Brahms' last piano compositions are often recorded together (at least three new sets have just hit the market) but hardly ever performed complete in recital. They last only an hour, but it's one that requires intense concentration from all involved and is parsimonious with the flashy, virtuosic passages.
Even when they are technically demanding, they conceal the sweat behind the veil of subtlety, often spiritual, that is their calling card and the reason they hold a special place in the hearts of Brahms-lovers. For much the same reason, even more seldom heard is Brahms' final collection of keyboard music — for organ — the 11 Chorale-Preludes of Op. 122, which many listeners are as happy to hear at home in the quiet communion that digital technology allows, and where the music feels heaven-sent.
Every living pianist has approached the late Brahms in the shadow of Radu Lupu's unsurpassed Opp. 117-19 for Decca. Out San Francisco-based pianist Garrick Ohlsson has just released a set for Hyperion (Clavierstucke, the cover has it, with, a "C" rather than a "K) that substitutes the six Fantasias of Op. 116 for the four pieces of Op. 119. It turns out to be a savvy decision, since the more extroverted quality of the fantasias is better suited to Ohlsson's bold take on these works. His is, overall, big-boned Brahms, often accenting keyboard pyrotechnics over the subtleties that lurk in these works.
It's hardly that his playing lacks the requisite sensitivity for this refined, often spare music. Some of the intermezzi express the ache for which Brahms-lovers cherish them, and Ohlsson brings a commendable variety to the set. But the flame of inner incandescence that imbues this material can seem matter-of-fact when not turned up high. The stormy 1851 Op. 4 Scherzo appended to the program feels like its goal.
The 29-year-old Siberian-born, London-based pianist Pavel Kolesnikov recently toured a program (on BBC3 iPlayer until Feb. 14) entitled "Framed by Brahms." It confronted the hazards of performing all the late Brahms intermezzi together by focusing on Op. 117. He opened with No. 1, ending the first half with No. 2 and closed with No. 3 — between them playing works by composers as disparate as Louis Couperin and Tchaikovsky, in sum a compelling musical conversation.
Kolesnikov has already carved out a niche for himself in what is almost an embarrassment of riches in the new generation of pianists, in no small part by his innate desire to play compellingly and to add a sometimes childlike sense of caprice to the mix of his strengths. His versatility goes beyond playing both concertos and solo pieces to a lively predilection for human interaction that has made him an increasingly valued participant in Europe's dynamic ensemble- and chamber-music scene. It would also be a slight not to mention that among his extra-musical passions is collecting perfumes, many of rare vintage. It's not going too far to say that you hear it the refined, exquisite nose in his playing.
His latest CD, for Hyperion, is all-Beethoven, including the "Moonlight" Sonata, no less. He doesn't lead with this best-known of Beethoven sonatas (hearing the famous opening movement in an episode of "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" was core to my childhood initiation to music) but, as in his London recital, surrounds it with smaller, mostly earlier Beethoven pieces and the lively, delectable sonata Op. 14, No. 2.
In one sense, Kolesnikov is as forthright with the "Moonlight" opening as Ohlsson is with Brahms Op. 117, No. 1, a comparable audience-grabber. The "moonlight" shines with a steadiness that enhances rather than dulls its inescapable beauty, and Kolesnikov tastefully resists the temptation to leave, as is sometimes said, not a dry seat in the house. Rank sentimentality is not among his arsenal of wiles as an interpreter.
As his recent tour suggests, he is by inclination a master programmer. As he arranges and plays these mostly early pieces, they show each other in the best possible light. The disarming simplicity, even naivete of some of them give their dancing, presto counterparts shine without extraverted barn-storming. Not a note in the scores goes unheard, but Kolesnikov's finely calibrated touch and deep, elastic, natural sense of rhythm yield music-making that makes magic of coherence and thought.
Least of all would Beethoven — who, despite his reputation for fiery temperament put a premium on what he called "cheerfulness" — have minded that this program of his music that now often goes unplayed for its familiarity and "earliness" could be such unalloyed fun. The Op. 33 Bagatelles are pungently aphoristic, and the free-standing Allegrettos, Andantes and Prestos sparkle. Kolesnikov closes with an irresistible account of the zestiest of the "Woos" — the "Werke ohne opus" Beethoven wrote before sanctioning others with opus numbers: the astonishing, ebullient 32 Variations on an Original Theme, WoO 80.