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Fauré

Piano Quintet No 2

Ray Lev, piano 

The Pascal Quartet 

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PACM 062 - Fauré  

As a comparative Schnabel virgin, I hesitate to offer many supposed insights regarding his interpretative prowess. Litres of ink have already been spilled by the real devotees to illuminate his genius. Most readers will already have decided whether they want to hear historical recordings or whether they respond to Schnabel's style. Can you tolerate his slips and "splashiness" in return for the energy and spontaneity of his interpretations? We have perhaps become far too accustomed to technical perfection at the expense of expressive freedom. Now that modern economic conditions having hastened the decline of studio recordings in favour of live issues we should now perhaps be more tolerant of the vicissitudes inherent in live recordings. Schnabel famously disliked the restrictions and inconveniences of the recording studio. Even if modern pianists are technically more adept, if we heard performances such as these live today we would hardly react with anything other than gratitude and astonishment.
 
From a practical point of view, the main area of concern will be the sound quality and that is probably of interest to two main groups. The old hands will want to know whether it's worth the investment replacing their current versions. Pristine offer these latest re-masterings of the late piano sonatas by Andrew Rose. Then there are those aficionados who are curious about the Schnabel legend and might simply want to start with the best available.
 
There is an alternative from Naxos in Mark Obert-Thorn's re-engineering of the sonatas for Naxos. They are cheaper than Pristine's issues, but they cannot compare as a listening experience with Andrew Rose's superb reincarnation of these classic performances, by far the finest to-date. Regis have issued a super-bargain complete 8 CD set licensed from Nuova Era but don't touch it with the proverbial barge-pole: there is absolutely no comparison between what Andrew Rose has done here to enhance the original 78s and the sad, distant splatterings you hear on Regis. On Pristine, there is very little hiss or "muddiness" at the bottom and a minimum of "clanginess" at the top. The added depth of sound allows the left hand a greater, welcome prominence. The extra reverberation is perhaps a little wearing on the ear but that's remedied by turning down the volume a little. The ferocity of Schabel's attack, the pathos, delicacy and poignancy of his tender touch in the slow movements and the freedom and poetry of his genius emerge more cleanly and clearly than ever before. Despite the aforementioned technical weaknesses in faster passages such as the Allegro opening Op.106, his strengths more than compensate and his dynamism virtually silences criticism. Schnabel's way with the Scherzo is decidedly aggressive but his interpretation is all of a piece, contrasting wonderfully with the rapt Adagio sostenuto which follows. There is wonderful sonority in the left hand beginning at 2:35 and the new melody anticipating Chopin which sings over that bass ground makes one more grateful than ever for the richness of Pristine's sound. The odd slip notwithstanding, Schnabel's technique and fingerwork reveal remarkable virtuosity in the Fugue of the last movement.
 
The opening to Op.30 reveals Schnabel's cantabile quality, especially in his lightness of touch when returning to the first subject. His thunderous assurance in the concluding Andante is mightily impressive - but that is the essence of Schnabel's' art: he encompasses all the moods required, from the massive profundity of the first movement of Op.110 to the sparkling brilliance of its Allegro molto to the introspective serenity of the final Adagio. Op.111 is just as masterly; one is always completely absorbed by the integrity and aptness of his interpretation whichever sonata one is listening to. Given that the technical challenges stretch him to the limits, one sometimes has the impression that Schnabel is tilting at windmills but it is that dauntless courage which renders these performances so touchingly human. The second movement serves as a paradigm to illustrate this and the human condition in general. A starkly simple statement undergoes variations until it becomes increasingly fragmented and tormented, then order, reason and optimism are restored.
 
The Op.35 "Eroica" Variations and Fugue is of a somewhat lower order but it was an ambitious and innovatory composition which calls for a huge variety of colour and mood, and the ability to take a long view in order to hold it all together. All of this plays to Schnabel's strengths. He gives us witty, relaxed accounts but rises to the mysteries unfolding in the last variation. The Fugue has a mercurial, plastic quality in his hands which perfectly underlines the teasing, pleasing irony of Beethoven's romanticising of that most baroque of forms.
 
Comparisons with modern recordings are otiose; most serious collectors will want Schnabel's Beethoven on Pristine in the same way that they want Casals' Bach cello suites on EMI: they are both artistically deeply satisfying in their own right but also offer a unique and seminal Urtext by which to judge later accounts. I favour Richter, Gilels and early Lupu for more modern sound which clearly illustrates my own taste for the extrovert, demonstrative interpretative school of Schnabel rather than the more cerebral, refined mode of Brendel, Lewis or Pollini..
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Although Efrem Zimbalist Senior left, as Mark Obert-Thorn states in his note, only one commercial concerto recording-of Johann Sebastian Bach's Double Concerto with Fritz Kreisler-later in life, Kreisler considered that recording one of his favorite few. Zimbalist's broadcast recording of Johannes Brahms's Violin Concerto has been issued and reissued (it appears in somewhat less rich recorded sound on Doremi DHR-7739, Fanfare 22:5). Obert-Thorn took as his source a CD-R-from a tape-of the original acetates. Reviewing the performance itself in Doremi's incarnation, I reflected that Zimbalist might simply have been a victim of Jascha Heifetz's mystique, concluding that, at the very least, Zimbalist's "technical bravura and breadth of musicianship ... would easily make him an emperor among current performers" with "ample and luxurious phrasing, but no less ... willingness to take risks, virtually all of which paid off." Still, repeated listenings reveal a roughness in the declamatory double-stopped passages (compare Albert Spalding's from a similar period in the violinists' lives) that the overall musical and technical command nevertheless tends to overshadow (in both first and third movements). I also noted the "incandescent" second movement, and in Pristine's transfer, listeners can hear Koussevitsky's "bravo" at the end. The remarkably good recorded sound reveals the beauty of Zimbalist's tone in all registers and the commanding crackle of his bow stroke in the rugged détaché so plentiful in the concerto's first movement. I remarked that in the finale, "his technical facility provides many pleasant surprises." I might have paid more ample tribute to Serge Koussevitzky and the Boston Symphony Orchestra for the monumental accompaniment (the same forces had supported Heifetz so admirably in his recording of the same concerto in 1939, available, though apparently not in the United States, on Naxos 8.110936). Whatever the merits of Obert-Thorn's engineering, the sweeping and richly characterized performance itself carries the day-a perhaps surprisingly vibrant reading from an Auer student who left few documents of an orchestral soloist's career that established a reputation that's unfortunately dimmed over the years.

Obert-Thorn suggests that the opportunity to release his transfer of Jean Sibelius's Concerto from open-reel tape of the original acetates trumped the difficulties the material presents, including echoes delayed by a full eight seconds. Many will find the effect of that echo deeply disturbing, but it lasts only through the first four-odd minutes (it may be hard not to watch the clock for these to expire). But Zimbalist plays magisterially here, if not so crisply as Heifetz in 1959 or as terrifyingly (one of my students' adverbs) as Heifetz in 1935. Obert-Thorn claims to have attempted pitch correction, but some imprecision remains. In the first movement, Rudolf Ringwall and the Cleveland Orchestra spread the mists thickly for Zimbalist to penetrate, and the violinist doesn't linger indulgently in the rhapsodic landscape. Nevertheless, he isn't so incisive as Heifetz, and doesn't generate the same voltage in the solo passages-though he doesn't struggle in them either, although it sometimes sounds as though he strains to produce a rounded tone in the higher positions on the middle strings. He slows down to enhance the effect of the haunting double-stopped ruminations near the movement's end before plunging into a bracing account of the final passage with its treacherous glassy octaves. Zimbalist doesn't throb in the slow movement's opening; his vibrato seems too restricted and too slow for that. And most violinists would eschew the portamentos with which he adorns the statement of the theme. Once again, some wayward intonation, suspicious perhaps because it occurs in the upper positions on the lower strings, may not actually be Zimbalist's fault. But slowing down almost to immobility before and after the impassioned middle section and, to some extent, in that passage itself, results from an artistic choice. In the finale, some of the rushing passages sound insecure, although it's hard to believe that age could have been responsible; Heifetz made his crackling second recording at the age of 58.

For those who admire Zimbalist and honor his accomplishments, this disc may seem a somewhat mixed tribute, with a knowing reading of Brahms's Concerto paired with one of Sibelius's Concerto they're likely to find at the same time illuminating and disappointing. For those who admire the performance of Brahms's Concerto, Pristine's release seems mandatory, as arguably the most life-like remastering. A recommendation, therefore, of the Sibelius merely for its documentary value, but strongly and absolutely for its discmate.   

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