By common consent, Mozart's piano concertos contain some of his finest music, and (since he wrote most of them for himself) some of his most personal utterance too; and they explore a number of expressive worlds ranging from buoyant youthful elegance—though there are surprises and formal innovations even in the Salzburg works, like the minuet section that invades the finale of K271—to the Sturm und Drang of the first movements in K466 and K491, the introspection of the slow movements of K467 and K488 (the latter in F sharp minor, a choice of key the composer made only this once) and the ineffable poise of K595, the last concerto of all. In their performance it is necessary for a soloist and conductor to be at one interpretatively, or better still to be one and the same person, which is what happens in each of these issues, just as it would have done in Mozart's own time. Geza Anda was perhaps following the pioneering example of Edwin Fischer in the 1930s when he and, later, artists such as Barenboim and Ashkenazy managed to establish this procedure of directing a smallish orchestra from the keyboard, which is now perhaps accepted as the desirable norm.
Working with a Salzburg orchestra, Anda made his recordings in the 1960s and 1970s, and even in the boyhood works, Concertos Nos. 1-4 (1767), which draw on music by other composers, a Mozartian freshness and purpose are at once evident in the well-paced and well-balanced exchanges between piano and orchestra. Though the upper string tone has an occasional slight fizziness that betrays the age of the recorded sound, as does the faint background hiss, the chosen piano sounds well, and although it is presumably a modern instrument its tone is rightly kept to a modest scale by the performance and recording alike. One notices at once the attractive cadenza to the Andante of No. 1, sophisticated harmonically as it is: this is the first of 22 cadenzas that the pianist himself contributes to this series, so giving it a slightly personal but always tasteful character, although he usually plays Mozart's where they are provided, for example in No. 23 in A major. In this respect Daniel Barenboim ranges wider, using cadenzas of his own along with Mozart's, which like Anda he sometimes modifies, and others by Beethoven arranged by Edwin Fischer (No. 20 in D minor) and Wanda Landowska (in the Coronation Concerto, No. 26). Ashkenazy too provides several original cadenzas, and besides Mozart's he also uses one by Paul Badura-Skoda (in No. 5 in D major) and Beethoven's in the D minor. But I need not make too much of a point about the cadenzas used in these three sets; for each pianist makes a worthwhile personal contribution, although Barenboim's may take Mozart rather far in the direction of romanticism.
In sum, Anda's series of the 27 solo concertos is stylistically reliable, and with some real distinction too, especially in the later works. Although there is an occasional slight tension in his delivery, for example in the minuet-finale to No. 8, there are strong arguments for preferring this to an all purpose bland elegance. But though few collectors acquiring his set will be disappointed, in their different ways the alternative issues by Barenboim and Ashkenazy are more obviously imaginative and they enjoy a more modern recording, best of all in the case of Ashkenazy on Decca.
All three of these issues come at mid price, and rightly I feel, given the necessary large outlay on ten CDs, or as many as 12 in the case of the Russian-born pianist. The issues are not identical, in that Barenboim includes the D major Rondo, K382 and Ashkenazy, by enlisting the aid of Barenboim himself and Fou Ts'ong, additionally offers the concertos for two and three pianos: however, Ashkenazy's total playing time of 100 minutes more than Anda reflects more than the presence of the extra works, in that his approach is rather more spacious than that of the Hungarian pianist. So is Barenboim's; indeed, both of these younger artists give a legitimate sense of breadth to Mozart's thought that will appeal especially to collectors who have come to these concertos through Beethoven's. Even in an Allegro opening movement such as that of the Concerto No. 12 in A major, Ashkenazy's strings sing with a certain warmth, which is echoed in the rich (yet not overripe) piano tone itself; this movement too exemplifies Ashkenazy's willingness to 'give' rhythmically and so make points of phrasing, yet without loss of momentum. Only at times, as in the Andante that follows, which here lasts ten minutes, do I wonder whether the music should move along more freely: ditto for the Andante of No. 17 in G major, and predictably of the three pianists it is he who takes the broadest view of the Romance in the D minor Concerto, in marked contrast with the more urgent Anda, who is arguably too quick in its agitated central section. The Philharmonia sound a little large for ears seeking eighteenth-century authenticity, just as the ECO do for Barenboim, but play with unfailing neatness and delicacy, even in tuttis such as the orchestral exposition that opens the G major Concerto, and together with Ashkenazy they dance most attractively in finales.
Particularly in the later concertos, this Decca series offers an aristocratic quality that is very appealing: I am thinking of such a movement as the Larghetto of No. 24 in C minor, played with a quiet eloquence that provides just the right kind of contrast with the tragic anxieties of the outer movements, and the celebrated 'Elvira Madigan' Andante of K467 (No. 21) speaks no less compellingly of an unassuageable sadness. In the last concerto of all, K595 in B flat major, there is the simplicity of distilled wisdom, resulting in a great performance.
Barenboim is not always too far away from Ashkenazy in his approach to Mozart, and has no less refinement and range tonally: indeed, compared to either of these artists Anda may at times seem prosiac. Well over 20 years ago they recorded a wonderful performance of the Double Concerto for BBC television, in which they achieved a remarkable interpretative unity that is unfortunately not matched in their later performance in Ashkenazy's Decca issue discussed above—listen to the Andante to see what I mean. Perhaps this is because their Mozart playing has developed rather differently, and at the time of Barenboim's solo concerto series, made during the late 1960s and early 1970s, he allowed himself a certain self-indulgence. I confess to feeling that at times he is unconsciously telling us how exquisitely he can turn a phrase, rather than allowing Mozart to speak for himself (or perhaps more accurately, to seem to do so); but I hasten to say that I feel this only here and there and that not all listeners will agree. The best way to find out whether you do is to listen to this soloist's shaping of a melody in a slow movement, such as the poignant Adagio of No. 23 in A major; undeniably beautiful as this playing is with its ultra-delicate dynamic shading, it could be thought anachronistically romantic in spirit and even narcissistic.
Alternatively, but for similar reasons, hear Barenboim in the Larghetto of No. 27, with its rather mannered half-tones and hesitations. Again, the performances of the dramatic D minor and C minor Concertos on the eighth CD in this set, which incidentally are the only ones of the series to have a minor key, will tell you if Barenboim's approach to these works that were admired by Beethoven is too overtly Beethovenian, with their Sturm und Drang excessively explosive and the Romance in the D minor a heavy-weight affair, not least where the orchestra are concerned.
Of these three issues, it seems to me that Anda would have been more competitive if on sale at bargain price, as it was in its former incarnation on 12 LPs. Ashkenazy's has the most stylistically convincing playing overall and, as I have said, the recording that Decca have given him in three London locations (as late as 1987 in the case of Concertos Nos. 1-4) is best of all in quality. Another fine complete set at medium price comes from Alfred Brendel (Philips), who has reminded us that there is more to Mozart's concertos than 'a singing line and sensuous beauty', and his playing too (with the ASMF under Marriner) has a wide range, while not lacking in those qualities where appropriate; his is a distinguished set, though not superior to that of Ashkenazy. But it is still Murray Perahia (CBS), like Barenboim, directing the excellent ECO, who seems to me to be closest of all to that radiantly self-revealing and self-giving, and yet still elusive, genius which Mozart demonstrated in this wonderful series of concertos. Perahia also includes the three boyhood concertos (K107) that Mozart arranged most successfully from music by J. C. Bach. Enjoying a good recording, though not better than Ashkenazy's from Decca, he comes at full price, however.'