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Phillip T Young Recital Hall
January 22, 2024
"It's the most extraordinary trill in the history of music."
Schubert's last piano sonata — in B flat, D.960 — opens with a flowing, lyrical theme which has been compared to a sunset over the sea (not that Schubert, in his all-too-brief life, ever actually saw the sea). But at the end of the theme comes the trill to which Sir András Schiff refers. Alternating between G flat and A flat (neither of which is in the home key), the trill gives an air of uncertainty, of foreboding, to the music.
And thus begins one of Schubert's final compositions: advised by his doctor to decamp from Vienna into the fresher air of the suburbs, in September 1828 Schubert went to stay with his brother Ferdinand and was to spend his remaining time there. Despite his poor health (he had been suffering from the effects of syphilis for at least five years), Schubert nevertheless composed some of his most profound music during these few short weeks: the three Klavierstücke, D.946; the E flat Mass, D.950; the ineffable String Quintet, D.956; the lieder which would be posthumously published as Schwanengesang, D.957 and D.965A; and the last three piano sonatas, D.958, D.959 and D.960.
A remarkable enough sequence of music for any composer, but to have been completed during less than two months by a terminally ill thirty-one year old...
Arthur Rowe opened his recital with a glowing account of Schubert's last sonata. His tempos were perfectly judged, his tonal palette gorgeous and his rubato subtle and exquisitely judged.
The opening movement unfolded at a leisurely yet flowing pace, the tranquil final bars seemingly resolving the uncertainties of that trill.
The slow movement which follows takes us to a darker place — apt after the "sunset" of its predecessor. But there is, certainly in Rowe's hands, a feeling of consolation in the close.
The scherzo tripped along almost merrily, despite a somewhat more serious-minded trio, and once again Rowe's coloration was superb.
The finale opens with a "mistake", as if Schubert intended to write in C minor, before rapidly correcting himself. But the main theme is distinctly ambiguous; Artur Schnabel, before whose advocacy Schubert's sonatas were seen as distinctly second-rate and suitable only for women to play (no comment), would characterise this theme to his students by singing it to the words "Ich weiss nicht, ob ich lache, ich weiss nicht, ob ich weine" (I know not if I'm laughing, I know not if I'm crying).
Rowe perfectly captured the duality of the movement and even the final, apparently triumphal chords still had an air of unease to them.
I see from my files that I first heard Rowe playing Schubert (the D.899 set of Impromptus, another favourite) in Christ Church Cathedral, back in 1998. I have been longing to hear him play more and most specifically this sonata. Nor was I disappointed, this was a truly outstanding account.
Well, to be perfectly honest, there was one slight, almost infinitesimally small disappointment: if there is one issue that divides Schubertians more than any other, it is surely the first movement's exposition repeat. Even the greatest pianists differ on whether or not to take it, not because it makes the sonata longer — for me, there is no other work in which Schubert's "heavenly lengths" are quite so empyrean — but because the music in the first-time bars is not only not found anywhere else in the work, but is unlike anything else Schubert ever wrote. Among pianists who observe the repeat are Sviatoslav Richter and the aforementioned Sir András Schiff, for whom omitting the repeat is like "the amputation of a limb". Sir Clifford Curzon (the possession of a knighthood clearly makes no difference) and Alfred Brendel omit it, with Brendel believing that those extra bars are "too unconnected" with the remainder of the movement and that omitting them makes the work more coherent.
Rowe is firmly of the "no repeat" camp, while I am of the other. But I do not believe that we shall fall out over it: one of the hallmarks of great music is that it can bear considerable interpretive differences, and Schubert's D.960 is indeed one of the greatest of all piano sonatas.
As this performance made eminently clear.
In 1905, the fourth Anton Rubinstein competition was held in St. Petersburg. The winner in the piano category was Wilhelm Backhaus, who would go on to have a long and distinguished career.
The runner-up was a 24-year-old Hungarian remembered today as composer rather than a pianist: his name was Béla Bartók.
Bartók's 1923 Tanz-Suite, Sz.77, although originally composed for orchestra (the piano reduction dates from two years later), serves as a reminder of its composer's pianistic abilities.
The themes on which the work is based come not just from Bartók's native Hungary: he also uses Arabian melodies and some from the Wallachia region of Romania.
Rowe opened the second part of his programme with a spirited and virtuosic account of music which is seldom heard in this form, alternating between the rhythmically vital and the atmospheric, frequently summoning up the sound of the cimbalom.
The received image of Johannes Brahms often conforms to Paul Dukas' observation: "too much beer and beard". Add to this the remark attributed to the composer regarding his late piano music — "even one listener is too many" — and it is easy to overlook the fact that he first came to attention as a young (not to mention clean shaven) pianistic lion.
Conjoined with this impression is today's comparative rarity in performance of Brahms' sets of variations, most notably those on themes by Handel and Paganini. But which is cause and which affect is difficult to say.
It was with the "Handel" Variations, Op.24, that Rowe closed his recital, in spectacular fashion.
Although still considered one of the most fearsomely technically difficult of all Brahms' works for piano, Rowe gave no indication of this, demonstrating that his technique is every bit the equal of his insight.
The final fugue was superb, the contrapuntal lines clearly delineated and the whole beautifully shaped, leading, inexorably, to the massive final bars.
This may not be (OK, definitely is not) Brahms' most profound music, yet amid all the fireworks, Rowe still managed to plumb depths often hidden.
The dazzling close brought the audience to their feet — and quite rightly so.
All in all, a perfectly splendid evening's music making.
Note: for medical reasons, I was unable to attend this recital in person, so this review has been written from the live stream; obviously not the same experiece, but played through a decent stereo, not computer speakers, I hope I have been able to assess it fairly and accurately.
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