Firstly, I would like to emphasize that my tribute to Alfred Brendel is coloured and characterised by personal experience. His recent death has made me cherish and reflect on many meetings and conversations over the years. And what made these exceptional and, indeed, unique in my experience was that they were wide- ranging in a manner unknown to most musicians. It is, of course, well-known that Brendel, while music was at the centre of his life, was inextricably linked and associated with the other arts, with literature, painting, philosophy very much at the core of his deeply rooted humanism. For Brendel music was never remote, stranded or cut-off in an abstract world. Considered exclusively rather than inclusively it becomes sterile rather than an enriching form of knowledge.
I first heard him in a recital(modestly and with minimal publicity) at London's Wigmore Hall), and also on disc. The first pianist to record the complete keyboard works of Beethoven(an early and brief set of Variations were omitted as unworthy of the composer), several Mozart Concertos, a substantial amount of Liszt(still held at the time In low esteem among the more conservative music centres of the world), an all-Russian recital(Balakirev's 'Islamey, Stravinsky's 'Petrushka' and Mussorgsky's 'Pictures at an Exhibition) and, startlingly, Prokofiev's Fifth Concerto. Brendel was typically rueful concerning these early offerings , of Beethoven recorded under amateur conditions( in a room where a crackling log fire created its own descant), of Mozart he later came to see as little more than 'featureless landscapes' while the Russin recital prompted a playful dig at Marc- Andre Hamelin('I was told there were more notes on this record than any other, but I think Marc-Andre Hamelin beat me to that'), the Prokofiev made out of necessity rather than affection('it's an appallingly bad work, but when your career is virtually non-existent you don't turn down an invitation to record; actually my performance is rather good!')
And so, I entered the Brendel household reasonably armed, though as I quickly discovered you could never be sufficiently prepared for such an encounter, for such a formidable if richly rewarding presence. I had visited a friends neighbouring home prior to my talk and requested a glass of whiskey. Asked the reason for such a requirement so early in the afternoon, I spoke of my visit to Brendel. The response was clear and unequivocal; 'everyone needs a scotch before meeting Brendel.' But Brendel could be as warm-hearted as severe and would have frowned at this comment and preface, though not without a mischievous twinkle.
I remember conversations with the late Hamish Milne who recalled playing for Brendel in a tiny London flat , of a revelatory lesson and a refusal of any fee at a time when the pianist was little known. Fame came, as it so often does, suddenly and dramatically when Brendel's performances of Beethoven, and of the 'Diabelli' Variations in particular, were acclaimed as the playing of an ultimate visionary. A contract with Philips was signed and record after record followed in glorious profusion over the years, a far cry from those early beginnings. Uncomfortable with his celebrity status Brendel was at the same time grateful for such acclaim, even when the public relations lady at Philips marshalled her troops with the incentive, 'you are promoting the greatest pianist in the world, so put your best foot forward, and you know where to put it.'
During my visits so much was said, clarified, defined and questioned. A life rather than a career was constantly extended and enlarged, every concert and recording bringing a new sense of commitment ('I have never played a concert out of compulsion.',) always with the desire to dig deeper and explore more fully. He may have little in common with Vladimir Ashkenazy, yet in that great Russian pianist's words, he was no less on a 'spiritual quest or journey,' striving to reach the still centre of whatever he played, the heart of the composer's humanity.
Famed for high seriousness Brendel could be no less contentious, quirky and playful. His opening gambit with me hit a blind spot. 'Fundamentally, you seem to me a most intelligent young man, but I read something recently you wrote about Rachmaninov, a composer of small talk and little worth. Tell me, do you still like him?' When I readily admitted my love for Rachmaninov, he expressed alarm, waving a reproving finger with the suggestion that I suffered from some unfortunate quirk of nature. Expanding his view, he went on to say, 'when you are young you are hardly discriminating. I learnt Rachmaninov's Second Concerto and finding little to engage with turned to the composer's recording for assistance, only to find the reverse. I have to admit that when I mentioned the second of the two C minor Etudes tableaux as an example of something far beyond conservative or salon writing he admitted he had never heard it. For Brendel and in music elsewhere(he dismissed Grieg as a composer for chamber maids) Rachmaninov was part of what the Cambridge academic Dr Leavis called 'the extant social world.'
At the same time Brendel could be self-deprecating. After learning Ravel's 'Gaspard de la Nuit' he listened to a performance by Friedrich Gulda of such facility it left him in bemused; ' I knew I could never play like that.' His greatest love among pianists was reserved for Edwin Fisher, Wilhelm Kempff and Alfred Cortot. Kempff's early recording of the Liszt Legends made hm aware of a quality he could not match, and it was only after many years that he felt able to record his own version. He listened to Cortot's Chopin lost in wonder while at the same time feeling that Chopin was a specialist concern that required the sacrifice of too much other vital repertoire. In this he found himself in disagreement from Richard Goode who, while warmly sympathetic, gave frequent recitals divided between Beethoven and Chopin; a crossing of the Rubicon he felt demanded a radical change of pace, of focus and emotion, yet one just about possible.
I decided it would be unprofitable to speak of myself as a Francophile, of my love for Debussy, Faure and Ravel fearing a musical debacle and the response, 'why play Debussy when there is late Liszt?' Brendel was always at his best when talking about his loves rather than his dislikes.
As a teacher, lecturer and author Brendel could hardly have created a more potent influence. His writings, gathered together under the telling title 'Musical Sense and Nonsense' are a treasure trove of wit and wisdom There is so much to learn, so much to bring you up short and think again. How can you not engage with, 'Even when I was young I had the distinct impression that the so-called 'late' style was a compromise with arthritis.'(I recall him telling me that he had decided to abandon works such as Beethoven's 'Hammerklavier' and Liszt's B minor Sonatas fearing a possible heart attack) There is a sting in the tail of 'I note that you call Horowitz introverted' or 'I sense in you a predilection for eccentric genius at the keyboard,' or, and reaching out, 'faced with the havoc caused by religion throughout history and the havoc it continues to cause most liberally today, there can hardly be sufficient subversion.' The title of his earlier writings, 'the veil of order' is a reference to the poet Novalis, who wrote of how 'chaos is allowed to shimmer through the veil of order.' He notes how 'noise pollution has the same effect on the mind as cigarette smoke on the lungs.' How superbly his essays on Liszt's 'Nobility' and 'Bitterness of the Heart' counter Edward Sackville-West's view of Liszt's 'hasty workmanship, shallowness and expensive glare,' encouraged by performances sufficiently flamboyant and self-regarding to be misleading. There is qualified praise for Grove's 'Dictionary of Music and Musicians' with important names omitted in favour of bizarre alternatives, his favourite being the Spanish composer, ZabirreUnionbarren.
As a teacher Brendel was again a potent influence, and if young pianists arrived for a lesson intent only on extending their facility they would be given short shrift. Master classes could be daunting for those unprepared for an unaccustomed, searchlight scrutiny. There were classes where, frustrated by what he saw as inadequacy, he became unforgiving. ' Your bass is too loud, your treble is too loud, and now your middle is too loud and you have just ruined Schubert.' A young pianist unable to explain why she was not obeying Beethoven's instruction for a down beat demanded a response,, ' I am waiting for an answer!' There was little point in playing music outside his interest, but on the other hand you risked less than praise if you offered Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert, central to Brendel's repertoire. But for those able to withstand what must have seemed a negative experience, working with Brendel could be illuminating to a degree and with the added bonus of unforgettable illustrations from a second piano.
I have found myself curious regarding Brendel's fear of imposing himself on a pianist's character. The influence on many of Brendel's students could be both audible and visible. In common with Daniel Barenboim's all too recognisable physical mannerisms showing the influence of Artur Rubinstein or Vladimir Horowitz on a great many gifted pianists, a conscious or unconscious imposition creates its own danger. Byron Janis wrote with a good deal of pain ss well as gratitude for his years with Horowitz, claiming he took years to recover from the impact and acquire a sense of his own identity; essentially a fight for musical survival.
Despite innumerable invitations Brendel resisted becoming a jury member of the ever-expanding competition circuit. Indeed, it is hard to imagine him as part of an enclave that all too frequently includes members of little standing and who are present for extra- musical reasons.
It is telling to find Brendel denying that he is an 'intellectual' pianist, that feeling always comes first. His definition of great piano plying Is cogent and sympathetic; 'playing which is at once correct and bold. Its correctness tells you that is how it has to be, its boldness presents us with a surprising and overwhelming realisation, what we had thought impossible becomes true.' Apart from Liszt's characteristically florid nineteenth century definition('you must conjure scent and blossom and breathe the breath of life...') no other statement has come close to Brendel in answering an elusive question. For pianists who he felt were less than fully serious he could be withering and dismissive. For him Horowitz's performance of Schumann's 'Kinderscenen' was a sacrilegious example of a pianist tweaking, embellishing and elaborating Schumann's innocence. You could almost hear him joining Miss Brodie, the central figure of Muriel Spark's novel, 'The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie' with her scornful, 'if you like that sort of thing, you like that sort of thing.'
It has been impossible to do more than skate across the surface of Brendel's range, of seriousness leavened with its opposite('I have always loved unintentional humour'). In his lectures he rejoiced in the presence of humour in music, notably in the Haydn Sonatas and in Beethoven's 'Diabelli' Variations.
Plans for his post-concert life were as full and exploratory as ever, with lectures, examination of important music he had somehow omitted, coaching string quartets and accepting honorary degrees('always a pleasant occupation'). Finding himself bestowed with yet another honour by The Critical Society he was quick to offer his thanks while adding, 'I have never been in a room full of critics before.'
If irony was often at the heart of Brendel's discourse, it was underlined by generosity.Initially, He saw writing as 'a necessary evil' yet he would have enjoyed the challenge of Mendelssohn's celebrated aphorism, ' music is not too vague for language, it is too precise.' Small wonder that many of Brendel's most valued friends were figures from diverse intellectual fields such as Isiah Berlin and Al Alvarez who came to have out their talk, to exchange, listen and learn. Again, I can think of no other musician who has expanded and enriched so many horizons. Brendel's was a life well lived, his farewell as brief as it is modest. 'Thankyou for listening to me, and goodbye.'
Bryce Morrison