Program: MOZART: Fantasy in D Minor, K. 397; Variations on a Theme by Gluck, K. 455; BARTOK: Rumanian Folk Dances; SCHUBERT: Impromptu in E-flat Major, D. 899, No. 2; BACH: Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D Minor, BWV 903; MOZART: Sonata in A Major, K. 331; BARTOK: Ballade Andante from 15 Peasant Songs; Bonus: Lile Kraus discusses and performs Schubert’s “Grazer” Fantasy, D. 605a
Studio: VAI DVD 4359
Video: 4:3 Black & White, Color
Audio : PCM Mono
Length: 84 minutes
Rating: *****
Lili Kraus (1903-1986) was a fine Hungarian virtuoso whose pedagogy included studies with Bartok, Kodaly, Steuermann, and Schnabel. Acclaimed as a specialist in Beethoven and Mozart, she worked extensively with violinist Szymon Goldberg. This VAI DVD captures her sparkling playing in two recitals from Radio Canada, the first from 25 January 1960, the latter from 31 January 1961. Shot in a modest style in black & white, the 1960 recital opens with Mozart’s dark, lyrical Fantasy in D Minor then proceeds to the Gluck Variations made famous by Tchaikovsky’s orchestration. Kraus plays with her eyes closed much of the time, so the camera movements distract her not at all. Elegance of style and execution mark the Kraus approach, easily comparable to that of her compatriots, Clara Haskil and Annie Fischer. Occasionally, the camera pulls back to frame her in the triangle of the open piano lid. Her crossed hands runs prove mighty and fleet at once.
The opening, pesant chords for the Bartok Rumanian Dances set an earthy, brittle sonority for the set, which alternately lilts and shuffles in folkish colors. Kraus’s upper register trills and roulades might well be flights of Transylvania fowl. Strong, willful rhythms artfully conclude these brief excursions into ethnic sensibilities. Schubert’s E-flat Impromptu has a bold, percussive sonority, close to resilient fioritura Dinu Lipatti realized in this piece. The suave landings and effortless spans remind me more than once of the late Gina Bachauer’s equally Herculean technique. Kraus plays Schubert’s ever-lovely G-flat Major Impromptu as the program signs off.
The 1961 program begins with a softly pedaled Bach Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue, played almost in the manner of a Chopin study. The phrase lengths are long and elastic, an instrumental aria that has no issues with breath-control. One huge wave of sound follows hard upon another, only the dynamics shifting as arpeggios sweep us along. The recitativo sections are incredibly soft on the Steinway, zither-like, and even the sudden sforzati implode rather than burst outward. The Fugue rings passionate, direct, clear in its multi-layered intricacy of dancing figures, the two disembodied hands in exalted harmony. The Mozart Sonata opens with music-box delicacy, the variations in limpid, liquid order. Tempos are fast, the melodic line held high and taut. The middle movement may play out as too dry and detached for some tastes; the speed and spare pedal make for a brittle unfolding, glib but digitally flawless. The Kraus right hand is in full regalia for the Turkish Rondo, dainty and fiery at once. The left hand drones out a hurdy-gurdy ostinato of unvarying pulse. Together, they combine for a singing, nuanced series of color, delightfully charming. Bartok concludes the recital, a declamatory and hauntingly lyric Andante possessing an eerie, modal beauty.
The Camera Three 1969 Schubert Grazer Fantasy is shot in color. Michael Steinberg traces the discovery of the lost fantasy and discusses its merits with Kraus. Composed in 1817, no record exists of its ever having been performed in public. Kraus calls it “a beautiful piece, eminently Schubertian.” Kraus sets words to the phrase, intoning “Still is the night.” The element of the song is forever prevalent. Kraus offers a moment from the Wanderer Fantasy as well. She demonstrates the C Major polacca that suddenly appears in the discovered fantasy. Kraus calls Schubert “the least vain of artists.” The E-flat interlude sounds like Liszt or The Lindenbaum. Kraus calls Schubert “Chopinesque.” The piece opens pianissimo and legato, a microcosm of the harmonic invention to follow. The polacca could be construed for a krakowiak in a heartbeat; Kraus offers the fact that while in Vienna Chopin studied Schubert’s works, although he never credited any influence to Schubert. The camera work seems emboldened by the expanding virtuosity and harmonic contours of the piece, and so the whole effect proves an invaluable addition to the library of the video and sound collector.
— Gary Lemco
