Brendel thoughts #3

Part 3 of my trilogy on the great Alfred Brendel, our guest artist for the week. Brendel, at 77, is one of the truly esteemed elder statesmen of the keyboard, and his two concerts with the Orchestra this week will be his last in Minneapolis; he has announced that he will stop performing in public after 2008 and has embarked on what is essentially a "farewell tour" (although he himself does not call it that).

I've been pondering the idea of a musician's career coming to an end. Oftentimes it is logical; particularly for brass and wind players, who rely on the small muscles of the embouchure more prone to the wear and tear of use and age, the decision to retire is purely physiological (although it does not preclude them from continuing to play, just for the pleasure and familiarity of it). String and keyboard players are more likely to be able to maintain their technical skills long into life (I'm reminded of violinist Aaron Rosand whose 80th birthday was feted last fall at the Curtis Institute - as part of the celebration, a bevy of his former students (accomplished soloists and concertmasters from around the world) played together with him and felt as intimidated and humbled by Rosand's playing as when they were his students decades before.) And, of course, conductors are notorious for their longevity - Leopold Stokowski's last performance, in 1975, was undertaken at the age of 93!

From what I heard this week with the Orchestra, there is no discernible diminishment of Brendel's technical skills, and his musical mastery is beyond reproach. Although he does admit that he has a bit of arthritis, he is obviously still an artist in full use of his expressive powers. Why, then, retire? Perhaps to pursue other interests - he is an informed and witty writer, having published two volumes of music essays and a collection of absurdist poetry. Perhaps the rigors of the road have become too much to bear (take a look at his upcoming performances at the "forthcoming events" link - he has a spring schedule that exhausted me just looking at it, with a recital in a different city every 3 days).

Or perhaps he knows that bowing out on a high note - all of his performances have been highly acclaimed - strengthens his legacy in the echelons of great artists. This week has been such a privilege and a pleasure, hearing this extraordinary musician in his last appearances in this city. Every time he began the slow movement of the Beethoven Concerto, it was hard for me not to give an audible sigh of delight - the sound he elicited from the instrument, the stately grace of his phrasing. And the encore, a Schubert Impromptu of poignant simplicity, made more moving, perhaps, by my own thought that this is the last time I will hear him perform live. It reminded me that music is ephemeral - a performance, once finished, can never be duplicated - its very fleeting nature making live music truly an exquisite experience, brief in span but held forever in memory.