I think the current catalogue still lacks the ideal performance of these two sonatas. When it does come, I hope its sound may be enhanced by CD. In the meantime we're able to choose between three enjoyable LP recordings—all of them from such trustworthy musicians that choice is predominately a matter of personal taste. Since it was the actual timbre of the clarinet (or at any rate as experienced by Brahms from Richard Muhlfeld, first clarinettist in the Meiningen Court Orchestra) that inspired not just these two late works and the trio but also that haunting masterpiece, the Clarinet Quintet as well, I'm bound to say that I myself would turn to the version that most reminded me of the instrument's tonal beauty and range. That, surely, comes from Leister on Orfeo, whose liquid flow and keen ear for colour contrasts finds outlet in beautifully tapered phrasing. Always more than ready to assume the lead when required, his pianist, Oppitz, is a true partner, in intimate exchanges showing a superfine ear for matched and blended colour as well as all else. The recording brings up both instruments with three-dimensional clarity.
Much as I admired Thea King's control of a considerably dynamic range, particularly her soft playing, I did find her tone just a bit more reedy, less sensuously seductive, than Leister's. Nor does she produce such ear-catching contrasts of colour, or phrasing quite as long-breathed and liquid. But sound is of course not the whole story. Both King and Benson are just as caring Brahmsians, and their teamwork is close. Benson is certainly luckier than Peter Frankl (Chandos) in the actual reproduction of his instrument, even if his playing evokes a slightly older, less easily inflammable Brahms than the one we meet from both Frankl and Oppitz.
All three teams prefer a safe middle course in response to the composer's tempo headings (by this time he had no more use for the metronome). I would have liked a little more urgency from them all in the F minor Sonata's opening Allegro appassionato, also the similarly headed Scherzo in the Second Sonata. For that Scherzo's central trio, marked sostenuto, I think King and Benson, like Leister and Oppitz, adopt a dispoportionately slow tempo. While allowing themselves some leeway, Hilton and Frankl are more discerning here in realizing that it was primarily a change of mood, rather than speed, that Brahms was after. But in the First Sonata's spirited F major finale I was glad to find King and Benson keeping rhythm taut throughout, like Hilton and Frankl, instead of relaxing in lyrical episodes like Leister and Oppitz.
In sum, then, a roundabouts and swings situation, with a lot more to praise than to condemn all round. Yet, like SP when these sonatas last came up a couple of years ago, I still wish that all contenders had been ''bolder in pursuit of character''. None, I feel, quite discovers the full inner intensity beneath the outward restraint, even when Brahms was smiling—as in the E flat's radiant opening Allegro amabile.'