In a confrontational note accompanying these discs, Pearl's producer Allan Evans claims that previous attempts to present Schnabel's Beethoven on CD suffered from a desire ''to turn noisy old records into a quiet, inoffensive product''. Much brilliance and vitality were filtered out and the result is an ''absolute distortion of Schnabel's pianism''. These are strong words, but he does have a point. Heavy background hiss is a small price to pay for a greater sense of Schnabel's immediacy and quality, and both of these discs, the original material transferred with a courageous candour and honesty, do much to reconvince one that Beethoven and Schnabel are, indeed, synonymous.
How characteristic is that gruff but musicianly refusal in Op. 27 No. 2 of all undue solemnity, all notion of romantic, moonlit effusion. Such robust eloquence will hardly appeal to those who long for a prolonged gaze into the infinite (the first movement is over almost before you realize it), but the balance of sense and sensibility provides a superbly authoritative alternative. Of course, there are moments when Schnabel's impetuosity, his embattled rather than fluent resolution of purely pianistic problems, can cause momentary confusion. As the opening Allegro of the Pastoral Sonata approaches its climax he loses his grip on the left-hand quavers, and in the whirling finale of Op. 31 No. 3 altogether too many corners are taken on two wheels. Yet the odd snatched phrase or telescoped rhythm pales into oblivion when you consider Schnabel's overall achievement, his salty brio and the profound eloquence of his slow movements (has anyone played the central Adagio of Op. 31 No. 2 so directly yet so speculatively?).
His technique, while undeniably erratic, was, in the words of his distinguished student, Claude Frank, ''so brilliant''; and every page pulses with a vividness and rough-hewn vitality that are somehow pure Schnabel, pure Beethoven. I loved his clipped and propulsive way with the finale of Op. 31 No. 2, the so-called Tempest, though even he cannot explain Beethoven's reference to Shakespeare. In what sense is this sonata about spiritual rebirth, or the verities of goodness and continuity? Time and again he wears his immense learning lightly and in, say, the dazzling wit and repartee of Op. 31 No. 1 the dust of ages seems to fall away before one's very eyes and ears. The Op. 33 Bagatelles—diamond-chippings from the master's workshop—also prove that Schnabel was as much at home in concentrated aphorism as in lengthy working-out.
So, true Beethoven lovers will treasure these discs, even when they turn to a different sort of enlightenment from Wilhelm Kempff (DG, 3/91), who in, for example, the finales of the Pastoral and Op. 31 No. 1 weaves a Prospero-like enchantment, a precision and subtlety all his own. But then Schnabel and Kempff are like North and South Poles of interpretation, and both are indispensable.'