CARNEGIE HALL PRESENTS
András Schiff

Stern Auditorium / Perelman Stage
Sunday, October 21st, 2007 at 2:00 PM

András Schiff, Piano

BEETHOVEN Sonata No. 1 in F Minor, Op. 2, No. 1
BEETHOVEN Sonata No. 2 in A Major, Op. 2, No. 2
BEETHOVEN Sonata No. 3 in C Major, Op. 2, No. 3
BEETHOVEN Sonata No. 4 in E-flat Major, Op. 7

Encore:
SCHUBERT FRANZ SCHUBERT Klavierstücke No. 1 in E-flat Major, D.946

Program Notes:

Conveying the Meaning of Every Note
Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas and Their Interpretation
András Schiff in conversation with Martin Meyer

The conductor and pianist Hans von Bülow designated Beethoven’s 32 piano sonatas as the “New Testament” in the repertoire of the instrument. Is this monumental cycle still of such binding force in our time?

Certainly. The sonatas have lost none of their relevance and freshness. Mind you, they constantly have to be interpreted with renewed vigor—or to put it more precisely, their individual character has to be grasped. For my own part, I deliberately waited until comparatively recently before dedicating myself to such an enormous task. Whereas the works of Bach or Mozart, for instance, often seemed to me like virgin territory, with Beethoven I feel as though I’m confronted with a strong history of interpretation that stretches back as far as Liszt.

The history and tradition of Beethoven interpretation could certainly inhibit the pianist of today—as though a great deal, and perhaps everything, had already been said.

Of course, such restraints can’t entirely be dismissed. On the other hand, once you become deeply involved in the musical texts you soon realise the secrets and challenges that still lie hidden in them. As a child I often heard the “Waldstein” Sonata, without it making much of an impression on me—that was probably due to unsatisfactory performances. Whenever I play the piece today I’m overwhelmed by the revolutionary power of its enormous canvas. The “Moonlight” Sonata could provide us with another example. Beethoven instructs that the entire first movement should be played senza sordino—that’s to say with the dampers raised; or to put it another way, with the sustaining pedal applied throughout, so that the whole instrument resonates. Most performers ignore the direction, yet if one takes the trouble to read the text correctly and perform the piece accordingly, the music sounds entirely new.

In Beethoven the music’s sonority and dynamics are expanded by the scope of the music’s rhythmic energy. Where do you see the differences between him and his predecessors such as Haydn and Mozart?

We shouldn’t forget that Beethoven had already appeared in public in Bonn, and then from 1792 onwards in Vienna, as a great improviser and virtuoso. So the expressive depth of his playing informed his composing right from the start. Like Haydn—and in contrast to Mozart—Beethoven starts with tiny cells and motifs that define the thematic structure of his material. Whereas Mozart creates melodies and allows them to unfold at length, Beethoven lays greater emphasis on surprising harmonic transformations of monothematic material. In addition—and again in contrast to Mozart, but in a sort of kinship with Haydn—there are several two-movement sonatas in Beethoven. Again: with Beethoven we find a sort of earthbound humor, whereas in Mozart we hear floating, faraway merriment, so to speak. Again: with Mozart the slow movements generally unfold at no more extreme tempos than Andante or Andantino. Compared with that, Beethoven often writes Adagio or Largo—the music becomes solemn. Finally, Haydn certainly served Beethoven as a model in his experiments in tonality and harmonic change. But of course Beethoven far surpasses Haydn in terms of virtuosity and orchestral aplomb.

Mozart composed with the voice of song; Beethoven is more orientated towards speaking, or even rhetorical, gestures.

That’s right. You could say Beethoven writes prose, while Mozart favours poetry. In this respect, I would even say that the stylistic line leads from Haydn to Beethoven on the one hand, and from Mozart to Schubert on the other, in terms of their musical nature. On the other hand, Beethoven admired Mozart deeply: his admiration for Mozart’s C-Minor Piano Concerto is documented, and is expressed in his own Concerto in C Minor. But whereas Mozart seldom ventures into extremes of expression, tempo and dynamics, the young Beethoven already leads us into a new world of heightened emotions. The finale of the first Piano Sonata in F Minor, Op. 2, No. 1, already carries the heading of prestissimo, and we find the same designation in the last movement of his previous work, the Piano Trio in C Minor, Op.1, No.3.

Like his string quartets, Beethoven’s 32 piano sonatas encompass an entire life’s work—they form what you might call a leitmotif in his output.

Absolutely. And we can only marvel at the way this life’s work continually fans out into different constellations. From the Op. 2 sonatas onward we find an enormous variety of character—passion side by side with lyrical relaxation, concert pieces side by side with more capricious compositions. Among the innovations Beethoven introduces are long drawn-out legato phrases, an enlargement in sheer volume of sound, the frequent many-voiced chords, the “associated” voices and notes. Soon the radius of the instrument becomes too narrow for him, so that his purely pianistic style of writing is broadened towards the direction of orchestral colors. Take, for instance, the opening movement of the “Pathétique” Sonata: it has the effect of a piano transcription with orchestral colors. Finally, as a result of the speech-like process of his manner of composing, we hear in Beethoven an urgency of articulation, emphasised by polyphonic structures: right from the start, the element of declamation comes strongly to the fore.

Would it be possible to find—quite apart from the division into periods—a scheme of classification for the output of sonatas that could be of interpretative help?

I doubt it. Of course we rightly distinguish between the early period from Op. 2 to Op. 28, then the middle phase from Op. 31 to the “Les Adieux” Sonata, Op.81a, and, finally, from the somewhat Janus-faced Sonata Op. 90 to the late works up to Op. 111. But, on the other hand, within these groupings surprising perspectives are always being opened up. Beethoven never thinks in a schematic way—even in the way he treats the recapitulation in relation to the exposition. When he puts three sonatas together under a single opus number, which would also have corresponded with publishers’ demands, he presents enormous contrasts within the triptych. Of course over and above such differentiations we also find unique high-points—for instance, the Largo e mesto of the Sonata Op. 10, No. 3, the revolutionary introduction to the “Pathétique,” and a little later the funeral march from the A-flat Major Sonata, Op. 26, which so captivated Chopin, and many other examples. As a result, the performer has to convey the meaning of every note: perhaps that’s where the greatest challenge lies.

Your performance of the cycle proceeds chronologically. Where do you see the links between the first four sonatas, and also their difficulties?

First of all, a “mixed” program would certainly have been possible, as I did, for instance, with Schubert. However, with Beethoven it seems important to me to show the encyclopaedic logic of his development, and that’s only possible in a chronological reflection of the creative process. As far as the first three sonatas are concerned, which the somewhat unwilling pupil dedicated to his very sympathetic mentor Joseph Haydn, what’s immediately striking from an objective point of view is their unprecedented brilliance. In them we hear the virtuoso presenting himself to the public. Extraordinarily different moods rub shoulders with each other in this triptych, and the performer has to deal with them intellectually, emotionally, and technically. The grand, long, and wonderfully “pastoral” Sonata Op. 7 is already utterly individual, and stands alone.

The ascending arpeggio motion at the start of the F-Minor Sonata, Op. 2, No. 1, already signals a highly self-conscious beginning.

More than that, this sonata presents a drama. The key is apt for dramatic expression—we have only to think of the later “Appassionata,” or the String Quartet Op. 95. The ascending climb of the main subject—in the manner of the so-called “Mannheim rocket”—signals iron determination. The technique of developing several motifs out of a single thematic complex echoes Haydn, and it lends the music great concision. The inverted shape of the subsidiary theme introduces a moment of plaintiveness. What’s also interesting is the way Beethoven carries out bold changes in register between the voices in the development section, and generally varies the motivic and dynamic hues. In short, this strikes me as “dangerous” and unruly music.

On the other hand, the slow movement has a more conventional feel, even in relation to the subsequent slow movements.

Yes, though it intentionally forms a moment of repose. But at the same time the groups of thirds that underlay the middle section disrupt the purely pianistic writing: we should be able to hear orchestral sounds in them. The following minuet isn’t at all inoffensive in effect, but questioning and secretive, and in the fortissimo unison quavers (eighth-notes) even openly menacing. The answer is provided by the prestissimo finale –a sort of perpetuum mobile on the edge of the abyss, whose lyrical middle section makes the return of the wild hunt still more oppressive. Thus this first sonata really forms a highly dramatic upbeat to Beethoven’s output of sonatas. Incidentally all four movements are written in the home tonality—a comparative rarity in Beethoven, and one we find again among the piano sonatas only in Op. 10, No. 3, Op. 26, and Op. 28.

In comparison, the two following works are quite different in mood: the A-Major Sonata lyrical and humorous, the C-Major brilliantly virtuosic.

Here the dramaturgy of the groups of three works—we have only to think of the later triptychs of Op. 10 and Op. 31—is already vividly apparent. Certainly, the A-Major Sonata, Op. 2, No. 2, exudes cheerful wit, and its last two movements have a graceful style that harks back to Haydn and Mozart. But let’s not be too hasty: we shouldn’t forget the huge contrasts – for instance the humorously “dissenting” fortissimo gestures in the opening movement, as well as the contrapuntal, and pianistically very awkward development section; or the friction between legato and staccato, the sudden pauses. Beethoven manipulates the blurred relationship between expectation and surprise very cannily, and already here the music seldom proceeds in a way that would be in accordance with its preceding “plot”.

Certainly not in the slow movement of this A-Major Sonata—the first Largo appassionato.

It’s no longer a tempo ordinario, but a strong indication of character. Just how logically Beethoven proceeds is indicated by the fact that element of passion only gradually achieves expression in the dynamics and the thickening of the texture. And again, the layout isn’t “pianistic,” but orchestral: we have only to think of the fortissimo reprise of the theme in the minor from bar 58 onwards.

The third movement isn’t so much conceived as a minuet, but as a scherzo. Against its dance-like witty elegance Beethoven sets the restless “minore” middle section, with its threatening sforzati. The finale encompasses still stronger contrasts. On the one hand the ‘grazioso’ rondo theme itself with its written-out improvisatory quality, and on the other the abrupt staccato march-theme of the minor-mode episode: “Beauty and the Beast”, you could say! The ending, fading away into silence, is wonderfully understated.

Once again, the C major Sonata Op.2 No.3 shows a new kind of writing. Is it a nod towards the virtuosity of Beethoven the pianist?

Absolutely. I see it very much as a performance-piece, aimed at an audience. You could call it a “concertante sonata.” The chords, the broken double-octaves, the broken-chord passages at the start of the development—all this writing is powerfully brilliant. The cadenza in the opening movement, which begins so surprisingly with an atmospheric and romantic wave of A-flat major, underlines the concerto-like élan. The E-major slow movement is also very wide-ranging. It is restlessly unfolding confessional music, once more in the richness of its orchestral “expansions,” in the mournful song of its middle section, and in the operatic-style recitative interjections just before the end.

The scherzo and finale resume the energetic mood: Beethoven as unrivalled master of the instrument?

Not only that. To me, the outer sections of the extremely witty scherzo are somehow like ensemble music. The trio, with its “rolling” quaver (eighth-note) triplets, certainly represents stormy piano writing, and the nuances of its dynamics must be precisely observed. The Allegro assai finale places more emphasis on the character of a piano concerto. By the way, it shouldn’t be played too quickly: the semiquavers (sixteenth-notes) from bar eight onwards give the tempo. The figures in thirds moving in opposite directions in the extensive lead-in to the chorale theme, which almost anticipates the chorale from the finale of Brahms’s F-Minor Sonata, display a new and extremely difficult kind of keyboard technique. The long chains of trills in the closing pages also demand special mention: again Beethoven introduces a new type of layout, and perhaps it’s not by chance that trills play a prominent role in other C-major works—both the “Waldstein” Sonata, Op. 53, and the Arietta of Op. 111.

Only two years later, that’s to say in 1796–97, Beethoven once again composed a work of new dimensions with the E-flat Sonata, Op. 7, which is exceeded in length only by the “Hammerklavier” Sonata.

It’s a piece that lies a whole world further on. What’s so extraordinary is the multiplicity not only of its expression, but also of its dramatic conception: just think of the “composed” pauses in the slow movement, or the lyrical moments in the last two movements which anticipate Schubert, the powerful modulations in the first movement’s development section whose driving energy offers us a glimpse of Beethoven as an active pianist, as it were: octaves that have to be played legato, widely spaced chords, polyphonic intensifications, and a symphonic heightening of tension in the “drum rolls” of the coda.

Edwin Fischer associated the timbre of the work with a summer landscape.

That’s not altogether wrong, though literary metaphors can never do justice to pieces like this. Of course in the development section of the opening movement, the point where the joyfully urgent main theme has changed into the strident and turbulent minor evokes the atmosphere of a storm. And of course the cantabile scherzo, which incidentally for the first time begins without an upbeat, has pastoral features—almost a Ländler-like open-air feeling. Again, the basic atmosphere of the rondo—Poco allegretto e grazioso—is, so to speak, relaxed in an exalted way. On the other hand, that deeply-felt Largo, con gran’ espressione, with its question-and-answer dialectic, its oppressive pauses, and the enormous tension of its contrasting registers, could in no way be restricted to an “exterior view,” and the same would be true of the eerie, subterranean, menacing minore section of the third movement. To put it another way, what Beethoven introduces here renders any unambiguous attribution quite useless.

At least two “events” call for further comment. I’m thinking—in the finale—of the violent middle section, and then of the modulation near the end from the home key of E-flat into E major.

I don’t take that C-minor storm, with its full-blooded chords above a swirl of demisemiquavers (32nd-notes) in the bass, completely seriously: its function is as a sort of humoristic and morbid contrast to the lyricism of the remainder of the piece. As in the Sonata Op. 2 No. 2, or later in the opening movement of the Sonata Op. 54, the music’s space is invaded by an element of grotesquery: Beauty and the Beast, or Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. That’s true also of the coda, which takes up the same figuration, but resolves it in a gentle and becalmed E-flat major. As far as the modulatory change of direction into E major is concerned, for me this is perhaps the most beautiful moment of the Sonata altogether. Haydn’s late E-flat-major Sonata could serve as a sort of forerunner, with its slow movement written in E major. Beethoven goes still further, and the miracle takes place within a couple of bars, as though behind a veil, with the rondo theme undergoing a transfiguration into something altogether ethereal.

Translation: Misha Donat

András Schiff, Piano
András Schiff was born in Budapest, Hungary, in 1953. He began piano lessons at the age of five with Elisabeth Vadász and continued his musical studies at the Ferenc Liszt Academy with Professor Pál Kadosa, György Kurtág, and Ferenc Rados; he also worked with George Malcolm in London. Recitals and special projects take him to all of the international music capitals and include cycles of the major keyboard works of Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Chopin, and Bartók. In 2004, he began a series of performances in Europe exploring the 32 Beethoven piano sonatas in chronological order—a project recorded live for ECM New Series, to be released in eight volumes though 2009. The Beethoven Sonata Project in North America begins this season.

The Beethoven Sonata Project in its entirety is slated for New York’s Carnegie Hall, Los Angeles’s Disney Hall, San Francisco’s Symphony Hall, and Ann Arbor’s Hill Auditorium. Individual recitals are slated for Boston, Princeton, Santa Barbara, and Washington, DC. Mr. Schiff makes his only North American concert appearance this season with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, under the baton of Bernard Haitink performing Bartòk’s Piano Concerto No. 3.

In 1999, Mr. Schiff created his own chamber orchestra, the Cappella Andrea Barca, for a seven-year series of the complete Mozart piano concertos, taking place at the Mozartwoche of the Internationale Stiftung Mozarteum in Salzburg. The group, consisting of international soloists, chamber musicians and close friends, toured North America during the 2005–06 and 2006–07 seasons in a series of concerts at Carnegie Hall and Alice Tully Hall to commemorate the 250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth. The six concerts included 12 of the Mozart piano concertos, chamber music and symphonies.

During the next few seasons, the focus of Mr. Schiff's orchestral activities will be conducting programs of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart from the keyboard. He has annual engagements with the Philharmonia Orchestra, London, and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe as conductor and soloist. He is a regular visitor as conductor and soloist with the Philadelphia Orchestra, Los Angeles Philharmonic, National Symphony Orchestra, Staatskapelle Dresden, Budapest Festival Orchestra and City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra. He has conducted Bach’s B-Minor Mass and Haydn’s Creation with the London Philharmonia and was conductor and soloist with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe on a critically acclaimed tour of New York, Chicago, and San Francisco.

Since childhood Mr. Schiff has enjoyed playing chamber music. He was Artistic Director of Musiktage Mondsee, an internationally praised, annual chamber music festival near Salzburg, from 1989 until 1998. He is presently joint artistic director of Ittinger Pfingstkonzerte, a chamber music festival he founded in Switzerland with Heinz Holliger in 1995. In 1998, Mr. Schiff started a similar series entitled Ommaggio a Palladio at the Teatro Olimpico in Vicenza. From 2004 to 2007 he was Artist-in-Residence of Kunstfest Weimar in Germany.

Mr. Schiff has established a prolific discography, including recordings for Teldec (1994–97), London/Decca (1981–94) and, since 1997, ECM New Series. Recordings for ECM include the complete solo piano music of Beethoven and Janáček, a solo disc of Schumann piano pieces, and his second recording of Bach’s “Goldberg” Variations. He has received several international recording awards, including two Grammy Awards for Best Classical Instrumental Soloist (Without Orchestra) for the Bach English Suites, and Best Vocal Recording for Schubert’s Schwanengesang with tenor Peter Schreier, and, for the 49th annual Grammy Awards, was nominated for Best Classical Album (Without Orchestra) for the second volume of his complete Beethoven sonata recordings for ECM.

Among other honors, András Schiff was awarded the Bartók Prize in 1991 and the Claudio Arrau Memorial medal from the Robert Schumann Society in Düsseldorf in 1994. In March 1996, Mr. Schiff received the highest Hungarian distinction, the Kossuth Prize, and in May 1997 he received the Leonie Sonnings Music Prize in Copenhagen. He was awarded the Palladio d’Oro by the city of Vicenza, and the Musikfest-Preis Bremen for “outstanding international artistic work” in 2003. Recently, Mr. Schiff received two awards in recognition of his Beethoven Performances: in June 2006, he became an Honorary Member of the Beethoven House in Bonn, and in May 2007 he was presented with the renowned Italian Prize, the Premio della critica musicale Franco Abbiati, in recognition of his Beethoven piano sonata cycle. This fall, Mr. Schiff will be honored by the Royal Academy of Music with the institution’s prestigious Bach Prize, awarded each year to an individual who has made an outstanding contribution to the performance and/or scholarly study of the music of Johann Sebastian Bach.

In 2007, András Schiff and music publisher G. Henle began a unique partnership to produce special, joint editions of Mozart and Bach. Mr. Schiff is currently editing the complete Mozart piano concertos to include his specific fingerings and cadenzas where the original cadenzas are missing. Once the Mozart project is complete, plans are set for Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier to be edited with Mr. Schiff’s insights and fingerings.

András Schiff is an Honorary Professor of Music Schools in Budapest, Detmold, and Munich. In 2001, Mr. Schiff became a British citizen; he resides in Florence and London and is married to the violinist Yuuko Shiokawa.