With precisely this fascinating eloquence, András Schiff has delved into the works of Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, coupled with a tendency towards introverted contemplation, avoiding the intoxication. According to Schiff’s firm conviction, art is not responsible for states of intoxication; these lie, if at all, in the realm of the metaphysical, which he is actually never inclined to enter. He is solely interested in what is notated. And he sees his role as an interpreter primarily in recreating this notation. He seeks to penetrate the written text with a consistently critically questioned distance. However, he also trusts it (though not blindly), diving with it into another depth. Alfred Brendel, with whom Schiff shares a love for Schubert, Haydn, and Beethoven, once beautifully expressed this: The interpreter must stand before and behind the work. Before it, he stands like a proud knight defending it against the world’s accusations, which only wish to see the True, the Beautiful, and the Good, for in art, there is never only this triad. If it exists, it is not art; art is always a broken mirror, resistance against itself. At the same time, the interpreter must stand behind the artwork, not to deliver it to himself, to set its content as a kind of credential into the world. When listening to András Schiff’s “narrations,” one feels this ambiguity, this uncompromising willingness to engage. And Schiff is the knight with the lance who must fight this battle for a good outcome.