What makes an appropriate encore? And when should they be performed? Michael Henderson on the art of finishing well
After a recital at Wigmore Hall earlier this year András Schiff performed an encore, as pianists often do. Normally a Bach prelude or a Schubert impromptu will round the evening off. It is part of the unspoken contract between performer and listener, to prove that both parties have been paying attention.
On this occasion, however, Schiff played the arietta that closes Beethoven’s last — and greatest — sonata, the Op. 111 — all 18 minutes of it! It made thematic sense, because he had devoted the concert to sets of variations by five composers. So, he clearly thought, I shall conclude matters with the most famous variations of them all. Still, the Op. 111 is a feast in itself, not some scrap off the table. It was a remarkable decision.
What makes an appropriate encore? And when should they be performed? Clearly there are some works that stand alone. Had Schiff ended his programme with the Op. 111, which is the last word in piano literature, he would not have dared to play an encore, for that work is complete. In an ideal world it would be received in silence, and members of the audience would file out respectfully, alone with their thoughts.
One might say as much of Schubert’s great song cycles, which bare the souls of singer and pianist. In a performance that does justice to Schubert’s genius, the kind that Paul Lewis and Mark Padmore supplied recently at Wigmore Hall of Die schöne Müllerin, it almost feels intrusive to listen. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau thought that Winterreise was such a private journey that it should not be recorded.
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