In this experiment, the interpretative styles of Mid-Romantic composers, such as Chopin and Schumann, are applied to Schubert’s music.
Although Schubert’s works exhibit elements of both Classical and Romantic styles, and his lifespan overlaps significantly with e.g. Chopin and Schumann, Schubert’s music is generally performed in a more classical manner. An interpretation of Schubert is typically characterized by restrained tempo deviations, minimal dynamic and color changes, and a generally lower and more stable emotional intensity.
One reason for this more classical interpretation of Schubert could be that performances of his larger piano works were rare until around 1930. By then, the recording industry had already influenced performance styles towards less excessive and more literal interpretations of the score. In contrast, the performance traditions of the more Romantic composers were kept alive during the 19th century and maintained a strong presence into the early 20th century, allowing for greater interpretative freedom and acceptance of variations in musical parameters.
Reading Schubert as if it were Chopin or Schumann allows for a more narrative and emotional approach to the music. This involves using contrasts to create an engaging and surprising musical journey, responding to formal and harmonic shifts with stronger reactions in tempo, dynamics, articulation, and phrasing, as well as introducing variations in repetitions.
Reflection by Søren Rastogi
My starting point for this project was the repeated observation that pianists, especially when playing solo repertoire, often have limited room for personal expression. I was particularly puzzled by the increasing uniformity in interpretations of composers from the Classical period, as if these interpretations were restricted by rigid traditions dictating what was “allowed,” “natural,” or even considered “true.”
I also felt that our narrow paradigms of how a work “should” sound contribute to the perception of classical music as difficult to access. If there were more room for individual musicians’ freedom, and if we were more interested in seeking surprising, innovative, and personally meaningful interpretations, concerts and recordings might seem more relevant to a broader audience. But how can this be done without compromising instrumental and artistic mastery?
The notion of an objectively “correct” way to play these works was dispelled for me by recordings from the early 20th century. When Grieg plays his music in a way that sounds “foreign” to modern professional piano ears, it provides evidence that current interpretive paradigms are constructed or cultivated through history—and therefore, could be different.
So where does this notion come from? A relatively uncontroversial viewpoint today is that interpretative practices in classical music underwent significant changes in the early 20th century (Da Costa, 2019). This movement culminated in the 1950s with conceps like “Urtext” and “Werktreue,” that continue to play a significant role today.
In Werktreue, the musical work is the authority, and the musician is reduced to a medium for the composer’s or the work’s intentions. “Essentialism” took hold: each composer was believed to have an objective essence that it was the classical musician’s professional, almost ethical, duty to convey (Goehr, 2002). Hence the term “Werktreue,” meaning true to the work, which we often don’t label so dramatically but cover up with terms like “understanding of the style of [insert composer]” and phrases like “natural” or “organic.”
Even at the beginning of Werktreue, voices like conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler and philosopher and composer Theodor Adorno criticized it. In 1931, Furtwängler wrote:
“Today, the criterion for a good piano interpretation or orchestral concert has increasingly become the perfect, balanced, omniscient phonograph record instead of the always unique, living reproduction. Thus, all the peculiarities of the ‘record-correct’ musician have been increasingly transferred to the concert hall; along with technical perfection came the fear of too slow tempi, of great contrasts, pauses, the fear of everything extreme, but at the same time also of everything structuring, formative, in a deeper sense, creative.“
In 1938, Adorno wrote similar biting words:
“The official ideal of performance, which covers the earth as a result of Toscanini’s extraordinary achievement, helps to sanction a condition which, in a phrase of Eduard Steuermann, may be called the barbarism of perfection. (…) To be sure, passages are here inflated or climaxes overstressed for the sake of fascination. There is iron discipline. But precisely iron. The new fetish is the flawlessly functioning, metallic brilliant apparatus as such, in which all the cogwheels must mesh so perfectly that not the slightest hole remains open for the meaning of the whole. (..) The performance sounds like its own phonograph record.“
Nevertheless, today, this perfection, hyperattention to detail, and clarity in articulation has become the norm.
Therefore, I have mustered the courage to try other ways. But it is dangerous territory. I could be accused of not being professional, of destroying the work, of “putting myself at the center,” etc. However, it is clear to me that there is much to be gained. If almost contemporary composers like Schubert on one side and Chopin and Schumann on the other are played radically different, then what will we find if we allow switching these paradigms? What will happen to Schubert’s music if it is played like Chopin and vice versa? In my experience, Chopin played like Schubert feels purified, balanced—but also lacking something, while Schubert’s music seems to gain a new liveliness. I believe there is a “more-less” axis at play, where we simply allow ourselves more when we play Chopin and other Romantic composers—and that this is a major reason why these composers are very popular with both performers and audiences.
To clarify the differences, I have allowed myself to set a few examples from my recording against three acclaimed recordings by Krystian Zimerman (1991), Andras Schiff (1990), and Alfred Brendel (1989). These pianists have had an important impact in establishing the current expectations for a modern Schubert interpretation, and I am full of admiration for their masterful ability to express themselves maximally with minimal means. However, I think that it is quite clear that the three recordings, being in the same interpretive paradigm, are much more similar to each other than they are to mine, and below I will provide specific examples for this.
Example 1
Krystian Zimerman
Andras Schiff
Alfred Brendel
Søren Rastogi
All four recordings conclude the theme by allowing the musical narrative to settle into a tranquil state. This is done by lingering or hesitating at harmonically interesting events and making a ritardando towards the end. My recording, however, is much more extreme than the other three, also with regards to tempo changes.
Example 2
Krystian Zimerman
Andras Schiff
Alfred Brendel
Søren Rastogi
My recording could be described as having a higher emotional “temperature” than the other three, due to the larger fluctuations in tempo and dynamics, corresponding to musical gestures of agitation and relaxation.
Example 3
Krystian Zimerman
Andras Schiff
Alfred Brendel
Søren Rastogi
Note the differences in deviations from the basic tempo and my use of a real fermata in “Chopin style” as well as my pronounced accelerando towards the ending as a way of returning to the humorous character of the variation.
Example 4
Krystian Zimerman
Andras Schiff
Alfred Brendel
Søren Rastogi
Here, I present a more “waltzy” version than the other recordings, and I use more rubato and tempo changes, as well as prolonging dissonant intervals, to create a more lamenting character.
Example 5
Krystian Zimerman
Andras Schiff
Alfred Brendel
Søren Rastogi
Also here, I seem more interested than the other three in bringing out melodically and harmonically interesting events (with the small exception of Alfred Brendel towards the end, who allows himself a few surprising lingerings on certain notes).
That modern recordings tend to converge in their aesthetic choices becomes evident when you compare early recordings with modern ones. For example, try comparing Daniel Barenboim’s and Andras Schiff’s recordings of the second movement of Beethoven’s Appassionata Sonata op. 57. There are differences, of course, but only until you hear Frederic Lamond’s fanciful and very varied recording from 1927. Then the two previous ones suddenly sound almost identical.
Daniel Barenboim https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7TnS-FZFoI
Andras Schiff https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULa1by0NupY
Frederic Lamond https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50FZIYAGF-8
· see also ·