Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827)
Sonata for Piano and Violin no. 2 in A major, op. 10 no. 2 (1797–8)
Sonata for Piano and Violin no. 4 in A minor, op. 23 (1800–1)
Sonata for Piano and Violin no. 9 in A major, op. 47 (1802–3)
Antje Weithaas (violin)
Dénes Várjon (piano)
rec. 2021, Deutschlandfunk Kammermusiksaal, Cologne
CAvi-Music 8553512 [75]
Antje Weithaas is one of those virtuosi whose consistent musical excellence is not altogether reflected in the extent of their international profile. She has, after all, spent most of her career in Germany and Switzerland, and is probably as much known as a chamber player and teacher as for her solo work. That said, she has begun in recent years to build up an impressive discography that encompasses unaccompanied violin works by J. S. Bach and Ysaÿe, concertos by Brahms, Schumann (review), Bruch (review) (review) and Khachaturian (review), as well as Beethoven’s ‘Triple’ (review). Here, with her regular partner Dénes Várjon, she embarks upon a project to record what we tend somewhat lazily to call Beethoven’s complete “Violin Sonatas”; actually, as AvI-Music’s booklet reminds us, the composer – like Mozart before him – always lists the piano before the violin – and indeed it is one of the many excellences of the present disc that Weithaas, Várjon and their recording engineers never let us forget that the two instruments are very much equal partners, jointly responsible for carrying forward the musical argument.
In the cycle which this disc inaugurates, Weithaas and Várjon are plainly not intending to issue the sonatas in chronological order. Indeed, on the current disc the second and fourth sonatas are in a sense separated from their most obvious companions; no. 2 is one of the three op. 12 sonatas dedicated to Salieri, and no. 4 was originally published alongside the so-called “Spring” Sonata, no. 5. In each case, however, the pieces recorded here have tended to be rather overshadowed by their companions, so it makes sense to place them in a different context and to allow them to speak eloquently for themselves. Moreover, that context is an eminently logical one in terms of tonality: after all, eight of the nine movements we hear are in either A major or A minor (as Elisabeth Richter’s excellent notes tell us, the sole exception is the F major variation movement of the “Kreutzer”).
As a programme, the sequence works well. The restless opening of no. 4 contrasts well with the much quieter ending of no. 2, and the questioning opening of no. 9 follows on naturally from the rather quizzical, anticlimactic ending of no. 4. There is also an appropriate chronological progression within the disc; above all, it seems important that the enormous “Kreutzer” should come last, where it forms a powerful culmination without dwarfing the other two works. All in all, the disc’s programme sounds so coherent that one is surprised to discover that it has only been done once before: by Lorenzo Gatto and Julien Libeer in 2016 (Alpha 240), on a disc – sadly unknown to me – which won a Diapaison d’Or but seems never to have been reviewed by MusicWeb International.
Certainly Weithaas and Várjon need fear no competition. In technical terms they cannot be faulted. Weithaas’ tone in particular has an appealing mixture of warmth and purity, her vibrato is well controlled, and her intonation – to my ears at least – is faultless. All of this, however, is placed very palpably at the service of the music. Even between 1797 and 1803, Beethoven’s music plumbed depths and covered a range which no interpretation can fully convey, but these two artists really do come closer than most. They are ever alert to light and shade, to emotional ambiguity and to rhythmic quirkiness, and they seem to discern the right mood for each movement without sacrificing the narrative thread of the work as a whole. The first movement of no. 2, for example, is for the most part joyfully playful; the second hushed and eloquent, if emotionally equivocal; and the third chipper, but again not cloudless. The restlessness of the outer movements of no. 4 is also readily conveyed, but is deftly contrasted with melting songfulness in parts at least of the central andante scherzando – and the probing, energetic account of the “Kreutzer” Sonata succeeds in covering a remarkable number of bases; I will remember especially Weithaas and Várjon’s way with the exploratory, uncertain opening, and with the complex moods and structures of the central set of variations – but I am finding that their at times almost frantic closing tarantella is also stubbornly refusing to get out of my head.
Greatly as I enjoyed these performances, it seems to me possible that some listeners might regard them as unduly interventionist. The artists’ use of rubato is generous, their dynamic range huge (there are some wonderful pianissimi), and their characterization consistently vivid. There’s a touch of ‘old school’ expressiveness about them, in other words. For me, though, this is all to the good; it comes across as the product of wide experience and wisdom, rather than any kind of self-indulgence. Weithaas and Várjon have a great deal to say and are not afraid to say it, but their focus of interest is always and emphatically Beethoven – not themselves.
Nigel Harris
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