As Leif Ove Andsnes told us in a quick introduction from the stage, Geirr Tveitt’s Sonata Etere had been heard at the Wigmore Hall at least once, played by the composer himself, a few weeks after its 1947 Paris premiere. The introduction was necessary. Tveitt, born in Norway in 1908, would be better known today had a house fire not destroyed around two-thirds of his life’s work, including all but one of 30-plus piano sonatas.
The Ether Sonata has at least found an insightful champion in Andsnes. It’s a substantial piece that wears its title well. In among the weightily characterful writing of the first movement – thickly textured, almost like a Norwegian Janáček – came fleeting moments where the clouds parted to reveal a gentler, more delicate music. Then the second movement began with Andsnes leaning his forearm along the keyboard, freeing up a chunk of the piano’s lower strings so they could ring with each note his right hand played. The effect was to create a kind of halo of vibrancy that seemed to come from another world – a sound from the ether, indeed. This returned at the end of the breathlessly motoring finale, with harsh repeated notes in the right hand sounding almost like a klaxon bringing the movement to a halt.
