from concert performances. This was the last, recorded at the 1954 Lucerne Festival on August 22, 1954, about three months before he died. Of particular note here is the re-mastering of the original tapes (from Swiss Radio) by Ludger Böckenhoff. The recording is remarkably clear and without noise, though the sound is boxy and, of course, monaural.

This is, on the whole, a very fine performance and a good representation of Furtwängler’s approach to the work. The very beginning has some rough moments of ensemble, but the Philharmonia settles in and plays quite well. The first movement has the gravity and seriousness we expect from the conductor, and the slow movement includes many transcendent moments, particularly in the junctions between themes. The finale is expertly gauged. The main theme begins almost inaudibly, and the build to a frenetic ending is very convincing. Chorus and soloists are all in good shape.

Particularly with the fine sonics, this issue merits a recommendation, though I think I would prefer the similar 1951 Bayreuth performance, which is a little quicker and creates a better sense of occasion. Also in the running would be a white-hot war-time performance (Berlin, 1942), which probably shows Furtwängler at the height of his power and imagination.

The Tchaikovsky Piano Trio must be the most operatically effusive chamber work ever written. Its commanding piano part perfectly suits an outsize personality like Martha Argerich, who has recorded it magnificently (DG). You expect a claque in the balcony to explode with bravas. On the same label another world-striding pianist, Lang Lang, delivers a panoramic performance, and in both cases the celebrated violinist (Gideon Kremer, Vadim Repin) and cellist (Mischa Maisky times two) hardly needed to sneak off to a trainer for steroids, either. These are readings on the grand Romantic scale that the Tchaikovsky Trio demands.

In the spirit of the mouse that roared, the modestly celebrated Trio Testore, a German ensemble founded in 2000, presents the score just as grandly, daring any challengers. Pianist Hyun-Jung Kim-Schweiker has a sweeping technique and takes the lead role with as much personality as anyone I’ve ever encountered. Violinist Franziska Pietsch and cellist Hans-Christian Schweiker (the pianist’s husband) play two beautifully matched 18th-century instruments made by the Testore family of Milan, hence the trio’s name. These musicians are comfortable in emotional shades of purple, and the result is a top-flight reading.

This is all the more so because Audite’s SACD sound, even when heard in two-channel stereo, is remarkably full, clear, and detailed. We are sitting inches away from the performers, and the balance is lifelike in every respect. The interpretation proceeds at first in broad gestures, but when we get to the work’s second half, with its luscious theme and 12 variations, Trio Testore characterizes each section quite individually—the Tempo di valse of Variation 6 trips as light-heartedly as the Fuga of Variation 8 toils away earnestly and the Andante febrile of Variation 9 intimately sighs for lost love. Rachmaninoff’s precocious Trio élégaique, which the 19-year-old wrote over four days in January 1892, is couched in his signature mood of voluptuous mourning. It makes for a lovely if not very original filler. In all, a delightful disc that inspires me to hear the Trio Testore’s highly praised debut recording of the Brahms piano trios. They also head a spring festival in the west of Germany in Alsdorf, a once grim coal mining town now given over to the muses.

Furtwängler conducted the Ninth more than 100 times, of which about a dozen were recorded; none of these was done in studio (which he disliked on principle) and all were from concert performances. This was the last, recorded at the 1954 Lucerne Festival on August 22, 1954, about three months before he died. Of particular note here is the re-mastering of the original tapes (from Swiss Radio) by Ludger Böckenhoff. The recording is remarkably clear and without noise, though the sound is boxy and, of course, monaural.

This is, on the whole, a very fine performance and a good representation of Furtwängler’s approach to the work. The very beginning has some rough moments of ensemble, but the Philharmonia settles in and plays quite well. The first movement has the gravity and seriousness we expect from the conductor, and the slow movement includes many transcendent moments, particularly in the junctions between themes. The finale is expertly gauged. The main theme begins almost inaudibly, and the build to a frenetic ending is very convincing. Chorus and soloists are all in good shape.

Particularly with the fine sonics, this issue merits a recommendation, though I think I would prefer the similar 1951 Bayreuth performance, which is a little quicker and creates a better sense of occasion. Also in the running would be a white-hot war-time performance (Berlin, 1942), which probably shows Furtwängler at the height of his power and imagination.

This famed performance was Furtwängler’s last of the Ninth; he died a few months later. I have reviewed it many times in Fanfare: Music & Arts releases in 17:4, 19:3, and 31:6, and a Tahra reissue in 32:4. I find no Fanfare review, from me or any other critic, of Pristine’s version. Now we have this “official” Lucerne Festival release, part of an important series of reissues of great Lucerne Festival performances on Audite taken directly from the Swiss Radio masters. (Tahra claimed that as the source too, and it wouldn’t surprise me given the fine quality of that release; Pristine did not indicate a source, but its version also has very good sound). This recording, in fact, boasts top quality monaural broadcast sound from that era—some of the finest sound quality given any Furtwängler performance.

Interested readers can look up those earlier reviews in the Fanfare Archive, and I will not go into great detail here about the performance, other than to say that over the years it has become my own favorite of the 12 that have survived (all are live; Furtwängler never made a studio recording of this work). Overall it can be said to combine the intensity and drama of his earlier versions with a certain nobility and restraint not always present in those. It is, of course, helped by the fine recorded sound. The slow movement in particular here is magical; one never feels a bar line, rather it is one long arch. Anyone interested in this music, no matter what your performance style preference might be, should hear this statement of immense musical grandeur and power.

For collectors, the important question will be how this compare to the Tahra and Pristine issues, both of which are of excellent quality. I would say that for most listeners, the differences will not be significant, and if you own either the Tahra or Pristine version this is not an essential purchase. (Tahra has folded, which eliminates one option for those who don’t own it.) I have spent the better part of a weekend comparing the three versions, and would say that I have a slight preference for this Audite version, so a collector who deeply cares about this performance and absolutely wants the most satisfying transfer might wish to explore it. I find the orchestral sound just a bit more natural and less congested, more fully open.

One issue is the equalization applied by the transfer engineers. Andrew Rose of Pristine felt that there was a bit too much mid-bass on the Tahra (I am paraphrasing), which made the timpani overly prominent. He suggested a point of comparison at about 10:00 into the first movement, and so I directly compared that spot (from about 9:55 to about 11:10) in all three versions, in addition to listening to the entire performance in all three transfers. Rose was right: The Tahra does seem a bit boomy, and his compensation was an improvement. But one could make the case that he went too far, and that this Audite release finds the proper middle ground. Both in that one-minute passage, and in hearing the entire performance, I found the Audite to be slightly more satisfying as a listening experience. But I will stress again that the differences are not major.

Also not major, but present, are the pitch/speed differences. Audite and Pristine are extremely close (for all practical purposes, identical); Tahra is transferred at a very slightly faster speed. The pitch difference is not consciously audible, but could be affecting one’s reaction to the overall sonority of the orchestra. Here are the timings of each movement, not as given in the booklet, but as measured from first note to end of last note of each movement:

Audite’s notes are excellent, though not always perfectly translated into idiomatic English. What is most gratifying is that this is another assurance that this historic performance will remain available to the public in the best possible form.

Audite's Fournier CD is a treasure, live performances by the legendary cellist. [...] All of these performances were recorded at the Lucerne Festival; audio quality is first-rate. An important release!

Bei nachtwandlerisch sicherer Intonation zaubert die ungarische Virtuosin einen runden stets sinnlich-sängerischen Klang aus ihrer Carlo Bergonzi Violine. Der edel fokussierte Ton schimmert wie ein roter knackiger Apfel im Abendlicht. Und Martzy verzichtet dabei nicht auf den Hochseilakt der eigenen spontanen Lesart und des Risikos der unbedingten Hingabe an den Augenblick. [...] Das ausführliche Booklet erinnert in einem exzellenten Essay von Rüdiger Albrecht ausführlich an die nunmehr ein Stückchen mehr dem Vergessen entrissene ungarische Künstlerin.

Here's some tremendously accomplished playing in two works from opposite ends of Beethoven's career as a composer of string quartets. The scurrying triplets in the finale of the first of the Op. 18 quartets, for instance, are articulated with remarkable clarity, and the tricky violin writing in the trio of the same work's scherzo is dispatched with admirable fluency. At the other end of the scale, in the long variation movement that forms the expressive heart of the late C sharp minor Quartet Op. 131, the individual phrases of the initial theme are handed over from one violin to the other with admirable tenderness, and the players find just the right caressing tone for the third variation, which Beethoven wanted performed lusinghiero ('flatteringly').

There are moments when the players' approach to the music can seem a little larger than life: the sforzato accents in the central section of the slow movement of Op. 18 No. I – one of the great tragic utterances among Beethoven's earlier works – sound like pistol shots; and the same marking in the subject of the slow opening fugue of Op. 131 is again exaggerated, disrupting the music's tranquil mood to an unnecessary degree. If these are faults, however, they are faults in the right direction. Curiously enough, given the players' propensity for dramatisation, Op. 131's second movement sounds rather easygoing for its 'Allegro molto vivace' marking. But these are compelling accounts, and this fourth volume in the Quartetto di Cremona's Beethoven cycle can confidently be recommended.

Die "Mandelringe" spielen Mendelssohn weg von gängigen Poesieklischees hin zu einer imponierenden Geradlinigkeit, die keine Zweifel an der überragenden Bedeutung dieses Werkkosmos aufkommen lässt. [...] So liegt eine fesselnde Mischung aus Herbheit und Virtuosität über dem ganzen Projekt.

[…] Wie man Spontaneität und geistige Durchdringung, Phantasie und Klarheit, pianistische Virtuosität und Poesie zu einer bruchlosen Einheit verschmelzen kann, das kann man am Klavierspiel des legendären Geza Anda bis heute studieren. Aus dem genialisch überschäumenden Ausnahmepianisten war in den Jahren 1950 und 1951 gerade ein reflektierter Interpret geworden, der Schumanns "Carnaval" so detailgenau wie irrlichtern klingen ließ und in seinem unverzuckerten Mozart-Spiel zugleich ein Moment des Improvisatorisch-Spielerischen entdeckte. Ist es bloße Nostalgie, wenn man wahrzunehmen meint, dass diese zwei Seiten der Musik, die einander doch unmittelbar bedingen, in heutigen Interpretationen nur allzu oft auseinanderdriften?

Der ungarische Pianist Géza Anda ist einer der großen Pianisten-Legenden. Wilhelm Furtwängler nannte ihn den „Troubadour des Klaviers“. 1921 in Budapest geboren, gewann er mit 18 Jahren den Franz-Liszt-Wettbewerb. 1943 gelang ihm die Ausreise in die Schweiz, von wo aus er eine internationale Karriere begann. Das Label Audite hat in den vergangenen Jahren bereits ausgiebig an seine pianistische Kunst erinnert mit einer vierteiligen Géza-Anda-Edition. Die Aufnahmen dieser Edition deckten Andas Wirken zwischen 1952 und 1969 ab, seine fruchtbarsten und erfolgreichsten Jahre. Die jetzt erschienene CD macht nun erstmals auch die in den Jahren 1950 bis 1951 für die Firma Telefunken entstandenen Aufnahmen Andas zugänglich. Neben Schumanns "Carnaval" und seinen "Symphonischen Etüden", die Anda häufiger eingespielt hat, sind auf der CD auch Solo-Werke von Bach, Haydn und Mozart zu hören. Als Mozart-Interpret war Anda natürlich berühmt. Immerhin war er der erste Pianist überhaupt, der eine Gesamtaufnahme aller fünfundzwanzig Klavierkonzerte von Mozart in Angriff genommen und abgeschlossen hat. Und er war auch der erste moderne Pianist, der sie zum Teil wieder vom Klavier aus dirigierte, wie es zu Mozarts Zeiten üblich gewesen war. Auf der CD ist nun aber auch die einzige Aufnahme eines Solowerks von Mozart zu hören, die es von Géza Anda gibt: nämlich Mozarts letzte Klaviersonate D-Dur KV 576.

Eine neu gewonnene Klarheit

Diese Mozartaufnahme zeigt Anda von einer beinahe sachlich-strengen Seite, die man so nicht unbedingt mit ihm in Verbindung bringen würde, und die sein Mozartspiel von der romantisierenden Willkür der älteren Pianisten-Generationen deutlich abhebt. Da ist nichts verzärtelt, es gibt keine verschleppten Tempi oder gefühlsseligen Rubati. Durch die große Leichtigkeit seines Spiels entdeckt Anda bei Mozart zugleich auch ein Moment des Improvisatorisch-Verspielten. Anda hatte einige Jahre zuvor in Paris den Musikästhetiker Pierre Souvtchinsky kennengelernt und Freundschaft mit Pierre Boulez geschlossen. Von beiden hatte er wichtige künstlerische Impulse erhalten. Erst Souvtchinsky, so sagte Anda selber einmal, habe ihm die volle Einsicht in musikalische Strukturen vermittelt. Diese neu hinzu gewonnene analytische Klarheit spürt man auch in Andas Interpretation der 2. Partita von Bach. Aus dem genialisch überschäumenden Ausnahmepianisten der Jahre 1943 bis 1947 war also nach der Rückkehr aus Paris ein reflektierter Interpret geworden, der danach strebte, Ausdruck und Kontrolle in eine Balance zu bringen.

Spontaneität und geistige Durchdringung

Das hört man auch an den beiden Schumann-Aufnahmen der CD. Die Stücke des "Carnavals" spielt Anda so detailgenau wie irrlichtern. Man erkennt, wie raffiniert diese vermeintlich lose Folge von Charakterstücken kompositorisch kalkuliert ist, wie subtil die einzelnen Stücke untergründig miteinander kommunizieren. Anda hebt diese Verbindungen hervor, ohne dass er dadurch jedoch etwas von der Prägnanz und der Charakteristik jedes einzelnen Stückes preisgeben würde. Im Gegenteil: Die grenzgängerische Fantastik der Musik von Schumann, ihre raschen Stimmungswechsel von "eusebischer" Verträumtheit zu "florestanischem" Draufgängertum und Überschwang kommen ungemein prägnant zur Geltung. Man spürt den expressiven Abgrund, über dem sich diese Stücke bewegen. Natürlich kommt Anda dabei auch seine atemberaubende technische Brillanz entgegen. Doch sie gerät ihm nie zum Selbstzweck.

Géza Anda besaß eine Fähigkeit, die heute längst nicht mehr selbstverständlich zu sein scheint. Er bringt jene zwei Seiten der Musik in seinem Klavierspiel zu einer bruchlosen Einheit, die sonst allzu oft auseinanderfallen. Seine Interpretationen zeugen ebenso von Spontaneität wie von geistiger Durchdringung, sie sind so fantasievoll wie klar, so lebendig wie klug durchdacht. "Herz und Hirn" nannte der Komponist Arnold Schönberg diese Polarität in der Musik einmal. Auf der einen Seite haben wir es mit einer mathematisch genau kalkulierten Kunstform zu tun, auf der anderen mit einer sehr unmittelbar "sprechenden" und berührenden Ausdruckskunst. Géza Anda beweist, dass beides zusammengehört. Und daher sind diese fabelhaften Aufnahmen bis heute auch jenseits von einem bloß historischen Interesse bewunderns- und vor allem hörenswert.