It’s easy to fathom why Alfred Brendel is glad that Decca has released these previously unpublished live performances of the Schumann concerto and Brahms Handel Variations. In the concerto, there’s a fluidity of phrasing and a chamber-like give and take between Brendel, Simon Rattle, and the Vienna Philharmonic that we do not consistently find in the pianist’s earlier two recordings. The outer movements in particular prove more animated and less stolid in comparison with the Brendel/Sanderling/Philharmonia account. In the finale’s knotty cross-rhythmic writing, Brendel considerably lets go more than he did under studio conditions, and proves just as technically on top of matters. His expansive and curvaceous phrasing in the Intermezzo, however, is undermined by the Vienna Philharmonic’s slightly reticent strings; they certainly don’t soar and sing like Ormandy’s Philadelphians in the classic stereo Rudolf Serkin recording.
The 1979 Brahms Handel Variations preserves Brendel’s performance of a work that he once had doubts about and ultimately decided not to take into the studio. Architecturally speaking, Brendel has carefully worked out tempo relationships, transitions, and climactic points, while varying repeats through subtle changes of emphasis, voicing, and color. He unfolds the theme and the first variation on a small scale, perhaps to ensure accuracy under pressure (and what pianist wouldn’t?), and similarly treads carefully through Variation Four’s propulsive octaves.
On the other hand, I like his brisk, sotto voce approach to No. 6’s canonic lines and the wonderful bouncy propulsion he brings to Nos. 7 and 8. By the time No. 9 proclaims its opening B-flats, Brendel is clearly warmed up. In the minore Variation 13, Brendel brings the cantabile right hand to the fore, while keeping the arpeggiated left-hand accompaniment at an almost disembodied yet effective murmur. While Nos. 23 and 24 generate steady virtuosic momentum, Brendel undermines the build by pulling back in No. 25. However, the beautifully and clearly shaped Fugue compensates.
If this recording falls just short of Claudio Arrau’s grandeur or the last degree of lightness and tonal diversity distinguishing the Emanuel Ax, Murray Perahia, and Stephen Kovacevich versions, it nevertheless remains a valuable addition to Brendel’s discography. So is the Schumann.
