Wilhelm Backhaus recorded Beethoven's complete piano sonatas in mono for Decca in the early 1950s, and with the advent of stereo he began the process anew in 1958. Although he managed to finish 31 out of the 32, the pianist died before he got around to remaking the Hammerklavier (Op. 106). Consequently, the mono Hammerklavier fills out Backhaus' stereo cycle that Decca now reissues in its Original Masters series.Although numerous piano mavens hold Backhaus' Beethoven in high, nearly iconic esteem, I've always had mixed reactions to these recordings. In general, the pianist's cavalier attitude toward Beethoven's dynamics, articulation, and phrasing obscures the composer's clearly specified linear trajectory and implicit drama. Slow movements tend to be perfunctorily brisk and overly loud (the pianist rarely achieves a true pianissimo), and many repeats are omitted. I also suspect that the stylistic anachronisms characterizing Backhaus' pianism (de-synchronized hands, added bass octaves, arpeggiated chords) arise more out of habit than intent.
Furthermore, most comparisons between the present set and Backhaus' mono versions (last available as Japanese imports) reveal the pianist's fingers to be past their once unassailable prime. Op. 10 No. 2's finale, Op. 10 No. 3's charging octaves, Op. 27 No. 2's scampering passages, and the last three sonatas illustrate my point. The Op. 81a "Les Adieux" sonata is as heavy handed and pounded out as the pianist's earlier HMV shellac edition was musically forthright and technically shipshape. The sharp accentuation and dry wit that dissimilar pianists like Goode and Kempff bring out in Op. 31 No. 1's first movement fall by the wayside in Backhaus' overly robust interpretation.
However, despite my cavils, you cannot deny Backhaus' sincerity, his ripe, well-modulated sonority, and the communicative immediacy he often achieves. In this sense, the three so-called "name" sonatas (Pathétique, Moonlight, and Appassionata) succeed with little qualification, and so does the Waldstein (with first-movement repeat intact!). And it was a joy to reconnect with Backhaus' deeply felt and well played renditions of Op. 90 and Op. 101.
Rehearing the 1952 Hammerklavier led me to rethink and respect (if not love) Backhaus' tough-skinned, grantic sobriety, which reminds me of Rudolf Serkin, albeit without the latter's raw-nerve intensity and linear cogency. Jeremy Siepmann's well-thought-out annotations fairly address the pros and cons of Backhaus' Beethovenian aesthetic. When all is said and done, it's important that the work of this highly regarded keyboard master is accessible to students, music lovers, and scholars alike--and the pianist's admirers also will welcome this reissue with open arms.
