Elbphilharmonie Talk with Sir András Schiff

Sir András Schiff, born in Budapest over 70 years ago, is an institution at the piano. Trained at a young age by György Kurtág, among others, Schiff still scrutinises the notes and everything around them with the utmost precision and a deep respect for the work of composers. Johann Sebastian Bach being his favourite. While he regards Franz Liszt as a brilliantmind, he never plays his music which he finds dreadful. Schiff has no time at all for gratuitously grandiose gestures, pathos and sentimentality.

The right-hand piano pedal – the one that overrides the damping of the strings and produces that wonderful, full-bodied, washed-out sound when you press it and then hit the keys – is a no-go for him when playing any music written before Beethoven’s time. That doesn’t make playing any easier. But it certainly makes it better. If you have it in you. And Schiff really does – to such an extent that he no longer calls himself a pianist. Instead, quite modestly, a musician.

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In the 2023/24 season, András Schiff is performing five concerts at the Elbphilharmonie – in a solo recital, with the Cappella Andrea Barca named after him, with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe, both of which he also conducts, and in March with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra under Semyon Bychkov playing Dvorák’s Piano Concerto. Schiff’s residency will draw to a close on an evening in June with chamber music and numerous counterparts. And he always plays the same instrument. Not one of the Steinways available to him from the Elbphilharmonie’s piano store, but his very own grand piano: a beautiful Bösendorfer in mahogany.

More than enough reason to invite this incredibly sensitive artist with his clear-cut views to a conversation on the eve of his solo recital. In the dim light of one of the Elbphilharmonie’s soloist dressing rooms, Schiff answered questions in his slow, melodious, gently Hungarian-tinged German. He extolled the virtues of old keyboard instruments, including the clavichord, which is hardly played at all any more, as well as explaining why he sees himself as a bridge builder for the next generation of soloists, what links him to Furtwängler’s secretary, and how he is improving his Italian thanks toDante’s »Divine Comedy«. He also calmly muses on the advantages of Basel, the irresistibility of London and the blessings of life in Florence. He has residences in all three cities. But his heart lies in Florence.