Realising the impossible

Marc-André Hamelin’s new recording of Beethoven’s fearsomely challenging ‘Hammerklavier’ Sonata comes out on 4 October. He tells us about coming to terms with the work and some of the tricks he's learnt along the way to make it more playable

What is your history with the work?

I don’t remember when I heard it first, but I always knew its reputation. I decided to learn it way back in 1993 and programmed it for a recital in Montreal. It wasn’t a good decision because I had barely learnt it and I got the review I deserved. That soured me on the piece for a few decades. When the pandemic came upon us, I thought, ‘let’s see if I can develop a better relationship with the piece with the years.’ I learnt it very systematically and went into it in depth, as one needs to. There was a completely different feeling and I was so much better equipped to realise it. I was already performing it during the pandemic, as part of my 2022–23 season programme.

What do you wish you’d done differently back then?

First of all, I think my tempos were a bit excessive the first time I played it. I foolishly tried to approach Beethoven’s metronome mark, which doesn’t make much musical sense. Many of the metronome marks for the symphonies are also too fast, but unfortunately, many conductors have adopted them as gospel. These metronome marks should give an indication of the character that Beethoven wanted, but I don’t think they have to be followed to the letter. This is especially the case with the first movement of the Hammerklavier. It’s marked 138, but something around 126 is much better – and it’s plenty! The Scherzo is also marked a little too fast.

The first time I played the slow movement, I prided myself on playing it as slowly as I possibly could, which was also a mistake, because Beethoven doesn’t mark it slow. It’s not quick, but the metronome mark makes it feel a little more like a slow barcarolle rather than Adagio molto, which is how a lot of people still play it. At the beginning, I played it so slowly that you couldn’t follow the phrases, because they were so broken up, and the listener would have lost interest.

What do you think has changed in those intervening years?

With my accumulated experience and knowledge, I am much better equipped to deal with its intricacies and to project it better musically. I have more of an arsenal of tricks to deal with the pianistic hurdles – they are many and constant in this piece.

Could you describe some of those tricks?

Perhaps the most redoubtable part of the piece is the fugue, because it is so profoundly unpianistic. It is written with very little regard to pianistic comfort, as absolute music. Not only is it uncomfortable, but it’s also very hard to sustain physically. You need a lot of endurance. Beethoven gives you a break in the middle, because there’s a short slower section, but then the action resumes. 

He seems to be reserving all the least comfortable things for the last five pages, relying on weaker fingers to display a lot of force. With my accumulated experience, I am able to marshal my energies a little better, so that I don’t sound so tired by the end. I really have to call upon every one of my resources, to bring the music to a successful expression.

Why do you think he made it so difficult?

This was late in his life and he didn’t have to play this piece. I think he had a very idealised view of what performers could do. He was writing whatever he wanted, basically – pure music. We know that his string player friends complained about his string writing, and he said, ‘You think I concern myself with that? I don’t care about it. I just write whatever I want to write.’ I think he had the feeling that eventually it would become possible, and indeed it has. The impossible has become realisable over the years.

How do you build up the stamina required for it?

A little at a time! It’s something that you can’t realise immediately. Energy-saving devices become apparent little by little. For example, there are a couple of passages in the last part of the fugue, in which the right hand (on some pianos, at least) might have a difficulty coming out. A simple solution would be to downplay the left hand a little – only a little because, the left hand carries important voices as well. If you can lessen the left hand a little without the listener being aware of it, you have much more of a chance of not making your right hand completely cramped and exhausted.

How do you go about studying this work?

I make it a practice to study away from the piano, because ‘s very beneficial – not only with the score, but also without. I do some of my best practice when I’m taking a walk, liberated from the task of producing the sound at the keyboard. I can think in the purest manner. That’s when all kinds of interesting ideas, modifications and improvements occur to me – highlighting certain things, regulating tempos, phrasing, all kinds of things. And then I go to the keyboard and try to apply these things. They may or may not work, but at least there will have been some stimulation and striving for some kind of evolution and improvement.

What are some of the controversies of playing the work?

The opening gesture is written entirely for the left hand. It’s a huge skip, and you always run the risk of missing it. Some people argue that if you don’t do it with the left hand, you’re not doing what Beethoven said, but I think you have to do anything in this piece to help yourself. It’s such a colossally difficult work that anything you can do to simplify your task should be allowable.

There’s also one note in the first movement to which Beethoven forgot to add a natural. There are eight As in a row and a lot of people play them as a sharps, because there’s a key signature of five sharps. There’s overwhelming evidence that Beethoven just forgot to add the natural, yet at least half or of the pianists who played the piece played it as A sharp, which I think is very wrong. Unfortunately, the manuscript is lost so all we have is the first edition and a very small amount of sketches. I have followed the Baerenreiter edition, which was made very intelligently by Jonathan Del Mar. He offers a very cogent arguments about this note and there’s no doubt in his mind that it should be a natural.

When you tour this music, how consistent are your performances?

My purpose is always the same. There might be little variations, as ideas forphrasing, for example, occur to me. Dealing with a different piano every time inevitably results in having to make certain adjustments, as far as dynamics, or even tempo. What’s fascinating – and this goes for any music – is that there are always going to be little accidents, things you hadn’t necessarily intended, but which you can potentially use in future performances. Accidents can lead to wonderful discoveries and sometimes radical changes in your own views.

How does that work when you’re recording it?

This touches on the larger question of how studio performances differ from live recordings. I’ve always been told that my recordings and my live performances are very different. I used to think that was unfortunate, but I’ve come to accept it. When I’m recording, I always try to imagine playing for an audience, even though I’m alone in a room. There’s an unconscious change when there’s an audience present, because I have the feeling that I’m offering something, communicating something, because the audience is there. In the recording session, the audience is merely virtual, so I have to work double with my imagination and just hope that my way of communicating is as vital as when I’m on stage. My imagination is always with the listener.

How does being a composer yourself help you understand Beethoven?

One of the benefits of composing is that you are a little better equipped in getting into the composer’s mindset. You are used to putting your thoughts into musical notation, so you can get at least one step closer to whatever the composer experienced at the moment of creation. It has heightened my admiration for him, especially with the late works. I have the greatest fascination for the mysterious quality of this music. You can analyse the hell out of Beethoven’s late works, but you still won’t know what motivated them, or how and why they work.

How do you feel about your new recording?

I am very happy with it. I hope that for some listeners it might show them new facets of the piece. There’s nothing eccentric about it. I don’t do anything that’s radically different – I’m not like Glenn Gould in that respect – but I hope that what I’ve done represents as much as possible what the work is trying to say.