Todd
New member
Alas, this is not his complete cycle recorded in 1970. Rather, it’s his final recording for Simax of two of Beethoven’s finest sonatas – the 31/3 and 111 – made in 1988 just a few months before his death. Robert Riefling, for those who do not know (as I did not until I got this disc), was a Norwegian pianist born in 1911 who studied with one Nils Larsen in his homeland and with Wilhelm Kempff and Edwin Fischer in Germany. Throughout his long career he played a wide variety of music, with a healthy dose of the core German and Austrian classics. Beethoven, it seems, was close to Mr Riefling’s heart as this first disc was originally going to be part of a second integral cycle. And it was set to be a pretty good sounding one for the time, too. Arne Akselberg, who now works with Leif Ove Andsnes, was the producer and engineer, and the minimalist recording – two B&K omnis feeding a Sony DAT recorder – yields above average (for the time) results. Anyway, since I’ve been unable to find any mention that Riefling’s first cycle has even made it to CD, I figured I might as well try this lone disc.
I’m immensely glad I did. The disc opens with the last of the great Op 31 triumvirate, and a mighty fine version it is. Right from the start a few things are clear. First, despite his age, Riefling is up to the challenge. No, his playing isn’t as technically dazzling as younger virtuosi, but he’s able to convey his thoughts more than ably. Second, this is lived-in Beethoven. Riefling was obviously very familiar with the music and plays it just the way he wants, and what he wants sounds relaxed and unforced. No excess anything is to be heard. Take the opening Allegro: Riefling plays with a well-judged overall tempo – not too rushed, not too slow – that lets the music unfold in a most satisfying manner. His playing has a nice, steady rhythmic pulse to it, too, and his tone and tone control are most pleasing, and his dynamic range wide and varied – which is no doubt aided by the recording. He also keeps both hands nice and clear pretty much throughout. But what of the music, how does it sound? Well, it’s at once both serious, as in committed, and light in character. Riefling doesn’t try to make the music too serious. Perhaps a few times he seems to take his time unfurling more complex passages, and he’ll rather obviously slow up at times before moving into the next passage, but it all sounds quite nice. The Scherzo is likewise nicely paced, with the emphasis on letting the music flow. It’s definitely Allegro, but he doesn’t seem out to push the music too fast. But man, dig that incredibly clear and steady left-hand playing! The whole thing just cruises along in a most delightful way; it’s both graceful and puckish. In contrast, the Menuetto is lovely and graceful and flowing, at least on the surface. Just below the surface the playing is just a bit searching. So it’s both light and profound, or nearly so. The second section is forcefully deliberate and strikingly clear, which offers a nice contrast to the lyricism surrounding it. Riefling closes the work with a Presto con fuoco that is a bit slower than I generally prefer, but here he makes a believer out of me. It’s just groovy enough, more than fun enough, and has some more of that fine left hand playing. The bass line becomes a little garbled in a couple places, but quibbles are minor. How minor? Well, I found myself inadvertently a-smilin’ and a-swayin’ to the music.
What better piece could a pianist end a long recording career with than the 111? None, of course, and here Riefling has much to offer. The Maestoso opens strongly and insistently, with the potent bass chords hinting at what’s to come. After an appropriately anticipatory transition and big, beefy lead-in, Riefling plays the ominous, possibly fearsome music with notable strength. The limitations imposed by age become more evident here as he more deliberately navigates the score, at times sounding just a bit stodgy, and the playing isn’t exactly fierce, but what’s there is more than recompense enough. Rather than sounding ominous, the music sounds beleaguered yet defiant; the protagonist is making his last musical stand, if you will. It’s not quite a struggle, but it’s work, and it hits the spot. The second movement is where the glory is. And it is evident in the Arietta. Indeed, Riefling’s take on the Arietta is one of the most simply serene and beautiful I’ve heard, and it immediately establishes late-LvB spirituality. And it only gets better in the second half of the Arietta. Then it gets even better in the first variation! Often, the first variation seems a step down from the heavens, but not here. Riefling maintains that elusive character through both of the first two variations, a few awkwardly delivered passages notwithstanding. The third variation isn’t as fast and groovy as some, but it is more powerful and striking than what came before. Somewhat against my expectation, the fourth variation is not as ethereal and mysterious as I was hoping for, at least in the first half. It’s direct and earthbound, but in the best possible sense. The second half of the variation does transform into more heavenly form, though. Perhaps that makes it even more effective. The long chains of trills are somewhat less impressive than I had hoped, sounding a bit muddy, especially in the treble, but as time passes that certain haziness is not without its appeal. And so it goes until the final variation, where Riefling plays magically. Here the playing is as ethereal, spiritual, and touching as one could wish for. The music simply trails off into nothing, the listener sitting helpless before it. It may not be perfect, but it’s superb, and at times transcendental.
That’s probably the best way to sum up this rather fine disc. No, neither recording quite breaks into the ultra-elite category – the top five, say. The top ten? Maybe. Well, yes. Riefling’s Beethoven is an old man’s Beethoven, but it is also timeless. Imperfections are minor and never detract from the message of the music. Who could ask for more? According to the liner notes, Robert Riefling approved this recording to be his memorial. It is a fine and fitting memorial. Now, when will some enterprising label reissue his complete cycle?
I’m immensely glad I did. The disc opens with the last of the great Op 31 triumvirate, and a mighty fine version it is. Right from the start a few things are clear. First, despite his age, Riefling is up to the challenge. No, his playing isn’t as technically dazzling as younger virtuosi, but he’s able to convey his thoughts more than ably. Second, this is lived-in Beethoven. Riefling was obviously very familiar with the music and plays it just the way he wants, and what he wants sounds relaxed and unforced. No excess anything is to be heard. Take the opening Allegro: Riefling plays with a well-judged overall tempo – not too rushed, not too slow – that lets the music unfold in a most satisfying manner. His playing has a nice, steady rhythmic pulse to it, too, and his tone and tone control are most pleasing, and his dynamic range wide and varied – which is no doubt aided by the recording. He also keeps both hands nice and clear pretty much throughout. But what of the music, how does it sound? Well, it’s at once both serious, as in committed, and light in character. Riefling doesn’t try to make the music too serious. Perhaps a few times he seems to take his time unfurling more complex passages, and he’ll rather obviously slow up at times before moving into the next passage, but it all sounds quite nice. The Scherzo is likewise nicely paced, with the emphasis on letting the music flow. It’s definitely Allegro, but he doesn’t seem out to push the music too fast. But man, dig that incredibly clear and steady left-hand playing! The whole thing just cruises along in a most delightful way; it’s both graceful and puckish. In contrast, the Menuetto is lovely and graceful and flowing, at least on the surface. Just below the surface the playing is just a bit searching. So it’s both light and profound, or nearly so. The second section is forcefully deliberate and strikingly clear, which offers a nice contrast to the lyricism surrounding it. Riefling closes the work with a Presto con fuoco that is a bit slower than I generally prefer, but here he makes a believer out of me. It’s just groovy enough, more than fun enough, and has some more of that fine left hand playing. The bass line becomes a little garbled in a couple places, but quibbles are minor. How minor? Well, I found myself inadvertently a-smilin’ and a-swayin’ to the music.
What better piece could a pianist end a long recording career with than the 111? None, of course, and here Riefling has much to offer. The Maestoso opens strongly and insistently, with the potent bass chords hinting at what’s to come. After an appropriately anticipatory transition and big, beefy lead-in, Riefling plays the ominous, possibly fearsome music with notable strength. The limitations imposed by age become more evident here as he more deliberately navigates the score, at times sounding just a bit stodgy, and the playing isn’t exactly fierce, but what’s there is more than recompense enough. Rather than sounding ominous, the music sounds beleaguered yet defiant; the protagonist is making his last musical stand, if you will. It’s not quite a struggle, but it’s work, and it hits the spot. The second movement is where the glory is. And it is evident in the Arietta. Indeed, Riefling’s take on the Arietta is one of the most simply serene and beautiful I’ve heard, and it immediately establishes late-LvB spirituality. And it only gets better in the second half of the Arietta. Then it gets even better in the first variation! Often, the first variation seems a step down from the heavens, but not here. Riefling maintains that elusive character through both of the first two variations, a few awkwardly delivered passages notwithstanding. The third variation isn’t as fast and groovy as some, but it is more powerful and striking than what came before. Somewhat against my expectation, the fourth variation is not as ethereal and mysterious as I was hoping for, at least in the first half. It’s direct and earthbound, but in the best possible sense. The second half of the variation does transform into more heavenly form, though. Perhaps that makes it even more effective. The long chains of trills are somewhat less impressive than I had hoped, sounding a bit muddy, especially in the treble, but as time passes that certain haziness is not without its appeal. And so it goes until the final variation, where Riefling plays magically. Here the playing is as ethereal, spiritual, and touching as one could wish for. The music simply trails off into nothing, the listener sitting helpless before it. It may not be perfect, but it’s superb, and at times transcendental.
That’s probably the best way to sum up this rather fine disc. No, neither recording quite breaks into the ultra-elite category – the top five, say. The top ten? Maybe. Well, yes. Riefling’s Beethoven is an old man’s Beethoven, but it is also timeless. Imperfections are minor and never detract from the message of the music. Who could ask for more? According to the liner notes, Robert Riefling approved this recording to be his memorial. It is a fine and fitting memorial. Now, when will some enterprising label reissue his complete cycle?