If your ears happen to frequent the frequencies of the BBC’s classical music radio station, it’s highly possible that you’ll have been swamped by piano music this monsoon season. Piano notes have poured down upon us, flooding the airwaves with this extraordinary instrument’s capacity to evoke everything from orchestras to ocarinas, from tempestuousness to tranquillity, from Moonlight to Raindrops.
Despite such pianistic inundation, I was keen to catch the eighth and final of Paul Lewis’ Schubert Piano Cycle series in Bristol’s finest chamber music venue, the incomparable St George’s. Lewis’ epic journey through Schubert’s piano output was to finish on a high with the composer’s final three piano sonatas, nos. 19, 20 and 21: an exciting but not entirely unproblematic programme, which ran the risk (just like Radio 3’s “Piano Season”) of giving the audience too much of a good thing.
Schubert wrote his last three sonatas in the year that separated his death from that of the great heavyweight of Viennese composers, Beethoven. And indeed, the weight of the late composer seems heavy on the shoulders of Schubert in his Piano Sonata no.19 in C minor, what with its Beethovenian key centre and its Pathétique-like opening. Our pianist seemed to be equally weighed down, perhaps by the ghost of the composer whose handsome, stern-set, never-smiling bust Lewis – or his management – tries so hard to emulate. Indeed, one would usually associate the ferocious power with which he attacked the first movement with Beethoven rather than Schubert, which, given its/his Beethovian nature, shouldn’t, perhaps, have surprised. However, the movement isn’t just compositional emulation, and the more Schubertian moments – the simplistic melodic beauty of the second subject, for example – really suffered under Lewis’ tense heavy-handedness. Often, phrases which were crying out for moderation of tone and dynamic were hammered out forte; such rough treatment of Schubert’s serenity and St George’s magnificent acoustic was bewildering, especially for one who is stranger, after this series, to neither the composer nor the venue.
The second movement gained our ears some respite, Lewis’ tempestuousness transformed to temperateness. Any temptation for rubato was quashed, and the slow, measured movement was a lesson in precision and poise. Levity, though, is not a word one would associate with Paul Lewis, and this was illustrated by the seriousness with which he approached Schubert’s abrupt mid-phrase break-offs in the Minuetto. However, a lighter side did begin to emerge in the finale, with its repeated galloping rhythm, heavily scored in the mid-range, contrasting delightfully with tinkering triplets in the treble. This last movement was evidence of the wonders that dynamic and emotional variety can bring to an interpretation, and signalled what was so gravely lacking in the first.