Franz Schubert, Schubert Piano Sonatas D. 958, D. 959 and D. 960 [Murray Perahia, piano] (Sony, 2003)
I don't know whether I am the only reviewer regularly to encounter charming coincidences when writing reviews. In my case, something often seems to happen that links up directly with whatever I happen to be reviewing. In this case, while reading the CD booklet I discovered that Franz Schubert composed these pieces, his final three sonatas, in the year of life that remained to him after completing his second and final song-cycle, the Winterreise. By chance, tomorrow evening I shall be sitting in the Théâre de la Monnaie, the Brussels opera house, listening to a live performance of the Winterreise -- the winter's journey. If the liner notes mention the collection of interrelated lieder that make up this masterpiece, it is because the mournful tale of lost and irretrievable love told by Wilhelm Müller's heart-wrenching poems, set to music by Schubert, represents a uniformly bleak contrast to the often more joyful music of Schubert's earlier years. This more sorrowful mood also pervades a large part of the three last sonatas, even if there are moments of relief and exultation.
Perhaps Schubert knew, in those highly productive and innovative months following the fall of 1827, when Winterreise was finished, that he had only a year to live. If he was so immensely hard-working at that time, it was possibly because he had a premonition that death was not far away. Certainly he knew that he had caught syphilis ten years earlier, and the probable progress of this disease must have been known to him. There is, of course, a great temptation for critics and reviewers to write with hindsight. When Beethoven wrote his late string quartets, he may not have realized that they were so very late, but coming, as we now know they did, close to the end of his life, their lyrical ecstasy acquires an enhanced meaning. I can never listen to Mozart's last three symphonies, composed in a burst of tremendous creative energy, without wondering whether he had any suspicion that there would be no symphony to build on the greatness of the "Jupiter." When Richard Strauss wrote "Vier Letzte Lieder" (Four Last Songs), he was presumably not planning to write any more.
How do these thoughts apply to these three sonatas? There are times, listening to them, when I know that I am in the presence of genius and am convinced that Franz Schubert must be the greatest composer who ever lived. There is only one problem with this belief: I regularly experience the feeling that no composer could be better than Johann Sebastian Bach; it happens when I am listening to Bach. Similar sensations well up about Beethoven, Mozart, Mahler, Shostakovich. . . My appreciation is rather promiscuous, really. Schubert completed these sonatas two months before his death in November 1827, and one is tempted to listen for premonitions of impending death. Yet there is clearly a difference between a work like the Strauss songs, composed towards the end of a full, productive and generally successful life, and these almost final compositions of a young man, musically mature but not yet acquainted (he never would be) with so many of the joys and sorrows, triumphs and defeats, successes and failures that a normal lifespan brings. Even Mozart enjoyed five years more of life than Schubert. Thus the mood in these sonatas is often sad, even bleak, particularly in the first of the three, but it is the urgent and apprehensive sadness of a young man, not the nostalgic and calm sadness of one who has lived a long life; and there are moments when the sheer beauty of Schubert's melodies -- for as befits a great songwriter, there are many wonderful tunes here -- defies the mood of resignation and offers a promise, against all the odds, of a joyful future.
Schubert does, therefore, have one very distinctive claim to be a very special genius. All of his remarkable output (more than 1000 works) was composed in 31 years -- well, less, because apparently he did not begin to compose properly until he was in his teens. His symphonies are probably his greatest legacy for most listeners. It is common now to rank him as a symphonist with Beethoven, who wrote only the same number of symphonies in a life nearly twice as long, whereas in his lifetime Schubert reacted to comparisons of his work with Beethoven's with the contemporary equivalent of "I am not worthy." For a more specialist public, smitten by the lyric muse, his Lieder are his most distinctive contribution. But there are also concertos, incidental music, chamber music and, to be found in splendor on this double CD, his music for solo piano. Sonatas are to the piano what symphonies are to the orchestra: over the space of four movements, the composer has the scope to introduce different themes and play about with them, to move away from the principal key and back again, to change tempos, shift moods, express different emotions. The only limitations are the technical ones of the piano. Schubert does all of this and more in these three examples of his genius.
Murray Perahia's virtuosity is not in doubt. He began to play piano at the age of four and has been associated over the years with many major musicians and orchestras. His close friendship with one of the undeniably greatest pianists of the 20th century, Vladimir Horowitz, has given him both a benchmark and a source of inspiration and advice. In 1972 he won the highly prestigious Leeds International Piano Competition, and it was no doubt for this reason that the present reviewer reached one degree of separation from Perahia: Leeds University offered him an honorary doctorate at the same ceremony at which my eldest daughter received her bachelor's degree in molecular biology. Perahia has always maintained close links with Britain and in recent years has worked extensively with the internationally acclaimed Academy of Saint Martin in the Fields. He was also for several years artistic director of the Aldeburgh Festival and collaborated closely with Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears. Like these musicians, he was awarded an (in his case, as an American citizen, honorary) knighthood in 2004.
How well does the New York born pianist interpret these sonatas? I already have recordings of two of them by the Portuguese Maria Joao Pires and by the eminent German pianist Alfred Brendel, both of whom I have had the pleasure to hear in live performances, whereas I have only seen Perahia collect an honorary degree. I was therefore naturally curious to hear how Perahia's performance compared with theirs. If I had to summarize their approaches in brief, and of course such judgments always contain much subjectivity and generalization, I would say that Pires's approach is the most joyful and lyrical. She dances through the movements, naturally restraining her exuberance in the more solemn and mournful passages, but choosing nonetheless to emphasize wherever she can the vibrant life contained in these notes rather than any hint of imminent extinction. Brendel, by contrast, as is only normal in a musician of his age, wisdom and authority, tends more towards the majestic and declamatory. It is as if he is carving a musical epitaph, but naturally doing it in a way only a great musician can achieve. Perahia's interpretations are different again. I find his renditions the most reflective, sensitive, introspective and, in places, spiritual. Where Pires takes airy delight and Brendel makes a declaration, Perahia burrows into the mood of the music. One should not exaggerate such contrasts and distinctions: the music itself dictates to a significant extent what can be done with it, and any pianist attempting these sonatas is obliged to submit extensively to the composer's intentions, which are frequently in no doubt. It is in that elusive space where interpretation is possible that one finds little touches that distinguish one musician from another.
There is one more aspect of Perahia's playing that I should mention. A recent accident to a finger left him unable to perform for a couple of years, time that he devoted to the in-depth study of J. S. Bach (some of whose keyboard music he has just recorded). Is it just my fancy, or does one hear echoes of this study at places on these CDs? There are moments when I sense that Perahia has a Bach fugue in the back of his mind as he plays music written a hundred years later.
The first of the three sonatas (Deutsch 958) is in C minor and is by far the gloomiest of the set, with fewer moments of release from the dark brooding that recurs in all three. It opens with a direct reference to the music of Schubert's hero, Beethoven (indirect references to Beethoven abound in all three sonatas, and echoes of this composer are seldom far away), but Perahia invests the opening allegro with a spiritual character that emphasizes Schubert's special qualities over those of his mentor: he brings out the nuances and connotations that lie behind the superficially Beethovenesque style and transforms the movement into a spiritual quest. For the rest of the sonata, Perahia brilliantly navigates between the haunting, almost haunted quality of the piece and the melodic charm that is never fully absent, even in Schubert's grimmest moments.
The second sonata (Deutsch 959) is in A major. It introduces a somewhat lighter tone, with richer melodies and greater variation of mood. Many interpreters and commentators choose to emphasize the contrasts in this piece, leavening the more disturbing passages with moments of lyricism and escape. However, Perahia prefers to narrow these variations when compared with other interpretations. As if he wishes to honor the fact that these are almost deathbed pieces, he deliberately intensifies the opening allegro movement so that the disquieting development of the second movement seems less unexpected, more appropriate. Similarly, the closing rondo is played, not as welcome relief from the implied suffering that precedes it, but as a nervous finale, as if the composer is looking over his shoulder at the pursuing forces of the earlier movements.
The final sonata (Deutsch 960) in B flat major was published only after the composer's death. Perahia clearly finds it hard to avoid implications of dark premonition in this piece, while nevertheless acknowledging the lyrical beauty. If we assume that Schubert was expecting death to come soon, it is easy to hear in Perahia's playing mixed sentiments of apprehension, resignation and the promise of eventual release from pain and chagrin. As is his way, however, the pianist does not dwell exaggeratedly on these interpretative insights, preferring always a subtle hint in the place of a bold assertion. As in the A major sonata, it is as if he wishes to narrow the range of contrasting moods and rely on gentle insinuation to lead the listener in the direction that he believes the composer intended. This is deathbed music, but it is not tearful. It is rather calm and balanced, aware of death's apparent finality but prepared to hope for something better thereafter.
Perahia's interpretation of these three sonatas seems to me to reflect a certain philosophy in which a sense of balance and an emphasis on the classical, as much as the romantic elements, assumes a certain importance. Is it fanciful of me once again to detect traces of Perahia's work with J. S. Bach's music as having some significance here? Schubert's lyrical and melodic gifts are never neglected, but they are made to work in a carefully defined context, rather than exploited for their intrinsic worth or permitted to escape from the role that the composer intended for them. Perahia sees each sonata as a whole, to be performed in a consistent way, and resists the temptation to exploit specific sections as independent vehicles for his virtuosity.
In a sense, he even applies this approach to the three works as a whole. There are few pianists who choose to perform all three sonatas together, whether on disc or in the concert hall: it is more usual to play one only, with a contrasting piece before, after or both. In deciding to treat the three, which were, after all, composed one after the other, as virtually a single work, Perahia seemingly feels obliged to lend them a clear unity that underlines the fact that these are not just any sonatas by Schubert, but an important part of the dying composer's testament. Perahia abstains from showy or unbalancing effects and leads the listener through a series of twelve movements played in a way that amounts almost to a treatise on the art of playing sonatas. Not all of Green Man Review's readers necessarily enjoy this kind of music, but for any reader who already knows and likes Schubert, or is curious to learn more about him, this is a marvellous recording.
You can find more about Murray Perahia here. Note, however, that the Web site is operated by Sony Corporation, not by Perahia himself.
