Dans une interprétation d’un poignant dramatisme – admirable Mandelring...

Dans une interprétation d’un poignant dramatisme – admirable Mandelring...

Géza Anda ist vergessen, an ungarischen Pianisten ersten Ranges herrscht...

Um sich an eine Gesamtausgabe von Skrjabins „Klaviersonaten“ heranzuwagen,...

Die Streichquartette von Schostakowitsch bergen häufig intime Botschaften des Komponisten. So auch die drei hier eingespielten Werke, denen auf unterschiedliche Weise Bezüge zu wichtigen Frauen in seinem Leben eingeschrieben sind. In der dritten Folge seiner Gesamtaufnahme beweist das Mandelring-Quartett ein feines Gespür insbesondere für die zerbrechlich zarten, aber auch für die expressiv klagenden Momente – und überhaupt für die vielen Zwischentöne der Musik, die hier mit einer wunderbar breit gefächerten und warmen Farbpalette abgebildet sind. Dabei werden die harschen, ruppigen Gesten keineswegs geglättet, sondern mit der gebotenen Schärfe exekutiert - und so entsteht eine facettenreiche, restlos überzeugende Interpretation.

More invaluable releases from the Berlin radio archive: this time performances from 1948-55 of the songs of Hugo Wolf. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau once wrote of Wolf’s ‘intensity, intellectual penetration, variety and fullness of mood, style and expression’; exactly the same could be said of the singer’s interpretation of this composer. In these two revelatory discs, one is impressed with the sheer sense of time and infinite care taken in the preparation of music that Fischer-Dieskau was to champion throughout his life.

Wolf’s songs require the finest judgement of shifting tones of voice, the closest of close focus. That’s just what the 18 selected settings (out of 53) of the poetry of Eduard Mörike receive here. All but one is accompanied by the minutely sensitive Hertha Klust, Fischer-Dieskau’s coach and chosen accompanist at the time. It’s wonderful to hear voice and piano slowly and sensuously feeling their way through the chromatic Wagner-tinted harmonic language of love songs like ‘Im Frühling’ and ‘An die Geliebte’ – though most of these are Mörike’s darkest songs of sleepless nights and tear-stained love.

The second disc presents five settings of Goethe. Here are the Harper Songs performed movingly and magisterially when Fischer-Dieskau was just 24. And here, too, is a selection from the Spanisches Liederbuch, microscopically prepared (some might prefer a slightly more relaxed approach in this repertoire) and keenly attentive, again with Hertha Klust, to every shifting nuance of mood and voice. The recorded sound throughout is slightly constrained accoustically, though it does not affect these superb performances.

More invaluable releases from the Berlin radio archive: this time performances from 1948-55 of the songs of Hugo Wolf. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau once wrote of Wolf’s ‘intensity, intellectual penetration, variety and fullness of mood, style and expression’; exactly the same could be said of the singer’s interpretation of this composer. In these two revelatory discs, one is impressed with the sheer sense of time and infinite care taken in the preparation of music that Fischer-Dieskau was to champion throughout his life.

Wolf’s songs require the finest judgement of shifting tones of voice, the closest of close focus. That’s just what the 18 selected settings (out of 53) of the poetry of Eduard Mörike receive here. All but one is accompanied by the minutely sensitive Hertha Klust, Fischer-Dieskau’s coach and chosen accompanist at the time. It’s wonderful to hear voice and piano slowly and sensuously feeling their way through the chromatic Wagner-tinted harmonic language of love songs like ‘Im Frühling’ and ‘An die Geliebte’ – though most of these are Mörike’s darkest songs of sleepless nights and tear-stained love.

The second disc presents five settings of Goethe. Here are the Harper Songs performed movingly and magisterially when Fischer-Dieskau was just 24. And here, too, is a selection from the Spanisches Liederbuch, microscopically prepared (some might prefer a slightly more relaxed approach in this repertoire) and keenly attentive, again with Hertha Klust, to every shifting nuance of mood and voice. The recorded sound throughout is slightly constrained accoustically, though it does not affect these superb performances.

Listening to Géza Anda, playing such a widely contrasting range of composers (including Mozart in the May issue and Bartók in August), has been a source of almost undiluted enjoyment. There appears to be a vast archive of recordings in Cologne of concerts he gave for the radio, mainly without an audience. Although the discs to hand were recorded in the 1950s, and are in mono, the sound is rich and on occasion plummy. It sounds as if Anda favoured a Steinway or comparably velvety instrument. That works better for some of these composers than others, though we are now used to hearing the Viennese classics played on an instrument with a more incisive upper register.

The Beethoven Concerto, numbered as '1' but second in order of composition, is conducted by Anda, and the orchestra proves highly responsive. This radiant and exhilarating work gets as lively a performance as it deserves, and could easily be a first choice for anyone who isn't addicted to state-of-the-art sound. It's followed by a straightforward rendition of Beethoven's first large-scale piano sonata, which Anda is careful not to over-dramatise; and then he plays the elusive, ground-breaking Op. 101, which, thanks to its seemingly improvisatory character, gets mauled by many pianists. Anda plays it spontaneously, but without searching for effect.

The directness of his playing is one of its most attractive features, and is as rewarding in Chopin and Schumann as in classical repertoire. The extraordinary freshness of both these composers, in their approach to form, signalled by the capricious titles that Schumann often gave his works, and the very general ones which Chopin awarded his, comes across quite marvellously in all these performances. Anda wasn't an exploiter of extremes, so if you want the unbridled fury of the last of Chopin's Op. 28 Preludes go to Argerich; or to Richter to unleash a volcano in the penultimate Etude Op. 25. But listened to as whole sets, Anda offers unfailing insights, gives new life to numbers that can sound tired, and left me purring with satisfaction at such lack of ostentation. Anyone who thinks Romantic music has to be played with flamboyance should listen to the Liszt and Brahms here and will soon develop quite different priorities.

Listening to Géza Anda, playing such a widely contrasting range of composers (including Mozart in the May issue and Bartók in August), has been a source of almost undiluted enjoyment. There appears to be a vast archive of recordings in Cologne of concerts he gave for the radio, mainly without an audience. Although the discs to hand were recorded in the 1950s, and are in mono, the sound is rich and on occasion plummy. It sounds as if Anda favoured a Steinway or comparably velvety instrument. That works better for some of these composers than others, though we are now used to hearing the Viennese classics played on an instrument with a more incisive upper register.

The Beethoven Concerto, numbered as '1' but second in order of composition, is conducted by Anda, and the orchestra proves highly responsive. This radiant and exhilarating work gets as lively a performance as it deserves, and could easily be a first choice for anyone who isn't addicted to state-of-the-art sound. It's followed by a straightforward rendition of Beethoven's first large-scale piano sonata, which Anda is careful not to over-dramatise; and then he plays the elusive, ground-breaking Op. 101, which, thanks to its seemingly improvisatory character, gets mauled by many pianists. Anda plays it spontaneously, but without searching for effect.

The directness of his playing is one of its most attractive features, and is as rewarding in Chopin and Schumann as in classical repertoire. The extraordinary freshness of both these composers, in their approach to form, signalled by the capricious titles that Schumann often gave his works, and the very general ones which Chopin awarded his, comes across quite marvellously in all these performances. Anda wasn't an exploiter of extremes, so if you want the unbridled fury of the last of Chopin's Op. 28 Preludes go to Argerich; or to Richter to unleash a volcano in the penultimate Etude Op. 25. But listened to as whole sets, Anda offers unfailing insights, gives new life to numbers that can sound tired, and left me purring with satisfaction at such lack of ostentation. Anyone who thinks Romantic music has to be played with flamboyance should listen to the Liszt and Brahms here and will soon develop quite different priorities.

Geza Anda war einer der bedeutenden Pianisten des 20. Jahrhunderts – und wohl...