I was far from impressed with Andre Watts's recent studio recordings of Beethoven sonatas (EMI (D CDC7 49264-2, 9/88) but this live Carnegie Hall recital is another matter altogether, containing as it does a quite glorious account of the Mozart F major Sonata and some treasurable playing in the other works as well.
It is billed as Watts's 25th Anniversary Recital and it is evident that each piece has very special meaning for him. The Haydn admittedly takes a while to relax—the first movement is slightly undisciplined in rhythm and seems a little apprehensive about the many silences—but when it does relax there is a delightful fluency to the phrasing and exquisite gradation in the tone. The presto second movement, its rondo restatements highly inflected but always with Haydnesque charm and wit, is understandably greeted with bravos.
Watts is strangely capricious with Haydn's repeats. Both repeats in the first movement theme are out, and so is the brief first repeat of the presto, but then the longer second repeat is in. In the Mozart, however, the repeats are one of the highlights of the performance. Both of them in the first movement are in, and the apparent spontaneity of nuance they bring is captivating. In the finale the second repeat is taken at the coda rather than the end of the movement and, may the gods of Academe forgive me, this actually seems more effective than Mozart's marking.
This work is in any case one of the miracles of the classical repertoire (what other sonata structure before the Eroica has eight themes in its exposition and yet another at the beginning of the development?) and the fantasy and control of Watts's interpretation are well-nigh perfectly balanced. Although his Yamaha instrument seemed to be comparatively ineffectual on the Beethoven disc, here it is a major bonus. Whether it sounded so ear-ticklingly subtle in Carnegie Hall itself, I don't know, but as captured on the EMI recording it is just about ideal, responsive to all the shadings of pianissimo which Watts asks of it.
There are bones one might wish to pick with the Schubert. The tempestuous undertones of the first movement come prematurely to the surface and the delay for each turning figure in the andante becomes predictable. For me these are forgivable concomitants of the live performance situation, especially so when the understanding of Schubert's harmonic direction is so acute. What is more difficult to live with is the sonata's octave conclusion dreaded by so many pianists, which goes slightly awry and then descends into bluster and petulant pedal-kicking.
The first Brahms Intermezzo is daringly slow; but just as suspicions of narcissism start to creep in there are inflexions of such disarming beauty that one has to capitulate. There seems to be a slight lumpiness in the grazioso of No. 3, but nothing the ear cannot willingly adapt to when the eloquence of the playing is so evident.
For a live recording the level of accuracy is remarkable, the more so given the range of nuance deployed. A capacity audience is bound to have its share of coughers, but the sense of involvement with the music is rich compensation for that. Only in the first Brahms is there really serious distraction, and that comes from what seems to be the distant sound of conversation from the foyer.'