Schubert at his most philosphical and Schubert at his most virtuosic is hardly a combination to be taken at a single sitting, any more than one would want to hear the Fantasy as an encore to the Sonata in concert. But it certainly makes a generous coupling. Brendel's B flat Sonata was recently a first choice in BBC Radio 3's ''Building a Library'' series, but in recent years it has only been available as part of an eight-LP set, so its return on medium-priced CD with the original coupling is doubly welcome. Ashkenazy's new release finds him as reliable as ever, and with recording quality to surpass all listed comparisons this too is a most attractive issue. Hearing these performances alongside such fine, yet temperamentally distinctive, Schubertians as Curzon, Pollini, Bishop-Kovacevich (Hyperion) and Perahia (CBS), it is not so much the supremacy of any one of them which is brought home as the range and depth of Schubert's genius.
Like Bishop-Kovacevich, but unlike Brendel and Curzon, Ashkenazy includes the first movement repeat in the sonata, and his tempo is the most leisurely of the four—at 20'34'' the movement is virtually as long as the Wanderer Fantasy in its entirely. The turnover on LP comes after the third movement, and there is no hint of deterioration throughout the 33'39'' duration of Side 1.
In the first movement of the Fantasy on the other hand Ashkenazy is certainly faster than either Perahia or Pollini, and his determination to combine weight of tone with clarity and velocity gives a characteristic vehemence to the fast movements. Every sinew is strained in the scherzo, so that tuning has suffered noticeably by the last page (Perahia's instrument, it should be said, is imperfectly tuned from the outset), and the fugal finale is no less strenuous. All this is undeniably exciting, but some may find that it gets a little tiring after a while. It is as though Ashkenazy is concerned above all with projecting everything to the back rows of a large hall, and the consistent fullness of projection does not make it easy for him to sustain longer-range interest in the design. This is something which comes more easily to Perahia, who is generally less concerned with virtuosity per se and more willing to allow the music to relax—reculer pour mieux sauter. The CBS recorded sound is dry and unappetizing, however. Perhaps reading more into the title than do the others, Brendel offers the keenest sense of fantasy. His tempos are by far the most flexible, perhaps alarmingly so when the trio is almost exactly half the speed of the scherzo (there is no change indicated), but everything sounds more naturally paced, more orgnaically conceived than Ashkenazy's closer adherence to the letter of the score. IT would be quite wrong though to suggest that fast and furious is the sum total of Ashkenazy's individual response. The veiled opening of the slow movement shows his mastery of the opposite extreme, and even if his energy elsewhere is felt to stray across the border into aggression, the sense of grappling with and conquering a pianistic summit is never less than exhilarating.
In the B flat Sonata a similar distinction between Brendel and Ashkenazy may be heard in the Scherzo. Brendel only takes five seconds less over the movement, but there is more verve, less insistence in his rhythm, so that it feels a lot faster than that. Where Ashkenazy sounds unusually solid for an Allegro vivace con delicatezza, Brendel conveys the spontaneous delight of a stream rippling over pebbles. In the first movement Ashkenazy is again formidably clear and well-projected, and the continuity across large spans of music can only be admired. But in general his view is a less personal one that Brendel's, Curzon's or Bishop-Kovacevich's, by no means approaching the monumental severity of Richter (Melodiya/JVC 1021—CD only) at the opposite interpretative extreme, but still comparatively measured and restrained. A case could be made for Ashkenazy either as a happy medium or as falling between the two stools. The first movement transition theme is another instructive point for comparisons. Here Ashkenazy's expressive underlinings reflect one kind of poetry, but Bishop-Kovacevich is both more heart-on-sleeve and more successful in conveying a sense of direction—a higher form of continuity. Both artists begin the development superbly, with a sense of reluctant embarkation on a journey, but the subsequent barely contained desperation of Bishop-Kovacevich stays longer in the memory.
Ashkenazy also vouchsafes perceptions of this order—the return of the slow movement theme is deeply impressive, not just in its superfine handling of texture but in its sense of emotional exhaustion, arising from a grasp of the broader context as well. The connection with the spiritual world of the String Quintet, rightly referred to in Brian Newbould's sleeve-note, is still more strongly conveyed by Brendel, Curzon and Bishop-Kovacevich, however, and if you identify with the Schubertian experience of begin dazed and perplexed at the beauty and sorrow of life, it is to these artists you should turn. By comparison there is almost the impression of a teacher standing at Ashkenazy's shoulder, ensuring that every expressive detail is clear and logical and that textural clarity is never sacrificed. THe cost is a slight sense of distance between interpreter and music, a reliance on tried and trusted techniques rather than risky self-abandon. The closing theme of the first movement exposition actually sounds as though it has been practised with a metronome, all expressive meaning ironed out along with the unwanted rhythmical creases. That same teacher would probably feel compelled to wag a finger at Bishop-Kovacevich from time to time—especially when he plays the second instead of the first time bar in the Scherzo—and he would probably throw up his hands in horror at some of Brendel's and Curzon's infelicities. But their performances penetrate to a vision of Schubert's world where such imperfections count for little.
If recording quality is a paramount concern, it must be said that Hyperion's for Bishop-Kovacevich is not ideally focused and that Brendel and Curzon are still more indistinct, despite the enhancement of Compact Disc. Hyperion offer no fill-up to the sonata, whereas on CD Curzon comes with the most generous coupling of all. In the A flat Impromptu he shows how risky self-abandon can be, as his expressive emphases produce a kind of a lop-sided Bulgarian seven-eight metre. But what marvellous identification with the inner world of the Moments musicaux—extremes of skittishness and profound consolation and, in the last piece, and inspired luminous quality, not so much projected as overheard in the process of creation.
Overwhelming in a diametrically opposed way in Pollini's A minor Sonata. This is a reading of controlled passion with an extraordinary tension between dynamic freedom and remorseless rhythmic grip—a wholly modern, wholly compelling conception. His wanderer conveys a liquid quality in the slow movement and an effortless virtuosity overall which are unrivalled, the finale arpeggios and first movement octaves not so much breathtaking as jaw-dropping.'