If, at this point, you were to raise your eyebrows and dismiss A–Z as light-hearted self-indulgence, you would miss much of Brendel’s musical wisdom. His entries cover the origins of the piano, its vast repertoire, star composers, and mastery of its fiendishly difficult technique. Here Brendel displays both encyclopedic erudition as well as wit. He invites us to share his favourite compositions by Bach, Mozart, Brahms, Schubert, and Chopin. He discusses the importance of Balance and Character, Tempo and Temperament, saying that the artist in performance should both ‘find and lose himself’. The art of performance ‘is a cabinet of distorting mirrors’. The performer’s playing ‘is aimed at the composer as well as the audience. He must have an overview of the whole piece, yet allow it to emerge from the moment. He follows a concept, yet lets himself be surprised.’

Which leads us to ‘E’, and Emotion. Musicians should strive for what Schumann described as Gefühlsdeutlichkeit, or ‘emotional distinctness’, married with emotional control. Brendel reminds the reader that when Artur Schnabel was asked: ‘Do you play with feeling or in time?’, Schnabel replied: ‘Why shouldn’t I be feeling in time?’

For Brendel, great playing consists of a felicitous blend of intellect and emotion. ‘H’ stands for Harmony, as well as Humour, which Brendel considers to be perfectly compatible with great music. Haydn’s introduction of humour into absolute music was ‘one of his greatest achievements’, luring the listener with frivolous twists and turns. Mozart expressed his greatest humour in his operas, while twentieth-century composers, such as Ligeti and Kagel, had a penchant for the grotesque. Brendel is keen to point out that the problem with humour is that it is entirely subjective. For the most part, ‘music has been granted the ability to sigh and not to laugh’.

For Brendel, fidelity of interpretation is the key to artistic success, and musicians should follow what the composer has put on paper as extensively as possible. That said, ‘blind trust can go too far’. For example, octave glissandos in Beethoven’s day sounded very different, as pianos then had a Pianozug: a pedal that reduced the sound, absent from modern pianos; today’s pianists need to make the necessary volume adjustments to fit Beethoven’s vision. At all times, pianists should ask themselves what the composer meant to convey, and address the piece accordingly.

Alfred Brendel (photograph by Jiyang Chen)

Brendel’s own relationship to his instrument is, at best, equivocal. He has devoted his life to the piano, and yet he muses, ‘does a lion-tamer love his lions? Or the trainer of a flea circus his fleas?’ Indeed, without music what is the piano but ‘a piece of furniture with black and white teeth’? Brendel has an ‘Ideal piano’ in his head, and woe betide the instrument that falls short of his expectations. He once told the audience at a concert in Ballarat, ‘one of the chilliest places in Australia’, that he would like to take an axe to their concert grand.

Piano players will relish Brendel’s asides on technical aspects of playing. He devotes a long entry on how to achieve the best sound, basing good technique on playing ‘up through the keys’. From this foundation, the pianist can explore the piano’s sound ‘as a point of departure for extensive journeys, investigations of subterranean depths or flights into the stratosphere’. But even the lay music lover will find much of interest here. His entry for ‘Fingering’ explains that there are ‘fingerings for normal mortals, and those devised by great pianists’, citing Bülow, Schnabel, and d’Albert as interpreters who have best served the repertoire. As for markings, Brendel points out that even these can be deceptive, for the pianissimo in Schubert exhibits a ‘wider lyrical area’ than that of Beethoven. Such subtleties of understanding create legendary artists.

Brendel dedicates his book to ‘my fellow musicians in admiration or amicable dissent, to my audiences in gratitude, and to the great composers in love’. A-Z has been translated allegro vivace by his friend and colleague Michael Morley, emeritus professor of drama at Flinders University. In this assured translation, Morley ensures Brendel’s book becomes what it is intended to be, a celebration of the piano, which in the hands of a master, is ‘an instrument of transformation … the singing voice … of the orchestra’.