For me, Solomon’s 1952 recordings of Schumann’s Carnaval and the Brahms Sonata in F minor are essential for the desert island, so this well-produced Testament compilation, generously filled out with Liszt, recommends itself. If you’ve heard tell of Solomon’s reputation but don’t know his work, or perhaps know only his Beethoven, snap it up. The sound has come up astonishingly well, also in the Liszt pieces which were made in 1930 and 1932. “Au bord d’une source” is another favourite of mine, a match for Liszt’s poetic inspiration, as few recordings of it are. Technical address and refinement on this level constitute a small miracle.
The Gieseking from Arbiter is a quite different product. The greater part derives from – well, we’re not told, but I take it the Brahms F minor Sonata and the two movements of the B flat Concerto were studio recordings for radio broadcasts, or off-air recordings; they date from 1948 and 1944, respectively. It would have been nice to know what the occasions were.
Of the two performances, the truncated Concerto is the more interesting. It’s a work you might not have associated with Gieseking but he has a view that he’s determined to project – and my, how he takes charge and sets about it! Where detail is concerned the thought often does duty for the deed, with fistfuls of notes reduced to gestures, but the litheness and dash are likeable. This is Brahms lighter on his feet than usual, in the Scherzo especially, yet sounding thoroughly himself. At the close, I felt sorry not to be getting the rest. The sound is tolerable, with a believable balance; it’s a pity about the wobbles and sourness of pitch around 11'45'' in the first movement, which I guess must be due to damaged tape.
What did happen to Gieseking between 1944 and 1948? He was never known for assiduous practising but the F minor Sonata sounds at times like sight-reading. He certainly can’t have looked at the Scherzo (track 5) for a long time. His quiet playing is telling, and one can admire (in the concerto too) the way he puts a wide dynamic range at the service of characterization. But in spite of moments of eloquence in the slow movement it really won’t do. There’s no overview, only a lurching from one thing to another and a rhapsodizing that plays fast and loose with the sonata’s continuity. It’s the playing of someone who thinks he knows what he can get away with – whereas Solomon keeps Brahms’s vision thrillingly in focus and gives you the real thing. The contrast between the two players could hardly be greater.
The American recordings of the Intermezzi and the solitary Capriccio (which is from a recital near the end of Gieseking’s life) restore confidence in the artist he undoubtedly was, without convincing me that Brahms was his thing. Gieseking had a clever, intuitive mind and an instinct for ‘bringing things off’, but in Brahms that is not quite enough. Unless you have a particular interest in collecting him, I would say this is a bit of a rag-bag.'