I have enjoyed the discs which have so far come my way of Zukerman and Neikrug's ongoing series of Mozart's violin sonatas, and am now interested to meet this set of Beethoven's ten works in this form, which they recorded in 1990-91 in New York and (for the three sonatas Nos. 7-9) Dallas.
Although Beethoven designated these works as ''for piano and violin'', following Mozart's example, I don't feel that he thought of the piano as leading the proceedings, or the violin either, for that matter: both instruments are equal partners and in that sense this is true chamber music. Zukerman and Neikrug see it in this light, too, as indeed do their recording engineers. That does not mean, though, that I'm entirely satisfied with the sound: one hears instantly in the D major Sonata at the start of the first disc that something of the natural edge seems to have been removed from these players' firm attack. It is as if the sound had been, as it were, over-Dolbyized or at any rate sanitized to avoid the risk of offence to ears who actually dislike realistic violin and piano sound. Still, one quickly gets used to it.
The playing itself is of that kind which produces in me a mixed reaction. It is clearly masterly, with each artist having command of his instrument, a clear view of Beethoven's style and a fine rapport with the other player. So what can be lacking? Well, I sometimes feel a sense of worthy skill being exercised without real joy in the discovery and communication of beautiful music. The playing has an admirable athleticism and may be enjoyed as such: what I miss is a sense of love and, even more, of wonder. Maybe there isn't anything so special to wonder about in the earlier sonatas, and certainly a performance should not overload them with interpretative preciosity; but in listening to a movement such as the Allegro vivace first movement of the A major Sonata, Op. 12 No. 2, you may agree with me that something is missing from this forthright music in 6/8 time and that while the playing is skilful it is also ultimately superficial. Another movement which seems to me to fall short of what Beethoven wanted is the Adagio con molto espressione of the E flat major Sonata, Op. 12 No. 3.
I must not make too much of this point, however. One only has to listen to the Andante, piu tosto allegretto of the A major Sonata just mentioned to hear playing that really cares about the notes and is accordingly eloquent, and there is a genuine buoyancy about the rondo finale of the E flat major. In other words, Zukerman and Neikrug are always capable of responding to the music and if I complain it is because their response is not always equally evident, or because it is less than convincing, as in the somewhat self-conscious account of the first movements of the dramatic C minor Sonata, Op. 30 No. 2 and the last sonata of all, the G major, Op. 96.
There is, of course, much to outweigh my reservations. The violinist's tone is vigorous and sweet in turn, and Neikrug has the personality to partner him rather than merely provide support. However, he is not as sensitive as Zukerman and his touch is too often simply sure and robust. He does not always give us the real, though vital pianissimo tone level which is so characteristic of Beethoven's music and, like his sudden loudnesses, frequently appears suddenly. An example of this occurs at bar 109 of the finale of Op. 12 No. 3 (1'45'') and again at bar 131 (2'05''), and the composer's careful distinction between this dynamic and the piano at bar 139 (2'12'')—which is approached by two bars of crescendo—goes unrealized by this pianist. Again, however, I must not labour this point and for the most part Neikrug's playing is perfectly competent, though we want more than mere competence as he introduces the theme in the variation-form second movement of the Kreutzer Sonata (compare Vladimir Ashkenazy here). However, listen to the Spring Sonata to hear him at his best and Zukerman, too, offering freshness and lilting charm.
Nevertheless, the comparison with Vladimir Ashkenazy on Decca reminds us that a still more imaginative musician brings more subtlety to these works composed by a supreme pianistcomposer. Furthermore, I shall make the point that the better the pianist is in this music, the better does the violinist himself play. In other words, it is also Itzhak Perlman, in partnership with Ashkenazy, who gives us more than his friend and colleague Zukerman playing with Neikrug. Indeed, while the present set has much to offer, it fails seriously to challenge this alternative issue, which is not so new but usefully now comes at medium price. The Decca artists offer performances in which, as a colleague has put it, ''discernment is matched by spontaneity'' and, to take just one important work, their account of the Kreutzer Sonata has superb eloquence and vitality. As for the recording, the present digital remastering is successful and the sound has fine presence.
In fact, collectors who prize these works especially and may already possess the versions with David Oistrakh and Lev Oborin and/or Arthur Grumiaux and Clara Haskil (both Philips, and the latter on just three mid-price discs)—to say nothing of Perlman and Ashkenazy—should continue to value them and not to fear that Zukerman and Neikrug supersede them. The Philips sets are older than the Decca—indeed, the Grumiaux/Haskil one goes back to 1956—but they have fine, intimate playing, although the recordings are inevitably a little restricted. So does the Menuhin/Kempff set from 1970 (DG), where yet again the two artists are of equal stature and on excellent form; here, too, are three discs at mid-price with decent sound and this would be my next recommendation after the Decca.'