EIF: Brendel Tribute – Osborne | Lewis
Queen’s Hall, Edinburgh
In a presentational sense, there’s a hint of convenience in the way this year’s Edinburgh International Festival has packaged three recitals by three distinctive pianists under the banner of a Tribute to Alfred Brendel. The result so far – Steven Osborne and Paul Lewis have already contributed, Pierre-Laurent Aimard is still to do so – has weighed more towards the individuality of the participants themselves than any outwardly devotional emoting.
Maybe that’s the point. Brendel – who died last year, and whose own Festival appearances are perhaps best remembered for his internalised demeanour, strict dietary repertoire choices, often unsmiling intellectual explorations – was very much his own man. Experiencing his stage appearances, largely in a fully attended Usher Hall, was like an act of reverence. He was a profoundly communicative musical personality, unshowy but utterly persuasive.
In an interview with Vox Carnyx last year, Lewis, who studied with Brendel, described him as “very prescriptive, very specific and exacting in lessons”, while realising also that “the worst thing you could do is to simply copy him, as you’ll end up with what would be a bad version of Alfred Brendel. He wasn’t looking for that.”
Which is exactly the impression gleaned from the first two of this Festival’s tribute recitals. In Lewis’ case last Thursday – a neatly symmetrical sandwich of Schubert and Chopin within outer layers of Mozart – he simply let the music do the talking, as if in a world of his own. This was the more Brendel-esque of the two, yet with the Chopin in particular Lewis’ musical originality allowed the tenderest of expression to emerge from within the precision of its execution. The Two Nocturnes, Op 32, were singingly blissful, the foregoing Polonaise No 1, Op 26, heightened by judicious panache.
Schubert’s 3 Klavierstücke, written during the composer’s wretched final year but unpublished till years after his death (thanks to Brahms), was a kaleidoscopic joy, its weightier passions (unmistakably Brahms-like) revealing a Schubert with new paths to explore, had he lived.
Lewis’ Mozart was fascinating, more so in the B flat Sonata, K333, that closed the programme. Detail was paramount in a performance that was full of surprises, unearthing lyrical nuggets often ignored within the texture, playing logically but loose with the transition between phrases, and most effectively imbuing a character on the music that filled its intrinsic simplicity with golden colours.
The opening Mozart Sonata, K570, also in B flat, produced the one moment in the programme that seemed out of character, as if he hadn’t quite acclimatised to the room. The gnawing insistence of the cantabile lines in the opening movement was unduly intense, to some extent unrelenting, thankfully countered by a beautifully evocative slow movement and stylistically resolute finale.

Where Lewis’ manner was wholly focussed on the practical job at hand, Osborne – who opened the series – took time, true to his personality, to address the audience with some personal reflections on Brendel, not least the latter’s ability “to play out of time, but perfectly out of time”. What followed in its own way illustrated that phenomenon, Osborne’s relaxed intimacy throwing up rhythmically flexible moments designed to titillate the brain.
He chose mainly Schubert for his programme, effectively offset by snatches of contemporary music by James MacMillan and Judith Weir. Each half culminated in a major work, the first in Schubert’s Four Impromptus, the second in his late C minor Piano Sonata. In these, Osborne’s expansive thoughts, the poetic thoughtfulness of his personality, magically shone through.
The nimble delicacy of the Impromptus, whether in the freneticism of the first or songlike enchantment of the third, were a fitting end to a sequence of performances that opened with a playful Allegretto in C minor, delighted in the fleeting iridescence of Weir’s Fragile, before returning to Schubert and Osborne’s own completion of a strapping 1816 Allegretto in C.
The second half was uniquely characterised by more of Osborne’s adaptations, this time his intuitive arrangements of two Schubert Lieder – Liebesbotschaft and Am Meer from the late song cycle Schwanegesang. Nothing was lost in the absence of the sung voice, in fact much was gained through the adept voicing of the piano adaptation, and of course Osborne’s knowing delivery. That sat well in the company of MacMillan’s Lumen Christi, a luminous and playful extension of a musical idea extracted from his large scale Symphony “Vigil” set in the style of a music box, and Weir’s Choral, for Steve, written in memory of the American pianist Steven Stucky.
The closing Schubert Sonata aroused an increased intensity in Osborne’s playing, the opening movement robustly discursive, the Adagio a ruminative response, the final movements complementing fitful drama with swirling finality. If the spirit of Brendel remained present, the personality was all Osborne.
Pierre-Laurent Aimard performs the final Brendel Tribute recital on Wednesday.
Ken Walton
(Photos: Ben Ealovega / Andrew Perry)







