Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Piano Sonata no. 23 in F Minor, op. 57, “Appassionata”
Piano Sonata no. 3 in C major, op. 2 no. 3
André-Michel Schub (pianist)
rec. June, 1983 (unknown location)
Reviewed as download
Vox VOX-NX-2791 [50]

Over the past several years, Vox (or whoever now owns them) has been throwing their entire back catalogue up onto the Naxos Music Library, resulting in the appearance of rare items that were only briefly in print. This disc by the 1981 Cliburn Competition winner André-Michel Schub was published in 1984 by “Vox Cum Laude,” a sub-label of the Moss Music Group, being released concurrently as an LP and cassette tape. (It may have been released in the same year as a CD on Vox Turnabout.) The recording is now gaining new life on the Naxos streaming service.

André-Michel Schub is perhaps not now as much of a known quantity as he was in the years immediately after his Cliburn win. Born in France, he moved to the United States as a small child, studying piano first with his mother, then Jascha Zayde and finally Rudolf Serkin. His triumph at the Cliburn was not a surprise; an experienced competition winner, he had already brought home laurels in the 1974 Naumburg Competition and was selected to receive the 1977 Avery Fisher Recital Award. He was older than most of the other Cliburn competitors and was already performing in significant venues. The 1981 award ultimately credited him with being the most “consistently excellent” of the wide-ranging field. Schub’s reputation at the time was that of a “safe” pianist with a crackerjack technique. As per period sources, he wasn’t the most exciting musician onstage, but he could be relied upon to give solid performances of standard repertoire. (For more details of Schub’s career and Cliburn win, read Joseph Horowitz’s excellent book The Ivory Trade.) The critical perception of Schub’s playing at the time may have been correct, but it is mistaken as far as these Beethoven performances go. This is one of the most enjoyable Beethoven discs I have heard for some time.

Schub plays the first movement of the “Appassionata” with an enormous dynamic range. The score is very familiar to me, yet I still felt surprised by some of Schub’s (really, Beethoven’s) shockingly violent shifts; these musical jolts all appear in the score, but Schub clearly communicates the numerous subito dynamic effects with a precision that gives them greater power. For example, the four thunderous chords at the Più allegro that lead into the coda of the first movement are often played at a high volume yet lack the sort of crisp articulation that Schub bestows on them. He also comes in slightly earlier than one is used to hearing in that moment, increasing the surprise. (Many pianists hold the prior fermata forever, assuming that the longer the chord lasts, the more shocking the shift will be when the Più allegro arrives.) Schub is very careful with his pedaling, meaning that we can hear more of the arpeggiated cascades; he observes Beethoven’s long pedal markings, but doesn’t go full “pedal to the metal.” Although some critics of the 1980s seemed to be annoyed by his ironclad technique, as if it detracted from his music-making, I find that Schub’s incredible control helps him to focus on the score. There may not be a sense of some metaphysical Beethovenian struggle with the keyboard à la Rudolf Serkin, but there are more ways than one to play this music, and Schub’s technically-secure, musically-detailed approach works.

The second movement for once is played Andante con moto rather than Adagio molto, the flowing tempo giving impetus to the theme and variations. Schub plays with great nobility of expression, using careful shaping and voicing to point up the theme’s gradual metamorphosis. The sudden jump to the final movement comes as a surprise due to the easygoing nature of the interpretation in the second movement, and this is likely what Beethoven wanted. Schub takes the last movement at a controlled pace, perhaps giving heed to the famous Horowitz dictum: a passage played clearly at a slightly slower tempo will sound faster than a very fast tempo that cannot be played with clarity. It’s no surprise that Schub’s fingerwork is superb here, or that his pedaling is very precise. For those who are tired of the typical everything-but-the-kitchen sink approach (think of Arthur Rubinstein on a bad day), Schub’s interpretation here offers simmering anger rather than indiscriminate shouting, with a long buildup to a coda that unfortunately is not then allowed off the leash.

The op. 2 no. 3 Sonata used to be a favored plaything of volcanic pianists like Mark Hambourg or Sviatoslav Richter, but it appears less often on the programs of modern pianists. Schub plays this early work with much energy. The first movement is tailormade for him, with reams of pearly passagework, double-thirds, and long trills for his expert fingers to devour. The pianist’s the dynamic range in the striking second movement here seems to be constricted; there could be even softer sounds to discover here, as well as more space on the higher end of the dynamic spectrum. There is a difficult to describe “stuck” feeling when one compares the performance with that of a pianist like Schnabel; the latter’s (often unwritten) shading and his observance of the rests in the opening both carry one to the next phrase but also manage insert a sort of profound quiet between the phrases that is both beautiful and unsettling. Schub plays with some gorgeous colors, but the rests are just rests, and the E Minor section passes by easily without dipping into the painful drama of Schnabel’s account. The pianist is back in form for the muscular scherzo and the spritely rondo. The clarity of his left-hand work in the difficult figurations of the last movement is impressive. Schub sounds like he is having a ball, which is frankly the goal of this rollicking score.

This recording is a most welcome reminder of an excellent pianist; I hope that Naxos continues to troll the back catalogue of Vox and similar companies.

Richard Masters

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