Hélène Grimaud: For Clara
Deutsche Grammophon

Earlier this year, pianist Hélène Grimaud and baritone Konstantin Krimmel issued a mesmerizing recording of Valentin Silvestrov's Silent Songs and now continue their collaboration on For Clara by performing Brahms's Lieder und Gesänge Op. 32. In casting her in an accompanying role, Silent Songs required Grimaud to play with restraint, though not so self-effacingly that her signature artistry, poise, and nuance weren't evident. What makes For Clara particularly satisfying, then, is that Lieder und Gesänge is accompanied by two solo piano works, Brahms's Intermezzi Op. 117 and Robert Schumann's Kreisleriana Op. 16, that offer wonderful showcases for her talents.

Schumann (1810-56) and Brahms (1833-97) pair naturally, especially when the latter was the protégé of the former and both were bound in different ways to pianist-composer Clara Schumann (née Wieck). In a letter written to her in 1838 (two years before they wed), Robert revealed to her how pivotal she had been to the eight solo piano works he'd finished creating, collectively christened Kreisleriana, after E.T.A. Hoffmann's fictional composer Johannes Kreisler, and written, according to Robert, in just four days. Mercurial in temperament and panoramic in style, the pieces oscillate dramatically between moments of turbulence and serenity.

Brahms, then twenty, entered the Schumanns' orbit in 1853 and enjoyed a deep friendship with Clara throughout her husband's decline and death and until her own in 1896. She had been a longstanding sounding board to him and provided feedback on the three intermezzi recorded here, written four years before her passing. Having recorded it and Kreisleriana before, Grimaud eases into the material like the most comfortable of loungewear. But, as anticipated, these new treatments, freshly interpreted by a pianist benefiting from decades of experience and the self-confidence and authority that accrues from it, find her bringing forth new dimensions from music with which she'd always felt a special connection.

As if calling upon his own contrasting alter egos Florestan and Eusebius, Schumann's Kreisleriana flits from one extreme to another. Grimaud dazzles throughout the tempestuous opener “Äußerst bewegt,” its furious activity worlds apart from the general serenity of Silent Songs. There's tenderness too, however, in the comparatively gentler episode the piece segues into before erupting once more. The lilting ripples of the placid, inward-looking second setting, “Sehr innig und nicht zu rasch,” are executed adroitly by the pianist, as are the grandiose statements that suddenly emerge, and with superb considerations of pacing and dynamics. Whereas “Sehr aufgeregt” scampers between uptempo passages and lyrical ones, the two “Sehr langsam” settings accentuate the latter mode and, in the elegance of their poetic articulation, do so resplendently. Grimaud's virtuosic technical command, on the other hand, is needed for the roller-coaster that is “Sehr rasch” and the boisterous “Schnell und spielend.”

Ranging between five and seven minutes, Brahms' three intermezzi encourage the listener to luxuriate in their elegiac splendour. The lovely E flat major setting benefits from the gracefulness of Grimaud's heartfelt voicing and sensitive handling of counterpoint. If the B flat minor second registers as a pensive, at times solemn rumination, the contemplative C sharp minor third proves haunting in the hint of unease that constantly nips at its sombre heels.

From the intermezzi, we move to the nine songs of Lieder und Gesänge, composed in the early 1860s and set to texts by orientalist poets Georg Friedrich Daumer and August von Platen. Themes of loss, desire, disillusionment, and self-denial are explored, such subject matter thought by some to reflect the composer's feelings towards Clara. As he did so handsomely on Silent Songs, Krimmel distinguishes himself here also, the authority and conviction of his delivery in “Wie rafft' ich mich auf in der Nacht” serving immediate notice of his presence. Anguish and desperation are conveyed vividly in “Nicht mehr zu dir zu gehen” (“… give me life or death, only reveal your true feelings to me!”) and “Der Strom, der neben mir verrauschte,” emotional turbulence and longing in “Ich schleich umher” (“A shower storms mightily towards us: could I ever be too melancholy?”). Following the tempestuous “Wehe, so willst du mich wieder” comes the imploring “Du sprichst, dass ich mich täuschte” and, finally, “Wie bist du, meine Königin,” arguably the work's most beautiful song (“Ah, above all that blooms your blossom is wondrous”).

October 2023