Paul Lewis’s recital was the third in his four-concert survey of Schubert’s piano sonatas at Turner Sims, Southampton, begun last November. His latest offering showcased two sides of the composer’s musical personality: youthful confidence marked by a startling individualism belonging to 1817 and, under a decade later, the beginnings of world weariness, an expressive sea-change in which a new depth of feeling emerged in the music of his final years.
Except when complete cycles of Schubert’s piano sonatas are performed, that in B major, D.575, is something of a rarity, as is its unusual key. But it makes a rewarding companion piece to the more familiar work in A minor, D.537, written a few months earlier in the landmark year 1817. Lewis underlined each of the sonatas’ assertive opening statements, imperious in one, bellicose in the other and pointed up the lyrical contrasts that appear almost on a whim. He knows exactly how to create coherence from Schubert’s abrupt contrasts, his ideas seemingly dashed down in a frenzy of creative energy. In other hands, there might have been a sense of dislocation, but Lewis brought logic and purpose to Schubert’s restless imagination. A flawless touch was heard to impressive effect in the convivial Allegretto where dance and march-like episodes caught the ear. In the closing Finale, rhythmic impetus and lyricism were cleanly articulated, its rondo structure neatly outlined.
The B major sonata brings even sharper contrasts and is renowned for its four-key traversal in the first movement’s exposition. A startling violence darkens the development section, an early indication of the composer’s fist shaking eruptions that colour his later works. Lewis brought order to Schubert’s harmonic instability, yet its directional ambiguity continued in the song-like Andante, rumination at the heart of Lewis’s interpretation. A village band was conjured in the Scherzo, its playfulness continued in the unbuttoned mood of the closing Allegro giusto. This movement hints even more at Schubert’s impulsive shifts, where lyrical charm stems abruptly from dance-like gestures before returning to the opening bonhomie.
Some nine years separate this B major work from the Sonata in G major, D.894, a period where Schubert saw the collapse of his operatic ambitions and received news of his irreversible syphilis. That the two works are a world apart emotionally is evident from the sense of anguish and resignation of the latter sonata from 1826. Without doubt, it is on a grander scale than the earlier work – its expansive opening movement could be heard as a cri de coeur, its unfolding tragedy heart-rending. Lewis beautifully caught its gravitas, with perfectly nuanced dynamics, each note carefully calibrated. He cast a spell with his concentrated involvement.
The homespun Andante had a story telling intimacy, but there was no mistaking its theatrical element, Lewis feverishly pounding the keys for a brief explosive outburst. But by far the most haunting impression was the childlike simplicity he brought to the Menuetto, creating a dreamlike mood in the central Trio, his pianissimo a passage of “blue remembered hills”, nothing sentimental here, but intensely poignant. And on to the whimsy of the Finale, Lewis once again underlining Schubert’s preoccupation with dancing and dreams, both buttressed by an unerring technical assurance and engagement with a composer who he clearly loves. Indeed, such is his commitment to Schubert that his sonatas could almost have been written with his temperament in mind. In his attention to detail, the light and shade and delicate pauses that characterise his playing, one might sense some divine inspiration coursing through his fingers.
