Beethoven's nine symphonies -- what can one say? The greatest body of orchestral works ever composed? Probably. The most performed body of orchestral works ever composed? Certainly. The most recorded body of orchestral works ever composed? Absolutely. Not only has virtually every conductor recorded a Beethoven cycle, some of them have gotten to record it multiple times: Abbado, Bernstein, Solti, Karajan, and Haitink, among others. What does this proliferation tell us? Usually nothing about the music that hasn't been heard before, but sometimes something about what the conductor thinks about the music. These performances with the London Symphony Orchestra recorded in 2005 and 2006 tell what Bernard Haitink thinks about the greatest body of orchestral works ever composed. And what does Haitink think? Pretty much nothing that hasn't been thought before. His tempos are neither too fast nor too slow, but straight down the moderato. His dynamics are neither too loud nor too quiet, but right in the mezzo. His textures are clear and lucid. His colors are blended and smooth. His interpretations are solid and sincere. But what does Haitink tell us about what he thinks about Beethoven's symphonies? Pretty much nothing except that he is an experienced conductor with a superb baton technique who keeps his opinions to himself. The London Symphony's playing is enthusiastic but too often ragged around the edges for comfort. LSO Live's recording is transparent but the perspective seems to shift from work to work -- sometimes the strings are too far away, other times the brass are too close.© TiVo

Supraphon made these recordings for Nippon Columbia within a short timeframe, from June 1983 to April 1984, at the Rudolfinum in Prague. They capture the mature ensemble when it included the pianist Josef Hála, who in 1980 had replaced Jan Panenka. The trio’s sound was dominated by the strings, primarily the violin of Josef Suk, who also defined the interpretation principles. The singularity of the ensemble and their recordings alike rests in infallible technique, sonic refinement, admirable interplay and profound musicality devoid of any showboating. © Supraphon

Comprised of pianist Pauline Chenais, violinist Clémence de Forceville and cellist Angèle Legasa, Trio Sōra may well be a new name to many Qobuz listeners, when this is a debut album. That said, the name is likely to ring bells for anyone who keeps an eye on Europe's various young artist programmes and festival academies, because this young French ensemble's notable achievements of recent years include the Special Prize of the Verbier Festival Academy in 2018, and in 2020 a Borletti-Buitoni Trust Fellowship. Spread across three opus numbers, Beethoven's piano trios begin with the three-strong Op. 1 set, published in 1795 when he was in his mid-twenties, and stylistically still firmly rooted in the Viennese Classicism of Haydn. However Romanticism is thoroughly in the picture by the time he returned to the genre in 1808, shortly after completing the “Pastoral” Symphony No. 6, penning the Op. 70 pair with its famous “Ghost” Trio No. 1. Finally there's the grand Op. 97 “Archduke” Trio of 1811 - technically another middle period work, but one which with the almost symphonic scope of its four movements and complex emotional world feels feels well ahead of its time. What Trio Sōra bring to the set is immensely enjoyable. In performance practice terms, these are broadly “modern” readings, employing unobtrusive vibrato, and even subtle portamento at the most Romantic and impassioned end of the set. Beethoven's stormy switchings on the flip of a coin between dynamic extremes are realised with both clarity and charm: pianissimos are true whispers, and while sforzandos and fortissimos come with punch, it's never at the expense of beauty of tone; with the Opus 1 set in particular, Viennese elegance reigns supreme. As a result, the impression across the set is overwhelmingly of lightness of touch, sprightly and precise articulation. Yet don't interpret that description as “one flavour”, because these readings are anything but; not least because these three musicians are not shy about making this music their own. Take the “Archduke” Scherzo, where playful metrical tugs and pushes, and the odd slight second-beat emphasis, sometimes create an almost off-kilter effect, which then serves as a brilliant foil to other sections of rhythmically steady, joyous swing. Also mention-worthy is the poetry and technical aplomb with which Pauline Chenais rises to the demanding piano role, her tone beguilingly soft-focus and pearly one moment, and brightly crisp the next. A strong first recording. Bravo! © Charlotte Gardner/Qobuz

International stardom has made Lang Lang into an ambassador for the classical repertoire. Sony has chosen Beethoven's 250th birthday to release a compilation that was born of a live concert recorded in Vienna, a city which has seen the birth of so many of the composer's works. The collection takes in Sonata No.3 and No.23, also known as Appassionata. These scores are an imaginary battlefield pitting the writer's contending passions against one another. Beethoven, subject to a compulsive inspiration, uses his writing to guide, even contain, this irresistible force: the greatest liberty dammed up by reason, an apparent paradox which his art summarises well. But here Lang Lang gives us an almost fantastical Beethoven. The pianist has fun with a repertoire which exacerbates contrasts thanks to an immense palette of nuances and several liberties taken with the tempos. Although his level of technique permits him such extravagances, it must be said that he is much more conventional with Beethoven than he is with Rachmaninov. You don't fool around with the Master of Bonn. The record closes on a studio version of the first movement of Sonata No.17 (the famous Tempest), recorded for the video game Gran Turismo 5. The rather grandiloquent switch between its Largo and Allegro sections makes its mark on the text. Lang Lang serves up a very literally visual interpretation of this score, built around the most epic settings that these Beethovian storms permit. © Elsa Siffert/Qobuz

The latest volume in a revelatory Alkan series from an English pianist with a string of critically acclaimed albums of rare repertoire from the Golden Age of the piano virtuoso to his credit. Perhaps the most enigmatic figure in the history of music as a whole, let alone the 19th century, Charles-Valentin Alkan remains one of the most intriguing and alluring names among the pantheon of pianist-composers. According to Franz Liszt, Alkan possessed the finest technique he had ever seen yet preferred the life of a recluse. The outstanding masterpiece of the album is the Symphonie for solo piano which Alkan drew from his set of 12 Studies, Op. 39. It opens with an Allegro which is one of the composer’s most darkly impassioned conceptions, in which declamatory rhetoric, passionate outbursts and towering climaxes are all bound by a tightly organised structure. The piano writing is distinctly orchestral in nature, hence the ‘symphonic’ designation, demanding that the intrepid soloist make his or her way through towering conglomerations of sometimes ten note chords, thick, chordal tremoli and volleys of double octaves: only fully accredited virtuosi need apply! The Symphonie is placed on this album as the climax to a sequence of grand marches conceived on a similarly grand scale. They include the Three Cavalry Marches, Op. 39, which find Alkan at his most concise, in the Berliozian No. 1, his most eccentric (the trio of No. 2) and whimsical (No. 3). Like them, the Marche funèbre, Op. 26 bears witness to Alkan’s ability to channel a latent and, at times, menacing power through material of the slightest substance. The following Marche triomphale, Op. 27 is a massive, swaggering affair, in contrast to the ruminative melancholy of the opening paraphrase Op. 45 on a poem by Legouvé set in a cemetery and cast in Alkan’s most elegiac vein. A profound sadness also inflects the opening section of the composer’s ingenious instrumental setting of Psalm 137, ‘By the waters of Babylon’. The booklet contains an excellent essay on Alkan and his works by the artist himself. © Piano Classics

The year 1808 was a period of superlative productivity for Beethoven: In the midst of all this, Beethoven somehow found the time and energy to compose two major piano trios. They were completed while Beethoven was living with Countess Marie Erdödy, to whom the trios were also dedicated. Some previous piano trios were rather lengthy affairs with pretentions to the symphonic repertoire, but the opening movement of Op. 70 No. 1 immediately lets the listener know that this time, things are different. The piece starts seemingly in medias res with a tempestuous figure in all three instruments at the same time. The second movement is the one that gave the trio its nickname ‘ghost’. Carl Czerny, Beethoven’s student, seems to have been the first to use this name. According to him, the movement ‘resembles an appearance from the underworld. One could think not inappropriately of the first appearance of the ghost in Hamlet’. Superficially, the sibling of the ‘Ghost’ may seem closer to Haydn and Mozart in style. For a long time, the Variations Op. 44 were known as ‘Variations on an Original Theme’, as the first publication did not name the theme. It has since been identified as a theme by Dittersdorf. The variations were presumably written in 1792 and published in 1804, when various other early works were being offered to publishers. © Challenge Classics

First of all, what a line-up of Berlin's top musicians and regular collaborators Emmanuel Pahud has assembled here: Daniel Barenboim on piano; Pahud's fellow Berlin Philharmonic principals, concertmaster Daishin Kashimoto and violist Amihai Grosz; flautist Silvia Careddu, founder member of the Alban Berg Ensemble Wien; and Sophie Dervaux, former Berlin Philharmonic Principal Contrabassoon and now Principal Bassoon of the Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Vienna Philharmonic. Plus, they've recorded in Berlin's Pierre Boulez Saal, i.e. one of the best possible places to hear chamber music, with its stunning combination of warmth and clarity. Moving on to the musical contents, and Beethoven's slim body of chamber works for flute is all confined to his early career. In fact so early that two of the works here date from his Bonn period (during his late teens and early twenties) as a piano teacher and court musician: the posthumously published Trio in G for piano, flute and bassoon of 1786, and the Allegro and Minuet in G WoO 26 for two flutes of 1792, written for his law student friend, J.M. Degenharth, and featuring a dedication page playfully informing the reader that it was written “in the evening”. Also on the menu is the Serenade in D Op. 25 for flute, violin and viola, sketched in 1797 and completed in 1801. What this means in stylistic and mood terms is sunnily charming entertainment music cast firmly in Beethoven's earliest post-Haydn language, and far removed from the emotional turbulence of his later years; in other words, absolutely perfect music to be gifted with at the dog end of Covid-wrecked 2020, and especially when the playing from everyone is so joyously elegant, crisp, bright and responsive. Still, Pahud clearly thought that a little more meat was required for the curtain raiser. So all the above is preceded by his own flute transcription of the “Little G Major” Sonata in G for violin and piano of 1802: still a sunnily carefree world, but equally a sparkingly sharp-witted one, piling on fresh interest at every turn. It also sits very well on the flute, so perhaps further transcriptions might come our way in the future via Pahud's hand. In the meantime, from this one we can enjoy the dainty athletic pep and lucid textures Pahud and Barenboim bring to its outer movements, the lyric grace and sensitivity of their central Tempo di Menuetto, and overall Barenboim's deft shaping, and in partnership terms their mutual sensitivity and sense of equality. In short, a great addition to the Beethoven recordings catalogue. © Charlotte Gardner/Qobuz