BRAHMS: Variations on an Original Theme, Op. 21, No. 1; Scherzo in E-flat, Op. 4; 3 Waltzes, Op. 39; 2 Intermezzi, Op. 117; 6 Klavierstuecke, Op. 118; 3 Intermezzi, Op. 119; 3 Pieces, Op. 116; 3 Pieces, Op. 76 – Wilhelm Backhaus, piano – Naxos Historical

by | Jun 24, 2006 | Classical Reissue Reviews | 0 comments

BRAHMS: Variations on an Original Theme, Op. 21, No. 1; Scherzo in E-flat, Op. 4; 3 Waltzes, Op. 39; 2 Intermezzi, Op. 117; 6 Klavierstuecke, Op. 118; 3 Intermezzi, Op. 119; 3 Pieces, Op. 116; 3 Pieces, Op. 76 – Wilhelm Backhaus, piano

Naxos Historical 8.111041  72:24 ****:

The music of Brahms appealed to both the poetic and stentorian aspects of Wilhelm Backhaus’ impressive technique, and he began recording the composer’s miscellany in 1932 and periodically through 1936. Backhaus (1884-1969), although always masterful technically, can be as stolid as he is sensitive, taking some pieces, like the B Minor Capriccio, Op. 76, No. 2 and the C Major Capriccio, OP. 76, No. 8 much too quickly for them to retain anything except the qualities of a demonic etude. When Backhaus allows himself to relax, the effect can be musically gratifying and enlightening, as the Op. 21 Variations and the little set of Waltzes from 1933. Where strength and suppleness apply, the D Minor Capriccio, Op. 116, No. 1 (1936) seems made to order for his personal fury. The Intermezzo in A Major, Op. 116, No. 2 (1936) is the late Brahms we relish, sober, anguished, free but lonely. His playing of the E Major, Op. 116, No. 4 (1936) is rarified enough to be mistaken for Gieseking or Erdmann. Like Schnabel, Backhaus did not record the entire Op. 117 (Gieseking did for Columbia, ML 4540). The two intermezzi we have from 1936 are wistful and dreamy, albeit virile; the latter in B-flat Minor is the very embodiment of the rainy day pathos of which Brahms is the spokesperson.

The Bechstein piano utilized seems to have a fairly light, fluid action, and Backhaus maintains a resonant, singing tone throughout these readings. Where there were problems, Backhaus turned to the Steinway–for Op. 39, two intermezzo from Op. 119, and the Op. 76, No. 2 Capriccio. The set of piano pieces Op. 118 Backhaus set down in early December 1932. The A Minor opens explosively, a paroxysm of pain. Its companion in A Major seems in a hurry to dispel the anguish, but some poignant jabs remain. One critic described the Backhaus style as a combination of the velvet glove and the mailed fist. He also urges Brahms along in way that is modern and not romantically inclined. The G Minor Ballade roars in granite, one of those lions guarding the New York Public Library.  Its middle section finds some calm, even a sense of repose. The F Minor is skittish filigree, bits of Debussy and Schumann, maybe a mite too fast. 

The F Major Romance removes the fever and settles for music-box nostalgia. The epic E-flat Minor reveals the mercurial palette, including some dry staccato, over which Backhaus could lord; the monochrome yields to the colorist, even if I do wish he’d slow down a tad. The Op. 119 group (1936) emerges sensitively, graduated between mezzo-forte and piano and pianissimo. The E Minor is nervously whimsical, a dark tension of emotional ferment just under the plastic surface. The C Major is extroverted, aggressive, even vehement. Transfers by Mark Obert-Thorn are thoroughly in keeping with the immaculate standards he sets for himself, great restorations of a Brahms master.  I wonder if Mr. Obert-Thorn and Naxos plan to reissue the famed Grieg Concerto recording (with Barbirolli and the New Symphony Orchestra) from the same period?

— Gary Lemco

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