Schubert

After a long time away, I have revisited some Schubert works I played some decades ago. The piece that has riveted my attention in the last of the Impromptus, the one in F minor, Opus 146., No. 4. You can tell it has been a long time, as I am still hooked on opus numbers for Schubert, instead of the Deutsch catalog numbers. It is D.935. I have a vivid memory of Rodolf Serkin playing this work and complaining about how it is such a knife edge experiece in performance. Rudolf was always a rather nervous performer, at least before the concert. The times I heard him in the 1950's brought forth deeply thought out performances. A friend at Yale was studying Beethoven's Sonata in E Flat, Opus 81a "Les adieux" and Serkin arrived to play it in Woolsey Hall. As you know the first movement has that very tricky passage early on, and my friend was eager to find out just how Serkin approached it. He practiced in my teacher's studio and my friend crawled out on the ledge between the adjoining studios, (they were really fake balconies in the faux Venitian style) and listened to Serkin practice. He practiced so slowly he thought he had some form of paralysis. When he played the passage that evening in Woolsey Hall, he fluffed it. So much for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.
As for this F minor Impromptu, I find it catches the dark side of Schubert. It is relentless in propulsion, almost like a wild Hungarian danse. It has relief in beautiful scalar passages, but even those seem to develop into wild rides up and down the keyboard. Just when you think he is ready to finish, he does a detour into a section that lulls you almost into an Ave Maria mood, before returning for a final passage that suddenly doubles the time, and slams you down the entire length of the keyboard. The headless horseman has passed and you are left dazed in the ditch.

I think in another month I will be in command of this wild beast. Schubert requires a steady hand and quick thinking. So do all wild beasts.