SCHUMANN: Piano Quintet in E-flat Major, Op. 44; DVORAK: Piano Quintet in A Major, Op. 81 – Artur Schnabel, piano/Pro Arte Quartet – Music & Arts

by | Mar 23, 2008 | Classical Reissue Reviews | 0 comments

SCHUMANN: Piano Quintet in E-flat Major, Op. 44; DVORAK: Piano Quintet in A Major, Op. 81 – Artur Schnabel, piano/Pro Arte Quartet

Music & Arts CD-1196,  62:56 (Distrib. Albany),****:

Artur Schnabel (1881-1951) inscribed the piano quintets of Schumann and Dvorak for HMV on 11 February 1934, the same year he came out of seclusion at the Berlin Hochschule and played the complete Beethoven sonata cycle in London. That Schnabel could be pedantic and stiff in some music seems irrelevant here with the Pro Arte Quartet, an ensemble which had established its powerful credentials in 1912 and would not disband until 1940, upon the death of violinist Alphonse Onnou at age 47. The digital remastering (in 2006) of the original shellacs brings out the marvelous sonorities of both pianist and his supporting strings, especially in the cello part of the noted Robert Maas; and in the Dvorak, Germain Prevost’s viola proves no less a resilient, expressive instrument.

The Schumann Quintet with Schnabel is an old friend; I owned the Angel COLH LP that combined it with Schnabel’s reading of Kinderszenen. The plaintive cello line of Robert Maas dominates the string ensemble as Schnabel intones the drooping secondary figure with stylistic aplomb. Then the music’s octaves leap up in their original position, the strings all churning in support. The dark drop in the development section to the minor mode Schnabel executes with figures that suggest the labyrinths from Kreisleriana. A sense of lyric tragedy pervades the whole first movement, certainly preparing us emotionally for the In modo d’una Marcia second movement, made immortal by its orchestral version for classic horror movies like Ulmer’s The Black Cat. Germain Prevost’s gritty viola matches the Maas cello for rich sonority as the funeral procession extends forward; then, the glowing middle section offers the same consolation we find in the midst of Chopin’s B-Flat Minor Sonata. Another Schnabel descent, and then the surge forward, the strings and piano in mixed, rapid counterpoint, a veritable Devil’s dance that transitions to that long-sought oasis of sound led by Onnou’s violin, a musical anodyne. The hasty Scherzo moves busily, with Schnabel’s practicing scales for dervishes. Two trios follow, the first a series of sequences with rippling arpeggios, the second a syncopated tussle in plastic colors.  A resounding opening chord urges us into the throes of the final Allegro, another martial impulse that will yield to Schumann’s penchant for polyphonic treatment. Even in the midst of the fanatical Davidsleaguers–and one awkward side splice prior to the fugato–Schumann can soften the blows with some charming step-wise figures from Schnabel’s diversely gracious palette.

The Dvorak Quintet under Schnabel sings from beginning to end. The colorist contrast between piano and cello, piano and viola remains in the foreground; and after an explosive, optimistic first movement, the tender Dumka proceeds from march to lyrical Slavonic Dance. Its mercurial temperament seems well fitted to Schnabel’s bravura capacity for constantly shifting accents, his often seamless legato mixed with the Pro Arte‘s often piercing intonation. The scintillating Furiant flies by until its diaphanous middle section, when Schnabel and the Pro Arte bask and luxuriate in Dvorak’s sunny arpeggios, seamlessly transitioning to the frisky da capo, all glitter and the singing cello of Robert Maas. The polka finale skitters and scampers buoyantly, only occasionally permitting a darkly militant thought. Onnou’s wiry violin carries the main themes, then picked up by the piano and the pizzicato strings. The fugato casts a sense of academic proportion on the proceedings, quickly dispelled by the piano’s running etudes; then, the old Dvorak magic, his folkish ability to project the story teller’s “and so my children” epilogue upon even the most “absolute” music.  For 1934, musical miracles of their kind that still sing at every measure.

— Gary Lemco
 

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