Die Orientierung an Formensprache und Ausdrucksvielfalt von Johann Sebastian...

[…] Im Streichquintett von Franz Schubert ist die Liebe eine von vielen Facetten eines reichen emotionalen Kosmos. Das rund einstündige Werk, wenige Monate vor seinem Tod entstanden, scheint die existenziellen Erfahrungen des Menschseins noch einmal in vollen Zügen zu durchleben. Für Eckart Runge, den scheidenden Cellisten des Artemis Quartetts, ist das Stück deshalb eine "groß angelegte Reise". Zu der ist er in einer neuen Aufnahme mit den Kollegen vom Quartetto di Cremona aufgebrochen.

The blurb for this new recital from the estimable German violinist Franziska Pietsch says that the solo violin sonatas by Bartók and Ysaÿe were the most important works in the genre since Bach. No one would seriously dispute this claim, I imagine, but the two composers worked at different levels, Bartók consciously writing with the serious concentration of Bach, Ysaÿe in the tradition of brilliant virtuosity exemplified by the Paganini Caprices. Pietsch was probably wise to separate them with the easy-going, accessible Prokofiev Solo Sonata, because Bartók created an intense, thorny piece that often assaults the ear aggressively; you need to decompress before enjoying the three-ring circus presented by Ysaÿe, which isn’t to deny the charm and musicality that’s also present.

The first recording of the Bartók to come my way as a reviewer (in Fanfare 38:3) was by the superb Hungarian violinist Barnabás Kelemen on Hungaroton. He captures every facet of a rich, dense, extremely varied score. Comparing the piece with the two violin-and-piano sonatas, I wrote, “Perhaps the most difficult is the Sonata for Solo Violin commissioned by Yehudi Menuhin in 1944. The dying Bartók set himself the challenge of updating Bach in an uncompromising modernist idiom. The entry point here is formal, because we get a Bach-like Chaconne and Fuga in the first two movements, followed by a slow Melodia and a virtuosic Presto finale.”

Some performers, notably Christian Tetzlaff, smooth out the sonata’s aggressiveness, while others, like Vilde Frang, go for broke. Either way, the listener has to brace himself. Bartók employs the violin’s capacity to scrape, scratch, and wail more often than its capacity for song. Pietsch vies with Frang’s take-no-prisoners approach, underlining the work’s tonal extremes to an abrasive degree, risking more screech and scratch than I am comfortable with. Musically, however, she lacks Tetzlaff’s wonderful ability to give us a sense of wholeness in Bartók’s conception—the music shouldn’t be all noise and chaos. I also admire how Tetzlaff adds warmth to the lyric passages that crop up here and there, so despite her obvious skill and commitment, Pietsch’s reading wouldn’t be among my top choices. It should appeal, however, to anyone who wants an explosive performance of an astonishing work.

I admired Pietsch’s recording of the two Prokofiev Violin Concertos and the two sonatas with piano. She’s equally sympathetic in his late Solo Violin Sonata in D from 1947. By then Prokofiev’s inspiration was declining along with his health, but the solo sonata is agreeably tuneful, nimble, and upbeat. The work was commissioned by the Soviet music system as a teaching piece, so it is not technically very difficult. It was originally designed to be played by an ensemble of talented students rather than as a solo work. Pietsch’s reading is less pointed and intense than, say, Viktoria Mullova’s (Onyx), but it doesn’t suffer by comparison, being lyrical and appealing in its own right.

Ysaÿe’s Six Solo Violin Sonatas, gathered as his op. 27 in 1923, are beloved by virtuosos, giving them scope for brilliance and Romanticism to the utmost. In the second sonata of the group, dedicated to Jacques Thibaud, the “obsession” of the subtitle refers to Thibaud’s love of Bach and his habit of including the opening Preludio of Partita No. 3 in his morning practice sessions. Just as obsessive, however, is the contrasting use of the Gregorian Dies irae that captured the ear of many composers, most notably Liszt and Rachmaninoff. The juxtaposition of the two borrowings is incongruous but quite entertaining.

In the last issue Robert Maxham was enthusiastic about a performance from Maïté Louis (Continuo), who highlights the stark contrasts in Ysaÿe’s quotations. She maintains a beautiful, consistent tone as well and focuses on Romantic expression to an enticing degree. I’d say that Pietsch goes one better in expressing both the moods and contrasts in the piece. She has an air of personal involvement that’s captivating. The combination of excitement and presence makes this a memorable reading in all four movements, whether Ysaÿe is being misterioso or theatrical.

The program ends with Ysaÿe’s Sonata No. 3, “Ballade,” dedicated to Georges Enescu. Its single movement is in two sections, the first being lyrical and passionate, with almost continuous double- and triple-stops, the second, marked con bravura, moving into brilliant passagework without letting up on the double-stops. Pietsch gives an account as charismatic and captivating as in the previous sonata, which makes the Ysaÿe portion of the disc very compelling.

There’s always something of absorbing value in every release I’ve heard from this artist, and even if Pietsch’s Bartók frayed my nerves, that’s a personal reaction. On every other count this disc, which has excellent recorded sound, is strongly recommended.

Eine interessante Trouvaille, die dem Liszt-Bild eine neue Facette hinzufügt.

This is the fourth recording by German violinist Franziska Pietsch that I have had the pleasure to review. The earlier ones were the Grieg Violin Sonatas (J/F 2016), the Franck Violin Sonata and Szymanowski’s Myths and Romance (S/O 2017), and the Prokofieff Violin Sonatas and Five Melodies (N/D 2016). In those, she showed that she is a charismatic performer with her own ideas about the music. She doesn’t just regurgitate the interpretations fed to her by her teachers. I noticed her enchanting way with passages at low dynamic levels and was bowled over by her superb Prokofieff disc, so I was very excited to get this disc to review when I noticed the Prokofieff Solo Violin Sonata in the program. This sonata, the Bartok Solo Violin Sonata, and the Six Solo Violin Sonatas by Eugene Ysaye are, I believe, the finest works in that genre produced since 1900 (sorry, Reger and Hindemith).

My excitement turned to disappointment when I listened. I noticed that she wasn’t able to sustain the long lines of the Franck Sonata, and here she fails to elucidate the architecture of the Bartok. It is a very classical work in its emphasis on form, and she doesn’t make the work’s structure her first priority, opting instead to use varying tone colors in an attempt to give the piece episodic interest. This does not do the piece justice, in spite of the fact that Bartok was a great colorist, especially in his writing for strings. It fragments the work. Robert Mann’s recording (J/A 2003) is the most effective at making the form of the piece plain, and Pietsch and everyone else would do well to listen to it. On top of this, she decided not to play Bartok’s original quarter tones in the finale, which I believe ruins the buzzing house fly-like character of those passages.

I was surprised to hear Pietsch failing to bring out the simple lyricism of the Prokofieff. Again, her interpretation is episodic and fails to knit these three brief movements together. I expected that she would finally feel sympathy for the two Ysaye sonatas; they are the most volatile and episodic works here and demand a broad range of moods and colors from the performer. Again, she is more interested in surface effects than in getting to the heart of the music, especially in the deeply felt Sonata 2, which is a character portrait of the great French violinist Jacques Thibaud.

These are the weakest performances I have heard from her. She relies on her personality instead of her intellect to sustain the music, but it can’t. Great music must be met on its own terms and cannot be reduced to a medium for the display of virtuosity and temperament. I had always found Pietsch’s manner very appealing, but it hinders rather than helps these performances. The violin was made in 1751 by the Milanese violin maker Carlo Antonio Testore.

It’s mighty considerate of the Swiss Piano Trio to collect Beethoven’s crummiest trios on one convenient disc—perfect for ignoring—when it could have spread the rubble across all five volumes of its thorough integrale. To give Beethoven his due, though, if the early 1791 trio in E-flat were by Haydn, we’d marvel and its unprecedented pianistic brilliance, frequent independence of parts, and unconventional macrostructure of three fast movements in a row. We can also admire how Beethoven limns Schubert’s sweetly naive cantabile in the short, stand-alone Allegretto of 1812. I doubt anyone loves the frivolous Kakadu Variations, though it’s come my way for review three times in as many years—if by any other composer, we’d never hear it.

The big work here, the Triple Concerto, runs for dead last place, tied neck-in-neck with the Second Piano Concerto as Beethoven’s worst concerto; but it is a bold and radical experiment, largely unreplicated by other composers—except the gorgeous slow movement of Tchaikovsky’s neglected Second Piano Concerto. And the Triple Concerto’s dominant cello grants us a glimpse into the cello concerto Beethoven never wrote. The trio is accompanied here by a puny chamber orchestra, 24- weak, thrusting the soloists far forward in the sonic picture while orchestral details get crammed into a backdrop that seems sometimes imagined rather than heard.

The Swiss Trio captures the spirit of every work: plaintive and tender in the Allegretto, insouciant and athletic in the early trio, and brawny but playful in the Triple Concerto. I particularly enjoy violinist Angela Golubeva’s warm, unhurried vibrato. These players make the strongest possible case for what might be called “Beethoven’s Greatest Misses for Trio”. Previous volumes won praise in these pages (J/A 2015, S/O 2016, J/F 2018). Sound is close and detailed.

Bolet’s legato, his sterling trill, inflected diminuendos, and those precious, music-box scales that take us to the explosive mix that defines the aristocrat of piano concertos.

Tenor Airam Hernandez sports a sweetly voluptuous voice as the sympathetic Sardanapalo, while basso Oleksander Pushniak defines a predictable foil as Beleso.

This may well become your preferred reading of a long “familiar” score.

Odessa-born Nathan Milstein (1904-1992) made his debut at the Lucerne Festival...