As one who endorses The Good CD Guide's recommendation of Maurizio Pollini's Beethoven Op. 110 of the mid-1970s, I was thrilled to hear something which very nearly topples it. Kovacevich's way with this great free-flow of ideas shares a similar vision, a similar wisdom to Pollini's, and one's enjoyment of his playing is all the keener for the less dry, naturally sympathetic acoustic of EMI's Abbey Road recording (on the Royal Festival Hall's Steinway).
Few pianists today—not Brendel, not Ashkenazy, not Serkin—can free themselves of self-awareness enough to find the tender simplicity of the opening Moderato cantabile. Kovacevich can, and he goes on to fill each moment of figuration and trilling with light. His finale has a mesmeric inwardness generated by the seemingly infinite nuances he can find in a single repeated note. A steadiness of purpose in the Arioso leads naturally into the quiet self-assurance of the effortless building of the Fuga.
The coupling—with the little Op. 78 and the Waldstein—makes for a sensitively built recital in its own right. Again, Kovacevich's skill at drawing the listener in marks the Op. 78 Sonata, with its effervescent figurework and spontaneous major-minor changes. The same nimble fingerwork, over a thrumming bass, makes the Waldstein positively tingle with life: Kovacevich's joy in the physical excitement and momentum of the writing is equalled by his strength in delineating the song at its heart.'