Géza Anda (1921-1976) has received considerable posthumous attention on disc. The bulk of his 1950s EMI catalog is available on Testament, while DG reissued his complete Mozart and Bartók concerto cycles several times over, along with Beethoven’s Triple Concerto. “Troubadour of the Piano” (a sobriquet coined by Wilhelm Furtwängler) fleshes out the remainder of Anda’s DG output, including rare wartime shellacs. Anda mavens might notice a few missing items, such as the Grieg Concerto with Rafael Kubelik (originally coupled with the Schumann Concerto in this set), and Anda’s 1967 Brahms Second Concerto with the Berlin Philharmonic under Herbert von Karajan. But we do get his earlier and more interesting Berlin traversal with Fricsay at the helm, plus a newly minted transfer of their gaunt and scintillating Bartok Rhapsody.
Discographic carping aside, Anda applied extraordinary craftsmanship at the keyboard and was a stimulating though at times controversial interpreter. Generally speaking, he favored point over mass, blueprint clarity over warm sensuality, and intricate details ahead of the big picture. The pianist lavishes Schumann’s concerto with fanciful textures, unexpected accents, and exploratory rubatos, and though the finale’s basic tempo is too sedate to take wing, at least it doesn’t drag. In both the 1943 and 1963 Symphonic Etudes recordings Anda’s technical finesse and X-ray projection make this gnarly opus sound like child’s play. Strange, though, how he abruptly and crudely accelerates in the concluding measures. The Davidsbündlertanze proves equally distinctive, and Kreisleriana boasts refreshing lightness and stinging clarity, despite the absurdly fast tempo for the final movement’s main section.
You won’t find warmth or soaring lyricism in Anda’s C major Fantasy, but you will find a symphonic outlook and tightly knit intensity similar to Pollini’s DG recording. Anda’s Chopin Preludes penetrate through decades of accumulated interpretive sentiment and reveal the music’s deep-rooted classical logic via brisk tempos, polyphonic astuteness, and fastidious ornaments played on rather than before the beat (few pianists do this).
By contrast, the collection’s third disc glaringly uncovers Anda’s willful tendencies. Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations receives a highly personalized reading characterized by extreme tempo modifications and, sad to say, a cavalier attitude toward repeats. The Schubert B-flat sonata’s opening movement begins at the composer’s Molto Moderato, followed by a jarring breath pause that compromises the first climax’s impact, and then a considerably faster tempo announcing the F-sharp minor theme. And so on. The slow movement is choppy and discontinuous, while Anda slows the Scherzo’s Trio down to a perverse crawl (the better to magnify the syncopations?). Rather than hold the Finale’s dagger-like unison G-naturals for their notated value, Anda clips them short, holding the left hand a split second longer than the right. He obviously intends to replicate Schubert’s forte-piano dynamic indication as accurately as one can on modern piano, and the effect takes some getting used to. At any rate, Anda’s basic tempo is so fast that even his super fingers lose steam by the time he arrives at the difficult dotted chords–a bizarre interpretation, to say the least. The Liszt and Franck items from 78s also show the young Anda as a dazzling virtuoso and somewhat studied artist. All told, a provocative reissue.
