Richter plays Schubert, Franck and Liszt in London 1966

SVIATOSLAV RICHTER – THE DEAFENING SILENCE

“We are living in an age of voyeurs and nothing is more fatal for music”

Sviatoslav Richter’s words remind me of his dramatically baffled look when Bruno Monseignon, the director of the masterly DVD documentary Richter the Enigma, asked him about the televising of concerts and recitals.  “WHY??” he protested, pulling a face of contorted distaste.  He was, of course, famous for his privacy, his public inaccessibility, and the almost withdrawn distance of his demeanour while he galvanised his audiences with his legendary intensity, virtuosity and, so important, spirituality.  As his career entered its later phase, he so disliked being seen that he began to play in a darkened hall with just a lamp by the piano, which was placed as far away as possible from the front of the stalls seats.  But for his recital at the Royal Festival Hall in London on the very warm evening of the 15th of June 1966, he was still playing in “normal circumstances” if such inappropriate words could ever be applied to this most uniquely inspired artist. That evening, I had the unforgettable experience of sitting literally right by him during his performances of Schubert’s B Major D 575 Sonata, Franck’s Prelude, Chorale and Fugue, and Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor, followed by encores of some of Rachmaninoff’s Études-Tableaux.  The Royal Festival Hall management knew that Richter’s appearance would be an instant sell-out, so they cashed in on the event as lucratively as they could by placing additional chairs in the space between what were known as chorus stall seats (available to the public when there was no chorus appearing) and the piano itself.  Those chairs were spread right across the width of the area and there were several rows of them, quite tightly packed together.  I sat in the front row chair that was placed directly in front of – or behind if you prefer – Sviatoslav Richter.

How can I try and describe the atmosphere that night?  Richter truly was a sensation, though he was unpredictable, and this just increased the tension in the audience – always.  For the first half of this evening it felt as though he was in a “cool” and almost detached disposition – as he could be.  So, what was the massive and colossally demanding Liszt Sonata going to be like after the interval?  Right from when Richter walked on for that, before he played a note, suddenly this was a different recital.  The hall went silent – and stayed silent.  Just one or two coughs – then silence – one or two stifled coughs from whoever was terrified to cough out loud – then total silence – deafening silence – endless silence.  Sviatoslav Richter had his head bowed, just looking down at the keyboard.  Was he going to play?  And then – seemingly from nowhere – a G natural barely audible – and another one – the first two notes of the Sonata, marked piano sotto voce.  I remember my heart beating so fast I could hardly breathe – really.  And when the forte Allegro energico burst out about 45 seconds later, it was a volcanic explosion – startling in fact.  Please listen to the Music Preserved archive- recording – and I will be surprised and disappointed if you disagree.

There was method in Richter’s interpretation here – naturally.  In “Sviatoslav Richter – Notebooks and Conversations” compiled by Bruno Monsaingeon and published by Faber and Faber, Richter described how his approach to this opening went back to his days as a student of the great teacher Heinrich Neuhaus:

“The essential point about this piece, he taught me, was the silences, the sound of the silences.  Thanks to him, I devised a little stratagem, a dangerous stratagem that would almost certainly not work for others but that has rendered me sterling success.  It’s at the beginning of the sonata.  What does this beginning consist of, in fact?  A single note, that’s all: a G.  What can you do to ensure that this miserable G sounds somehow special?  Here’s what I do: I come out on to the stage.  I sit down and I don’t move a muscle.  I create the sense of emptiness within myself, and in my head I count up to thirty, very slowly.  This causes panic in the audience.  ‘What’s happening?  Is he ill?’  Then, and only then I play the G.  In this way, the note sounds totally unexpected, but in an intentional way.”

Yes – but – on this particular occasion at the Royal Festival Hall, that opening had still more tension and the sudden outburst had still greater explosive contrast than was the case on the numerous other occasions when a Richter performance of the Sonata was recorded.  As did the entire ensuing performance.  On this occasion the extremes of dynamics and tempi were even greater and more on the edge than in any other of Richter’s performances of this work that I have heard: ending with an extraordinary other-worldly stasis that is unlike any other pianism I know – when is the next hushed chord going to come?  It doesn’t need me to try and describe here the genius, mastery and breathtaking virtuosity of Sviatoslav Richter.  But I can at least say that I was sitting literally adjacent to this unique artist when fortunately the BBC relayed this miraculous performance that has so fortuitously been safe-kept for posterity by Music Preserved.

Jon Tolansky

July 2026

Track 1: Introduction

Franz Schubert (1797 – 1828)

Sonata in B major, D. 575

Track 2: Allegro ma non troppo

Track 3: Andante

Track 4: Scherzo and Trio

Track 5: Allegro giusto

César Franck (1822 – 1890)

Prelude, Chorale and Fugue

Track 6: Prelude and Chorale

Track 7: Fugue

Track 8: Announcement

Franz Liszt (1811 – 1886)

Sonata in B minor

Track 9: Sonata

i. Lento assai – Allegro

ii Grandioso – Recitativo

iii. Andante sostenuto

iv.  Allegro sostenuto – Lento

Track 10: Applause

Sergei Rachmaninov (1873 – 1943)

Track 11: Encore – Étude-Tableau in C minor, Op. 39, No. 1

Track 12: Encore – Étude-Tableau in A minor, Op. 39, No. 2

The recording was made from a relay of the concert given at the Royal Festival Hall on June 15, 1966.

The recording is from the collection of Jon Tolansky at Music Preserved.

Re-mastering by Paul Baily.