More Late Sonatas

Sir Andras Schiff played the second (and last) of his recitals in Vancouver this year. The evening was an intense emotional experience – two massive works, Beethoven’s Op. 111 sonata and Schubert’s B-flat major sonata, D. 960 – and the experience left me spiritually elated, though physically drained.

The artist opened his concert with Haydn’s Sonata in E-flat major, Hob XVI:52, the first of his three “London” sonatas. Among the three sonatas, and even among Haydn’s other sonatas, this one is perhaps the largest in scope and in size. In his performance, Schiff’s taste and sense of timing, especially comic timing, were impeccable. The many rapid scale runs in the first movement, in mm. 9 to 10, mm. 17 to 19, for example, were like beautiful strings of pearl. Throughout the sonata, Schiff managed to convey the drama of the music while maintaining an incredible sense of lightness, and never pushing the instrument. The closing of the phrase at m. 26, I thought, was played especially beautifully and elegantly. I loved the sound he evoked with the clock-like theme at mm. 27 to 29, with the pairs of 32^nd and 16^th notes. The rapid 32^nd-note runs for the right hand at mm. 30 to 32 had a wonderful breathless quality and, again, a beguiling lightness. The pianist was masterful in his playing of two brief transitional passages, in the two measures (mm. 44 to 45) that introduce the development, and in the octave passage (mm. 109 to 110) that precede the coda/codetta, Schiff changed the mood and the colour of the music like a sorcerer.

I once again marveled at Schiff’s sense of timing in the Adagio, where he illuminated the beauty of the music for all of us to behold. The obsessive repeated notes that open the third movement, and the prevailing feeling of a wild chase, remind me of the finale of Beethoven’s Sonata in F major, Op. 10, No. 2. Here, Schiff really took us on a roller coaster ride (albeit a brief one) and realized to perfection the youthful and unbuttoned humour of an elderly Haydn.

For his final sonata, Beethoven returns to the key C minor, one that has such special meaning for him. I believe that in spite of its relative brevity, the Sonata in C minor, Op. 111, is one of the composer’s most intensely emotional works. In the opening of the 1^st movement, Schiff managed to immediately create a sense of gravity and massiveness. In the rapid 16^th-note runs at mm. 23 to 28, and in the rapid 16^th-note right hand broken chords with left hand octaves at mm. 58 to 61 (and again at mm. 132 to 138), Schiff really held back and played them quite deliberately, with great depth of sound, giving them a real sense of weight.

In the Arietta that followed, I felt that Schiff played the movement as one long breath, as we also held our breath until the last sounds evaporated. It was a cathartic experience to live through. Schiff’s interpretation of the work last night reminded me of incredible performance of this work by Claudio Arrau who, in the last movement, really took us into another realm. In the trills that dominated the final pages of this sonata, Schiff, like Arrau, also took us into the realm of spiritual communion with the composer.

I appreciated the intermission that followed the Beethoven, although I was wishing for a quiet place to prepare myself for the equally emotionally demanding second half. For the second half, Schiff gave us his view of Mozart’s Sonata in D major, K. 576. Beauty of sound was what struck me about this performance. I believe this is significant because Mozart, who is usually sparing with expressive markings in his score, wrote in this movement the word dolce, twice. Schiff’s shaping of the phrases was impeccable, especially at mm. 41 to 45 and at mm. 121 to 125, where there was palpable warmth emanating from the music. The pianist also made me aware of the contrapuntal intricacies of Mozart’s writing in this movement, especially in the beauty of the writing for the left hand. In the second movement, I especially appreciated the attention Schiff gave to the left hand accompaniment figures, where there was a feeling of weightlessness as well as an understated beauty. The artist’s playing of the concluding Allegretto was witty and charming. What particularly stayed with me was the theme in the left hand, with brief interjections by the right hand, at mm. 26 to 29, and again at mm. 117 to 120.

Schiff’s playing of Schubert’s Sonata in B-flat major, D. 960, overwhelmed me. After the opening chorale-like melody, the G-flat major theme was understated (Schubert did write pp, but most pianists play it more prominently), but the otherworldly beauty of this theme really shone through clearly. His pacing throughout the long movement was laudable, and the many pregnant pauses were charged with meaning.

If Schubert was touching death with the slow movement of the A major sonata, Schiff played on Sunday, the slow movement of this sonata must be death itself. The pianist did not play the opening like a dirge, acknowledging Schubert’s indications of andante as well as sostenuto. His voicing of the chords in the opening of the A major section was almost as if choirs of angels were descending from heaven to soothe us.

As if he didn’t want to abruptly dispel the mood of the slow movement, Schiff played the beginning of the scherzo with a true pianissimo. Again the pianist was mindful of Schubert’s indication of con delicatezza. In the fourth movement, I appreciate Schiff’s choice of tempo, which I thought fit the movement properly within the larger scheme of the entire sonata. Under Schiff’s hands, even the very tricky second theme (m. 86), with rapid 16^th-notes in the right hand, and 8^th-note interjections in the off beat by the left hand, sounded graceful.

With the final chords of the movement that end the work with a pyrrhic victory, the audience stood up to cheer, as did I. In his own notes for the recital, Sir Andras Schiff writes that Schubert’s playing of his own lieder, “transported his listeners to higher spheres and brought tears to their eyes.” I could easily say the same for Schiff’s own performances these last few days.

No amount of sophisticated technology can replace the power of live music making, especially when it is under the hands of a master like Andras Schiff.

Under the urging of the audience, Schiff very graciously played for us the Aria from Bach’s Goldberg Variations. It was playing with a luminous quality, of fluidity, and flexibility. Could this have been a tantalizing preview of Sir Andras Schiff’s next appearance in our city?

Late Sonatas

Sir Andras Schiff has been playing his series of three recitals, entitled “The Late Sonatas”, throughout the world. So it is fortuitous for Vancouver to have been included as a “major musical centre” when he gave the first of two recitals here this year (the first recital of the series was given last season). Schiff has gotten to the point in his musical life that anything he does is at least interesting, and worth our attention.

One can tell a lot about the personality of the performer by how he or she walks onto the stage. Schiff exudes utter calmness as he levitates towards the piano, sits down, and meditates for a brief moment before he puts his hands on the keyboard. This would have been inconsequential if the music making wasn’t of the highest order, which it was Sunday afternoon.

Mozart’s Sonata in B-flat major, K. 570 that opened the recital, sounds at first like a conventional (conventional in design, that is) work. It is not until the development section, when Mozart guides us through many startlingly “foreign” keys that things become really interesting, so much so that the return to B-flat major (m. 133) comes as a welcomed relief. In the exposition and recapitulation, my attention was drawn to how Schiff illuminated Mozart’s writing for the left hand, as in the quick passagework at mm. 35 to 39 (and at 162 to 169), as well as the left-hand melody at mm. 57 to 62 (and mm 187 to 192). Moreover, his playing of the development section really highlighted the colouristic changes with the rapid key changes.

In the second movement, Schiff made us aware of the dark colours and chromaticism in the B section of the movement, as well as the absolutely radiant beauty of the sudden shift into the coda from an abridged return to a shortened A section. The final Allegretto movement was played with a gentle playfulness and much zest. I find it fascinating that Mozart wrote no dynamic markings for the movement until the 8 measures before the end of the movement, when he wrote 4 different dynamic markings for those final eight bars. Schiff certainly brought out those forte-piano contrasts in those final measures of the movement.

With Beethoven’s Sonata in A-flat major, Op. 110, Schiff brought us into the inner world of Beethoven’s late period. Schiff’s interpretation of the Op. 110 was a spacious one, and he was unafraid of slight shifts in the pulse of the music - more of a Furtwängler than a Toscanini approach to the work. From mm. 12 to 16, he held on to the first note of each group of 32^nd notes very slightly. Perhaps he was acknowledging the dots Beethoven wrote on top of those notes. I believe the composer meant these dots to indicate articulation, rather than the simplistic interpretation of a mere staccato. Schiff never forced a sound from the piano, but rather coaxed the instrument to create the sound he had in mind. Perhaps this somewhat minimized the dynamic contrast in the Allegro molto movement, but it was an entirely valid approach.

In the third movement, Beethoven wrote seven dynamic indications within the first seven measures – Adagio ma non troppo, piu adagio, andante, adagio, meno adagio, adagio, and a return to adagio ma non troppo. Of course these are all indications of slow tempi, but it really shows us how meticulous Beethoven is in indicating subtle shifts in tempi, in the pulse of the music. Schiff’s playing of the repeated A’s at m. 5 were light tiny daggers that pierced the heart, and the entire movement was played with heartbreaking poignancy.

In the final movement, I was stunned by Schiff’s playing of the return of the fugue, with its inverted subject (m. 137). Those few notes were played with such a hushed quality, that it was almost as if the music was tottering at the brink of infinity. It was for me, an incredible moment in what was an already incredible interpretation.

Schiff’s playing of Haydn’s Sonata in D major, Hob. XVI: 51 was infused with a kind of gentle humour, almost like that of a soft-spoken comedian. This was very different to Alfred Brendel’s more unbuttoned approach to the composer’s humour. Both movements were played with a beguiling lightness, the perfect sorbet to cleanse our palate between major courses.

In a fascinating book, Four Last Songs – Aging and Creativity in Verdi, Strauss, Messiaen, and Britten – authors Linda Hutcheon and Michael Hutcheon were struck by how, as composers aged, how, “their creativity functioned – and how differently it functioned – in helping them adapt to the very individual personal situations of their later years.” Hearing this Haydn sonata, as well as the Mozart that opened the programme, certainly reminded me of that statement. Obviously, the elderly Haydn lost none of the spark and humour that he exhibited in his earlier works.

The artist’s interpretation of Schubert’s Sonata in A major, D. 959 was, to me, a very intimate look at this monumental work. That said, I thought Schiff was very successful in bringing us into the very strange and dark sound world in certain parts of the work. In the Andantino movement, the pianist really made that opening theme float, and gave it a kind of weightless quality. I believe that with this haunting opening, Schubert was already touching death. The pianist really conjured up a real musical storm in the middle section of the movement. In the Scherzo, I was really struck by the vast contrast between the delicate and charming with the dark and the demonic. Schiff’s playing of the opening of the last movement, one of the composer’s most congenial melodies, was as warm, as gemütlich as the music demands. Compared with the second and third movements, Schubert doesn’t give us as much contrast in mood. On Sunday, it was almost as if Schiff was leading us through a beautiful journey in sound. At the end of the movement, the pianist really held on for a long time to the fermata of the sustained A, until the last trace of sound evaporated.

Once again, Andras Schiff’s playing yesterday reminded me of Busoni’s statement that during a performance, an artist must lose and find himself at the same time. During yesterday’s concert, I had the feeling that time stood still. On the other hand, when the performance was over, I felt that 90 minutes never passed so quickly. An artist like Schiff took away any awareness of the mechanics of playing the piano. Schiff has never been a musician that seeks to impress. Rather, he is an artist who allows us a brief look into the spiritual and emotional core of the composer’s works, a glimpse into infinity.

I look forward to the second part of the journey this evening.

Making Magic

Yesterday afternoon, the air within the Chan Centre for the Performing Arts in Vancouver seemed more rarefied during Andras Schiff’s magnificent recital.

There are for me, two kinds of musician, ones that draw our attention to his or her incredible physical ability at the instrument, and a small and select group, to which Sir Andras Schiff belongs, that transcends his or her instrument, so that the audience is aware of only the beauty of the message, and not the medium. The former group of artists gives us excitement, but the latter brings us into communion with the inner, spiritual realm of the music.

Schiff began his programme with the three principal notes of the C Major chord, in Haydn’s Sonata in C Major, Hob XVI:50. Alfred Brendal once said that during a performance, an artist should lose and find oneself at the same time. Schiff was completely absorbed into Haydn’s sound world; yet the performance was one of wholeness, where the first notes led inevitability to the last chord. Every note was like a pearl within a perfect necklace. Every pause and fermata, even the brief time in between movements, held us in breathless suspense until we hear the next sound. In Alfred Brendel’s lecture on humour in music of the Classical period a few years back, the pianist discussed the third movement of this work at length, highlighting the rambunctiousness of the music. Schiff’s playing of the movement did indeed bring out the humour, but in a way that inspires not a belly laugh, but a gentle chuckle.

I had heard the pianist play Beethoven’s Sonata in E Major, Op. 109, before, in Seattle, where he generously gave us the entire sonata as an encore to his performance of the Goldberg Variations! (This brings to mind the story of Rudolf Serkin playing the entire Goldberg Variations as an encore, at the end of which about four people remained in the audience.) For me, yesterday’s performance towered even over that Seattle performance. In the third movement, one rarely hears one variation leads so seamlessly and logically into the next. In the theme and variations, Schiff, I feel, came as close to Beethoven’s markings – Gesangvoll, mit innigster Empfindung – as I have heard. There were a few particularly magical moments in the performance (which is saying a lot) - the final diminuendo at the end of the first movement, the beginning of the B section in the final movement’s fourth variation (m. 106), and the almost unbearably beautiful refrain of the theme at the end, which gave me the feeling of returning from a long and incredible journey. At the end of the sonata, the audience appeared to have been in a trance, not daring to break the magic of the moment by applauding.

Mozart’s Sonata in C Major, K. 545, has been slaughtered by so many piano students, that it really takes a truly great performer to remind us of what a jewel this deceptively simple piece really is. Years ago, I heard a magnificent performance of this sonata by Radu Lupu. Schiff’s performance yesterday was equally beautiful. Schiff observed all the repeats in the sonata, but interjected many tasteful and deliciously beautiful ornaments in the repeats, including a little cadenza at the fermata (m. 52) of the third movement. Schiff really highlighted the beauty of the second movement, and reminding us of its harmonic adventurousness.

In a masterclass, when Murray Perahia was working with a student on the first movement of Schubert’s Sonata in C Minor, D. 958, the pianist commented that this work really belongs to the emotional and sound world of Winterreise. Schiff’s performance of this sonata reminded me of Perahia’s comment. Of all of Schubert’s late sonatas, this work is surely the darkest, angriest, and most demonic. Schiff’s playing of the first movement really highlighted the contrast and constant shifting between the highly dramatic and the extreme lyricism. His voicing of the chords, particularly in the first two movements, was particularly beautiful. In the extended fourth movement, from its gently rollicking opening theme to the determined C Minor perfect cadence that ended the work, Schiff held our attention throughout and made us forget the “heavenly length” of the movement, and the work.

Other than the incredible pianism, musicianship, and a lifetime of musical thinking that went behind the performance, Schiff’s programme was so well thought out that, from the first notes of the Haydn to the end of the Schubert, the entire performance felt like one long breath. As we walked out of the hall after the performance and breathed in the winter air, the world seemed like a better place. Once again, in this age of ready-made music, where we can have classical music, as our local radio station reminds us constantly, “on demand”, performances like yesterday’s remind us of the magic of live music. How fortunate we are that this great artist has chosen to make Vancouver one of his musical homes.

2016 seems like such a long time to wait until Andras Schiff visits us again.  

Patrick May

A Young Old Soul

In the very crowded field of outstanding young pianists today (and getting more crowded every year), there have been many recent performances that succeed in impressing us with his or her pianistic prowess. Far more rare is a young artist who moves us, not with technical wizardry (which he has plenty of), but with depth, with artistry and musicality.

Such an event took place in Vancouver yesterday, with the Canadian debut of Kuok-Wai Lio, under the auspices of the Vancouver Recital Society. Mr. Lio played an artistically and technically demanding programme of Janáček, Schubert, and Schumann. I do not recall being so moved by a young pianist’s playing since the first time I heard Ingrid Fliter many years back.

Mr. Lio began his recital daringly, with a performance of Leoš Janáček’s four-movement piano cycle, In the Mists. Not being intimately acquainted with the piece, I can only guess that the composer named his work a “piano cycle” instead of “sonata” so that he didn’t feel bound by any constraints of musical structure. Indeed the piece sounded very free-flowing in its ideas, very colourful and beautiful, and highly imaginative. I did detect the influence of other composers, most notably in his use of harmony, which somehow reminded me of the harmonies Chopin used in some of his later Mazurkas.

Kuok-Wai Lio appears to be a quiet and unassuming young man, but from the first notes, Lio mesmerized me with his playing. There is a luminous quality to the sound he makes on the piano. Within minutes, I realized that I was in the presence of a young master. The playing commanded our complete attention without clamoring for it. Lio, I believe, is very much “his own man” in his musical ideas.

Franz Schubert’s Four Impromptus, D. 935, made up the final work of the first half. Unlike many of today’s young keyboard titans, Lio took the time for the music to develop. At the same time, the music never dragged, but flowed beautifully and logically. The many transitions, in mood and in tempo, within each of the four pieces were masterfully handled. Lio’s interpretation of these very familiar pieces did not remind me of anyone else’s playing. His ideas were completely original, but never idiosyncratic, and they made complete musical sense.  I believe Lio is one of those rare artists who draw our attention to the music, and not to him or his personality.

Lio’s playing of Robert Schumann’s elusive Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6, once again reinforced my impression that we were in the presence of an extremely rare talent. One of Schumann’s lesser played works, the piece has an inner beauty that makes it very difficult to bring across. I believe it was Busoni who said that a musician must, during a performance, lose and find himself at the same time. From beginning to end, Lio was completely absorbed in the shifting moods of Schumann’s sound world, a man completely lost within the music, but at the same time seeing clearly the way before him. His playing of the work’s two final sections (Wie aus der Ferne; Nicht schnell) was meltingly and heartbreakingly beautiful. 

After repeated curtain calls from an enthusiastic audience, Lio rewarded us with the Aria from Bach’s Goldberg Variations, giving us a tantalizing taste of what a performance of the complete work would be like.

No amount of designer clothing or brand name runners can give young artists depth and maturity. This young pianist already possesses such qualities in abundance. In one article I read about Lio, conductor Donato Cabera, who worked with him, called him “an old soul”.

Hearing his performance yesterday, that is exactly how I would describe Kuok-Wai Lio.