In his 1975 LP recording of the C minor Sonata (nla) Brendel didn't repeat the first movement's exposition. Here he does—I think advantageously in view of its concision. Arrestingly dramatic as that old performance of the opening Allegro was, there were too many fluctuations of tempo for my own liking. Here, his relaxation in second-subject territory is less extreme, and I thought the movement all the finer for its firmer backbone. The Adagio in its turn is almost a minute shorter than before. Both readings carry complete conviction because so committed. But I think the new one, with its little extra flow, is the more truly Schubertian. The whole performance is exceptionally highly-strung and forcibly projected, with its own drama heightened by the keenest imaginable response to every dot, dash and dynamic gradation. The recorded sound is as vivid as the playing.
Lupu's reissue is just as distinguished in its own rather less urgent way. At its marginally more leisurely tempo, the first movement (in which he omits the exposition repeat) has great breadth. But returning to it after six years, I found myself questioning his relaxation of tension in the lyrical second subject just as much as I'd done with Brendel's earlier LP. The Adagio is very slow (some 50 seconds slower than from Brendel and Pollini/DG) and very searching: played like this, it could almost be attributed to Beethoven. Whereas Lupu's Scherzo is slightly fleeter than from Brendel or Pollini, in the finale he is more deliberate than either of them—in his inflexion perhaps not quite catching the undertones of a danse macabre as potently as they do. The CD transfer is agreeably mellow, conveying the full beauty of his tone throughout a wide dynamic range—not least his opulent fortissimo. I certainly prefer the greater clarity of both Brendel's and Lupu's engineering to the very reverberant DG sound, though I have only heard the aristocratic Pollini on cassette.
In the Moments musicaux there is very strong competition in the catalogue from Sir Clifford Curzon on Decca (my own favourite for the wonderful spontaneity and piquancy of his characterization) and the searching Barenboim on DG. Never mind. In their different ways both Brendel and Lupu take these pieces just as much to heart. In the first Brendel chooses to play the central section like a considerably slower trio, while in the last Lupu allows himself the liberty of a faster tempo at this point. In No. 4 Brendel is a more assertive point-maker, and I prefer his livelier tempo for No. 5. But as I remarked in 1983, Lupu's often simpler phrasing has an eloquence all its own.'