And yet, I do not tergiverserai: Notwithstanding the merits of these venerable interpretations, I know of no integral that can compete with this version of Arthur and Clara Haskil Grumiaux, engraved in the mid-1950s in an excellent mono.
The keyboard of the Romanian pianist caresses, sing, grumbles and fulminates in turn, driven by a belief that reveals a hardened character. Although the piano is relegated to the background of a rather thankless acoustic bursts its dramatic presence on screen.
The Belgian violinist vibrates the strings with a supremely elegant feel in youth opus, where the warm sound of his Guarnerius is a balm for the ear.
The "Spring" is a miracle of poetry and shared pleasure. For a few, we would hear the birds sing.
The malicious Eighth here has nothing to salonnard or we are at the Guermantes ...
Because under this limpid classicism, smoldering, passions burn. In the seventh, in C minor, uncheck the bow arrows that are not those of Cupid.
And "Kreutzer" crossed the Rubicon: So listen to Presto vituperates with an ardor that would clean with a breath the Augean stables! While the Andante con Variazioni dangled fountain waters amuse well ablution of a god.
Listened one after the other, the spirit of each sonata is identified and served with the most blatant stylistic evidence.
But is it necessary to evoke the notion of style, when the service of interpreters is modeled value?
All we hear here can dry up qu'amuïr criticism and commentary. Duly noted.
