Schumann’s Piano Sonata No. 1 in F sharp minor, Op. 11

Robert Schumann’s Piano Sonata in F sharp minor, Op. 11 is a work of pure Romantic inspiration. Written during a period of anguished separation from Clara Wieck, it is one of Schumann’s most heartfelt and emotional compositions.

Schumann began work on the sonata in 1832, and in a letter to Clara he described it as “a cry of longing for you.” When it first appeared in print in 1836 it bore the inscription “To Clara, from Florestan and Eusebius” (Schumann’s nicknames for the extroverted and introverted components of his musical personality). Since then the sonata has carved out a place for itself in the permanent repertoire and has attracted the attention of such pianistic giants as Anton Rubinstein, Josef Hofmann, Ignace Jan Paderewski, Leopold Godowsky, Harold Bauer, and Solomon, to name a few. However, it has never achieved the sort of popularity and recognition that a work of such genius deserves. Even today there are those who find parts of the piece unconvincing, and numerous musicologists have written about Schumann’s supposed difficulty in coming to terms with sonata form.

What is it about this complex sonata that makes it so endearing to those who treasure it? Simply put, the musical material from which the sonata is built is of such uniformly high quality that in the right hands the work can encompass the entire gamut of emotions. On the surface there are the obvious feelings of sadness and joy, but on a deeper, more involved level the sadness becomes soulful or even tragic, and the joy in turn becomes transparent, seemingly from the heavens. Moreover, all of the aforementioned moods and feelings can be found in the exposition of the first movement alone!

Interpretive Hurdles

The interpretation of this sonata presents many challenges to the performer. Its awkward piano writing places great demands on the pianist’s technique, while its constantly shifting moods and tempos tax the performer’s intellect and emotional reserve. Upon tackling the first movement, one is immediately confronted by a moderately lengthy introduction comprising several passionate outbursts as well as a brief sotto voce theme; thus the listener is quickly exposed to the sorts of emotional contrasts found throughout the sonata. In the exposition that follows we find three main themes (rather than the traditional two) plus two transitional passages, all of which play a significant role. The main themes are widely contrasted: the first, somewhat agitated, tonally unstable, and built upon the rhythm of two sixteenths followed by an eighth note; the second, a fortissimo outburst (marked passionato), but in the distant key of E flat minor and with the melody played by the right hand thumb; the third, chordal, expressive, and in the traditional key of A (the relative major).

This A major theme that concludes the exposition is surely one of Schumann’s most divine creations. It has the magical effect of providing relief through its major tonality while at the same time unveiling an entirely new world of emotional anguish. The transition that precedes it is also of great importance. Although clearly derived from the exposition’s agitated opening theme, it is marked legato, più lento and piano, which results in its transformation into something soulful and contemplative. At the midpoint of the development section something extraordinary occurs: material from the movement’s introduction makes a surprise reappearance — and in the totally unexpected key of F minor. The recapitulation, in turn, takes on tragic proportions by remaining in a minor tonality throughout. The divine chordal theme that appeared in the exposition in the key of A major now takes on a hitherto unseen degree of sorrow in the key of F sharp minor.

The second and third movements of the sonata are both fairly straightforward in terms of structure: the second is a short two-page aria whereas the third is a playful Scherzo with two Trio sections. However, the work’s finale has confounded numerous scholars and performers over the years, often being criticized as too lengthy or formally undisciplined. Harold Bauer, in his published edition of the work for G. Schirmer, advocated that some cuts be adopted in the finale. Fortunately, few performers today heed this sort of advice, although a handful of recordings do employ the 40-measure cut that he suggests. Ironically, in his piano roll recording of the work (Nimbus NI 8804) Bauer does not follow his own advice and instead plays the finale in its entirety.

Putting questions of form and length aside, there is within this movement some of Schumann’s most inspired and touching music, such as the episode that begins like a simple chorale but becomes more chromatic and contrapuntal as it intensifies. The writing that follows, with short slur groupings in the right hand set against a simple repeated pattern of bass-note–dissonance–resolution in the left hand, ranks among the most hauntingly beautiful passages in the piano literature. And how can one not be deeply touched by the slow, single-note melody (marked ad libitum) set against simple chords that occurs nearly half-way through the movement and then again near the end?

Recorded Legacy

It seems fair to say that Schumann’s Piano Sonata, Op. 11 is not heard particularly often in recital, but this neglect has not been carried over to the recorded medium. While one might have expected forty or perhaps even fifty commercial recordings of this sonata to exist, the actual number — 84! — is staggering. This number becomes even more astonishing when one realizes that during the first fifty years of the last century there was not a single recording available. It is also interesting to note that fully one third of the pianists who recorded this work are of Eastern European origin.

Although the Sonata’s discography is sizable, there are still many names whose absence is regrettable. The lack of “Golden Age” recordings leaves us with little opportunity to hear how yesteryear’s greats played this work (barring a few piano rolls of questionable reliability), so we can only wonder what Hofmann, Godowsky, or Paderewski performances sounded like. There are also two somewhat later names who were logical candidates to record this work but sadly did not. Yves Nat recorded many of Schumann’s major piano works, and judging by those performances he seemed an ideal interpreter for the First Sonata. He was known to perform this work in recital, but he died before having a chance to set his interpretation down on disc. The Hungarian pianist Annie Fischer was renowned for her interpretation of the Sonata – those who heard her play it described the experience as ‘unforgettable’. One can only hope that a performance of hers has survived in a radio archive somewhere or lies in private hands.

For this survey, 82 recordings out of a possible 84 were listened to in their entirety. (Baumgartner and Dumont were not heard because copies of their recordings could not be located.) In order to treat each performance in the fairest possible way, all were listened to and evaluated blindly (ie the identity of the performer was not revealed until the conclusion of the performance). Hearing recordings in this manner allows one to form opinions without any advance bias for or against the performer. With a work that requires so much involvement and commitment from the pianist it should come as no surprise that great performances were a rarity, though there were a number of very good performances. Sadly, there were far too many pianists who showed little understanding or affinity for the work.

A Gilels Trio

With the advent of the long-playing record in the 1950s, recordings of Schumann’s Op. 11 Sonata, finally began to appear with regularity. In all, ten recordings of the work appeared during this decade, but of the nine surveyed only one stands out — that of Emil Gilels. For many there is no greater interpreter of this work. He is the only pianist for whom there are three different commercially released recordings, and in all three — two for Melodiya (1957 studio and 1961 live) and a recently released 1959 BBC performance — there are significant differences. The introduction, for example, is slow and weighty with an overly loud left hand in the studio Melodiya recording, whereas in the live Melodiya it is agitated and fast almost to the point of being neurotic. The BBC release finds a successful middle ground, being both expressive and intense. Differences are also present in the various renditions of the two inner movements. The slow movement’s melody is beautifully shaped and expressive in much of the BBC version, but comparatively flat in the studio Melodiya performance. In the Scherzo, however, it is the studio Melodiya version where Gilels captures just the right mood for the humourous Trio (marked alla burla, ma pomposo) as opposed to the live Melodiya recording, where the humour is overdone to the point of sounding corny.

Gilels’s handling of the first movement’s main theme is nothing short of outstanding in all three releases. His impeccable legato, astonishingly controlled pianissimo accompaniment, and expressive phrasing result in a captivating dialogue between the various statements of the theme. He also excels in the crucial A major theme that concludes the exposition, imbuing it with the necessary depth of feeling. If there is a weak point in Gilels’s interpretations of this work, it is his handling of the finale, which never quite comes to life in either the BBC or the studio Melodiya recording. Although all three of Gilels’s recordings have their own particular merits, the edge must go to the BBC version as his finest, followed closely by the live Melodiya.

The 1950s

None of the other releases from this decade can be put in the same league as Gilels. Paul Badura-Skoda gets credit for having the first commercially released recording, but his 1951 performance is too uneven to satisfy, and it employs the 40-measure cut in the finale suggested by Harold Bauer. Badura-Skoda’s playing is considerably better than that of Lydia Hoffman-Behrendt, whose version was the next to appear. Her playing is often trite, with lots of fast, light, detaché playing (even during lyrical passages).

Neither Jan Panenka nor György Sebők offer satisfying versions. Panenka chooses several extreme tempos and employs strange rubatos, particularly in the finale, where he also takes Bauer’s suggested cut. Sebők, on the other hand, rushes through the work’s most expressive moments, and his melodic projection is often anemic. Stewart Gordon’s recording starts off well enough: the rubato in the introduction is convincing, and the Allegro gets off to a fast and exciting start, but he has a tendency to ignore tempo changes and dynamic indications, thus charging into new sections without any preparation. Leonard Pennario’s recording falls right in the middle of the pack. There are some nice moments (the introduction and the slow movement melody, for example) but also a great deal of flat, uninspired playing.

Adelina de Lara recorded the sonata in her 80th year. Not surprisingly, the tempos lean towards the slow side, and there is often a sense of struggle. Her playing is deliberate but still expressive in the introduction. She also puts a great deal of feeling into the A major theme that concludes the exposition. In the slow movement, the continual rolled chords prove quite distracting and often break the melodic flow. One also has to wonder about the prominent wrong melodic note (D-natural instead of D-flat) that she plays (twice!) in the middle of the development section.

Troublesome Finales

Emil Gilels is not the only pianist to have trouble holding together the sonata’s long and difficult finale. Lazar Berman’s performance has good and bad points throughout the first three movements, but in the finale his playing becomes angular and vertical.

Jean Martin is yet another pianist who suffers in the finale. His playing in general is intriguing and full of interesting ideas: his poetic handling of the slow movement’s forte outcries is memorable, and he also perfectly portrays the pompous character of the Scherzo movement’s second trio. In the finale, though, one hears undesirable accents, distorted rhythms, clipped slurs, and even an anti-climactic ending. An extreme case of finale let-down occurs in Nikolai Demidenko’s recording. Although he demonstrates some inconsistency in the first three movements, there is no denying that many beautiful and poetic moments occur. This leaves one almost totally unprepared for the awful banging that dominates his finale.

In contrast to the above recordings, the highlight of Vanessa Wagner’s version is a superb finale. The opening three movements are by no means poor, but it is her sensitive, artistic, touching playing in the finale with which she truly distinguishes herself. Overall, her recording left a very strong impression in spite of the opening movement being too agitated for my taste.

Completists

Jörg Demus, Karl Engel, Peter Frankl, and René Gianoli have all recorded Schumann’s complete piano music. Gianoli’s and Engel’s performances of the First Sonata are both extremely disappointing. Gianoli misses notes, overpedals, ignores rests and articulations, and uses Harold Bauer’s cut in the finale. Engel simply plays without any enthusiasm, energy, or drive. The recordings by Frankl and Demus are considerably better. Frankl relates well to Schumann’s idiom, taking time when needed and also displaying an acute sensitivity to Schumann’s harmonic language. Demus’s recording is better still in many ways. His overall sound is more refined, and he uses that to his advantage during key expressive moments. Some strange tempo fluctuations and an unsatisfying rendition of the finale’s ad libitum melody are the main drawbacks.

Jerome Rose, Volker Banfield, Ian Hobson, Hamish Milne, and Ronald Brautigam have each recorded all three of Schumann’s sonatas. Banfield fits them onto a single CD, but the breakneck tempos he adopts throughout the First Sonata are absurd. His incoherent performance clocks in at under 26 minutes. Jerome Rose exhibits better judgment, also squeezing all three sonatas onto one disc, but without resorting to headlong tempos. Ian Hobson shows he can be sensitive to harmony and colour with his performance, but his tempo choices are not always ideal and his dynamic range feels restricted at times. Ronald Brautigam is at his finest during the work’s brightest moments, such as the brisk, playful Scherzo. His approach works surprisingly well in the first three movements, but leaves a superficial impression in the finale. Hamish Milne delivers a very respectable reading. His handling and shaping of accompaniment figures is well though-out, and his Scherzo rates among the best.

Captured Live

Two of the 20th-century’s greatest pianists are represented in this survey by live performances that unfortunately do not show them at their best. Walter Gieseking’s rendition for German Radio in 1943 is a serious miscalculation. He attacks certain sections at tempos far beyond what he can handle. The first movement’s development and most of the Scherzo are particularly painful to listen to. He manages to play well during much of the finale, but as a whole this is a performance best forgotten.

An off day seems an unlikely excuse for Shura Cherkassky’s willful romp through the sonata. In this live performance he inverts dynamics, changes written rhythms, utilizes bizarre tempos, and distorts moods at every opportunity. The slow movement begins without any sense of settled tempo, and its central section is loud, ugly, and wooden. The Scherzo is phrased like a run-on sentence, and its slurred descending notes are so short and clipped that they resemble tone-clusters. In the finale there is some semblance of normalcy, but hardly enough to save matters. Leonid Brumberg’s eccentric concert performance seems quite tame in comparison, but his odd rubato, random pauses, strange balances, and odd pedaling are hardly congenial.

Dino Ciani’s live performance contains far too much fast, aggressive playing to be enjoyable. One section runs quickly into the next without any chance for the music to breathe. His Scherzo is agitated in spirit rather than playful, but his slow movement is played softly and sensitively for the most part. Both of Eliso Virsaladze’s live recordings are also overly aggressive. Her few moments of relaxation provide effective relief, but one wishes they occurred more frequently.

Just Shy of Great

There are several performances that create a very strong impression without quite reaching that elite level reserved for the very greatest.

Christian Zacharias shows himself to be an excellent, sensitive musician in his recording. His most convincing playing occurs in the middle movements, but there is also much to admire elsewhere. Annerose Schmidt gives one of the fieriest and most exciting performances on record. Her introduction is so rapid that it sounds crazy at first, but there is never any sense of vulgarity. There are plenty of other exhilarating moments, but Schmidt shows that she is capable of far more than sheer speed. Her slow movement is delightfully lyrical, and the Scherzo quite spirited. The finale is generally convincing except for some unexpected dragging in slower passages.

Famous Names

Murray Perahia’s thoughtful, expressive introduction leaves the listener with high expectations, but this makes his aggressive approach to the Allegro main theme all the more disenchanting. As the performance unfolds, beautiful, poetic phrases are juxtaposed against unnecessarily agitated passagework on several occasions. Claudio Arrau approaches the work with great freedom. In the introduction, his expressive ritards and grandiose phrasing are especially convincing. This expressive, free approach also results in some effective mini-climaxes within the first-movement exposition. In the later movements, however, the ritards become more and more extreme and affect the work’s forward momentum. There are also some distracting mannerisms, such as the rolled chords during the chorale-like passages in the finale.

Surprising Disappointmentss

Anton Kuerti’s recording has many good ideas, but they are often rendered in an exaggerated, fussy manner. The numerous sforzandi in the finale, for example, are dwelled upon, as are the melodic resolutions in the work’s introduction. Joseph Kalichstein plays the opening movement with inspired creativity, but that inspiration begins to wane as the remaining movements progress. Parts of the finale simply drag on and on. Dmitri Bashkirov, whose Schumann interpretations are often first-rate, gives a surprisingly uneven performance of the Sonata: the various moods and contrasts written into the work are underplayed; the finale has little in terms of dynamic contrast or colour, and his rhythm in the slow movement is unexpectedly quirky. Catherine Collard’s first recording (for Erato) is a pleasant surprise. She favours softer dynamics, but still creates much variety and evokes different moods. Even her extremely slow second movement has a special atmosphere. There is a terrible misreading in the slow movement, and she ends the sonata eccentrically, but one is willing to look past those things because there is so much else to enjoy. Her later recording for Lyrinx is disastrous in comparison. The impressive soft sounds have been replaced by loud, poorly balanced sonorities. Her slow movement drags without any sense of the special atmosphere present earlier. The same misreadings are present, and the ending is bewildering this time around, adding to the overall unpleasantness.

Lacking in Personality

Several recordings feature extremely straightforward playing with very little direction, freedom, imagination, or contrast of any sort. The overall impression left by these is one of blandness and boredom; one waits in vain for something interesting to happen. The recordings by Peter Rösel, Hélène Grimaud, Marian Lapšanský, Laurent Martin, and Charles Rosen can all be grouped into this category.

Crash Landings

Although they have personality, some recordings are so far off the mark that they leave the listener truly perplexed. Carmen Daniela’s CD begins with some dissonant modern compositions by Walter Gieseler. One can hardly discern a difference in approach when she begins the Schumann Sonata. Her dry, angular, percussive rendering is simply beyond belief. Andreas Bach inserts so many unwritten pauses into his performance that it soon takes on the proportions of a parody. The pauses continue through all four movements, sometimes occurring as frequently as every downbeat. Marta Deyanova employs an exaggerated roller-coaster rubato throughout much of the piece. Her Scherzo is fast, blurry, and loud, bordering on cacophony in its worst moments. There are numerous dropped notes in each movement and even a few incorrectly learned ones. Another extraordinarily poor performance comes courtesy of Ferenc Rados: there is hardly any dynamic variation; the heavenly A major theme is taken rapidly and insensitively, and the slow movement features a slow, plodding accompaniment against a harsh melody.

The Very Best

The name Alexei Nasedkin may not be well known, but it deserves to be. His recording of the Schumann Sonata is the best by far of all surveyed. Nasedkin captivates with his ultra-refined musicianship, poetic phrasing, and beautiful sonority. When he plays, one doesn’t simply hear dissonances resolve, one feels them. There are so many things in his performance that one can single out for praise: the soulful qualities of the opening movement’s lento sections, the freedom and fantasy of the slow movement, the amazing, rounded, staccato articulation in the Scherzo, and the ever-so-touching harmonic dissonances and resolutions in the finale. There are no cheap thrills in this performance; its merits all are purely musical.

Another diamond in the rough by a relative unknown is Marian Migdal’s recording; it shares many of the same qualities as Nasedkin’s: freedom, poetry, deeply felt expression, and sensitivity. His slow movement stands out for its softly singing melody, and his playful Scherzo has wonderfully musical dialogue. His finale is good by most standards, but falls short of Nasedkin’s. His dissonances lack the former’s magic, and his handling of the ad libitum melody is the one real disappointment in this interpretation.

Final Recommendations

In the right hands, Schumann’s F sharp minor Piano Sonata can be a profoundly moving work. No pianist better demonstrated this than Alexei Nasedkin, whose recording unfortunately remains on LP only.

Special thanks to Donald Hodgman, Hidehiko Nonaka, Ernst Lumpe, Peter Wolfgang Seidle, and Donald Manildi for their help in providing recordings for this survey. Without their generous assistance it would not have been possible to audition all 82 recordings.