Last September I expressed a strong preference for Barenboim's EMI Compact Disc over Ashkenazy, Brendel and Buchbinder. I am still bowled over by his complete identification with the drama of these sonatas, his total avoidance of routine on the one hand or self-consciousness on the other. But I do now have a twinge of conscience for having proposed Ashkenazy (Decca) as a 'safe' alternative (Barenboim's searching slow movements being controversially slow). The technique is remarkable and opens up possibilities which will simply never be available to most others; but the studied hesitations in his slow movements have not worn well, and beside Barenboim's virtually unerring sense of direction there is a sense of frantic running on the spot about Ashkenazy's fast movements.
What then of the new Barenboim? It brings two clear gains—the inclusion of the finale repeat in the Appassionata and a more flowing tempo for the first movement of the Moonlight. The Appassionata finale is if anything even more daring, even more terrifying than before, threatening to run right off the rails just before the presto, and the slow movement is now a truer andante con moto—the earlier (1967) performance I still find utterly convincing, but in a way I am glad he did not attempt to repeat it. In the Moonlight the advantage of the more natural flow is offset by a certain reluctance to play pianissimo and by persistent off-stage clatters in the distance (could the two things be connected?) which rather nullify the marginal improvement in recording quality. The only other significant difference is that the finale of the Pathetique has become even more experimental, romanticized in a way I have yet to warm to. There are occasional new perceptive details, but I still find that the youthful dash of the earlier Barenboim sweeps all before it and so would remain my first choice.
Arrau also revisits the scene of former triumphs, but with totally different results. It is certainly true that accuracy has not deserted him, even in the most testing passages, but I wonder about the tonal control. Recorded in New York, and presumably on an American Steinway, he makes no concessions at all to the steeliness of his instrument (as in the rifle-shot accents near the end of Op. 27 No. 1) and put alongside the long breaths of Barenboim's Appassionata, Arrau's seems to come in painful gasps. I wish I could hear this and the laboriousness of the textures in the same positive light as does RO, but I think it will still be to his earlier recordings that I will turn for documents of Arrau's genius.'