Schubert Sonatas by Jandó – Technically Secure, Poetically Lacking

Jandó’s Schubert: Competent, But Missing the Poetry

Jenö Jandó’s ongoing Schubert cycle for Naxos has never quite ignited the kind of enthusiasm one might hope for. The Hungarian pianist brings technical security and a certain architectural logic to these sonatas—qualities not to be dismissed lightly—but his readings too often feel earthbound when Schubert’s music wants to float free.

The A minor Sonata, D. 845, receives a rendition that’s carefully prepared and cleanly executed. Jandó dispatches the first movement’s considerable demands with assurance; his octaves are firm, his passage work clear. He understands the structure. But structure isn’t everything in Schubert, where the journey matters as much as the destination, where a phrase can suddenly open onto vistas of loneliness or longing. That opening theme—those falling intervals that seem to question everything—needs a certain inwardness, a sense of the pianist thinking aloud. Jandó states it rather than inhabiting it.

The problem becomes acute when you remember what else is out there. Brendel’s way with this movement (and I’ve been living with his recent Birmingham performance) shows how a slight relaxation of tempo, a willingness to let silence speak, can make those accumulating tensions in the development section feel inevitable rather than merely present. When Brendel tightens the screws around seven minutes in, you feel the architecture and the poetry working together. Jandó gives you the notes—all of them, accurately—but the emotional temperature stays oddly constant.

The Andante molto offers some relief. Here Jandó’s directness serves the music better; the movement’s processional character emerges clearly. But even so, there’s a certain four-squareness to his phrasing that misses Schubert’s subtle metrical ambiguities. The scherzo goes well enough—I rather like his crisp articulation of those syncopations—though again, the trio section could use more contrast, more sense of arrival in a different emotional space.

The earlier E flat Sonata, D. 568, suits him better. This is still Schubert finding his way, the Beethoven influence strong, and Jandó’s more extroverted temperament fits the material. The opening Allegro moderato has real energy (though he takes it closer to Allegro than moderato, which actually works). The slow movement is another matter—that tone can turn steely when the music asks for warmth, particularly in the middle section where the texture thickens.

The finale makes the Beethoven connection explicit, and here Jandó’s approach feels appropriate. He plays it almost as if it could be early Beethoven, which historically isn’t far wrong for a sonata composed in 1817.

Phoenix Studios in Budapest has given him decent sound—well-balanced, not too close, though I noticed some tuning issues in the upper register during D. 845. (They seem to have addressed this for D. 568, recorded presumably on a different day.)

The real question is: who is this disc for? At Naxos prices, someone exploring these sonatas for the first time won’t feel cheated. Jandó plays well enough that you can appreciate Schubert’s formal mastery, his harmonic daring. But once you know this music—once you’ve lived with Schnabel’s profound simplicity, Kempff’s autumnal wisdom, or Uchida’s penetrating intelligence—it’s hard to see what Jandó adds to the conversation. He doesn’t distort or sentimentalize, which counts for something. But he doesn’t illuminate either.

This is respectable music-making that rarely transcends competence. In Schubert, that’s not quite enough.

Tony Haywood’s original review suggested much the same, and I find myself in agreement with his assessment—solid work that won’t displace anyone’s favorites, but serviceable for casual investigation of the repertoire.