Simon Rattle Reflects: Celebrating the Genius of Pianist Alfred Brendel

Delving into the essence of Alfred is a complex task: to musicians of my era, he embodied consistent excellence and a humor that was both insightful and distinctive.

My first encounter with his music was in Liverpool, where I was captivated by his rendition of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 22, K482, at just 14 years old. It was a performance that left a lasting impression. Little did I know that I would first collaborate with him in the same city at the age of 20. That performance of Beethoven’s first piano concerto marked the beginning of a decades-long journey of artistic growth and friendship. The lessons I learned from him were invaluable, and it was immediately clear to me the immense challenge it would be to match his caliber. He pushed my musical abilities with both kindness and rigor, offering a liberating sense of freedom within a defined structure. I am deeply thankful for his mentorship which elevated my skills for nearly 40 years!

My visits to his residence in Hampstead were frequent. It was there I met his friend Isaiah Berlin, whose presence alone was quite intimidating. Berlin remarked, “you know, I don’t think Alfred has ever had an unoriginal thought”—a tribute to Alfred’s intellectual originality from a peer capable of recognizing his equal.

Our meetings often involved just the two of us, where we would listen and discuss music deeply. He was always open to hearing my interpretations, as he was with countless other musicians, and my music scores are densely annotated with his insights and suggestions. During a particularly somber analysis of the Eroica symphony’s funeral march, I recall his candid feedback, “Simon, have you never considered that there might be such a thing as active grief?”

But it was also his advice on how to more eloquently navigate harmonic transitions that often resonated with me. It was a challenging but essential skill for interpreting music, complemented by his generous and stimulating encouragement.

His conversations also spanned contemporary art, politics, and literature, reflecting his varied interests. Nevertheless, it is his humor—an almost surreal delight in the world—that I remember most vividly, and it is this characteristic that brings a smile even during times of sorrow.

There was also the playful side of Alfred, like when he, as a young man in Vienna, brought a tortoise on stage to roam around, simply because he “liked funny things.”

This whimsical nature surfaced occasionally.

He had a strong dislike for background music. I recall a time in a Birmingham restaurant when he spotted a discreet wire connected to a persistent sound system.

“I have just the thing,” he declared, pulling out a small pair of scissors from his jacket. With a quick snip, he cut the wire, then reassured us, “Don’t worry, they won’t even notice until tomorrow, and it may be weeks before they discover the wire!”

His actions were always unique and unexpected, with even his occasional sharpness being endearing. It was truly a privilege to have had such a figure in our lives.