Ludwig van Beethoven: Complete Piano Sonatas
Performers: Malcolm Bilson, Tom Beghin, David Breitman, Ursula Dütschler, Zvi Meniker, Bart van Oort, Andrew Willis (fortepiano)
Release dates: March, June, July, November 1996
Locations: Masterview Sound Studio, Ithaca, New York; Maria Minor Church, Utrecht, Holland
Label: Claves 50-9707/10 [approx. 11 hours 28 minutes total]
Release: 2002; Reviewed in MusicWeb (UK), January 2023
Hearing Beethoven’s sonatas through the glass-clear lens of period instruments is, to say the least, revelatory—and this Claves complete set, performed on a variety of historic fortepianos, takes us there with scrupulous care and — well — surprising vitality. The fortepiano’s crisp attack and rapid decay, its brighter yet less sonorous voice compared to the modern Steinway, insist that we listen differently.
That particular brightness of period instruments catches the ear.
This isn’t a mere curiosity; it’s a transformative encounter with Beethoven’s language stripped of modern pianistic gloss. Seven pianists share duties here, which proves a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it showcases a broad spectrum of interpretive color and touch—from Bilson’s thoughtful poise to Bart van Oort’s fleet and technically assured command.
But on the other hand, the resulting patchwork of instruments and playing styles—nine fortepianos in total—disrupts continuity. A listener is jolted from Bilson’s flowing legato in the Moonlight Sonata to Meniker’s incisive — articulation in the Waldstein on the same disc; it’s like switching between different dialects mid-conversation. While each movement is self-contained, the set as a whole loses some coherence by this cacophony of timbres.
Take the opening "Allegro" of Sonata No. 6, for example. Ursula Dütschler’s playing here is breathtaking in its crystalline clarity.
Every rapid passage sparkles—notes ring out individually, their staccato and legato phrasing sharply delineated. The fortepiano’s lighter action and quicker decay enhance the virtuosic runs without the muddiness that sometimes plagues modern instruments in fast, detached passages. You can almost see the fingers dance, and the tone seems to hover momentarily before vanishing, leaving an impression rather than a cloud of sound.
Contrast this with the "Largo" e mesto from Sonata No. 7. Here, the fortepiano’s lack of resonance may strike listeners accustomed to lush Steinway pedal effects as austere, even jarring.
Yet this austerity reveals a different emotional palette—one of intimate melancholy rather than grandiose despair. Malcolm Bilson’s delicate shading and dynamic nuances truly come alive — the subtle crescendos and diminuendos,; the whispered sighs in the melodic line, all illuminated by the instrument’s responsive but less sustained tone. It’s a sound world that invites close listening, not casual background consumption.
The Adagio con molto espressione from Sonata No. 11 is a jewel in this set. Zvi Meniker’s approach is deeply expressive without resorting to overt sentimentality.
The walking bass notes resonate with a clean warmth, while the treble’s nuanced ornamentation sparkles but never overflows. The fortepiano’s sound here is almost skeletal—each note a finely etched brushstroke on a minimalist canvas. It’s a reminder that Beethoven’s slow movements often thrive on restraint and clarity rather than lush harmonic saturation.
An unorthodox highlight is David Breitman’s "Andante" from Sonata No. 15. His brisk tempo, just over six minutes — injects this movement with a rhythmic vitality rarely heard.
The syncopations and — well — subtle accents lend it almost a jazz-like swing—playful yet precise. This is Beethoven as a living, breathing, unpredictable figure—not the weighty icon but a man restless and inventive. The fortepiano’s crisp articulation allows these nuances to shine through without being swallowed by excessive sustain.
I must also mention the inclusion of the “Bonn Sonatas” (WoO 47), early works composed when Beethoven was barely twelve. These are hardly concert staples but offer fascinating insight into the young composer’s development. The fortepiano reveals their youthful charm and formative gestures with a kind of naïve freshness—less filtered by modern romanticism.
It’s a welcome curiosity in a project that otherwise focuses on the mature canon. The booklet—a sumptuous 200-page volume in three languages—is a standout feature. Malcolm Bilson’s liner notes, in particular, provide invaluable context on the fortepiano’s mechanics and the interpretive decisions that arise from using period instruments.
His candid reflections on dynamics, pedaling, and — well — ornamentation deepen appreciation beyond mere novelty. The scholarly apparatus is as thorough as the performances are vivid. A few final technical notes: the recording quality is straightforward and immediate, eschewing artificial reverberation.
This might make the sound seem a bit dry or stark to those expecting the enveloping sonics of a concert hall. But it suits the fortepiano’s intimate character well—almost as if the pianists are performing in your living room. While not audiophile-level in polish, the engineering is clean and faithful, capturing the subtle hammer noises and quiet pedaling that add authenticity.
In sum, this complete set is an indispensable document—perhaps not the definitive Beethoven sonata cycle for every — listener, but the first of its kind to capture these masterpieces on the instruments Beethoven himself knew. It challenges our preconceptions of these works, forcing us to reconsider tempo, touch, and tonal balance. Its occasional unevenness is outweighed by the thrill of discovery.
Highly recommended to anyone willing to hear Beethoven’s piano sonatas afresh, in their original sonic attire. This is not just music history; it’s music lived anew.
