Wilhelm BACKHAUS

Many critics lazily divide pianist's careers into two periods, often at arbitrary points. There were actually two diverse Backhauses: one the long- haired romantic who played beautifully and with force, the other a restrained granitic presence, unwaveringly serious. Often the two could surface during the same evening. One instance took place during a Swiss recital published on Ermitage of Chopin Etudes. All the studies are correctly played, inoffensive and rather unmemorable. Suddenly, an encore - Chopin's Nocturne in D flat [op. 27,no.2] - and with it a renewal, rubato, hands sometimes apart, and a singing cantilena. Perhaps Backhaus forgot to be Backhaus during one work? Otherwise he is dependable, restricting his pianissimo and fortissimo and somewhat afflicted (though not to the extent of Wilhelm Kempff and Murray Perahia) by taking tempi in fast movements just slower than exciting, or in slow movements a shade faster than would permit profundity. In other words, a reluctance to fully give of oneself, remaining impassive behind the facade of an imposed extraneous Classicism. His early recordings are far better, those made before 1933: Liszt's Waldesrauschen and the Chopin Etudes are exemplary. Backhaus even played Rachmaninoff and Smetana in those days, before he either chose or was obliged by the industry to record 18th and 19th century composers beginning with 'B'. A performance with Karl Schuricht of Beethoven's Fifth Concerto from a Lugano concert captures his best Beethoven, as Schuricht incites him and creates a dialog in the work. Once Charles Rosen heard Backhaus in New York in the 1950's, accompanied by Moriz Rosenthal's widow Hedwig. Mrs. Rosenthal commented that Backhaus hadn't changed his actual interpretation, but had merely slowed everything down (as was Arrau's case, when comparing the first discs with his later work). A strange case, Backhaus.