I have not previously met these two works together on a disc and rather like the coupling. They are both earlyish Brahms, one from 1853 and the other from 1861, but much maturing of his complex musical personality had taken place in those intervening years, which brought his friendship with Robert and Clara Schumann and then his involvement in the family tragedy of that composer's suicide attempt, insanity and death. One shouldn't link life and art too closely, but the youthful vigour and romantic ebullience of the Sonata are not to be found in the Handel Variations, although these have a kind of sober joyfulness which in its way is also satisfying.
It is good to have a new recording from Ashkenazy, for while nowadays he is more active as a conductor, he is one of the master pianists of his generation and there is still repertory which one would like him to record—for example, 20 years ago, he mentioned the Liszt Sonata in this context but we are still waiting for it! In the meantime, we have this Brahms. He plays the Variations first, and takes a restrained view of them which is perhaps not inappropriate at the start. Unfortunately, however, the recording in a Swiss location tames his attack so much that the effect is lacking in brilliance, though we get a high dynamic level in Variation 4 (the first forte one). If you like your Brahms to sound extremely mellow, you may enjoy this sound more than I, but it is far from realistic. The playing itself is mostly straightforward, though the minor-mode Variation 13 is rapid, even for the marking of Largamente, ma non piu. But little by little, I get a feeling that Ashkenazy is playing the notes with spirit and force but with little love or understanding: as an interpretation, it is too nondescript. The variations and final fugue are usefully grouped into a total of eight tracks.
I have left little space to discuss Ashkenazy's account of the Sonata, which is a pity since even on the first page it becomes clear that the performance has more commitment. The recording (in another location) is better, too. But even here, I do not feel that he has got things altogether right, and the first movement is too self-consciously rhetorical to convince, while the deeply contemplative poetry of the second and fourth fails to come across quite as it should—Malcolm Macdonald's booklet essay rightly refers to the second movement as ''an exquisite nocturne'', but the playing does not tell us that. Of course, there is masterly pianism here and much to admire. But for me, at least, Ashkenazy does not fully enter Brahms's emotional world.'