I’ve been playing through Schubert’s piano sonatas, starting with the early ones, which I admit I don’t know very well. Like most people, I’m much more familiar with the late sonatas, considered some of his finest works.
The sonatas I’ve played so far were written in the years 1815-17. Schubert, born in 1797, was then a young adult. It’s shocking to realise that in 1817 he only had another eleven years to live.
What surprised me about the early piano sonatas is that they seem quite …. how shall I put this? Gauche? Slightly clumsy? At times it’s hard to discern that ‘Schubertian’ character we all know and love. The piano writing doesn’t lie easily under the hand. That can be true in the late piano sonatas too, but somehow one can overlook it because the musical thought is so engrossing. In the early works that isn’t always the case.
After playing through half a dozen of his early sonatas I found myself thinking: What if I was on an audition panel in the year 1815 or 1816 – and was asked to decide if this young composer was worth supporting with money to fund his development? Could I spot the clues? Would I know, on the basis of what was put before me, that he was destined to become the Franz Schubert we all revere?
And to my horror I realised that, based on these early works, I might not know. The astonishing development that seemed to happen so soon afterwards was not – to my ears at least – foreshadowed in the first few sonatas. If I had been on an audition panel a few years later, say in 1820 or 1822, I like to think I’d have recognised the fingerprint of genius.
What is one to conclude from this? That audition panels and grant-givers can only judge on the basis of what they see at the time? Or that everyone is worth encouraging at an early stage in case they develop into something rich and rare? It’s a conundrum which faces all audition panels.
Interesting visual metaphor…
I say sonata, you say tomata!
Interesting revelation.
Schubert’s Erlkoenig was written in 1815. By then he must have written dozens of Lieder. His first five piano sonatas were written in 1816 and 1817. There were also 6 uncompleted piano sonatas written in those years. So I hope that the hypothetical judges and grant givers would have done their research. That very gaucheness is a mark of the revolutionary approach of Schubert to established forms of High Art. (At that point the Lied as a form was a bit of an orphan. See the Oxford History of Music 19th C. Volume). The same journey from tentative steps to assured mastery is also evident in Schubert’s church music. And even in the staggering final Mass in E flat there are moments of gaucheness alongside passages of supreme genius. It’s as though (excluding the Lied) Schubert had to interiorise a form by a process of trial and error before arriving at music which is unique and revolutionary, albeit dressed in traditional garb. Parts of his final Mass prefigures so much of the music which came to be written later in the 19th C. Imagine hearing the Sanctus from that Mass for the first time at it’s first performance, by which time, alas, Schubert was dead. Who knows where Schubert’s musical journey would have gone had he lived longer? But it’s clear that his music would have continued to develop (as did Beethoven’s at whose funeral Schubert was a torch bearer). Such a loss.
Thank you Simon for these very good observations. I completely agree that it feels as if Schubert had to ‘interiorise the form by a process of trial and error’. I have continued my journey through his piano sonatas and noticed that there comes a point where he suddenly seems to reach the ‘Schubertian’ style we all know and love. It’s not so much that his style becomes confident and stable – more that he seems to find a way to incorporate his moments of doubt or reflection and feel comfortable about doing so. That’s how I hear it anyway. What would he have done had he lived longer, indeed!
One of the best things I’ve read recently is the long essay accompanying Paul Badura-Skoda’s recording of all of Schubert’s sonatas on period instruments. (It is available online but I’ve been searching for it for the past twenty minutes to no avail!). He is not of the opinion that the early sonatas show Schubert taking tentative steps into the world of piano music. Instead he considers them to be works of genius. When I recalibrated myself to his point of view I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly.
Imagine if the prevailing view of early Beethoven was that it’s a bit plodding and boring. It could be hard to shake that impression off if the wrong performers got hold of the music. Though many people would disagree with me I think that we need to shake off the same idea about early Schubert. Take the ending of the first movement of the sonata, D.279. With what great rapture the soaring C major melody banishes the uncertainty from before! Or the Sonata in f sharp minor that ushers us so wistfully into a world of romanticism and magic. Are these sonatas really second-rate or do we need to listen to them with a different type of attention?
I actually think the main reason these sonatas are not more loved is that some of their charm is lost when played on a modern piano. I would like to direct readers to Malcolm Bilson’s fortepiano recordings to illustrate this.
James, how could anyone be immune to your heartfelt advocacy! I shall try to hear Schubert’s early piano sonatas ‘with a different type of attention’.
The other day I was at a gathering where we heard the finale of Schubert’s last piano sonata (B flat D960) and also his 1823 song, ‘Du bist die Ruh’. It was almost as though they were the work of two different composers. In the song, not a note too much. Perfect expression of text through voice and piano. The piano part: simple and touching. Compare that with his approach to the finale of the B flat Sonata, undeniably a great work from the point of view of musical thought. Yet it is also arguably over-extended, and over-active in terms of the piano writing. What to make of this? Different sides of a complex musical soul.