What we have here, to quote Rüdiger Albrecht’s comprehensive Prior to the Casella Tortelier gives us an often contemplative, broadly paced account of Kodály’s magnificent Op 8 Solo Sonata, quite different to more volatile near-contemporary versions by Zara Nelsova (Decca), János Starker (Period/Saga, his second recording of the work) or, from a little later, Pierre Fournier, the finale taped a day after the rest of the performance because an audience member had suffered from a highly audible cold. Musically speaking, the finale itself indulges just about every effect in the cellist’s box of tricks (forceful multi-string pizzicatos, harmonics, trilling chords, wide-ranging arpeggios, etc), but because he doesn’t rush things, Tortelier focuses this spectacular dance sequence with a vivid sense of location and a keen ear for detail.

The second disc opens with an emphatic account of Bach’s Sixth Solo Suite, set at a lower pitch than Tortelier’s generally more colourful 1982 London recording (Warner), whereas Fauré’s G minor Sonata (always a work that Tortelier excelled in), although memorable, traces a less subtle line than the version he made with Jean Hubeau for Erato, especially in the Andante second movement. The first disc opens with an account of Beethoven’s last cello sonata that’s reflective and assertive by turns, Broddack here on very good form, before Tortelier treats us to a warmly communicative reading of Mendelssohn’s Second Sonata, again with Broddack (Feuermann most readily comes to mind here), before Klaus Billing takes over for an unhurried and well-argued account of Brahms’s First Sonata. The virtuoso aspect of Tortelier’s personality is represented by the Paganini/Silva ‘MosesFantasia’, which is brilliantly played. And the emergent personality throughout this set? A great cellist and a deeply human personality whose performances, comparing one with another, are deeply satisfying and in general very consistent. The transfers, taken from clean original mono tapes, fall pleasingly on the ear.

Audite poursuit son exploration des archives de la RIAS – la Radio créée à Berlin Ouest par les troupes américaines d'occupation dès la fin de la Seconde Guerre mondiale – qui nous a déjà valu une moisson d'inédits précieux, notamment pour le Quatuor Amadeus et, plus récemment, le Quartetto Italiano (cf. n° 682). Un triple album cette fois consacré à Paul Tortelier vient ainsi enrichir sa discographie de versions très antérieures à ses enregistrements commerciaux, mais égale-ment de plusieurs oeuvres nouvelles, complétant notre regard sur la première période de sa carrière de soliste.

Régulièrement invité à Berlin, depuis le triomphe de sa première apparition en 1947 sous la baguette de Sergiu Celibidache, le grand violoncelliste français prit connaissance des studios de la toute récente station berlinoise les 12 et 13 février 1949, lorsqu'il y grava son unique témoignage dans les Fantasiestücke op. 73 de Schumann en compagnie du pianiste Klaus Billing. Une vision intensément lyrique et rythmiquement très libre, qui atteste déjà sa personnalité romanesque, à laquelle la prise de son confère une spectaculaire présence.

Feu d'artifice

Il enregistre, lors de la même session, la prodigieuse sonate de Kodaly (son unique version officielle, pour Emi, ne sera réalisée que trente ans plus tard), sans aucun montage et dans les conditions du concert. Si quelques petits écarts d'intonation sont perceptibles, jamais Tortelier ne perd le fil d'un discours intensément narratif et souvent fantasque, parcourant un paysage harmo-nique complexe. L'évocation des instruments du folklore populaire hongrois, donnant l'illusion d'une polyphonie, produit le feu d'artifice voulu et confirme la prodigieuse maîtrise de l'interprète.

Tortelier glisse également dans le programme une de ses propres compositions. publiée la même année (1949), Trois p‘tits tours, dont c'est ici le seul enregistrement intégral. Et le complète par une vision dense de la Sonate en mi mineur de Brahms, grave el profonde, notamment dans un Allegretto au tempo très retenu. La rare Sonate op. 45 d'Alfredo Casella (1927), captée le 30 janvier 1962 et dont la vive et inventive Bourrée comme l'impulsive Gigue finale méritent la découverte, constitue un autre apport à la discographie de Tortelier.

Les autres documents permettent de retrouver cet artiste attachant dans quelques pages fondamentales du répertoire, accompagné des pianistes « maison » de la Radio berlinoise. Il y démontre tour à tour autorité et pureté de style (Bach, Beethoven), lyrisme exubérant et goût du risque (Mendelssohn), grâce et touchante poésie (Fauré).

Deux pièces de virtuosité, Papillon et la Fantaisie Moἵse, complètent ce formidable ensemble, en mettant en valeur l'éblouissante technique de l'un des plus grands maîtres français du xxe siècle.

A new series from SWR Music containing unissued radio recordings of Friedrich Gulda‘s solo recitals and concertos (see Selected Listening below) remind us that the achievment of keyboard dropouts mostly depends on where they land. Gulda (1930-2000) has been compared to Canada's Glenn Gould, who also eventually renounced giving standard piano recitals. The Ukrainian virtuoso Sasha Grynyuk even released an album juxtaposing compositions by Gulda and Gould (Piano Classics PCL0043).

Yet differences are more striking than similarities. The puritanical Gould shunned crowded auditoriums for the pristine atmosphere of recording studios. The chain-smoking hedonist Gulda, loathing Isolation, wanted to press the flesh even more than he could at keyboard recitals. Gulda claimed to resent that the rigours of playsing classical piano required limiting his alcohol consumption. Accocding to the August 1996 issue of the jazz periodical Down Beat, Gulda once sauntered into a Vienna bar and shouted, 'Dry Martini!‘, whereupon a waiter who thought he was speaking German brought him three martinis (drei-Martinis). Down Beat gives no hint that Gulda sent back the excess booze.

Even in their intimate lives, Gould and Gulda were essentially dissimilar. Ever-secretive, Gould recorded emotive, valid renditions of lieder by Hindemith with a paramour, the Canadian vocalist Roxolana Roslak. By contrast, Gulda recorded execrable performances of Schumann lieder with a companion, Ursula Anders, and in an un-Gouldian way, traipsed onstage naked with Anders to perform them live. Alternatively, the nude Gulda would play the crumhorn, a Renaissance woodwind instrument. He alto experimented on baritone sax, hut spared audiences the sight of him tooting it ungarbed.

As a classical piano dropout, Gulda was closer to the Hungarian-American Ervin Nyiregyházi (1903-1987), who also jettisoned a concert career to experience earthier pleasures in the red-light districts of San Francisco and elsewhere. Yet Nyiregyházi languished in poverty for most of his life, unlike Gulda, whose trendy concert antics earned him enough to pay for frequent holidays in Ibiza.

This career began when Gulda‘s pianist mother urged him to lake lessons as a boy, leading to quick, and seemingly effortless, success. During the war years, Gulda and his family braved Nazi strictures to listen toAllied Army broadcasts, including jazz. Gulda always identified jazz with liberation, especially since his lifelong friend Joe Zawinul, with whom he played impromptu clandestine concerts during the war, grew up to be a jazz fusion keyboardist with Cannonball Adderley and Miles Davis. Zawinul assimilated into a milieu where Gulda remained an investigative outsider, seriously interested in the idiom, but lacking the authenticity required of jazz.

Yet Gulda considered jazz the only new music, scorning contemporary piano works by Boulez and Stockhausen, while considering Bartók and Schoenberg to be insufficiently separated from the past. He made his Carnegy Hall debut In 1950 at age 20, following three days of detention at Ellis Island after admitting that 10 years previously, he had been obliged to join a Nazi youth organisation, whose meetings he never attended. As soon as his well-received Manhattan debut was over, he hurried to Birdland, a celebrated jazz club, to hear Duke Ellington‘s orchestra.

Despite early acclaim, reviewers reminded punters that Gulda had ample competition at a time when legendary keyboard talents still thrived. In November 1951, the Musical Times compared two renditions of Beethoven‘s Sonata Op 111 in C minor, by Edwin Fischer and Gulda, from that year's Salzburg Festival, concluding that 21-year-old Gulda's showed 'insufficient maturity and depth'. Similarly, the MT of May 1956 evaluated recordings of the first book of Debussy's Préludes, complaining that despite Gulda‘s interpretive qualities, he was 'no match for [the elder Walter Gieseking's] almost miraculously perfect performance‘.

Small wonder that around the age of 30, Gulda rebelled against the elderly – performers and audiences alike. In interviews akin to rollercoaster rides of jokes, rage, and profanity, he described punters at piano recitals as 'centenarian paralytics‘ and 'stinking reactionary art lemurs' who expect to hear the same five sonatas performed ad infinitum.

On a personal level, Gulda had trouble coping with early success, which translated to chess games played against himself in lonely hotel rooms. He longed for the camaraderie of jazz clubs, in stark opposition to the chilly solitude and competitiveness of virtuoso piano careers.

As Flower Power evolved in the late 1960s and early 1970s, Gulda jumped on the bandwagon, transcribing versions of hits by the Doors and Stevie Wonder. Yet as his son Paul Gulda informed Welt am Sonntag newspaper in May 2010, the elder Gulda could be an old-fashioned choleric paterfamilias, citing an episode when Paul was around 15 and his father invited him to improvise on the recorder in the family garden. When Paul interpolated part of a Mozart symphony into his playing, his father reacted 'very contemtously', concluding, 'My son does not appreciate freedom, my son does not feel my vibes, he defaces Mozart.'

Gulda could be a nightmare faher-figure to grownups too, despite the laidback attitudes he professed to espouse. In September 1971, Helmut Müller-Brühl, director of Germany's Brühl Palace Concerts, told the New York Times that Gulda would never be invited again: '[Gulda] always get angry. He‘s difficult about money, about what he wants to eat. He‘s difficult about his music, too.‘ This tyrannical side of Gulda makes it fitting that his most famous pupil, Martha Argerich, was allowed access to him only after blurting out (aged 12) to an admirer – the Argentinian dictator Juan Perón – that her most cherished dream would be to work with Gulda. Perón made Argerich‘s studies with Gulda possible.

As past of his imperious tendencies, Gulda refused in later years to divulge recital programmes until the public was assembled, preferring to rely on spontaneity. Scorning most maestros, he insisted upon conducting from the keyboard, despite his lack of talent in leading orchestras. Yet the SWR reissues reestablish why Gulda enjoyed an early career breakthrough. A spry, impish rendition of part of Bach’s English Suite No 2 in A minor, a psychologically fragile Impromptu in A-flat major and poignant Sonata No 16 in A minor, the last two by Schubert, are impressive. Yet Gulda repeatedly stated that he was too close to the Viennese-style mindset of 'smiles and suicide' epitomised by the oft-desparing, doomed Schubert to frequent this repertoire, no matter how acutely he mastered it.

One wonders, on the other hand, if French compositions were really his cup of tea, from a limp performance of Couperin‘s L’épineuse, followed by a sketchily envisioned Second Book of Debussy's Préludes, lacking stylistic assurance. Meanwhile, his own compositions, of which Prélude and Fugue and the Doors transcription Light My Fire proved widely popular, were repetitious to a fault, although more rollicking than the usual drily sober-sided minimalism. Today, his transcriptions of pop and rock music do not seem to transcend the indigence of the original melodies.

Gulda was at his most attractive communicating domestic warmth and affection in Mozart, especially in the Sonata No 13 in B-flat major, with a final movement, marked Allegretto grazioso, like a richly imagined miseen-scène from an 18th-century stage comedy. Instinctively imagining the spirit of the rococo, Gulda also perceived its sadly fleeting aspects, like an Austrian version of the painter Watteau. He could also be a philosopher in Beethoven’s works, being drawn to the pensive Fourth Concerto and Sonata No 28 in A major. In the first movement of the latter, marked 'somewhat lively, but with intense feeling,’ Gulda appears to be asking some essential questions about mankind's motivation for existence.

Unlike these highly personalised conceptions, Gulda's version of Handel’s Suite in E minor HWV 429 sounds rather formal and anonymous. The more outlandish sides of Gulda are evident in his use of an amplified clavichord for Bach, its weired echoing twang like a puny electric guitar more suited to the Hawaiian shirts he sported onstage in later recitals, in addition to other exotic wear, than Baroque music.

On the SWR recital reissue, 30 minutes of portentous, dated sonic explorations with his jazz ensemble are included: Gulda’s Perspective No I lacks only the presence of Yoko Ono to become the definitive hippie-era waste of time. In concertos, Gulda is at his best in a January 1962 performance of Mozart’s Concerto No 14 in E-flat major conducted by Hans Rosbaud, in which the pianist manages to be fizzy and celebratory in turn. Mozart’s Concerto No 23 in A major from April 1959, also with Rosbaud, is equally fine, particularly an unadorned, moving second movement Adagio followed by a spiffy finale, marked Allegro assai.

Piano lovers may mourn that Gulda renounced artistic collaboration with the likes of Rosbaud, favouring instead onstage happenings with nubile disco dancers and Giuseppe Nuzzo, an Italian disc jockey known as DJ Pippi, who headlined at Pacha, Ibiza’s stellar nightspot. Yet we can only conclude that Gulda knew his own psychological fragilities and emotional imperatives, and followed his heart. Hie legacy, one of wilful talent and wildly uneven results, remains substantial.

The quiet, calming strains of the late Catalonian composer Frederico Mompou seemed so nebulous that he was not taken seriously outside of Spain during his lifetime. 'There is no discourse, no argument, no development in this music', says Adolf Pla, a Spanish pianist and friend of the family. 'But the international public is now beginning to undentand his profound meaning and accept him.'

Pla has a point. Recently, there are signs of a global Mompou revival as pianists discover him and master his finely balanced harmonies. Recital programmes and several new albums attest to his broadening appeal. Mompou, who died in 1987 at the age of 94, would be surprised and probably pleased to receive this recognition.

The attraction of Mompou‘s music is in its atmosphere and moods, not in Bach-like rigour or Beethovenian structures. His compositions rarely last more than three minutes, aiming to strip out superfluous notation and leave only the essentials. His music has been compared favourably to the works of Anton Webern and Alban Berg – but with tonality.

Mompou‘s harmony 'needs no more than an almost-nothing, a semitone, an aberrant note, and the almost-perfect chord to become "imperfect"... He never completely severs his original link to "sonorous voluptuousness", writes the French musicologist Vladimir Jankélévitch in his notes accompanying the 2009 release of Mompou performing his own music: Mompou: The Complete Piano Works (Brilliant Classics 6515).

Arcadi Volodos, the Russian virtuoso now living in Spain, helped trigger the revival a few years ago with his recitals and album Volodos plays Mompou (Sony 88765433262). He reportedly had to cajole Sony Classics into backing the project, initially dismissed as 'bad business'. Planning an appearance at Vienna's Musikverein, Volodos was even urged to ditch Mompou from his proposed programme. The Viennese advised him: 'Give them Schubert!' Volodos insisted on his Catalonian discovery and has never looked back.

Volodo's delicate interpretations scored a surprise hit for Sony, prompting the label to admit they had underestimated the Catalan master. The album sold well and inspired many international players including Daniil Trifonov, Stephen Hough, Benjamin Grosvenor, Guillaume Coppola, Judith Jáuregui and Ernest So, to present their own selections from Mompou‘s voluminous output. His miniatures have even started turning up on Yuja Wang‘s latest programmes.

Another notable Mompou interpreter is the English pianst Imogen Cooper, who brings an eerie lyricism and profound introspection to Cancon y danzas (Songs and Dances) Nos 1 and 6 on her 2019 album Iberia y Francia (CHAN20119). Meanwhile, Andrew Tyson‘s latest release on the Alpha label presented an interesting selection from Mompou‘s Paisajes (Landscapes) series (ALPHA546).

More recently still, the promising young Catalonian pianist Maria Canyigueral has combined music by Mompou with eight Mompou-inspired miniatures she commissioned from European composers. Her album Avant-guarding Mompou was launched last month on the audite label (AUDITE20044). Canyigueral, who is now London-based following her Royal Academy studies, likens Mompou‘s spare compositions to 'a winter tree – raw and pure', full of vitality but not ornamented with leaves. 'I connect with them emotionally', she says. 'Mompou evokes beauty, good intentions, hope, joy. Mediterranean spirit, sincerity and sensitivity'.

Mompou developed his style partly as a result of childhood disorders that his biographer Pla believes might be diagnosed today as Asperger‘s syndrome. All his Iife he was uncommunicative and somewhat solitary. Mompou himself liked to say, 'I am a man of few words and a musician of few notes.' Son of a French mother and Spanish father, he demonstrated enough talent to be accepted at the Paris Conservatoire when Gabriel Fauré was at the helm. He ended up spending 20 years in Paris mixing with leading music personalities but never quite emerging on his own.

Why this late bloomining? Is it perhaps understandable, considering that Mompou himself described his music as 'a weak heartbeat'? Pla believes it was ahead of its time: appreciating it requires an attitude of contemplation and meditation'.

Ernest So has reflected on Mompou’s rebirth. 'I think seasoned listeners and pianists have overdosed on Liszt, Chopin and Rachmaninov, but are now seeking out different spiritual and cathartic experiences’, he explains. 'I, for one, find performing Mompou a distinctly different experience from playing anything else.' An adoptive Catalonian, So says he likes to pause zen-like at the piano and imagine the Catalan countryside 'before I let out the first chords'.

French pianist Guillaume Coppola is another fan, whose 2019 album Musique de Silence (Eloquence E1857) places Mompou‘s music in a wider historical context. He interweaves Mompou miniatures with pieces by Chopin, Debussy, Satie, Granados, Scriabin, Ravel, Dutilleux and Takemitsu. Coppola‘s dogges research reveals echoes of these composers hidden away in many of Mompou‘s works. Studying urtext and autograph scores wherever possible, Coppola analysed the pieces measure by measure, hearing sonorities and nothing shared influences. He focused on the 28 miniatures called Música callada ('Voice of Silence'), identifying resonances as well as free associations. For example, a Scriabin prelude comes before a Mompou gem marked 'Lento, plaintif', while a Satie Gnossienne precedes 'Secreto' from Mompou‘s 1912 collection Impressiones intimas.

About half of Coppola‘s selections are taken from Música callada, including the album‘s title, Volodos has called this oeuvre, which Mompou composed near the end of his days, 'without a doubt the summit of his achievment, the music he spent all his life movingtoward'.

As Coppola devoted more time to his research, 'more subtle convergences occured to me,' he writes in his booklet notes. 'The post-Romantic accents appear in some pieces, or clusters of resonant chords à la Dutilleux, or the diaphanous clours of Debussy, or the play of light of Ravel'. Out of them comes a warm feeling of peace.

Coppola has performed Música callada in recitals around France, barely stopping to pause between pieces. 'The public hears this music as a single work', he explains, 'and seems to love the flow'. The audience is asked to withhold applause so as not to disturb the quiet. Even the pianist needs to achieve inner peace before touching the keyboard. 'I breathe deeply and slowly, I push the diaphragm down, like a singer', says Coppola. 'I want physical relaxation so as to achieve supple movements. I put myself in a sort of bubble of silence and serenity.'

Volodos believes he has divined the power of Mompou‘s style. 'I would say he is not trying to be heard but rather is attempting to be united with the listener in musical silence… The listener can feel the solitude acutely – not as a void but as a source of plentiful spiritual tension'.

Anyone who knows me will appreciate my liking for the German composer Max Reger, who due to his vast output of organ music and his fondness for counterpoint was often described as the Bach of the twentieth century. In fact, Bach was his musical hero, stating that “Sebastian Bach is the beginning and end of all music; upon him rests, and from him originates, all real progress!” It is fitting then that some of Reger’s finest transcriptions, whether for orchestra or piano, are of the music of Bach. Whilst I have a lot of Reger, including a few discs of transcribed Bach, I don’t have a set that contains all of the Brandenburg Concertos, so when offered the chance to review this set, I jumped at it.

Reger's transcriptions for piano four-hands of the Brandenburgs had their beginnings in a request from the Peters publishing house for a two-hand version in 1904. With the Fifth Concerto giving him particular difficulties the following year, this led to numerous attempts to arrange the work until he came up with the one we have here. Up until then, Reger had concentrated on transcribing Bach’s organ music, but agreed, with the resulting edition selling out within two years and needing to be re- published. It also led to a new request, for Reger to produce transcriptions of the Orchestral Suites.

These transcriptions are, therefore, a labour of love, with the result being something quite wonderful. As already stated, I do have recordings of some of these transcriptions, but sadly not all, and I must admit to having returned to them regularly, enjoying them every time I listen to them. This recording only served to further my liking for these pieces; Reger managed expertly to keep the nature and spirit of the original whilst making them more accessible to everyone. The result being wonderful music and being arranged wonderfully well; what is more is that here, in the Piano Duo Takahashi|Lehmann, we have a performance that surpasses each of the performances of the concertos that I already have. The performance is excellent with the Piano Duo Takahashi|Lehmann showing great dexterity and understanding of each other which leads to wonderful ensemble playing. I did not miss the orchestra once, which is something I can’t say about every recording I have heard before.

The other three works on this set are all transcriptions of Bach’s organ pieces, and I suppose the obvious place to start is the now infamous Toccata & Fugue in D minor, BWV565. With questions still asked about its composition, it is probably the piece that most people will associate as being by Bach. Here the performance by the Piano Duo Takahashi|Lehmann lives up to the sparkling transcription. Here, if anything, Reger added new impetus to the work, with the performers rising to every challenge set. However, the first transcription of an organ piece we encounter on this set is the wonderful Passacaglia in C minor, BWV582, a real tour de force for the organist. This arrangement makes the most of Bach’s sonorities, something that is brought out to the full here. The final work on the disc is the popular Prelude & Fugue in E flat major, BWV552 'St Anne', another truly wonderful organ work, Reger made two arrangements of this piece, the other for solo piano. Again, the Piano Duo Takahashi|Lehmann sparkle in their performance, and their's again, is the finest recording of this transcription that I have heard, making this a wonderful inclusion in this set.

As already stated, Norie Takahashi and Björn Lehmann are wonderful throughout, their's is a real partnership, with the resulting performance being excellent, one which has soon become my "go-to" recording for these works and Reger transcriptions in general. The recorded sound is also excellent which only serves to heighten the enjoyment of this performance. The accompanying booklet, in German and English is good, but a little more insight might have been good. But this is no reason not to invest, and it will be a real investment, in this excellent recording, especially as it retails for little more than the price of a single CD. One of the finest recordings of transcriptions of Bach that I have heard in a very long time.

Fauré hat den ersten Satz seiner Violinsonate mit Allegro molto überschrieben. Und so spielen ihn die meisten Geiger, darunter Francescatti, Heifetz, Grumiaux, Amoyal…Sie brauchen für den Satz zwischen siebeneinhalb und etwas über neun Minuten. Das Duo Pietsch Solaun nimmt sich dafür 10 Minuten und 27 Sekunden. Und das bringt ungemein viel. Aus dem oft bloß flüssig gespielten Stück wird eine eminent bedeutsame Musik, ein leidenschaftlicher Dialog zwischen Klavier und der Violine, die sich wie eine Katze um das große Schwarze dreht, mal anschmiegsam, mal Köpfchen gebend oder den Hintern hochhebend, um sich dann auch g’schamig unter dem Klavier zu verstecken. Es sind großartige Stimmungen, die diese Musik so reich werden lassen, wie ich sie noch nie gehört habe. Wunderbar lyrisch und ausdrucksvoll ist das Andante, hinreißend verspielt und keck das Allegro vivo mit seinem reflektiven Mittelteil, der die Energie speichert für die brillante Coda. Eine leidenschaftlich eloquente Interpretation des Schlusssatzes beendet diese Aufführung, die in der Erzählkunst weit über die gelackten Darbietungen anderer Duos hinausgeht.

Und wenn Debussy den zweiten Satz seiner Sonate mit Fantasque überschrieben hat (er gab der CD ihren Titel) dann spüren Pietsch und Solaun dem Fantastischen schon ganz klar im ersten Satz nach. Wo andere Geiger, Oistrach etwa, der Sonate einen eher mysteriösen Touch geben, gehen die beiden hier vereinten Musiker voll zu Sache und ergründen die merkwürdige Unruhe dieses Satzes, den sie genauso fantasque gestalten wie den Rest dieser seltsamen Sonate, die in vielen Interpretationen klassischen Bahnen folgt, wo alles seinen Platz hat, während hier mit ganz eigenwilligen Temporückungen und Akzentuierungen die Sonate die Qualität einer Paraphrasierung des Fragezeichens und des Gedankenstrichs erlangt, wobei das Ausrufezeichen einen schweren Stand hat.

Die G-Dur-Sonate von Ravel wird nicht weniger eloquent gespielt, das oft Draufgängerische des einleitenden Allegrettos weicht einem sehr sinnlichen Musizieren, das mit seiner artistischen Klugheit und Kühnheit bezaubert. Und wenn Sie den Blues einmal als Parodie hören wollen, dann ist diese CD die richtige Adresse. So schräg!

Die fesselnde Spontaneität, die die ersten zwei Sätze auszeichnet, gilt auch als Merkmal des Finalsatzes, dessen musikalische Intensität berauschend ist.

Mit der Poulenc-Sonate beschließen Franziska Pietsch und Josu de Solaun ihr Programm. Im Vergleich zu der Kopatchinskaja-Leschenko-Einspielung wirkt die Interpretation des ersten Satzes nicht so einspurig drängend, sondern viel variabler. Es ist keine Autobahnfahrt auf der Überholspur, sondern eine Fahrt über eine unebene Landstraße. Wenn der Pianist mit glöckchenähnlichen Klängen das Intermezzo einläutet, weiß man schon, dass auch dieser Satz sehr besonders werden wird. Und im Finale überbietet das Duo wiederum die beiden vorhin genannten Musikerinnen, weil die Tragikomödie genüsslich sarkastisch zum Ausdruck kommt. Die Freiheit ist groß hier, die groteske Gestik noch reicher. Fantasque. Der Titel der CD ist mehr als Programm. Er ist Grundlage der Interpretation aller Stücke.

Ich habe vorhin das Wort ‘Kühnheit’ gebraucht. In der Tat sind die vier Sonaten hier in ganz speziellen Interpretationen zu hören. Es wird Leute geben, die das nicht mögen, die lieber beim Glatten bleiben. Solche Musikphilister werden durch diese unerhört geistreichen Interpretationen erschreckt werden. Wer sich aber auf die Musik einlässt, wird von dem Fantastischen, das Frau Pietsch und Herr de Solaun produzieren, begeistert sein.

The first movement of Fauré’s Violin Sonata is an Allegro molto, and that’s like we mostly hear it. Francescatti, Heifetz, Grumiaux and Amoyal play it in between seven and a half and just over nine minutes. With 10 minutes and 27 seconds the duo Pietsch-Solaun is slower. And that’s really rewarding. The piece is no longer simply fluid, but turns into an eminently significant music, a passionate dialogue between the piano and the violin, which turns around the big black one like a cat, sometimes cuddly, sometimes giving head or lifting its butt, only to then also hide shamefully under the piano. Great moods make this music as rich as I have never heard it before. The Andante is wonderfully lyrical and expressive, followed by a ravishingly playful and bold Allegro vivo with its reflective middle section, which stores the energy for the brilliant coda. A passionately eloquent interpretation of the final movement concludes this performance, which in its narrative artistry goes far beyond the lacquered recordings of other duos.

Debussy called the second movement of his sonata Fantasque (it gave the CD its title), yet Pietsch and Solaun already trace the fantastic element in the first movement. Where other violinists, Oistrakh for instance, give the sonata a rather mysterious touch, the two musicians focus on the movement’s restlessness, which they make just as fantasque as the rest of this strange sonata, which in many interpretations follows classical paths, where everything has its place, while here, with quite idiosyncratic tempo shifts and accentuations, it becomes a paraphrase of the question mark and the dash, whereby the exclamation mark has a hard time.

Ravel’s Sonata in G major is played no less eloquently, the often urgent of the introductory Allegretto giving way to a very sensual music-making that enchants with its artistic cleverness and audacity. And if you ever want to hear the blues as a delightful parody, this CD is the right address. So weird!

The captivating spontaneity that distinguishes the first two movements is also a characteristic of the final movement, whose musical intensity is intoxicating.
Franziska Pietsch and Josu de Solaun conclude their programme with the Poulenc Sonata. In comparison to the Kopatchinskaja-Leschenko recording, the interpretation of the first movement does not seem simply urgent, but much more flexible. It is not a motorway journey in the fast lane, but a ride on an uneven country road. When the pianist introduces the intermezzo with bell-like sounds, one already knows that this movement will also be very special. And in the finale, the duo again outdoes the two musicians mentioned earlier, because the tragicomedy is expressed with so much sarcasm. The freedom is great here, and the grotesque richer. Fantasque. The title of the CD is more than a programme. It is the basis for the interpretation of all pieces.
Earlier I used the word ‘audacity’. No doubt that there will be people who don’t like such very special interpretations, preferring straight and simple performances with just French refinement. Such music philistines will of course be frightened by these incredibly witty interpretations. But those who get involved with the music will be thrilled by the Fantasque that Mrs Pietsch and Mr de Solaun constantly focus on.

Soberbia interpretación. Honestidad, pureza, música en su estado más puro, donde el intérprete se quita de en medio para dejar sonar la Música.

Dt. Übersetzung:
Hervorragende Leistung. Ehrlichkeit, Reinheit, Musik in ihrem reinsten Zustand, bei der der Interpret sich selbst aus dem Weg räumt, um die Musik spielen zu lassen.

A delight. Such skill and musicality. I hate to say it but I prefer these piano versions to the originals.

[...] This new and exciting two-cd set by these brilliant pianists, Norie Takahashi and Bjorn Lehmann present these masterpieces in a fresh, colorful and beautiful interpretation. Their tonal balance forms an artistic whole which makes for a delightful listening experience for the experienced classical music listener as well as for the beginning music student alike.
Excellent program notes are available in German and English. This 2019 set is highly recommended for all pianists, musicians and piano aficionados alike.

Diese Platte von Trio Lirico kann Trost spendendes Kerzenlicht sein in den wirklich ganz finsteren Stunden des Lebens. Diese String Trios sind wie ein dunkler Wald in den man sich flüchten kann vor der all zu grell ausgeleuchteten Realität.

Das Trio Lirico hat ehrfurchtgebietend gut interpretiert – es gibt sie, die Magie, einen Beweis liefert diese unglaubliche Einspielung.