An excessively dry acoustic is always a challenge for a pianist, since it enables every tiniest detail to be scrutinized. But for a quality player excessive resonance is even more damaging, especially if the instrument, as so often these days, is rather strident in tone. This can all but obliterate any individuality of tone production, making fortissimo too easy to achieve and extremely difficult to colour, and pianissimo barely attainable at all.
This is the situation Bernard Roberts has had to face, and it is no wonder if his perfommance fails to blossom. He is, in fact, an intelligent and nimblefingered guide through Beethoven's keyboard magnum opus. If the basic approach seems a little short on the kind of intellectual passion which would make that joumey a memorable one, the difficulties imposed by the recording venue must take some of the blame.
For whatever reason, the theme itself is hardly vivace, the first variation's dynamic contrasts are disappointing, the second is hardly played leggiermente, nor are the third and fourth truly dolce. With the serioso No. 6 Roberts is into his stride, and there are some admirable variations thereafter (though the beginning of No. 29 should have been retaken, as a missing note in the first chord makes it appear to start in the wrong key). On the whole he depends, or perhaps is forced to depend on rubato for the kind of expressive characterization that should be more subtly delivered by touch and dynamics. Even the uproarious Don Giovanni variation comes out dynamically flat.
Philips have rather cornered the market in this work. Not only are all three listed comparisons from this source, but I hear they will soon be re-releasing Bishop-Kovacevich—I have been listening to his 1969 recording on cassette and its combination of interpretative daring and pianistic resourcefulness has completely bowled me over. The three current versions are strong on interpretative vision, too. Only the Arrau has diminished somewhat in my esteem over-accentuation and an absence of hushed playing tell against it. Brendel's reading is abundantly energetic and creative, particularly so when Beethoven is at his quirkiest (and there's a new recording due from him this spring). Richter is the finest of the three in pianistic terms and an extraordinary sense of willpower runs through this live performance; but even he misses the transfigured gracefulness of the final tempo di minuetto. As a footnote to my December 1988 review, I have to confess to having misread the timings for Variation No. 1—Richter is indeed drastically slower than Brendel here, but by a factor of 25, not 50 per cent.'