‘András Schiff’s name is new to me, but I shall not forget it, for I never recall hearing Bach better played on a piano.’ So wrote Roger Fiske in April 1980, reviewing an Ace of Diamonds release containing the composer’s Italian Concerto, B minor Partita (‘French Overture’, BWV831) and French Suite No 5 in G. Several months later I encountered Schiff’s Bach for the first time via his cultivated and sensitive Denon recordings of the D minor and F minor Keyboard Concertos (4/81). By then, the young Hungarian pianist had already signed with Decca. Their long term partnership is represented by the contents of this imposing box-set containing 78 CDs.

The discs are packaged in original jacket facsimiles and grouped by genre. In turn, the discs within each genre group are organised chronologically by composer. Solo piano sessions occupy discs 1‑31, starting with Bach and ending with Janá∂ek. Concertos take up discs 32‑51, and collaborations with singers are found on discs 52‑60. Discs 61‑74 feature chamber music, while the final four discs encompass Schiff’s period-instrument Mozart recordings. Since many (if not all) of these recordings have been available for decades in various incarnations, a general overview of the contents may be the most useful and efficient way to approach this body of work.

Discs 1-13 Schiff’s Bach made a striking impact in the 1980s. His Goldberg Variations appeared hot on the heels of Glenn Gould’s 1981 remake and presented a radically different approach. Observing all of the repeats save for those in the Aria da capo, Schiff conceived the work in three larger sections, rather than demarcating it at the halfway point. Like Gould, Schiff achieved variety of articulation through fingers and hand balance, scarcely touching the sustain pedal. Yet he brought more warmth, tone colour and adventuresome ornaments to the mix, with a degree of differentiation in the cross-handed variations that gave the impression of two keyboard manuals with independent registrations. Schiff also took certain repeats an octave higher or lower, a ploy he would eschew in his later Goldberg recordings and performances.

The combination of scrupulous linear clarity and flexible, vocally informed phrasing similarly characterises the Two- and Three-Part Inventions, the English and French Suites, the Partitas and The Well‑Tempered Clavier. While Schiff’s ECM remakes undoubtedly offer interpretative refinements, he didn’t always supersede his younger self. In the WTC Book 2, for example, notice Decca’s suppler and more direct B flat and F minor Preludes, or Decca’s suaver Fifth Partita next to its terser ECM counterpart (11/12). When I reviewed the ECM Partitas (12/09), I regretted that Schiff no longer favoured those delicious on-the-beat appoggiaturas (where the main melody note appears ‘delayed’), notably in the B flat Courante and the C minor’s Sinfonia.

Disc 14 As with many Scarlatti discs, Schiff’s follows the composer’s biographer and editor Ralph Kirkpatrick’s practice of pairing adjacent works in the same key. The result is a well-contrasted recital where Schiff’s pianistic orientation takes all stylistic precepts into revelatory account.

Discs 15-20 Robin Golding’s basically positive review of Schiff’s 1980 Mozart sonata cycle (11/81) took issue with the pianist’s ‘tendency to linger over a phrase’ and ‘to indulge in momentary pauses and rallentandos in the slow movements’, specifically citing those in K279, 282, 311, 330, 332 and 333. But ‘more Schumannesque than Mozartian’? I beg to differ. In the context of, say, Lars Vogt’s mincing micromanagement or Carl Seemann’s tedious reverence, Schiff’s Mozart lives and breathes normalcy. Yes, you’ll find more lightness, transparency and embellishment derring-do from Robert Levin (ECM, 11/22) and from Decca’s recent Mozart cycle standard-bearer Roberto Prosseda, but let’s cut Schiff’s sincere musicality some well-deserved slack!

Discs 21-31 The Schiff-and-Schubert partnership is one of constant evolution and reinvention. His 1988/90 Impromptus, Moments musicaux and Drei Klavierstücke show an easy lyrical intimacy that, however, does not consistently manifest in the sonata cycle. He has fascinating ideas, yet sometimes works overtime to express them: Schiff’s breaking of hands, for example, is pervasive to the point of mannerism, while he undermines the headlong momentum in virtuosic finales such as those in D784, 958 and 959. On the other hand, the selection of Mendelssohn Songs without Words are as elegantly spun out as the best in the catalogue. By contrast, Janá∂ek’s Sonata, In the Mists and On an Overgrown Path are appropriately rough-hewn, albeit not to the convincing degree of Schiff’s ECM Janá∂ek remake.

Discs 32-35 For those who want world-class and stylistically up-to-date piano recordings of Bach’s solo keyboard concertos, look no further than Schiff and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe, who yield nothing to the comparably excellent Murray Perahia and Angela Hewitt editions. As for the multi-keyboard concertos, I refer readers to Lionel Salter’s rather mixed review (5/98), although the C major double concerto features remarkable ensemble synergy between Schiff and the late Peter Serkin.

Discs 36-46 However, the synergy and sympathetic camaraderie between Schiff and Sándor Vegh produced a gratifying and reference-worthy Mozart concerto cycle. Vegh profoundly understands the Classical style’s vocal ideal and consistently gets his Camerata Academica musicians to sing and speak through their instruments. And Schiff is masterly at adjusting his sound in response to his surroundings, whether moulding a legato phrase to complement a first-desk woodwind soloist or shaping motifs to evoke the timbral point and precision of well-regulated period instruments. Schiff understandably disparaged his Mozart Triple Concerto led by Georg Solti, but his collaboration with Cecilia Bartoli in the concert aria Ch’io mi scordi di te? is pure gold.

Discs 47-51 Whatever tensions may have existed between Solti and Schiff, their Brahms D minor Concerto collaboration sounds better than it must have felt for the soloist in the studio. By contrast, the Dohnányi Variations and Tchaikovsky Concerto No 1 with Solti and the coupling of the Schumann Concerto and Chopin’s Second with Antál Dorati lack sparkle and scintillation, unlike his effervescent Mendelssohn concertos under Charles Dutoit. Schiff makes the occasionally unwieldy piano-writing in the original text of Dvo∑ák’s Concerto sound elegantly effortless, abetted by Christoph von Dohnányi’s incisive leadership.

Discs 52-60 Not all prominent piano soloists work well with singers. However, like Alfred Cortot, Sviatoslav Richter, Emanuel Ax and Jean-Yves Thibaudet (among others, of course), Schiff manages to be both strong and unselfregarding in rewarding vocal recital encounters with Peter Schreier, Cecilia Bartoli, Sylvia Sass and Robert Holl. Rehearing Sass in Bartók’s Five Songs, Op 16, I’m struck by the deliberate harshness of the composer’s vocal lines in contrast to the piano accompaniments’ relatively gentle neo-Impressionism. The Schreier/Schiff Schubert Die schöne Müllerin is a true meeting of heads and hearts. ‘[Schiff’s] penetrating mind, like Schreier’s,’ wrote Alan Blyth (12/91), ‘unerringly finds the inevitable (or so it seems at the time) way of striking to the heart of the matter by virtue of the new light thrown on individual figures and the clarity of his articulation’. Small wonder this disc won Gramophone’s Best Solo Vocal Recording Award. A programme of Italian word-settings by Austro-Germans clearly galvanises the Bartoli/Schiff team to vivid heights, notably in Beethoven’s four Op 82 songs and Haydn’s extended aria Arianna a Naxos. And in Brahms Vier ernste Gesänge, Robert Holl’s bleak word-painting and Schiff’s quasi-orchestral command of the piano part very nearly dislodge the imprint of Hans Hotter’s classic recording from my inner ear.

Discs 61-74 How does one begin to describe this collection’s chamber music treasures? I’m partial to the revelatory Haydn piano trio performances with Schiff’s violinist wife Yuuko Shiokawa and the late, great cellist Boris Pergamenschikow. By not pushing the famous C major Trio’s Presto into breakneck territory, the players make the most of Haydn’s witty ensemble repartee and harmonic detours. The A flat and E flat Trios abound with phrasing to die for and carefully calibrated adjustments in balance between the pianist’s left hand and the cellist’s lines. Period-instrument fans will relate to the discreetly purposeful application of vibrato and the Bösendorfer grand piano’s timbral differentiation between registers.

Schubert’s Trout Quintet features members of the Hagen Quartet at the start of their illustrious career, and only the unusually slow tempo for the Scherzo’s Trio prevents an unqualified recommendation. Schiff and the Takács Quartet remain points of reference in the Dohnányi Quintet and Sextet, while the Brahms Quintet’s vigorous Scherzo and finale compensate for a relatively subdued Allegro non troppo. No reservations about Schiff’s rewardingly diverse Janá∂ek and Bartók encounters, and I had totally forgotten about his thorough command of Elliott Carter’s Quintet for piano and winds. One rarely associates Schiff with such repertoire, but then again, he positively sizzles in Bartók’s violin sonatas and the Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion.

The 1983 Beethoven violin sonata cycle with Sándor Végh eluded collectors for years. What the 71-year-old Végh lacks in tonal ripeness, dynamism and consistently reliable intonation is compensated by the sophisticated contours of his phrasing and his appropriately brash accentuation. His angularity evokes the best of Joseph Szigeti’s late-period recordings. Still, one’s ears invariably focus upon Schiff’s youthful agility, robustness and attention to bass lines. Notwithstanding more equitable partnerships from Beethoven cycles such as Perlman/Ashkenazy, Grumiaux/Haskil and Dumay/Pires, Végh and Schiff can’t help but hold your attention.

Discs 61-74 Reviewing Mozart’s piano quartets with Schiff and colleagues playing instruments that the composer had actually or allegedly owned, Christopher Headington (4/95) wrote that the G minor Quartet’s finale was ‘too fussy to convince’, and remarked how the musicians tended ‘to make points too obviously’. I respectfully disagree. What is more, I welcome period-instrument performances like these that that avoid the exaggerated tapering and ugly threadbare sonorities one often hears from today’s know-it-alls. The same holds true for the sonata recital with Shiokawa. If anything, I prefer Schiff’s more forthright, harder-hitting Walter fortepiano readings of the K545 and K570 Sonatas and A minor Rondo, K511, to their relatively self-aware modern-grand counterparts mentioned earlier. Granted, Schiff and his mentor George Malcolm push the Walter instrument to its limits in the F minor Fantasia’s final fugue and the restless contrapuntal build-ups in the concluding Allegro of the F major Sonata, K497.

A 90-page soft-cover book includes full discographical information, an alphabetical index of works by composer and an interview with Misha Donat where Schiff discusses his Decca years candidly and vividly. An erratum slip packed with the box corrects several booklet anomalies. Looking back on Schiff’s Decca partnership, it becomes clear that this body of work dating from Schiff’s late 20s to late 40s factored into establishing and solidifying his international career. From the wide range of his collaborators to the focus and commitment he brought to his chosen repertoire, Schiff’s Decca recordings constitute both an important discographical legacy and a foundation from which his musicianship continues to thrive and deepen to this day.

The recordings

Complete Decca Recordings

András Schiff (Decca)