Royal Festival Hall
Brahms – Four Ballades, op.10
Brahms – Three Intermezzi, op.117
Liszt – Après une lecture de Dante: Fantasia quasi sonata
I was not the only one to
wonder whether Paul Lewis’s recital might have been better off at St John’s
Smith Square (the South Bank’s ‘smaller’ hall, whilst the Queen Elizabeth Hall
is being renovated) than in the Royal Festival Hall, somewhat cavernous for solo
piano music at the best of times. As it was, a small army of dedicated coughers,
especially active during quieter passages of Brahms, helped fill the hall.
Lewis’s approach to Schubert,
especially in the outer movements of the B major Sonata, probably fared least
well here, but it was not only a matter of the hall. The first movement received
an unhurried yet broadly ‘Classical’ reading. Rhythmic insistence was welcome,
especially given its generative capacity at the opening of the development,
carried through into the recapitulation. However, the movement ultimately
seemed a little disjointed. Surely Schubert should sing a little more. The
second movement did sing more, benefiting from a stronger sense of line in a
performance that was on the sober side, yet nevertheless compelling. On its own
terms, moreover, it showed more ‘Romantic’ subjectivity. Likewise the scherzo,
which had a winning lilt to it. By contrast, the finale, not unlike the first
movement, remained somewhat earthbound; it was beautifully played yet rather
circumspect, save for a few moments of apparent quirkiness that might have
seemed more at home in Haydn or Beethoven.
The Brahms Ballades, op.10, I
found more to my taste. The first struck a fine balance between severity and
something a little more yielding. That contrast was not entirely to be
identified with ‘Classical’ and ‘Romantic’ poles, but not entirely to be
dissociated from it either. Contrast and continuity were likely apparent in a
resolutely unsentimental reading of the second. Rhythms were keen and
harmonically both generative and generated. The third Ballade sounded
splendidly enigmatic; even at this early stage in Brahms’s career, there was a
hint of Webern, perhaps, in the trio, of late Beethoven too, and also, I think,
intriguingly, of Chopin’s scherzos. The Schumannesque inheritance of the fourth
piece shone through, with some telling voicing and stronger hints of ‘late’
Brahmsian half-lights. There was Innigkeit,
yes, but also some sonorities that would call into question crude opposition
between the piano-writing of Brahms and Liszt.
The Three Intermezzi, op.117,
opened the second half, the first sounding unusually bright of tone at its
opening, its central section darkly contrasted. The proliferation – surely a
more helpful term here than mere ‘ornamentation’ – surrounding the opening
material upon its return sounded properly developmental. There was admirable
clarity to the second piece, although I missed a stronger sense of those
half-lights. The third opened in more mysterious fashion, drawing one in to
listen. Its melancholic complexity was subtly yet climactically apparent.
Liszt’s Dante Sonata was given a welcome Classicism. It is not the only way
to perform the work, but stress on motivic integrity and a lack of
grandstanding ought to have won over a few sceptics (of whom there are still
far too many). More than once, I thought of the approach to Liszt of Lewis’s
teacher, Alfred Brendel. Sprung rhythms as familiar from the Schubert sonata
and, to a lesser extent, from Brahms, fascinated in their new context, although
there were times when I wished Lewis might yield, ‘Romantically’, a little
more. That, however, is more a
matter of taste (or lack thereof!) than anything else. No one could have
doubted the integrity of the performance – nor of the work. The lovely little
F-sharp major Klavierstück, S 192/4, recorded
by Brendel, made for a rapt encore, Lewis’s greater tactility and his striking ability to
hear this perfect miniature as if in a single phrase once again pointing towards
Webern.
