These are compelling, thought-provoking performances. The main question they raise is how far should an interpreter go in supplementing what’s written in the score – especially relevant for a composer like Beethoven who was unusually explicit for his time in telling his players what to do. In the coda of Op. 96’s Scherzo, when the music turns unexpectedly to the major key, Mutter and Orkis play four bars poco adagio, leading to a pause, then a quick dash to the end. The effect is actually quite Beethovenian – the composer notated a similar sequence of gestures in the finale of this same sonata – but during the course of the ten sonatas there are so many hold-ups, tempo changes and hesitations that I ended up longing for a simpler style. There’s every reason why a performer should allow time to make a wholehearted expressive gesture, or to turn a corner elegantly, but I can’t help feeling that the effectiveness of such licences decreases with the amount of distortion they cause. And sometimes here, in the finale of Op. 12 No. 1 and the Presto first movement of Op. 23, they impede the onward flow that’s such a significant attribute of Beethoven’s more energetic music. Kremer and Argerich dispatch the Op. 23 movement, complete with its repeats, in 6'57''; Mutter and Orkis, at a not dissimilar basic tempo, take 9'06''.
Mutter has astonishing technical control, which she uses to produce an exceptionally wide tonal range, from intense vibrant fortissimo down to a magical, tenuous senza vibrato pianissimo. Orkis’s playing is often equally vivid – inviting comparison with pianistic stars such as Ashkenazy or Argerich – and together they make an unusually close team; the freedom of their interpretations is only possible because of their powerful rapport. But there’s sometimes a lack of moderation in the use Mutter makes of her violinistic command; for me her playing of Op. 30 No. 1’s lyrical Adagio melody would have been more affecting had she toned down the vibrato. Oistrakh is a model of tasteful restraint here, yet his beautiful tone and natural shaping very strongly convey the music’s emotional message. Mutter is not too concerned about observing the details of Beethoven’s notation, ignoring dynamic indications, beginning crescendos long before they are marked, and, most frequently, elongating staccato notes. You may feel this doesn’t matter much, in the face of her evident grasp of the character and feeling of each piece, but it’s certainly true that violinists such as Perlman and Kremer manage to give a more accurate picture without seeming to be inhibited by their concern to fulfil every detail of the composer’s wishes. And sometimes we lose important musical features, as in the Spring Sonata’s first movement (second disc, track 4, between 5'40'' and 6'00'') when Beethoven’s carefully notated contrast between smooth (piano) and staccato (violin) is lost.
Throughout these performances, however, critical feelings were counterbalanced, and often overwhelmed, by pleasure and admiration. Spellbinding quiet playing in the first movement of Op. 96, barnstorming virtuosity in the Kreutzer Sonata’s opening Presto, an intensely dramatic C minor Sonata (Op. 30 No. 2), a serene, rapt Adagio in Op. 24 – these are just a few of the highlights of the set. The recorded sound is exceptionally full and realistic, outdoing even the fine DG Kremer/Argerich recordings. The audience is only apparent at the brief bursts of applause preceding and following the three short encores.
Do listen to this set. It may not supersede the wonderfully accomplished, balanced account by Perlman and Ashkenazy, nor the drive and elan of Kremer and Argerich. But even if you’re sometimes irritated, as I was, you’ll also, I’m sure, find a lot to delight, enlighten and pleasantly surprise.'