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The Beaux Arts Trio, founded in 1955, first gave us a set of the Beethoven piano trios in the mid-1960s (Philips 6747 142, 10/75). Many readers of Gramophone will have endorsed RF's opinion of it as "magnificent—if you want a complete set this is undoubtedly the one to go for, and if you only want the mature trios it is still well worth the money". But what exactly is a complete set? For people who already know the repertory, the Beethoven piano trios comprise six full-scale works, all in four movements except the Ghost (D major, Op. 70 No. 1) which has three; and everyone agrees on admitting to the canon the Kakadu Variations, Op. 121a. So, seven pieces in all of splendid Beethoven. Now come odds and ends. In 1966 RF bemoaned the fact that "the modern mania for completeness" had led Philips to include in that set not only the odds and ends but the makeshift arrangement of the Clarinet Trio, Op. 11 (violin replacing clarinet). I entirely agree with him that plenty of people—now as then—would surely have preferred to hunt around for the seven masterpieces without saddling themselves with the remainder. On the other hand, the playing and recording in the 1966 set were of high quality; seven full-dress works on four discs didn't seem uneconomical; and when the reissue appeared in 1975 the price was very attractive indeed. The Archduke subsequently became available on its own (Philips 6833 033, 9/80), once more praised and recommended by RF.
End of Chapter 1. Next to appear was a new version of the Archduke at full price (Philips 9500 895, 6/81) which RF didn't like as much. Nor do I. It's part of the new set, itemized above, and if you plough through the details the first thing to strike you will be that the new box has seven discs to the earlier one's four. So how complete can you get?
Let us hope that the earlier set will continue to be available. Having listened to both, it seems to me superior in just about every respect. The new one seeks to justify its greater size by the inclusion of three additional pieces: a tiny Trio-movement in E flat dating from the early 1790s; an arrangement by Beethoven of the Septet, Op. 20; and an arrangement "which may also have been by Beethoven himself"—to quote the booklet—of the Second Symphony, no less. Are you curious to hear them? If you are, you must be ready to aceept the arrangements for the modest things they are. Don't expect them to be brilliant transcriptions of much conceived for another medium—because they were never intended to serve anything but a domestic purpose. And don't expect them even to sound particularly well—any more than the piano-duet arrangements of classical symphonies that used to be bought in such quantities for the home sound particularly well. Such commodities were a substitute for the real thing and in no way an alternative to it. It was the gramophone which replaced them and it seems to me bizarre and not at all interesting to take them down from the library shelves and record them.
I'll spill no more words on them except to note that all the arrangements here have had digital recording. With the exception of the primitive Trio-movement I've mentioned, the Ghost Trio and the B flat major Trio, Op. 11, nothing else has. And that's to be regretted, of course. The digital mode is such an advance that I can't help wondering what attraction in a few years' time a set of these compendious dimensions will have. A re-make of the Beethoven trios was to be expected, naturally, after more than 15 years since the first attempt and after the Beaux Arts' original violinist, Daniel Guilet, had retired; but what a pity the whole of it couldn't have been given the best of modern sound.
I'm not very happy with the balances on the non-digital sides. Roger Fiske complained that, in the Archduke, there's an over-emphasis on the piano. I agree and observe that, in general, the violin and cello tend to sound small and close, as if enclosed by screens, clear yet weak in the balance. "Surely," RF asked, "most people would prefer the cello solos to ring out as Bernard Greenhouse played them 15 years ago." It also bothers me that often the sonorities of the piano are backed by an artificial acoustic mush, as if in an attempt to give more depth to the picture.
It hardly needs saying that the Beaux Arts remain an excellent ensemble. I'm trying hard to guard against the common failing—of letting familiarity lead one to take excellence for granted. No, this is not workaday Beethoven playing. But it begins to sound to me rather set in its ways, as if the players had lost the habit of testing the truth of what they do. One way in which they could resume doing so, I'd have thought, would be to take a close look at a good modern edition. The implications of every marking Beethoven added to his music need rigorous examination and frequent reassessment. At the beginning of Op. 70 No. 2 in E flat, for example: what does Poco sostenuto mean in relation to the Allegro ma non troppo which follows? Not Adagio surely? And at the end of the second movement of this trio: where exactly does the final a tempo start? If Beethoven marked pianissimo in bar 8 of the Scherzo of Op. 1 No. 1 and nothing more until the forte in bar 33, is there anything to suggest that he might also have wanted a gradual crescendo between these points? The long slow movement, Largo con espressione, of Op. 1 No. 2 in G is handled most expertly here, notably by the violinist, but would it not be more eloquent still for a defined range of dynamics all the way from pianissimo to fortissimo as marked? I don't believe these matters are pernickety. To take dynamics: in Beethoven these may imply many things but I think they are always part and parcel of the music's vitality. The Beaux Arts seem to regard them as an added bonus, local decorations, and this is one reason why I find their playing smallscale. In the quick movements of the early trios I also find it brittle.
Roger Fiske noted that the slow movement of the Archduke has become a good deal slower since 1966. So has the first movement of the Ghost, although it has gained it second repeat; and the little Allegretto in B flat (WoO39—usually called No. 8) now sounds like a slow movement. Some may find the easings in this direction convincing; I don't. I can only speak as I find and I have to say that I can't identify any performance in the new set, hugely professional though all of them are, which tops the earlier achievements. And I miss, too often, the earlier spontaneity and distinction.
SP