Robert Schumann (1810-1856)
Piano Works Volume 2
Piano Sonata no. 1 in F-sharp Minor, op. 11
Kreisleriana, op. 16
Arabesque in C Major, op. 18
Piano Sonata no. 3 in F Minor, op. 14
Études Symphoniques, op. 13
Blumenstück in D-flat Major, op. 19
Llŷr Williams (pianist)
rec. 2025, Wyastone Leys, Monmouth, UK
Signum Classics SIGCD923 [154]
On this second album in what seems to be a projected complete series, Welsh pianist Llŷr Williams tackles some of Robert Schumann’s more “problematic” major works, specifically the Piano Sonata no. 1 in f-sharp minor, op. 11, Kreisleriana, and the Piano Sonata no. 3 in f minor, op. 14.
The first sonata is very much a “you love it” or “you hate it” piece with no room for fence-sitters, and even the most committed performances of the work may leave some listeners cold. Williams brings to the sonata (and to all the pieces on the album) an impressive amount of technical control and sophisticated musicianship, but he is ultimately lacking in the wild nature that is required to bring the sonata off. Critics of the past often complained of the formless nature of this sonata, and I suspect that the only way to battle a general feeling of aimlessness is to go for broke, both in terms of speed and expression; Williams holds back in both these categories. Listening to the big buildups in the first and final movements, there is always a sense that the envelope could be pushed much farther in the areas of velocity, rubato, and dynamic (both louds and softs). This element of “envelope pushing” was very much a part of Schumann’s emotional makeup, and in a piece that does not play itself (the latter being something like Carnaval), excess is a virtue. Examples of pianists who explored the excesses of op. 11 include Evgeny Kissin and, going farther back, Walter Gieseking. (Gieseking’s recently released live 1952 Australian recording on Meloclassic is stunning.)
Listeners may find Williams’s Kreisleriana to possess a similarly buttoned-down nature, but this piece better responds to a more introspective, controlled approach. The fast movements are not the brusque whirlwinds that Hofmann, Cortot, or Horowitz made of them, but I enjoyed Williams’s interpretations of the more innig movements, whose passions run less hot than those of the op. 11 sonata. His well-judged tempi in the slower movements allow for introspection without dragging, which is a real danger and audible on numerous modern recordings. The nasty pickups in the first section of the Sehr rasch seventh movement are not always cleanly articulated, but Williams handles the quasi-fugal section very well. A note on the bizarre final movement; to mix some metaphors, the music is a dynamic, rhythmic, and articulation minefield, and Williams absolutely knocks it out of the park, playing with exceptional intent and clarity.
We get the lovely Arabesque as a breather before the third sonata. The tempo for the repeating introductory section is perhaps on the fast side (in line with many performances, to be fair), and the effect is occasionally business-like. Williams does find some beautiful colors in the slow section before the first return of the A material.
The third sonata is a bizarre case. It was written quickly in five movements: Allegro brillante, two Scherzos, Quasi variazioni, and the finale. Schumann sent the work to his publisher Haslinger in this five-movement form with the title “Sonata,” then decided to omit the two scherzos and rewrote the finale. There is some disagreement over who wanted the oddball title (Schumann or his publisher), but a three-movement version of the piece was published in 1836 under the title “Concerto sans Orchestre.” Schumann revised the piece in 1853, returning a scherzo to the mix and republishing the work as a Piano Sonata. At this time, he also tinkered significantly with textures and harmonies, particularly in the initial movement. Pianists who played from the green-covered Kalmus Clara Schumann edition often picked which bits they wanted to play; both possibilities were visible in the score. Williams notes in the CD booklet that one can program his CD to hear either a “Concerto” or a “Sonata.” It sounds like he sticks to the first edition in terms of the first movement textual changes.
The piece is technically awkward to the point of significant difficulty, the result being that few pianists played the piece in the 19th or 20th centuries. (Sonata no. 2, op. 22, once beloved of all concert pianists, has now also faded into obscurity.) The only two important pianists I know of who regularly performed the piece were Americans Arthur Loesser and Leonard Shure, both of whom played the work throughout their very long careers. Vladimir Horowitz took op. 14 up for a single season, bringing the work to the attention of younger generations in the 1970s. The piece is fairly blessed in the realm of commercial recordings, with excellent renditions by pianists including Jerome Rose and Peter Frankl. Unfortunately, I don’t find Williams’s recording to be convincing. He handles the imposing first movement with kid gloves, parsing out the pedal carefully and in the process overemphasizing Schumann’s phrasing while also neutering the impact of the swirling figurations and punchy chords. The crisp dotted rhythms that impressed at the end of Kreisleriana are not in evidence here. The accented upbeats in the scherzo are underplayed. The somber variations on Clara’s doleful theme are given a touching performance, and I appreciate the clarity of his melodic intentions in the final movement. At the end of the day, I would rather hear the explosive recording by Jerome Rose or the untidy but very exciting live performance by Arthur Loesser.
Like the Sonata op. 14, the Études Symphoniques possesses a checkered compositional history. The pianist faces textual choices in terms of first (1837) v. second (1852) editions and has to decide whether to play the five “posthumous” études cut by Schumann from the first edition and only later published by Brahms in 1890. If played, these posthumous études usually get plunked down wherever the pianist feels they best fit. (Williams inserts posthumous études #3 and 2 after canonical variation 5, and then 4, 5, and 1 after canonical variation 7.) Williams also notes in the booklet that he has restored a portion of the first edition of the finale. The original finale was on the long side, but it contained some heroic music that adds a great deal to the piece.
Given the myriad of musical options available, the Études Symphoniques lasts anywhere between ca. 18 minutes (Gieseking, avoiding repeats and generally playing as fast as his fingers would take him) and 37 minutes (Llŷr Williams) and can have a completely different feel to it based on the music selected and its arrangement. Williams’s performance is the longest I’ve encountered thus far, but this doesn’t mean that he drags; he just plays a fairly “complete” version of the piece. Of all the performances on the disc, this is the most successful. The temperance that was a demerit in the sonatas is a benefit here in music that is often played up for virtuoso brilliance but loses clarity in the process. Williams has the fingers to solve all of Schumann’s thorny technical puzzles as well as to provide many little touches of interpretation in moments that often whiz by. There are many moments to enjoy here; the pianist’s pearly touch in the oddly proto-Fauréan posthumous Variation 5 is just right, and the Mendelssohnian Variation 9 is handled without bluster. The performance of the finale is unfortunately not the most epic on record, and Williams’s lack of a wider dynamic range makes Schumann’s obsessive repetitions of the theme somewhat oppressive.
Richard Masters
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