Murray Perahia’s Amsterdam Concertgebouw recordings (with Bernard Haitink) of the Beethoven piano concertos were widely praised in some quarters; the first four were superb even if the Emperor disappointed slightly. When first issued, the third and fourth concertos were coupled together; that disc (SK39814) received at least one international award. This mid-priced reissue alters things, replacing Perahia’s account of No. 3 in C minor with No. 5, the weak link in an otherwise excellent survey. Presumably, this has been done with the debatable assumption that most collectors liable to buy this disc will be swayed more by No. 5 than No. 3.
Perahia’s accounts of nos. 4 & 5 date from April, 1986; they’re polished and neatly proportioned, with a thoughtfully argued G major (the best aspect of this reissue) and an Emperor that’s often several degrees less grandiloquent than most. Perahia’s Fourth is recommendable on several levels that justify the performance rating given to this disc. First, in this most introspective and reflective of Beethoven’s concertos, the solo playing is notably sensitive. Perahia achieves a beautifully sustained aura in the opening bars for piano alone, before Haitink matches the dynamic level with the orchestra’s rejoinder, characterizing a high degree of empathy between soloist and conductor that persists throughout. Their closely matched dialogue is best gauged in the Andante’s exchanges, with Perahia’s quiet detachment counterpoised by the mighty ferocity of Haitink’s unison interjections, until an uneasy reconciliation is reached by the close of the movement. The finale is splendidly managed, too, and both cadenzas (Perahia uses Beethoven’s expanded one for the first movement) are excellently played.
What’s sometimes lacking in the Emperor, however, is the kind of chance-taking bravura that keeps you at the edge of your seat in other performances. Perahia plays superbly, of course, but in a kind of safe, secure, rather conservative, and noticeably uncomplicated way (even the brilliant opening salvos could have more nobility) that’s pianistically admirable but less gripping as far as the listener is concerned. For greater drama and an expanded sense of scale, try the 1976 DG version from Maurizio Pollini, with the Vienna Philharmonic under Karl Böhm, or the Andras Schiff/Haitink account of No. 5 with Haitink and the Dresden Staatskapelle (Teldec)–not that there’s any shortage where this popular pairing is concerned.
