Search - Felix [1] Mendelssohn, Carl Maria von Weber, Johannes Brahms :: Alfred Brendel 3

Renaissance man Alfred Brendel remains one of the indisputable keyboard giants of the last several decades, and many a music lover has grown up with his Beethoven or Schubert as a point of departure. Though routinely depicted as an archetype of the modern pianist as predominantly analytical and heavily "cerebral" (albeit in a sense somewhat different from that of Maurizio Pollini), Brendel shouldn't be boxed into such easy categories--and much of the artistry represented on his third volume in the Philips series is a case in point. To be sure, Brendel's impressive intellectual candlepower is in ample evidence. Whether it's the richly figured "Variations sérieuses" of Mendelssohn or his invaluable Brahms First Piano Concerto (from 1986)--in fantastic sympathy with Abbado's Berliners--you can almost hear the process of thought translating into feeling in Brendel's phrasing. But there's also a corresponding passion, which grips you by the throat in the first movement of the Brahms and is breathtakingly beautiful in the second. Similarly, Brendel's Chopin (the F-sharp minor Polonaise here) may not seem as outright "poetic" as a more sentimental taste would dictate, but the sinewy, steely sense of structure he builds up conveys a sensuous energy as well. That's above all the case with the Liszt excerpts occupying most of disc 2. Brendel's strong associations with the Hungarian composer go beyond reclaiming a misunderstood talent; though accused at times of "overdoing" Liszt in the sense of taking him too seriously, Brendel actually revels in the gorgeous fabrics of sound from the Années de pèlerinage numbers and somehow balances the muscle-flexing virtuosity of Totentanz with a respect for its novel ideas-there's both surface and substance here. In fact, Brendel can leave you downright giddy with the coruscating peroration of his Hungarian Rhapsody No. 15. The enigmatic, labyrinthine Toccata of the Lisztian heir Ferrucio Busoni makes a perfect envoi, a study in self-reflexive high jinks but one deeply wed to the sensual sonorities of the keyboard. --Thomas May