Less than a year after the release of his recording of Schubert's Impromptus (BIS-2614), Ronald Brautigam now presents two of Franz Schubert's late masterpieces, the Sonatas D 959 and D 960. They are played here on a fortepiano built by Paul McNulty after an instrument from around 1819 by the Viennese instrument maker Conrad Graf, and presumably similar to the instrument on which Schubert composed.

Although it is tempting to see Schubert's final works as the testament of a doomed artist who feels his end is nearing, the reality is quite different: the composer displayed vitality, optimism, and a prodigious capacity for work. His last two sonatas also show that he had reached a new level, having successfully emancipated himself from the Beethovenian model. These sonatas took a long time to establish themselves, not least because of their length, which was at first disconcerting for music-lovers and pianists alike. They are now considered to be among Schubert's finest works, alongside others dating from the last years of his life, such as the String Quintet in C major and the song cycle Winterreise. All these works seemed to herald considerable promise for future works; Schubert's untimely death buried a rich heritage, but even more beautiful hopes.

REVIEW:

Paul McNulty ‘s 2007 fortepiano based on a Conrad Graf model circa 1819 served Ronald Brautigam’s Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven solo recordings wonderfully well, and does so again in the fortepianist’s powerful, passionate and musically intelligent accounts of Schubert’s last two sonatas. Indeed, these are far and away the best Schubert period instrument piano recordings since those of Andreas Staier and Peter Serkin. Brautigam dives into the A Major Sonata’s opening Allegro with both assertion and flexibility, underlining Schubert’s astonishing harmonic tangents with stinging accents, subtle accelerations and full-bodied fortes that almostd detonate. To compensate for his instrument’s limited sustaining capabilities, Brautigam builds the momentum within the slow movement’s wild central climax by occasionally scaling back the long chromatic phrases so that their loudest peaks convey maximum impact. Having recently played on a similar McNulty Graf model, I can attest that the instrument’s light action makes it easier than usual to negotiate the Scherzo at a true Allegro vivace. However, Brautigam holds the tempo back and conveys more lilt and swing in the process. He also brings a patient, songful and lovingly nuanced spaciousness to the Finale that parallels Maurizio Pollini’s sublime modern instrument recording.

The instrument’s striking timbral distinctions between registers hit home in the B-flat Sonata’s Molto Moderato, especially when the low lying trills appear to emanate from an entirely different keyboard. Likewise, the frequent repeated notes in melodic phrases and ostinato-like accompaniments gain tension. One also should note Brautigam’s shifts of emphasis and timing as he observes the long first movement repeat. He imparts more urgency than what one often hears in the Andante sostenuto, mustering up genuine orchestral impact in the central climax. The Scherzo stands out for Brautigam’s mercurial pedal shifts and curvaceously inflected Trio section. I would have imagined a more headlong Finale in Brautigam’s hands, yet he takes Schubert’s “ma non troppo” caveat to heart by easing his way into the main theme, and allowing the dotted rhythms a welcome degree of grandeur and breathing room. The interpretation suggests an opera without words more than a piano showpiece, and that’s a compliment. Superb sonics, superb annotations, superb musicianship and superb pianism: what more could you want from this most recommendable Schubert release? Don’t miss it.

— ClassicsToday.com (10/10; Jed Distler)

Six years after their acclaimed disc devoted to Mendelssohn’s works for cello and piano, Christian Poltera and Ronald Brautigam now tackle the two cello sonatas by Johannes Brahms, two central works in the repertoire, unquestionably the most important since those by Beethoven.

The First Cello Sonata was composed between 1862 and 1865 when Brahms was in his thirties. He seemed intent on showcasing the lyricism of an instrument that is often compared to the human voice. Composed 24 years later, the Second Cello Sonata makes greater use of the cello’s range, particularly in the upper register. A common feature of these two sonatas is that the role of the piano is never secondary (Brahms was an excellent pianist) and the dialogue between the two instruments is both inexhaustible and complex.

The programme also includes the Funf Stucke im Volkston (Five Pieces in Folk Style) by Robert Schumann, Brahms’s early mentor. Composed in Schumann’s late years, this short cycle reflects the composer’s taste for small, expressive pieces in, as the title suggests, a popular and accessible idiom. These miniatures draw their charm not only from the cello’s marvellous nuances but also from the ‘folk style’.

Ronald Brautigam performs some of Franz Schubert’s most profound and beloved works: the eight Impromptus. Schubert’s name has become closely associated with this genre, often characterized by a lyrical melody and a free-flowing structure, with a sense of spontaneity. With it, Schubert seems to have found an ideal setting for the expression of his genius. The Impromptus, D 899, are reminiscent of a four-movement sonata. The first begins theatrically, before giving way to a funeral march of sorts, in which the melody is harmonised, amplified and constantly renewed. In the second, everything appears light and fluid. In the third, Schubert offers us one of his most inspired songs with one of his most beautiful melodies. The fourth takes us back to the waterworks of a fairy-tale park. The Impromptus, D 935, were published after Schubert’s death. The first is a great rhapsodic poem in which expression reaches into the deepest recesses of the Schubertian soul. The second demonstrates how Schubert manages to rise high with simple material. The third impromptu is a series of variations on ‘Rosamunde’, one of the composer’s most famous themes. The fourth is a lightning-fast scherzando – a free and whimsical piece that ideally concludes this disc.

Born in the vicinity of Cologne, only two years after and some sixty km distant from Beethoven, Johann Wilhelm Wilms was once a musical force to be reckoned with. In Amsterdam, where he lived from the age of 19, his music was actually performed more frequently than Beethoven’s at one period, and his orchestral works were played in such musical centers as Leipzig. Besides chamber music and solo sonatas, Wilms composed several symphonies and concertos, among them piano concertos for his own use. But already during his lifetime Wilms began to retreat from the public eye and by the time of his death in 1847, he was remembered almost exclusively as the composer of the then national anthem. In time for the 250th anniversary of Wilms’ birth, Ronald Brautigam has edited the five extant piano concertos by ‘the Dutch Beethoven’. A first volume (BIS-2504) with the three earlier concertos has been released, earning a five star review in BBC Music Magazine for ‘performances of lightness and transparency, matched by the recording’s clarity.’ On this second and final instalment, with Concertos Nos 4 and 5, Ronald Brautigam again receives spirited support from the Kölner Akademie and Michael Alexander Willens.

Carl Maria von Weber wrote music that has been admired by composers as diverse as Schumann, Berlioz, Tchaikovsky, Debussy, Ravel and Stravinsky. But in his lifetime he was also recognized as one of the finest pianists of the period, with an exceptional technique and a brilliant gift for improvisation. Especially during the 1810s he toured extensively, and like other composer-pianists he wrote works to use as his personal calling cards, among them the two piano concertos recorded here. They were both composed in 1811-12, but while the First Concerto takes Mozart’s concertos as its model, Piano Concerto No. 2 looks towards Beethoven. This change of direction was probably influenced by the fact that Weber had acquired a score of Beethoven’s recently published Emperor Concerto. In any case there are some striking similarities between his concerto and Beethoven’s: the use of identical keys, and the inclusion of a slow, subtly orchestrated Adagio and a closing playful rondo in 6/8. Weber is unmistakably Weber, however: a highly original orchestrator whose music is at turns brilliant, melancholy and charming. These qualities are to the fore also in the Konzertstück from 1821, in which the composer liberates himself from Classical models and finds a new path. Much admired by Liszt, the work is a kind of symphonic poem in four sections, played without a break. Following highly acclaimed recordings of the complete concertos by Mozart and Beethoven as well as Mendelssohn, this disc brings the team of Ronald Brautigam and Kölner Akademie to the very crossroads of Classicism and Romanticism.

REVIEW:

It is a mystery to me why these marvellously crafted, pianistically challenging and ear-catchingly memorable works aren’t much better known – whilst there have been a few recordings over the years they tend only infrequently to turn up on concert programmes. The same point could be made about the composer’s four piano sonatas; not least because Weber wrote as idiomatically and adventurously for the keyboard as one would expect from an individual who happened to be one of the foremost virtuosi of his day.

The Kölner Akademie’s rapt accompaniment (solo strings in No 1, solo group alternating with small orchestra in No 2) in each case is perfectly poised and appropriately weighted against the agreeably plump yet discreet sounds emanating from the Dutchman’s fortepiano. What is inarguable is that Brautigam invests the indubitably jolly elements of the outer movements with bags of character. Brautigam’s instrument (a wonderfully characterful Paul McNulty copy of a Conrad Graf fortepiano which originated at exactly the time of these compositions) has at its disposal a palette which suits Weber’s hyperactivity and sudden mood changes with equal aptness. The florid Beethoveniana of the opening movement of the second concerto benefits especially from its lustre.

In the final analysis listeners like myself are more frequently reaching the conclusion that we need to hear this repertoire on both modern and historical instruments. I’m pretty sure this exceptional recording is pioneering in the latter regard – those fortunate enough to have the right equipment will certainly enjoy the SACD option, but the stereo sound proves considerably fatter and more three dimensional than its Hyperion counterpart, although I will certainly not be parting with that disc. It goes without saying that Brautigam is always worth hearing in any case.

– MusicWeb International (Richard Hanlon)

It is well known that Felix Mendelssohn’s sister Fanny was a highly talented musician, but fewer are familiar with the fact that there were two other musical siblings in the Mendelssohn family: Rebecka, a gifted singer, and Paul, a very competent amateur cellist. It is to Paul, a banker by profession, that we owe the existence of much of Felix’s music for the instrument, which in spite of Beethoven’s endeavours hadn’t yet become firmly established as a duo partner of the piano. Fitting comfortably on a single release, Mendelssohn’s works for cello and piano are here presented by Christian Poltera and Ronald Brautigam, who open with the Variations concertantes in D major, composed in 1829. Brautigam has recently released the composer’s Lieder ohne Worte, performing them on a copy of a piano by Pleyel from 1830, and plays the same instrument on the present disc. Meanwhile, Poltera has chosen to equip his 1711 Stradivarius cello with gut strings, and together the two musicians and their instruments create a sound which is both flexible, transparent and vigorous – ideal for Mendelssohn’s scores. The two substantial sonatas, composed in 1838 and 1843, are separated on the disc by a brief ‘Albumblatt’ and a Romance sans paroles in D major, the only ‘song without words’ that Mendelssohn wrote for two instruments rather than piano solo.

In 1819 the Viennese music publisher and composer Anton Diabelli sent a short waltz to a long list of composers. These included Schubert, Hummel, a very young Franz Liszt and, as the most prominent composer of the time, naturally Beethoven. Diabelli was proposing to compile an anthology of variations on his own waltz, one from each composer. Beethoven responded in a characteristic manner: first there was nothing, and then there was nothing … and then, in 1823, there was an entire, and monumental, set of no less than thirty-three variations. There are several possible reasons for this, one being that Beethoven felt that it was below his dignity to take part in a project of this nature. What is certain, however, is that he must have found Diabelli’s theme intriguing material to work with – and against: Beethoven often seems to poke fun at the waltz, starting already in the first variation by turning it into a pompous march. But like all truly great variation works the Diabelli Variations take in the high as well as the low, jokes as well as drama – or serenity, as in Variation 24, a Fughetta, clearly inspired by the Aria in Bach’s Goldberg Variations. As the last large-scale piano work by Beethoven, the Diabelli Variations form a fitting close to Ronald Brautigam’s traversal of the complete solo piano music. Described in International Record Review as ‘a Beethoven player whose musical discernment is a constant source of wonderment’, Brautigam has through the course of this series performed works composed between 1783 and 1825, using four different fortepianos. On the present release we hear a copy of a 4-stringed fortepiano by Conrad Graf from 1822 – similar to Beethoven’s own last instrument, which Graf supplied him with in 1826, a year before the composer’s death.

Felix Mendelssohn had no idea that when he presented his sister Fanny with a “song without words” for her birthday, that he was inventing his own genre. He went on to compose a great number of these Lieder ohne Worte. These works became incredibly popular among pianists, and among audiences. In the words of Mendelssohn himself, “The music I love expresses ideas that are not too vague to be captured in words, but on the contrary too precise.” Pianist Ronald Brautigam performs these works on a piano copied by Paul McNulty after an Ignaz Pleyel 1830 model.

Ludwig van Beethoven’s first printed work was a set of variations, published in 1783 when he was only twelve years old and his final keyboard composition was the massive set of thirty-three variations on a theme by Anton Diabelli, composed almost four decades later. Not counting the several movements in variation form included in the sonatas, his twenty-one sets of piano variations thus trace a line of development in his production, parallel to those formed by the 32 piano sonatas or the 16 string quartets. On this the 14th volume in his acclaimed traversal of Beethoven's keyboard music, Ronald Brautigam performs five sets, composed between 1802 and 1809. In three of these Beethoven uses themes of his own, including the Ruins of Athens Variations, Op.76, nick-named after the play for which Beethoven later wrote incidental music, reusing the martial theme in a 'Turkish march'. The two remaining sets both use English themes Beethoven’s choice of God save the King and Rule Britannia may well reflect his often expressed respect for that country – as well as his interest in the English market for sheet music. As the final part of the programme, Brautigam includes a selection of smaller pieces, most of them of an earlier date than the preceding variations. Some of these are probably student pieces, in particular the Preludes Op.39 and WoO 55 and the Fugue in C major, fruits of the counterpoint exercises Beethoven was assigned by his first teacher, Christian Gottlob Neefe, and by Johann Albrechtsberger. Six dances close a disc that offers many opportunities to glimpse another Beethoven than the composer we all believe we know.

On 9th February 1784, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart entered the Piano Concerto No.14 in E flat major in his personal catalogue of works, and exactly 13 months later he completed his 21st concerto, in C major. In little over a year he had composed seven piano concertos – all of them highly individual works exploring the relationship between solo instrument and orchestra in different ways, as the two concertos recorded here demonstrate. The E flat major concerto is written for piano and strings, with ad libitum parts for oboes and horns, and can according to Mozart's own instructions be performed with just a string quartet accompaniment. As might be expected there is a chamber music quality to the work, with the piano closely integrated into the ensemble. In complete contrast, Piano Concerto No.21 is written for a much larger orchestra, with flute and pairs of oboes, bassoons, horns, trumpets and timpani as well as strings. It is one of Mozart's most popular, but also most technically challenging concertos – when commenting on the score, his father Leopold noted that it was 'astonishingly difficult'. Largely because of its slow movement theme (famously used in the film Elvira Madigan), the C major Concerto has become perhaps Mozart’s most widely known. Separating the two concertos on this disc is the concert aria Ch'io mi scordi di te? (‘That I forget you?’) for soprano and orchestra with an obbligato piano part. Mozart composed the work in 1786 for the English soprano Nancy Storace and himself, possibly as a farewell gift to Storace, who was returning to London after a stay in Vienna during which she had sung the role of Susanna in the first production of The Marriage of Figaro. Another internationally acclaimed English soprano, Carolyn Sampson, joins Ronald Brautigam and the Kölner Akademie on this the seventh instalment of a series which goes from strength to strength: its predecessor (BIS-2044) was recently made an Editor's Choice in Gramophone, as well as an 'IRR Outstanding' in International Record Guide.

Among the most widely performed of Mozart’s piano concertos for a good half century after its composition in 1785, the Concerto No.20 in D minor still assumes a commanding place in the concert hall. Among its early devotees was Beethoven, who performed the work at a benefit concert for Mozart’s widow in March 1795 and who may well have found much to admire in the work’s brooding opening, characterized by syncopations and later punctuated by more aggressive outbursts; in his informative liner notes, the Mozart scholar John Irving goes so far as to call it ‘Mozart’s grittiest concerto’. Six years after the D minor concerto, in January 1791, the composer completed the Piano Concerto No.27 in B flat major, K595, giving the first performance of it two months later. This was to be his last public appearance as a soloist, and the concerto has sometimes been considered as a work in which the typical sparkle of Mozart’s virtuosity is tempered by resignation, as if the composer were already aware of his imminent demise. Such an interpretation is contradicted by a close study of the autograph manuscript, however: the concerto appears to have been begun two full years before it was completed. Its language is nevertheless more introverted than most of Mozart’s works in the genre: he seems to be aiming for a sublime delicacy of expression rarely attempted elsewhere in his concerto output. These two exceptional works are here performed by Ronald Brautigam and Die Kölner Akademie, on their fifth disc of Mozart’s concertos – an ongoing series which has been described as ‘a lucky break and a true delight’ in the German magazine Piano News.

In just two years, between 1784 and 1786, Mozart composed no less than twelve piano concertos – a staggering number. Often described as one of the most light-hearted and buoyant among these is the Concerto in F major K 459, sometimes called ‘the second Coronation Concerto’. The nickname comes from the fact that Mozart would later choose to perform it, along with the ‘Coronation Concerto’ in D major, during the festivities surrounding the coronation of Emperor Leopold II in Frankfurt-am-Main in 1790. Its companion work on this fourth disc in Ronald Brautigam’s survey hails from the same period: begun in 1784, the Concerto in A major K 488 was completed in March 1786, at the same time as Mozart was putting the finishing touches to his opera Le nozze di Figaro. It is one of only three piano concertos in which Mozart uses clarinets in the orchestra, resulting in a very particular sound world, especially in the magical slow movement. Mozart clearly held the work in high regard, and described it as one of his most select compositions ‘which I keep just for myself and an élite circle of music lovers’, and later audiences have agreed with him. Ronald Brautigam has been described as ‘an absolutely instinctive Mozartian… with melodic playing of consummate beauty’ (International Record Review), and he is once again supported by the period orchestra Die Kölner Akademie conducted by Michael Alexander Willens in a partnership which more than one reviewer has termed ‘ideal’.

If claims could be made for a certain composer to have invented a genre single-handedly, Felix Mendelssohn would be a strong candidate with his 'Songs without Words'. The term itself can be traced back to 1828, and a letter in which Fanny Mendelssohn mention having received a 'song without words' as a birthday present from her brother. Although Mendelssohn continued an existing tradition of writing short lyrical pieces for the piano, the concept of 'wordless songs' was new, and indeed the great majority of the Lieder ohne Worte display some sort of song-like structure (melody in the upper voice, an accom­paniment that is predominantly chordal or arpeggiated, ABA-form). Immediately popular with a wide audience, and soon a staple ingredient in domestic music-making all over Europe, the Lieder ohne Worte were also highly regarded by fellow composers, who imitated the style of Mendelssohn's pieces, and sometimes adopted his title for them as well. One such admirer was Robert Schumann, who was captivated by the 'Duett' (Op. 38, No. 6), hearing in it: 'lovers... conversing quietly, intimate­ly and confidently'. (The piece was in fact written for Cécile Jeanrenaud, who would later become Mendelssohn's wife.) Gathered on this disc are the first four books of the eight published collections of Lieder ohne Worte (two of which appeared posthumously) and an appendix consisting of five individual pieces which Mendelssohn never included in any collection but which nevertheless belong to the genre. One of today's leading exponents on the fortepiano, Ronald Brautigam has released complete sets of the piano music by Mozart and Haydn, and is currently recording a highly regarded series of the solo piano works by Beethoven. For the present disc he has chosen to play on a replica by the renowned maker Paul McNulty of a Pleyel instrument built in 1830, and thus contemporary with the music performed on it.