In the 1950s these recordings would have given a very up-to-date impression, I imagine; the playing is extremely clean – there’s never a hint of sentimental violin slides or over-use of the sustaining pedal. But nearly half a century later, perhaps we’re more conscious of the old-world virtues – Schneiderhan’s beautiful legato bowing and gentle vibrato, Kempff’s full, unforced tone, and a flexible approach from both artists, with finely graded ritardandos and subtle variations of tempo. The first movement of Op 96 offers one of the best illustrations of their style; moments of intense passion and sudden bursts of energy providing vivid contrast to the tranquil overall mood.
Though not regular sonata partners, Kempff and Schneiderhan have an admirable collective sense of rhythm. They favour moderate, poised speeds, and so tend to miss something of the impulsive quality of early Beethoven (nine of the 10 sonatas had been written before the composer’s 33rd birthday). And, in the same way, their dedication to pure, well-balanced, unforced tone means that the grotesque element in such a movement as the finale of Op 30 No 2 is underplayed. I’m delighted that they find so many ways of interpreting Beethoven’s frequent sforzando markings, from sharp accents to the expressive melodic emphasis they give to the theme of the Kreutzer Sonata’s variations. But quite often Kempff downgrades or ignores these accents, smoothing away any angular corners, and this tendency towards blandness occasionally leads to disappointingly inexpressive playing, at the start of the Spring Sonata, for instance, where Schneiderhan’s beautifully lyrical opening doesn’t elicit a comparable response from the piano.
If there are a few let-downs, however, there are far more moments where the characteristically moderate, unexaggerated approach bears rich dividends: at the beginning of Op 47, where the meticulous slow introduction generates a strong feeling of suspense, or the gentle allegretto con variazioni finales of Op 30 No 1 and Op 96, whose memorable melodic qualities, plus many fascinating details of harmony and texture, are brought into sharp relief. And some of the understatement, at least, is deliberate; we realise this when both players cast caution to the winds in order to make the most of a climactic fortissimo. This happens in striking fashion at the stormy end of Op 30 No 2’s opening allegro, and in the development of Op 47’s first movement (CD2, track 8, from 8'20'').
Schneiderhan’s beautiful singing tone is a constant delight; I particularly enjoyed the intensely vocal style of Op 24’s finale and the luminous sound of his high register in the last of the Kreutzer variations. Similarly, Kempff’s continual care for clear textures and his finely balanced chordal playing seem to offer glimpses into the essence of Beethoven’s thought. Throughout the 10 sonatas, indeed, the music is animated from within as both players feel the rhythmic impulse and respond to the melodic and harmonic tensions. The mono sound is beautifully clear and well balanced; squeezed onto three discs (some of the long repeats are omitted), this distinguished set is quite a bargain.'