Admirers of Solomon will know that a number of years ago APR released a two disc set of his Berlin recitals [APR7030]. This set replicates those performances, but for the significant addition of the Carnaval performance.

According to Bryan Crimp’s biography, Solomon spent eight days in Germany in February 1956. He performed the Beethoven Second Concerto with the Berlin Philharmonic and Cluytens, and played recitals in Detmold, Wuppertal, Hamburg and Frankfurt. Whilst in Berlin he was taped in two broadcast performances by RIAS. These are the surviving performances, excellently reproduced, though quite drily recorded. Regarding the differences between the APR and this new Audite transfer I will note that Audite’s is reproduced at a slightly lower level than APR’s but otherwise I don’t find any dramatic differences between them.

The recital plays to Solomon’s accustomed strengths. The Op.2 No.3 sonata is purposeful and intrepid. Solomon’s sculpting of dynamics in the central movement is especially noteworthy; voicings are brought out with unselfconscious definition – refined, meditative or via the sepulchrally interjectory bass. The brilliant clarity of his articulation is fully audible in the finale, which is played with seemingly effortless control, but not a trace of false urbanity. The companion Beethoven sonata is the Moonlight. Earlier in his career Solomon had taken the opening movement with gravely deliberate slowness. Now he had seemingly reconciled himself to a greater sense of spine in the music, so his tempo is several notches faster for the Adagio sostenuto, a feature I welcome. There is still, however, something unavoidably funereal – not ponderous – about the tempo he adopts. The Allegretto acts as both relief from this introspection, and also a motor for the crispness of Solomon’s playing of the finale.

He made an admired recording of Carnaval in the summer of 1952 for Walter Legge and EMI. This live performance four years later is, not surprisingly, similar in outline, though occasionally it differs in detailing. What impresses yet again, however, is the real consonance of the playing, a marrying of tonal production and expressive control. The result is not, perhaps, the most lavish of readings but it builds cumulatively, never allowing incident or detail to override architecture. His Preambule is manly, the rubati in the Valse noble splendidly realised, and Florestan marvellously characterised.

We lack a significant body of Bach recordings from Solomon. There are some transcriptions, a couple of Preludes and Fugues, and one such arranged by Liszt, but the return is small from a player so distinguished. His Italian Concerto is thus greatly to be welcomed. There’s nothing withdrawn or sturdy about his playing of it, with smartly etched rhythm in the outer movements and delicate refinement in the central one. It makes one wish he’d recorded the Goldberg Variations, or some of the French Suites. Note the little sulphurous bass detonations in the finale, where drive and clarity are armed together. There are three pieces each by Chopin and Brahms to be negotiated. Of the former, the Fantasie is elegant, musically refined, and full of dappled control and poetic spirit. The Brahms trio include a performance of the E major Intermezzo that enshrines introspective probity, assured balances between the hands and no false gestures. You seldom, if ever, got those with Solomon.

His admirers, who will probably have the APR, will now be faced with dilemma of this previously unreleased Carnaval. There is surprisingly little live Solomon, so my view is to go for it.

Solomon Cutner (1902-1988), whose stage name was simply Solomon, was a...

These monaural Berlin recordings were made towards the very end of this great English pianist’s performing life. They are reasonably clean sounding and most ears will accept the dullness with little complaint. Beethoven’s Sonatas 3 and 14 are pleasant enough excursions. There is little here to dazzle the listener, save the tempestuous finale of the Moonlight Sonata. This style of playing appears to be vanishing in our present world. Along with fine musicianship and control of line and phrasing, Solomon demonstrates his spare use of the sustaining pedal. The closeness of the sound does make the music seem plodding sometimes, but I am assured by people who actually heard him that many of his recordings give a false impression. In any case, the Adagio of Sonata 3 is pure and golden. The Scherzo is as light-textured as the perspective allows, and the final Allegro assai impressive by surety of technique and beauty of the contrasting lyrical section. The opening of the Moonlight Sonata is wonderfully sustained and always clear. As simple as the music seems, it has been a stumbling block for many pianists. Schumann’s Carnaval is best heard at a reduced volume. Raise it slightly and the performance can seem too aggressive. While Solomon knows what to do with Schumann’s quirky rubatos, he refuses to indulge in sentimentality or even allow things to blossom forth into full-blooded romanticism. Each section occupies a unique sound world, and his relentless forward motion seems to sweep all before it. It may not be the Carnaval for everyone, but you will respect it in the morning. In Bach’s Italian Concerto his playing should please all but the fussiest harpsichord enthusiasts. The sparse use of pedal and brilliant embellishments bring this towards the top of a select group of recordings. Chopin’s Fantasy in F minor demands playing of great scope and sensitivity. Solomon’s response to the opening march-like tune at first sounds measured, yet grows gloriously as the work is pressed ever forward. There is an instinctive response to each tempo change, and the varied climaxes reach their peaks just where they should, not too soon or too late. The Nocturne in B-flat minor is both tender and flowing, but his very fine Scherzo 2 is somewhat sabotaged by print-through in the all-important silences. In the Brahms grouping two of the more reserved Intermezzos—Op. 116:3 and Op. 118:6—contrast with an explosive Rhapsody, Op. 79:1. The notes are acceptable, and you can acclimate yourself to the relentlessly loud sound.

This was recorded in concert in Berlin in April 1969, about 10 weeks before the pianist died (July 5). The broadcast tapes give us sound that is less smooth, rich, and sleek than in Audite tapes recorded 20 ears earlier. It is stereo, satisfactory though not outstanding. In these performances, the pianist turns aside from the usual Bösendorfer instrument in favor of a less rich-voiced Bechstein E. It is a very good instrument, though its sound is drier and less sustained than the big, strong Bösendorfer.
These performances lack the clarity and ambience of the ones recorded by Decca, but they compensate with an element of freshness and spontaneity lacking in the studio productions. The earlier works, Nos. 15 and 18 have a spontaneity mighty scarce in the recorded competition. The Waldstein, No. 21, is also very good—a slow though weighty, extremely forceful and powerful account. The splendid account of No. 30, intimate and thoughtful to a fault, has a 17 minute CD to itself, since the 86- minute program is too long for a single disc. Audite does not charge full price, but 24 US dollars is still pretty hefty. The edition is handsomely packaged with copious notes and illustrations. All the pictures show Backhaus not as he looked at age 85, when these recordings were made, but instead about 30 years earlier. The notes are really excellent, and in themselves almost worth the price of the recordings. Backhaus was obsessed with privacy. Information about his life has been hard to come by. The notes go rather far to ameliorate that difficulty, and are definitely quite valuable to anyone seeking to penetrate the veil of silence the pianist erected.

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