Anton Kuerti's 1974-75 Beethoven cycle originally was released on the Canadian Aquitaine label, and later in the United States on CBS Odyssey (now Sony). My reactions to the performances a quarter century ago were decidedly mixed, and remain so. Kuerti's relentless rigor, general lack of forward sweep, and penchant for torturously slow tempos often drain these scores of their vitality, tension, dynamism, spirituality, and humor. Digital remastering, to be certain, improves the dry sonics I remember from the LPs. It adds weight, presence, and physicality to Kuerti's tone, and the absence of vinyl pops and ticks allows a modicum of audibility to the pianist's ghosted pianissimos. Still, for all the clarification Kuerti seeks by way of his microscopic obsession with detail and precision, he winds up standing in Beethoven's way most of the time.

For instance, arpeggiated accompanimental patterns are controlled to the point where they seem to run in place rather than support the harmonic motion or melodic discourse (as in the finales of the first and last sonatas, the "Appassionata", the Op. 81a "Les Adieux", and the most arid, bloodless "Moonlight" sonata I've heard on disc). Even simple, undemanding works such as the two Op. 49 pieces and the Op. 79 sonata emerge as little more than antiseptic exercises in dynamic gradation and unexpected accents (the Op. 49 No. 2 Finale's spiky, sour-lemon staccatos hold little allure).

Yet several performances demonstrate that Kuerti can see the forest behind his meticulously kept-up tree. His "Waldstein" boasts admirable drive and cumulative power, with an expansive, beautifully timed second-movement introduction to match. Likewise, the pearly runs of Op. 31 No. 1's central movement are both limpid and humorous. The Diabelli Variations alternate between movements that are rounded-off to a fault (Variations 3, 14, 15, 18, and 26) or monochrome (the penultimate fugue) and those where Kuerti truly taps into the composer's unfettered inspiration. His vigorous broken octaves in No. 16 pay heed to their underlying tune, and No. 23's notorious "BANG-scamper-scamper-scamper" patterns are effortlessly and clearly tossed off.

There's no doubt that Kuerti is a serious, thinking artist. But those seeking Beethoven's sonatas from a gaunt, intellectualized perspective will prefer the kinetic power and no-nonsense directness of Frederic Gulda's cycle on Amadeo. Kuerti provides extensive, thought-provoking annotations that go on too long for what they have to say, but at least avoid Russell Sherman's fulsome, overly allusive literary pretensions. The 10 discs are housed in a less than durable, space-saving box.

--Jed Distler