Mitsuko Uchida’s pianism has never really worked for me. There is absolutely no questioning her pianistic ability. She belongs to the elite of the elite in terms of pretty much every aspect of playing. On record she delivers what she wants to deliver, or at least that has been the case in what I have heard. It’s just that what she delivers doesn’t click. Which seems strange. I generally prefer strongly individual pianists, ones who highlight specific aspects of well-known scores and who inject personal touches aplenty. Uchida does that. But for me, she often just sounds fussy. Even that is not a problem, really. András Schiff’s earlier recordings often sound fussy, but I adore his fussiness. All that’s OK. I don’t have to like everything. To be sure, her late Beethoven sonatas are pretty good, and her concerto cycle with Simon Rattle surprised me a bit with its overall musical quality. But nothing prepared me for
this.
One hears what’s special about this recording in the opening bars of the theme. Uchida’s control of dynamics approaches Volodosian quality, and it remains throughout the work. Her ability to perfectly move from piano to forte in a smooth, perfectly controlled fashion, almost as though a perfect volume control is being used, amazes. And it ain’t no studio trick. She does it all the time throughout the recording. That’s just one trick. Another is her
perfect delivery of sforzandi. She’ll cruise along playing in lovely, rounded fashion, then
blam!, her playing hits the listener right between the eyes. Each time, every time, start to finish in the work. Damn, damn, damn.
Uchida’s super-fine tempo control and rhythmic delivery may be better yet. She delicately front-loads or back-loads phrases to perfection, applying the minutest accelerations or decelerations to giddiness inducing effect. An early culmination of this is the sixth variation, which undulates in a way such that one starts to bob one’s head to the left hand playing only to be pleasantly interrupted by the right hand playing. In the ninth variation, as she reaches the first climax and then abruptly and flawless backs off, one can’t help but silently (or not) say “woo”. Uchida follows that up with a most playful yet serious tenth variation, perfectly measured, not sounding spontaneous, but not sounding not spontaneous.
Then things get even better as her fussiness manifests itself in a gloriously micromanaged eleventh variation, where each individual note sounds absolutely flawless. Lucky number thirteen, with its ridiculous pauses and thundering notes alternating with gentle playing, sounds informed by Opp 106 and 126. I mean,
yeah. The refined to the Nth degree rough playing of the sixteenth and seventeenth variations charms in a faux gruff manner, and the latter presents a dilemma to the listener – follow the left hand or the right hand more closely? The obvious answer is to listen again.
The twentieth variation, in its serenity and depth, reminds the listener that this is late Beethoven, and the
Notte e giorno faticar variation sounds so exaggerated yet so controlled that one can’t help but be amused at its humor or notice its spiritual connection to the second movement of 31/1. The late LvB soundworld reappears in force in the twenty-fourth variation, which reminds the listener of the Bachian/Handelian passage in the slow movement of Op 126. And that left hand playing in the twenty-sixth variation! The great, slow Largo (number thirty-six) stands as the apotheosis of late-LvB soundworld music in this recording, approaching Op 110 levels of rarefication. The final variation almost seems to be Beethoven reminding everyone that he was at the time the master of the art of fugue. The way Uchida rumbles out the lower register playing makes one blurt out, if only in one’s head,
YES!! To end things, she replays the theme with such delicacy and tenderness, particularly in the melody, that one sits transfixed, almost ready to spring to one’s feet and offer a standing ovation.
The theme and
every variation have so much to hear, so many felicitous little touches, that it nearly overwhelms the listener. What it most certainly does do is act as a stimulant at least equivalent to a couple shots of espresso. The playing demands the utmost attention. The mind mustn’t wander. It cannot wander. It must focus.
Uchida’s recording of the Diabelli Variations is, by some distance, her greatest recording, and it stands as one of the greatest recordings of the work. Of course such a proclamation is heavily influenced by early enthusiasm, so I will revisit this recording in the coming months, and years, to see if it holds up. I strongly suspect it will.
Were I to pick a nit, and I shall, it has nothing to do with the recording. The liner note photo of her smiling doesn’t work. There, there’s my gripe.
Perfect sound.
Perfect recording.