A Brendel memoir from Costa Pilavachi, former President of Philips and Decca:
Alfred Brendel, who died peacefully at home on 17 June, was one of the most consequential pianists of our time. His recordings of the music of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Brahms and Liszt are standard-setters and to my ears sound as fresh today as when they were made. Alfred avoided gimmicks and believed in presenting the music unembellished of mannerisms and other accoutrements often added by interpreters. Yet there was nothing boringly academic about his playing, suffused as it was with energy and good humour.
I had the honour and pleasure to work with Alfred Brendel for more than four decades, first as concert presenter, later as the person responsible for his recording career at Philips Classics and Decca. He was the ideal artistic partner. Alfred always knew what he wanted, he was very direct, cooperative, happy to talk about his work with intelligent people and he had the great advantage of being one of the most successful performers and recording artists of his time, both critically as well as commercially.
As a recording artist he was exacting, but not pedantic. I recall a passionate debate over the sound of his new late Schubert cycle, digitally recorded and released on CD around 1989. He was convinced that his earlier, analogue recordings had a more ambient sound. His producer at the time was the legendary but somewhat eccentric Volker Straus who was incandescent about the criticism. Volker was convinced that what Alfred missed in his new recordings was what he dismissively called “tape hiss” in the older recordings and it took many months of shuttle diplomacy on my part to bring the two sides together. I believe that Volker reluctantly added some natural “fizz” to the new recordings and this added “warmth” seemed to placate Alfred who eventually approved the cycle for release.
Soon after this, Volker retired and Martha De Francisco oversaw Alfred’s recordings for the rest of his career. Theirs was a most harmonious and productive relationship. One of the great projects they did together was the Beethoven concerto cycle, Alfred’s third for Philips. This was a project that I first suggested to Alfred. He was surprised that his label wanted a third set of this cycle. But my idea was to pair him with the Vienna Philharmonic which would make this set stand out. Surprisingly, Alfred had almost no discography with this great orchestra. I asked Alfred which conductor he would like to have. He answered immediately: Simon Rattle, at that time an artist signed to EMI. Through some very civilised and bibulous negotiations with my colleagues at EMI we secured Rattle’s release and the scheduling fell into place almost immediately. The concerts that led to the studio recordings were breathtaking and joyful and I am immensely proud of the resulting box set. Above all, I was thrilled that I was able to make Alfred so happy. As a footnote, this “swap” with EMI led to a Schubert Trout Quintet recording with Alfred and EMI’s exclusive and wonderful Alban Berg Quartet, on their label.
Alfred was great fun to be with, sporting a famously quirky sense of humour and we had many marvellous dinners over the years where we gossiped ruthlessly about our colleagues in the music world. On more than one occasion, I had to rescue him from unpleasant situations. Two incidents at Tanglewood stand out. Alfred was a visiting soloist with the Boston Symphony, I was the Artistic Administrator and we put Alfred up at one of the most luxurious inns in the Berkshires. The lady manager was enamoured of Alfred’s music, tickled pink that he was staying at her hostelry and she pulled out all the stops. Unfortunately, this included playing Brendel CDs on the hotel PA system while he was there. Eventually, he called me in despair lamenting that he could no longer hide from himself and I had to call the dear lady begging her to shelve her CDs and restore nature’s silence to her lovely inn.
On that same visit, I accompanied Alfred to fellow pianist Leon Fleisher’s 60th birthday party. Leonard Bernstein, who had never met Alfred, was also there and we were seated at the same picnic table. I introduced Alfred. Lenny, waving and munching on a huge chicken drumstick which he had lifted from the barbecue, launched into a huge paean, exalting Fleisher’s immense gifts, but in a way which seemed shockingly disrespectful to poor Alfred. As soon as he could, Alfred dug me in the ribs hissing that we should get out of there.
Humanity has lost one its most civilised advocates, a legendary musician but also a poet, a humourist, an observer and chronicler of life’s absurdities, a wonderful father, a loving companion to his partner Maria and a loyal, caring friend to many around the world.
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