Unbelievably and at last, Arrau has left us, but we have a great legacy from him in the form of recordings such as these, which will preserve his art for generations to come. As a grand-pupil of Liszt, via his teacher Martin Krause, he was one of our last links with the nineteenth century, and fortunately too big an artist to play Liszt well but remain outside the very different world of Brahms: as a matter of fact, he brought the same essential gravitas to the Liszt Sonata as he did to the two sonatas in the present issue, although there is also the sparkling virtuosity that is needed in such music as the Paganini Variations.
The F sharp minor Sonata is by no means as fine a work as the F minor which succeeded it, for it relies heavily on rhetorical gestures with little substance and the piano writing is somewhat crude. But Arrau is right in going along with Brahms's grandiloquence rather than playing it down, and if the effect is somewhat wearing, notably in the first movement, it is surely truthful and the unexpected quiet ending of this Allegro non troppo, ma energico is thus placed in the right perspective. In the Andante con espressione that follows, textures could be richer but the inner tension of the music is realized. The 1973 sound is powerful rather than sumptuous, and there is a little tape hiss, but for the most part the recording does justice to the playing and the music, even if one misses the delicate sound that is needed in the pianissimo, leggiero opening of the Scherzo.
Although the Four Ballades are also early works, they are more subtle in language and piano writing. I'm not convinced by Arrau's treatment of No. 1, where the faster central section seems to run away with him, but certainly this is exciting and compelling playing of an atmospheric piece inspired by a bloody Scottish ballad. Elsewhere it is Arrau's characteristic thoughtfulness that shapes the Ballades, although, again, one looks for a gentler pianissimo in the many mysterious passages, not least in No. 4.
The second disc of this set brings a famous performance of the F minor Sonata that was recorded in 1971. But for all its worth, some critics have found Arrau mannered in his many lingerings, perhaps especially in the first movement, and I have to agree with them: in the process of highlighting detail, something of the maestoso quality that the composer asks for is lost. The rest of the work is eloquently done, but although this is a performance of the sonata that demands to be heard it does not rank among the finest currently available such as those of Zimerman, Kocsis and most recently, Perahia (respectively on DG, Hungaroton/Conifer and Sony Classical), perhaps above all because it lacks youthful ardour and directness. These qualities, plus a certain irascibility, are better revealed in the Scherzo in E flat minor on the same disc.
The last disc has two magnificent sets of variations. The Handel set with its baroque-sounding theme is managed with authority, but I confess to finding the playing of the Theme itself fussy and unnatural, and although matters go better thereafter there are too many moments of selfconscious point-making for the overall sequence to flow naturally (try the slow, minor-mode Var. 13 at 12'23'' for another example of this). However, the 1978 recording, made in a British location, is better than that of the two sonatas, having more depth and perspective. The two books of Paganini Variations, on a theme by that composer which has inspired many later ones up to Andrew Lloyd Webber, are more successful. Arrau was famous for his account of this work, and here he offers depth as well as brilliance, as well as the panache and charm. The work holds together, too, much better than the Op. 24 set. Even if we miss the diabolical glitter which a pianist such as Julius Katchen brought to this music, this is still a masterly account and a must for all admirers of Arrau who do not already possess his performance, particularly as the 1974 recording made in The Netherlands is a good one.'