Beethoven’s ten violin sonatas span the period from 1797-1812, and the G major work ending the series (which he evidently revised prior to its publication in 1816) came as long after the Kreutzer as the difference in opus numbers suggests – the nine intervening years saw the appearance of Symphonies Nos. 4-8 and much else. Stylistically, this last sonata looks forward to his third period and its lyricism differs markedly from the fire of its predecessor, while the other eight are youthfully confident; it is perhaps significant that only two of the whole series are in a minor key.
Kremer and Argerich understand the bright buoyancy of the Op. 12 triptych, in which the music flows along crisply yet flexibly, with brisk tempos and sharply defined dynamics: there is charm here as well as the necessary energy. I confess to longstanding slight reservations about this violinist’s sweet yet wiry tone and the way he sometimes shapes and shades a phrase; but make no mistake, he is totally assured and his partnership with the equally authoritative Argerich offers much to admire and enjoy. The finale of the First Sonata, a dancing rondo in 6/8, shows their boldness and bounce to advantage – and the same is true of the witty first movement of No. 2, in the same metre but more teasing in character. Slow movements, sometimes in variation form, also characteristically speak with elegance and eloquence while scherzos have point and vitality. This latter characteristic also marks the Presto first movement of the A minor Sonata, No. 4, unusually vigorous here, with Argerich in tigerish mood. Though this duo mostly know when to persuade and relax, with such strong players the interpretative temperature is inevitably on the high side.
However, I’ll pen a cautionary word about the extremely free delivery of the opening bars of the Spring Sonata (No. 5). Indeed, with the duo’s performance of this piece self-conscious romanticism suddenly and disconcertingly rears its head and the central Adagio molto espressivo tends to be self-indulgent. The opening Allegro of No. 6 is deliberate in pace and didactic in manner, though it holds the attention, and the Adagio that follows saunters along at four quaver beats to the bar where Beethoven asks for two crotchets and thus a greater sense of flow. The vivid first movement of No. 8 in G major, though exhilarating, could be more playful, but its quirky, overlong Minuet moves well enough. In its predecessor, the duo give us the right minor mode force and drama, and these qualities also inform the Kreutzer, which receives a performance of great authority even if one looks for more simplicity in the central set of variations. The final G major Sonata is all of a piece with the rest of this set and perhaps admirable on its own terms, but I like it to flow more naturally and gracefully, and in the Scherzo the artists treat the sforzando-piano markings as heavy accents.
For performances of gentler and richer humanity, though not wanting in brilliance, I prefer Perlman and Ashkenazy, finely recorded in the 1970s, but note that, while at mid price, they take four discs instead of the three the present duo achieve by altering the order of the sonatas. Clear recording, though at forte and above the piano is on the reverberant side.
The sonatas were recorded, in different venues, over a period of ten years, but the recording quality is uniformly excellent. Apparent throughout, too, is the exploratory feel of the performances. Both Argerich and Kremer are constantly on the look-out for ways to make each phrase distinctive and memorable – here a special tone colour, there a slight hesitation or hint of extra emphasis. Except for Op. 96, all the Beethoven violin sonatas could be classed as early works, and it’s the youthful exuberance of the quick music that impresses above all. Right from the first bars of Op. 12 No. 1 there’s a feeling of excitement in the vivid way the music is phrased and characterized, yet a glance at the score confirms that Kremer and Argerich are simply presenting, with a kind of mercurial swiftness, all the dramatic variety that Beethoven has written down. A very special instance of this comes in the Adagio variation at the end of Op. 96, where Argerich’s affecting and spontaneous-sounding melody exactly follows the composer’s detailed instructions. Argerich and Kremer are just as successful, I think, in the lighter, more witty movements. The idea of dialogue is central to these sonatas, and the exchanges between the instruments in the delicate middle movement of Op. 23 have here an irresistible humour and sense of fun. And when passionate intensity is required, in the first movements of Op. 23, Op. 30 No. 2, and, above all, in the Kreutzer Sonata, they produce a splendid driving momentum.
I do get the impression, though, that it’s Argerich who provides the main creative impulse. Her combination of interpretative imagination and exceptional technical finesse allows her to encompass all aspects of Beethoven’s writing. There are places, the minore variation in Op. 47 for instance, where I’d prefer the calmer, less showy pianistic mastery of Ashkenazy (with Perlman, Decca, 1/89), but Argerich continually delights and convinces with the delicacy of her passagework, the wonderful balance of her chordal playing and the sheer bravura of the ‘big’ passages. Kremer is able, for the most part, to respond and match this brilliant playing – certainly he’s equally impressive whenever Beethoven demands virtuosity. But I find myself wishing he could play the many quiet, tuneful passages with more natural warmth of expression, in particular that he would pay more attention to producing a true legato line. If you compare Kremer’s playing of the melody of Op. 30 No. 1’s Adagio with Zukerman’s marvellously sweet-toned account (RCA, 7/92) or Perlman’s finely shaped version (Decca, 1/89), you’ll see what I mean. Another disturbing feature is the fierceness with which Kremer attacks most of the frequent sforzandos. Of course Beethoven should sometimes sound ferocious, and strong off-beat accents are an essential part of his style, but Perlman and Zukerman both show how these accents can be produced in many different ways that are appropriate to the context, and not merely forceful.
However, Kremer does seem more and more at home as the music approaches the romantic era. His playing of the Kreutzer Sonata has an extraordinary verve and energy, and the last Sonata is perhaps the best of all. Both he and Argerich respond here to the need for the closest, most responsive partnership. The first movement, in particular, has a magical, dreamlike intensity, with each player finding just the right sound to balance the other, projecting the different musical characters with luminous clarity
NB: This is a review of a previous release of the Op 30 Sonatas included in the box set pictured above
This disc could well find itself as the first on my private list of nominations for next year's ''Critics' choice''. Beethoven's Op. 30 violin and piano sonatas are three irresistibly lively and individual spirits in the hands and imaginations of Martha Argerich and Gidon Kremer. The first, in A major, has that particular quality of blithe and elusive joy reminiscent of the Spring Sonata, and created here by the lightest and truest touch on string and key, fused with bright rhythmic clarity. The slow movement is a tremulous song of long-forgotten, far-off things, in which violin and piano find an intimate balance of tone.
The second sonata of the group is here less an heroically clenched C minor fist, more the unfolding of a gripping and tense Marchen: a dark children's fairy-tale told through the rapid tapering of a phrase-ending on the violin, the gutsy ebb and flow of a piano crescendo, the sudden pianissimo picking up after the loud chords of a second theme. At the start of the development, Argerich even seems to be asking if her listeners are sitting comfortably—and rather hoping they are not. She ensures that the Adagio cantabile is light and lean, its ardour expressed not in any warmth of texture or tempo, but in an elusive shared rubato, caught as it were in mid-air.
The G major Sonata's centrepiece is its Minuet and Trio, which Argerich and Kremer cunningly tease and charm into revealing its archaic qualities: a dance glimpsed through a lace veil. It is framed by two fast movements that would identify their performers anywhere, with their high-voltage velocity and wittily imaginative anticipation of each other's every move.
NB: This is a review of a previous release of the Op 23 and Op 24 Sonatas included in the box set pictured above
My advice with this second issue in the Kremer/Argerich duo's Beethoven series is not to start—as I did initially—with the Spring Sonata. The first movement opens with such a strangely wilful ebbing and flowing of tempo that it immediately draws attention to itself, sounding not spontaneous but contrived. The fault is mainly Kremer's, for though Argerich points rhythm and phrasing just as individually, her control is firmer.
Happily that opening movement of the Spring brings an exception. Otherwise, as in the first record of the series, coupling the three Op. 12 Sonatas (415 138-1GH, 415 138-2GH, 7/85), the manner and approach are highly individual, even idiosyncratic, but always fresh and magnetic. So the second movement of the Spring brings beautifully hushed playing, and though the basic tempo is not very slow, the poise and repose suggest otherwise. The little scherzo movement is slower than usual but very light, and the finale sparkles fancifully, bringing the same sense of adventure, of challenge between two very individual musicians, that so marked the Op. 12 performances.
The A minor, Op. 23, in all three movements matches that earlier issue. The galloping 6/8 rhythms of the first movement Presto are given all the minor-key bite you need in this early example of Beethovenian defiance, sharply contrasted with the wit and point that both players find in the other two movements. The contrapuntal entries in the Andante scherzoso in their rhythmic lightness delectably reflect that word scherzoso, and the Allegro molto finale too is fanciful in its urgency. The sound is generally well balanced with a good dynamic range and sense of presence. Though 43 minutes is Door measure for a CD these days, that is not likely to deter those looking for strikingly distinctive performances, though I ought to point out that the excellent CD of Perlman and Ashkenazy in Op. 23 also contains two of the Op. 30 works (Decca 417 574-2DH, 3/87).
NB: This is a review of a previous release of the Op 12 Sonatas included in the box set pictured above
Martha Argerich, inspired and unpredictable, has at last been persuaded to record Beethoven—not just violin sonatas with Kremer, but cello sonatas with Misha Maisky and piano concertos with Sinopoli and the Philharmonia. For years she has been afraid that her Beethoven readings might sound self-conscious when pinned down on record, but if this first issue of sonatas is a fair sample, she has no need to worry. It was an inspired idea to match her against a violinist so unpredictable as she is herself, for though there is nothing 'safe' about these interpretations, and not everyone will respond to their sparkling, volatile qualities, the liveness of the experience is undeniable.
Plainly on this showing the pianist is the leader, which is fair enough in sonatas which still keep the old description ''for piano and violin''. Argerich's clarity of articulation is a constant delight often at speeds so fast—as in the first movement of Sonata No. 1—that Kremer finds it hard to articulate his answering passage-work with anything like the same evenness and clarity. Even so, he has rarely sounded so happy on record. Where he has often sounded a degree self-conscious, here his individuality conveys the magic of the moment just as much as Argerich's does. Very often that consists of pointing a phrase or underlining a sforzando with a 'naughty' twist to the rhythm, I have never known performances of these exuberant examples of early Beethoven so regularly bringing a smile to my lips, not least in the finales, whether in the off-beat accents of the jig finale of No. 1, the gentle persuasiveness of the Allegro piacevole which ends No. 2 or the bounce of the 2/4 Rondo of No. 3. It is bad luck on the writer of a perceptive sleeve-note, that he talks of ''the four-square main theme'' of that movement: with Kremer and Argerich it is anything but that! Equally remarkable is the hushed concentration of the A minor slow movement of No. 2, curiously marked Andante piu tosto Allegretto. Kremer and Argerich choose a flowing speed so as not to overweight the minor-key tragedy, and then point the contrasting F major middle section delectably with question-and-answer phrases tossed to and fro as though with a wink each time.
There is no direct competitor in this coupling, but comparing it with the performances from the superb Perlman/Ashkenazy cycle on Decca (D92D5, 3/78—not yet available on CD) and the Oistrakh/Oborin cycle on Philips, recently transferred to CD and reviewed above, the contrasts are rather what I expected. Though many will prefer the firmer, weightier view of Perlman and Ashkenazy, which still allows full individuality, the sparkle and lightness of the new issue are hard to resist. I greatly look forward to the rest of the series. On CD the new issue is greatly to be preferred in sound, when the 1962 Philips is relatively dull and dry, and Oistrakh's imagination is rarely matched by Oborin. The new CD issue gives an even keener sense of presence than the LP with piano and violin nicely balanced against a believable recital-hall acoustic.