Brahms Late Piano Works

[Todd A]

The only pianist to make two appearances herein is Wilhelm Kempff. The mono recordings go first. Expectations of a fast opening Capriccio are nil, and except for the coda, one gets a slow, nearly ponderous take, though the playing in the middle sounds notably gentle. One expects relatively better Intermezzi, and that’s what’s delivered. Sure, some of the playing sounds stiff, but some of it sounds not only lovely but scampish, or even, well, capricious, yet contained. Kempff does bring more bite and drive to the second Capriccio, but it’s the following Intermezzi where the magic happens. His normal fine touch and unfailing ability to make music sound great, even when, as in the Andante con grazia ed intimissimo sentiment, which sounds a bit blocky and doesn’t flow, the playing should not succeed nearly as well as it does. The final Capriccio starts a bit clunky, but Kempff revs up as the piece progresses, so he’s playing it exactly how he wants. Given his pianism, one knows Op 117 will shine, and it does. Yes, it does. Gentle, beautiful, with all sorts of shades in the pp-p range, and little touches and accents sprinkled throughout, the trio zips by. The first Op 118 Intermezzo starts kind of slow and stodgy, but then the Intermezzi once again sound wonderful. The Ballade lacks oomph and punch when compared to other versions, but in Kempff’s hands, the slower, more restrained approach works in Kempffian fashion. The playing continues on more or less sounding lovely until the last Intermezzo, which, in addition to sounding lovely, has some strident sforzandi and a puckishness to it. The closing Rhapsodie sounds potent but kind of stodgy. Overall, this is an fine set, and one defined by playing in the Intermezzi.

 

[Todd A]

Kempff’s stereo version is pretty similar to the mono version, though here one hears more tension in the first Op 116 Capriccio as the first notable difference, and the second Capriccio sounds punchier and more vibrant. Sometimes, the little details, like the arpeggio in the coda of the second Intermezzo, make pieces stand out. The concluding Capriccio, while not fast or intense compared to prior versions, displays clean articulation and a purposeful forward drive that works well. Op 117 all sound attractive, but Kempff keeps them surprisingly taut. Indeed, he keeps the Intermezzi in Op 118 pretty taut too, delivers a potent if not thundering Ballade and generally keeps things moving forward at a terse clip. Right on through to the end, Kempff offers more of the same, keeping the Intermezzi lovely but tense, and he concludes with a Rhapsodie that sounds clear, a bit stodgy perhaps, but yet manages to sound just right. It had been a good long while since I listened to Kempff’s solo Brahms, and I rather expected to prefer the mono, but I prefer the stereo. Not top of the line Brahms, but more than rock solid.

 

[Todd A]

Paul Lewis is a heckuva serious pianist, so that made me think he may do good things in late Brahms. He goes for a big, broad opening Capriccio, even if, as recorded, he doesn’t generate the same massive scale of someone like Ohlsson. It sets the tone, though. The first Intermezzo, also slightly broad of conception, sounds lovely and of the autumnal style, but through careful dynamic control and purposely constrained but highly expressive rubato and judicious legato, he delivers introspective playing. The second Capriccio sounds so relatively constrained, yet big boned, that it nearly blends in as another Intermezzo. There is something of a lack of stylistic contrast as the pieces progress, but that doesn’t matter much when the E Minor Intermezzo sounds as Schumann Waldszenen-y as it does. He does mix things up with a very cleanly articulated concluding Capriccio. With approaches like Lewis’, Op 117 should sound swell, and that is the case. The playing is beautiful and mostly low key. The playing does verge on becoming monotonous as Op 118 unfolds, though in the Ballade, Lewis peppers things up with some speed and bite. The concluding Intermezzo of the set starts with some exquisitely beautiful, hazy legato playing and swells nicely, before fading into monotonously beautiful playing for the first two Intermezzi of Op 119. The C Major displays some more energy and bite, and minor hints of boogie, and the Rhapsodie wraps up things with nice levels of drive and vim. Overall, there is much lovely piano playing here, but it’s not a top choice for me. I ended up buying a high res download of this recording since it was the same price as standard res. Sound is good, but not SOTA and not the best in the survey.

 

[Todd A]

I don’t really recall reading much about Gieseking’s Brahms. Ever. Anywhere. This is my first experience with these 1951 recordings. As with the Debussy recordings, there is overload and distortion in the loudest playing, but the ear adjusts. Gieseking blasts out the first Op 116 Capriccio in rough and careless fashion, rushing and making it sound like rough takes of the sonatas. Truth to tell, it has appeal. The closer perspective of the first Intermezzo finds Gieseking playing slower but still faster than many, and his style is cooler, pretty much as carefree, but it’s on the tense, forceful side even accounting for the appealing tone. The second Capriccio sounds quick and clean and zippy, but then in the second Intermezzo, Gieseking falls into a fairly standard, quite lovely approach, though it does seem surface only much of the time. The concluding Capriccio has some of the zippiest playing of any version out there, and Gieseking delivers for this style. A little bit of magic infuses the Op 117 trio, where Gieseking slows way down, delivers fine dynamic shading down low, and generates touching autumnal Brahms. This does not really surprise. Op 118 starts and ends with grand, sweeping Intermezzi, with lovely playing sandwiched between. Op 119 starts with playing hardly less lovely than any to this point, and he manages to ratchet up and down the intensity in the opener just so. A couple lovely Intermezzi follow, and then Gieseking ends with a turbo-charged Rhapsodie, marching forward with recklessness and abandon. Overall, it’s a better set than anticipated going in.

 

[Todd A]

Now for the late, lamented Nicholas Angelich. Angelich launches with an Op 116 Capriccio that yields to no one in scale and power, and few in speed, and then only because he slows down for parts. The opening pages bristle with oomph. The first Intermezzo goes all the way in the opposite direction. Very slow, very deliberate, very clear, quite ruminative, lovely, with perfect tempo relationships (to my taste), it just hits the spot. Speed and power announce the arrival of the second Capriccio, but swooning, slow-ish playing follows. Then come three long, slow, lovely Intermezzi that almost take on a level of transcendence I associate with late LvB. A striking, vibrant, hard-hitting Intermezzo closes out a strong opening set of pieces. Op 117 sounds broad, usually quite restrained and quiet, but when he needs to add weight, scale, and volume, as in the second piece, Angelich does so wonderfully, smoothly, and expertly. The opening Intermezzo goes for the sweeping, powerful approach, moves on to a lovely second Intermezzo, and then goes to a Ballade that sounds dark-ish and rich and powerful, without the slightest hint of edge, and a blunt coda. The following Intermezzo and even more the Romanze both sound ravishing, but it is the concluding Intermezzo that bewitches. Slow, incredibly beautiful and nuanced, possessed of uber-high end touch, the piece deliberately unfolds to a towering climax unsurpassed by any pianist. The playing does take on a hard sound, but not an unappealing one. Op 119 takes the gentle, nuanced playing perhaps even farther, and Angelich adds some playfulness to the final Intermezzo. He then hammers out the Rhapsodie in theatrical, dramatic, potent fashion. Angelich has been one of my very favorites Brahmsians since I first heard his Brahms. He remains so.

 

[Todd A]

One-and-a-half versions from Jorge Federico Osorio. First up are the Artek recordings from the 90s, comprised of Opp 116 and 119. Osorio falls into the more forceful category, starting Op 116 with a pointed, quick, fiery Capriccio, and he keeps the first Intermezzo tetchy, sort of like Kovacevich but with an even more direct approach and a really purposeful but not overdone intensity. The second Capriccio is intense but not excessively so, while the Intermezzi that follow sound slightly more lovely than the first. The concluding Capriccio, while dynamically restrained due to the recordings, is a model in clarity, speed, and rhythmic solidity. Osorio adopts a quick, pointed style for Op 119, resulting in a quite different take than most pianists. He coaxes some loveliness out, but this is more about clean, rhythmically vibrant playing, never more so than in the brisk, brisk, brisk, very march-infused closing Rhapsodie. It’s nice, and well done for its style. Pity the recorded sound is opaque and dull.

The Cedille recordings offer vastly superior recorded sound, so one can hear that Osorio didn’t really change his overall style much. He’s a few seconds slower per piece, and perhaps slightly more prone to holdings a note or phrase a fraction of a second longer. His touch sounds more nuanced. His diminuendos, typically quick, sound more inviting. These latter two observations almost certainly stem from improved sonics. Op 117 sounds much more relaxed overall, with hints of darkness or tragedy tossed in here or there, particularly in the last. It’s always nice to hear this after playing in Op 116, indicating that the artist is interpreting the works personally. Op 118 starts with a rhythmically clean and forward moving Intermezzo where formal rigor stands in for passion, which is just fine. Generally, Osorio doesn’t use the sustain a lot, so the playing never acquires a hazy or dreamy sound, though that does not preclude beautiful playing which not only pervades the remaining Op 118 pieces, but Op 119 as well, where Osorio does see fit to pedal a bit more. Op 119 offers a stark contrast in overall style to his earlier set, and one far more in line with other versions, especially in the opening piece. He does deliver the Rhapsodie with pep, but not the same amount of heat as in the earlier recording, and when listening to the nearly playful slower section, that is brought home more clearly. Overall, the Cedille set is better and serves as the basis for me for assessing his Brahmsian bona fides.

 

[Todd A]

Timothy Ehlen in a live recording of the late works. He takes the opening Capriccio at a only moderately brisk pace, but his accenting and rhythmic drive make it sound faster than the timing suggests. He backs off in the still pretty tense first Intermezzo. The second Capriccio displays a tension, drive, and agitation that really works well without approaching extremes of some other takes. The following Intermezzi then sound quite lovely, broad, serious, and tense. The concluding Capriccio sounds disjointed and rough and detracts from the overall impact of the set. Fortunately, Op 117 improves, and Ehlen plays all three quite attractively, and he maintains an energy level, perhaps influenced by the live setting, that keeps things humming. Op 118 starts with a grand Intermezzo, though it lacks ultimate precision. The rest of the set more or less repeats what came before, with some often lovely sounding playing, but also some that sounds a bit clunky and thick. Op 119 starts with a gorgeous Intermezzo, with the following two a bit less so. The set ends with a Rhapsodie that sounds a bit exaggerated and unstable in places, though it manages to engage completely. Not a great set, but one that entertains more than it should given some of the nits picked.

 

[Todd A]

Time for some French Brahms from Geoffroy Couteau. He starts with a swift, light, dynamically limited Capriccio with some out of the ordinary legato. It’s nice, it’s vibrant, it’s elegant, it’s refined. Couteau retains the elegance and refinement in the first Intermezzo – and adds even more. In some ways it hints at Volodos’ Brahms, but doesn’t get all the way there. The second Capriccio mimics the first, and the sense of urgency clearly demonstrated by the tempo is let down by the somewhat limited dynamic contrast. Then it’s back to nothing but beauty in the following Intermezzi, with nuance heaped upon subtlety. The concluding Capriccio smacks of Schumann nicely, and gets a bit louder, but no rougher. Couteau delivers the Op 117 as three lovely lullabies with a few passages of speed. It’s an aural bath of beauty. More unabashed beauty follows in the opening Intermezzi of Op 118, and then the Ballade arrives, and it boasts some swift, wonderfully articulated playing, and it retains unabashed beauty. The Romanze sounds lovely as all get out, but the opening to the final Intermezzo, hushed and gentle, with the keys nudged rather than struck, sounds ridiculously beautiful. Couteau builds up tension and volume and belts out sforzandi so beautiful that one sits amazed. (It makes me wonder if he goes for soft hammers in the manner of Bohzhanov.) He goes further with the Op 119, starting with gentle musical whispers. The second sounds rather similar, and then the third Intermezzo sounds spunky and light. Couteau ends things with a bit of perfectly smooth sounding but nicely beefy playing in the rhythmically vital Rhapsodie. There is something of a saccharine sameness to Couteau’s playing, but he does it so well, that one doesn’t mind in the least.

 

[Todd A]

When I got into classical music, Julius Katchen’s solo Brahms was the go-to recommendation from Gramophone and the other one or two magazines I read on occasion. It took me a while to get around to hearing the complete set, itself a mere subset in the complete Katchen box. When I first heard all the solo music, I was not as wowed as I figured I would be, but that’s OK. Now, in the midst of comparative listening, I can revisit Mr Katchen’s artistry in a broader context. Katchen starts off with a quick but not too quick first Capriccio, with nice dynamic contrasts and some gruffness. But it doesn’t have Kovacevich’s intensity or Angelich’s heft. He then backs way off in the first Intermezzo, which is slow, beautiful and ruminative. And that sets the stage for the next potent Capriccio followed by lovely and quite solemn Intermezzi. The concluding Capriccio sounds comparatively restrained to start and never really builds up to a massive climax. Op 117 is slow and so solemn that it makes the tonally appealing playing seem almost funereal. Op 118 starts off with a grand, and sweeping Intermezzo before falling back into and autumnal, attractive follow-on Intermezzo. The Ballade has ample speed and drive, and the subsequent Intermezzo lives up to the agitato description, without sounding hard or overdone. The Romanze sounds slow and light, smaller in scale than anticipated, and the concluding Intermezzo appeals probably most of all. Op 119 marks a return to overarching solemnity in the opening piece, picks up a bit in the second, gets spunky in the third piece, and then things wrap up with an energetic Rhapsodie. In a good number of ways, Katchen is similar to fellow American Kovacevich, but he never pushes the extremes of intensity or beauty as far. He’s just not as much. This set is better than memory suggested, but it’s not a personal favorite.

 

[Todd A]

Barry Douglas’ complete Brahms makes for the most inconvenient listening for the late works, with individual pieces from the last four opuses sprinkled across six discs. That requires GUI use between individual tracks. Oh, the humanity! (It so traumatized me, that this is the last recording encompassing all pieces in Opp 116-119.) His take on Op 116, as recorded, offers one of the darkest hued, largest scaled, broadest takes on the opening Capriccio, sounding like the sonatas. That’s not unwelcome. The first Intermezzo is slow and heavy, and reasonably attractive, while the second Capriccio goes for a big autumnal sound. The second Intermezzo starts off thick, heavy, and laborious, but slowly morphs into gorgeous, gentle playing in the last third or so. A couple slow, lovely Intermezzi follow, and then in the intro to the Capriccio, Douglas reveals his virtuosic bona fides, showing he’s up there with all but the most elite of the elite. He still plays it fairly broad overall, with the tempo contrasts really working nicely. All three Op 117 pieces sound slow, lovely, and the third starts off with heavy left hand playing that almost sounds organ like. Douglas entirely unsurprisingly plays the opening Intermezzo of Op 118 in grand, sweeping fashion, and one wishes it were longer as a result. An attractive Intermezzo followed by a large-scaled, sweeping Ballade then gives way to Intermezzi and a Romanze that all sound quite lovely, and the final Intermezzo starts off deliberately, with very clear playing, especially left hand playing, and ends in grand fashion. In Op 119, three beautiful, slightly broad Intermezzi lead to a concluding Rhapsodie with speed and power in the outer sections, and impish playing in the central section. Overall, Douglas plays the works well enough. He sort of seems similar to Angelich, but he does not eke out the same level of musical goodness.

 

[Todd A]

Like Ohlsson, Radu Lupu did not record all twenty late pieces, but he recorded lucky number thirteen, so I’m gonna include him. Lupu is a well-known Brahms commodity for me and has been for decades, so when revisiting these dark hued Decca recordings, one is greeted with an Op 117 trio of almost inhuman beauty and delicacy, with few rivals. It bathes the listener in beauty, and delivers playing of late LvB level transcendence. Sometimes, lesser pianists play slow to mimic profundity. With Lupu, slow is profound, the whole thing is profound. Op 118 starts with grandly scaled opening Intermezzo, but even here Lupu tosses in nuance, displays exactly how to play diminuendo, and how best to taper. Then things get better in a gorgeous second Intermezzo, a robust but not overdone Ballade, and an alternately lovely and vigorous second Intermezzo. The Romanze has all the delicacy, clarity, dynamic nuance, and tonal luxuriance one could want. The concluding Intermezzo has both some of the most whisper quiet pianissimo playing one could want and some of the most fearsomely powerful yet not even remotely hard fortissimo playing. Good stuff. The first two Op 119 pieces sound lovely and transcendent and take on an almost Schubertian lyricism, while the third one sounds comparatively light, plucky, and joyfully dispatched. Lupu closes out with a quick but not rushed, and powerful but not overbearing Rhapsodie. Lupu’s Brahms is reference grade stuff. When one throws in the masterful Op 79 Rhapsodies included on this recording, this represents one of the single greatest extant Brahms recordings.

 

[Todd A]

This Brahms disc by Kun Woo Paik contains only half the late works, and a couple earlier works, but I so enjoy it that I decided to include it. One needn’t wait for more than the first few opening notes of a slow first Op 117 Capriccio, which sounds faster than its timing. Also, Paik’s tone, slightly bright overall, simply seduces the listener. 119/1 does a similar thing, though in the middle section Paik tosses in some angst. 116/4 pulls off the same feat, and it also feels slightly tense right up to the coda. 116/2 is so bright, colorful, and gently tense, that it keeps one on the edge of one’s seat. (And though this survey is limited to the last four opus numbers, the delivery of 76/1 that follows, all slow and contained and dramatic and extended, makes it sound like a proper Intermezzo rather than a Capriccio.) 118/2 has a drama to it, which when combined with the careful voicing and precise playing and absurdly clear recording, allows one to revel in every note. And that concluding arpeggio, oh my. 116/5 is a lovely little piece, again displaying more tension than normal, which segues to 117/3, which opens with dark, organ like playing before moving to an almost despondent musicscape. 118/5 starts similarly, then in the middle section it morphs into a Brahms/Mendelssohn/Schubert free association, just sort of floating along with a barcarolle feel. 118/6 comes off as a delightful musical fantasy, underpinned by beefy bass where needed. Nice. The too short disc closes with a 117/2 of dreamy beauty. Generally, I prefer to hear works presented in opus number order, but in the case of Paik, I just sort of sit back and enjoy the ride, confident that it all flows along with purpose. I’d love to hear Paik’s take on all the late Brahms works, and hundreds of other compositions besides, but this will be it. As it is, he rates among my very favorite Brahmians on the basis of his two Brahms releases.

 

[Todd A]

I make no bones about it, in Brahms, Arcadi Volodos sits at the end of the rainbow, of pot of musical Rhodium, awaiting the listener to seduce, bewitch, consume time. To be sure, Volodos often seems to be more focused on just what he can do with the piano than the music itself. He seems set on demonstrating that in the space of one arpeggio that he can deliver a subtly different dynamic level for each note, accent the first or last note or any in between without a hint of hardness, playing with such delicate touch, at any volume level, that one sort of gets lost in the playing as playing. Well, when it’s done this well, it doesn't matter. Playing as playing and music meld into one hypnotic whole. After opening with four Op 76 pieces so replete with touches of brilliance, he turns to nine of the late pieces, starting with Op 117. The first Intermezzo is a transcendental lullaby. So gentle it lulls the listener into a stupor, one still notices the myriad touches. The left hand playing, so nuanced, emerges with fine details as when he will emphasize one bass note and then gently and barely perceptibly reduce the dynamic level with each subsequent bass note. On the return of the opening theme, he accelerates the tempo ever so slightly, yet it sounds more beautiful, if anything. The second piece is scarcely less beautiful, even though it is louder in passages. More little touches abound, as when he tapers off left hand playing and the melody emerges in a perfect countervailing ascent, or when he lets the coda fade off to oblivion. In the third piece, his playing moves deftly and effortlessly from hushed pianissimo to concerto like forte with nary a hint of hardness and a flawlessly smooth increase. He again slows down even more for the extended coda.

The immediate storm of the opening of the first Intermezzo of Op 118 hints at a grand take, but Volodos undulates the dynamics in such a way as to render the whole thing a stream of consciousness without peer. The second Intermezzo sounds so tonally lustrous and gorgeous, so elevated and transcendent, that it runs the risk of morphing into an aural beauty blob only, except that the music remains omnipresent. It makes one wish Volodos would set down late Beethoven or late Faure. The Ballade requires more oomph and drive, and that arrives right when needed, but then the middle section reverts to stupid beautiful playing. The F Minor Intermezzo is like no other, quietly but insistently bubbling along, with what sounds like artsy use of the una corda in passages, making that middle section outburst all the more dramatic. As if the listener has not been barraged by (nearly) excess beauty up to this point, along comes the Romanze, where Volodos creates an almost fairy tale like atmosphere, with magical trills, effortless gentle keyboards leaps, somber and rich left hand playing, and just overall rightness that cannot be denied. Everyone else to this point sounds rather rough in comparison. The concluding Intermezzo offers more of the same, along with the same insanely quiet pianissimo playing that appears in his later Schubert disc. It’s just ridiculous. A quick fade, a brief pause, and then a perfectly paced build up to the powerful climax renders this a perfect blend of gorgeous quietude and measured musical thunder. Then begins the long, wonderful fade out to the gentle and gorgeous coda. This here’s how to do 118.

The pity of course is that Volodos did not record all the late pieces, and more, and it’s sort of unfair to rate him so highly given how little he recorded of the late works, but it’s so good, so all-consuming that it doesn’t matter. Volodos rules in Brahms. This disc is an hour killer, because whenever I spin it (or rather the FLACs), I must and do listen to the whole thing. It’s the king of the hill.

While I’ve sated my desire to listen to the last Brahms piano works for a while, I always ponder who else I would like to hear in the music. Here, the list is quite long. Alessio Bax simply must record more Brahms. Ragna Schirmer must as well. And Alexander Lonquich, David Fray, and Andrea Lucchesini. Hell, Piemontesi, Gerl, Kenner, the Lim brothers, Houstoun, Melikyan, Sohn, and yes, YES, all should record some or all of it. Maybe.

 

[Todd A]

As per usual, after scientifically rigorous listening, I can present the definitive list of late Brahms recordings:

Top Tier
Volodos
Paik
Angelich
Lupu
Backhaus
Klien
Kovacevich
Gourari


Second Tier
Ohlsson
Couteau
Hough
Gieseking
Grimaud
Kempff II
Katchen
Korevaar


Third Tier
Osorio
Douglas
Vitaud
Kempff I
Paul Lewis
Cartier-Bresson
Ehlen
Bonatta


Fourth Tier
Oppitz