Towards the end of the first movement of Bach’s demonic D minor keyboard concerto, soloist Joel Hastings suddenly stopped playing, walked over to the conductor, conferred briefly, and then resumed playing, picking up a few bars before where he had got stuck. But when he got back to the same spot, Hastings stopped again, conferred with the conductor, and resumed once more. This time, he made it all the way through. The second movement went well, but deep into the third movement Hastings stopped yet again. Fortunately, only one restart was needed to complete the performance. “At intermission,” the Ann Arbor News reported the next day, “it was all anyone seemed to be talking about.”
I was shocked myself. I’d heard Hastings play on several occasions and consistently found him a first-class pianist with a fine temperament and a terrific technique. His performance several years ago of Liszt’s transcription of the Prelude and Love-Death from Tristan und Isolde reduced me to tears. Something had gone wrong for Hastings, and I knew what it was: a memory slip. It happens to everyone. When pianist Paul Badura-Skoda tried playing Berg’s Sonata at Rackham Auditorium, he had one and had to go backstage and get the music to continue. It’s happened to me too, twice, and I know all you can do is get up, dust yourself off, and get back on the horse.