Dénes Várjon

The parade of great pianists performing in Vancouver continues last Friday evening with a recital by the young Hungarian pianist Dénes Várjon, this time under the auspices of the Vancouver Chopin Society.

In Haydn’s Sonata in E minor, Hob XVI:34, the artist showed off his considerable pianistic chops. The finger work in the first and third movement was brilliant. Perhaps because of Várjon’s facility, there was almost a feeling of pushing the music a little too much, and therefore in need of a greater sense of repose.  I also felt that the repeats he observed, especially in the third movement, did not display enough of a variety in sound.

I was very moved by his interpretation of Schumann’s great Fantasie in C Major, Op. 17. In the first movement, the pianist very successfully conveyed the passion, the tension, and the sense of yearning that pervades throughout. The brilliant march in the second movement also came off very successfully, and Várjon managed the frighteningly difficult ending with great panache. In the third movement, there was that sense of repose that I thought eluded him in the Haydn. Most interestingly, he played an earlier version of the Fantasie, where Schumann brings back the quote from Beethoven’s An die ferne geliebte, thus highlighting the cyclical nature of his design for the work. I was grateful to Várjon for introducing us to this version of the great work, although I would personally prefer Schumann’s published ending.

We should also be grateful to our young artist for playing six selections from Janáček’s On an Overgrown Path, a cycle of 15 short pieces. These are wonderfully evocative and effective pieces that pianists would do well to include in their repertoire. Várjon played these pieces with great feeling and managed to bring out the individual character of each work. I was particularly touched by his heartfelt rendition of two of the works - Good Night! and In Tears.

Várjon’s final offering of the evening was, appropriately, a group of Chopin works. I appreciated his pacing in the Ballade No. 2 in F Major, Op. 38. He played the opening section beautifully, and managed to make the chords in the opening section float. I also liked his sense of direction in the opening, and how he kept the forward motion of the music. The dramatic B section as well as the even more dramatic coda - a stumbling block for many pianists - took our breath away. The two Mazurkas (Op. 67, No. 4 and Op. 24, No. 2) were, for me, less successful. I cannot put it any more specifically than to say that the timing, accents and rubato didn’t feel right. Once again, I was reminded that the music of Chopin, especially the more “Polish” side of the composer, can elude even the greatest artist. The pianist’s playing of the Nocturne in B-flat minor, Op. 9, No. 1 was lovely. Várjon merely let the music speak for itself, and became more like an observer rather than an active participant. His playing of the justifiably popular Scherzo No. 2 in B-flat minor, Op. 31, was stunning, even more successful than Murray Perahia’s interpretation when he last played in Vancouver – From the restless opening triplets to the cataclysmic ending, the artist kept us enthralled with his pianism and musicality. There was also a sense of meaning in the many dramatic pauses that occur throughout this music.

Under the urging of an enthusiastic and appreciative audience, the artist rewarded us with an incredibly fleet and light-fingered Andante and Rondo Capriccioso, Op. 14, by Mendelssohn, with beautifully ardent playing of the opening andante.

The incredible lineup of great pianists continues in two weeks with the incomparable Richard Goode in a recital of the music of Bach. How blessed we are in Vancouver, and what an embarrassment of riches, to have performances within a few weeks by Andras Schiff, Dénes Várjon, and Richard Goode – every one a unique artist and musician with something different to say to us about the infinite variety of our musical canon.

In Search of an Artist's Soul

In the musical world, there are artists who draw listeners into the inner spiritual world of the musical masterpiece, and there are others whose sheer abilities on his or her instrument draw our attention to the potential of that instrument. Pianist Olga Kern, I think, firmly belongs to the latter category of instrumentalists.

Kern made her Vancouver Chopin Society debut last night in a mammoth programme of Schumann, Alkan, Chopin, and Rachmaninoff. I found it curious that the pianist chose to open her programme with Schumann’s Carnaval (Op. 9), a work that many pianists would end their concert with. In fact, opening the concert with Carnaval, and closing off the first half with Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor, Op. 35, made Alkan’s Etude in G Major, Op. 35, the work performed between the two major works, superfluous, and nothing more than a vehicle to demonstrate the pianist’s dexterity.

I found Kern’s interpretation of Carnaval, well, uncomfortable. Her excessive use of rubato throughout the work seriously hampers the flow of the music. Moreover, rather than conceiving the set as a whole, I felt that she treats each of the twenty sections as individual pieces, and I missed the sense of organic unity that the work calls for. In Chiarina, her distortion of the rhythm almost completely obliterates Schumann’s passionato indication. In the final Marche des “Davidsbündler” contre les Philistins, there was a lack of a sense of inevitable drive towards the end, in spite of the pianist’s blistering virtuosity.

I was also surprised that Kern decided to play the Sphinxes section. I know that pianists as great as Rachmaninoff had included these few notes in his recording, but I really believe that Schumann intended this section as a riddle, an enigma or a puzzle for the player, and that these notes really shouldn’t be played.

Alkan’s Etude in G Major was well played, and amply demonstrated the young pianist’s considerable ability around the keyboard. Alkan had written many fine and original works, but this piece is really nothing more than a showpiece, not worthy of being in the company of Carnaval and Chopin’s Sonata.

The first moments of Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor began promisingly enough, with great drama, and plenty of drive. Came the second subject and Kern’s excessive rubato again destroyed the intricate structure of the first movement. In the left hand octave passage of the coda (mm 230 to 235), she slowed the tempo to such an extent that the impetus of the music was completely gone. In the scherzo, the dramatic A section came off better than the lyrical (Piu lento) B section. I got the sense that Kern was playing from climax to climax. When it came to the lyrical sections of the music, she somehow felt that she had to highlight the music to accentuate its beauty, thus robbing the music of naturalness.

After the intermission, Kern was much more in her element in a selection of three of Rachmaninoff’s Etude Tableaux, as well as a selection of nine Preludes from Op. 23, Op. 32 and Op. 3, ending with a take-no-prisoner performance of the Prelude in B-flat Major, Op. 23, No. 2. The performances here were much more idiomatic and, strangely enough, more natural and flowing.

If I had any reservations about the evening’s performance, I was obviously in the minority. The audience rewarded the pianist with an ovation, and she in turned rewarded the audience with four or five encores. Vladimir Horowitz, a master of pianistic thunder, often played more lyrical pieces in his encores.  Kern would do well to emulate this. All of her encores appeared to be more and more virtuosic. Yes, it was impressive, but I found my ears getting very tired toward the end of the evening, and I yearned to get away to some Bach and Schubert.

In spite of the high volume of Olga Kern’s playing, there was surprisingly a lack of variety in her pianistic colours. Things were either soft or loud. She obviously reveled in passages of great passion and brilliance. Perhaps, like Horowitz, she will mellow in her old age. Looking at the pianist’s face as she brought off another pianistic feat is like looking at the face of a child as he or she speeds down the lane on the new bicycle.

For now, Olga Kern remains, for me, a brilliant instrumentalist that delights in showing off her abilities at the instrument. What I kept wishing for was for her to bare her soul to us through the music that she plays.

Murray Perahia Visits Vancouver

Pianist Murray Perahia is no stranger to Vancouver audiences, having appeared many times in recitals under the auspices of the Vancouver Recital Society. On a snowy Sunday afternoon, Mr. Perahia played a wonderfully varied programme of works by Bach, Beethoven, Schumann and Chopin.

Perahia opened the recital with J. S. Bach’s French Suite No. 4 in E-flat Major, BWV 815. Unlike Andras Schiff, who played Book One of Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier in his last appearance here, Perahia did not hesitate to use the pedal when playing Bach. Strangely enough, Schiff achieved a greater variety of colours and sounds without the pedal than Perahia did with pedal. Although Perahia did bring out the characteristics of each of the dance movements, the playing seemed rather two-dimensional, and a touch heavy at times.

I had similar reservations about the pianist’s rendition of Beethoven’s justly famous Sonata No. 23, Op. 57, more often referred to as the Appassionata. Perahia’s performance was extremely polished, with quite daring tempo in the final movement. I did miss the great contrast in sound that the music calls for. Perhaps Perahia was trying to present a different view of a sometimes much maligned work, where pianist with more fingers than brains would bang their way through the work with maximum speed and volume. Certainly it was a more intimate view of this very familiar work. Perhaps one day his view of this work will change again. For now, this is an approach that, as much as one respects Perahia’s perspective, does not always work.

After the intermission, Perahia opened the second half of his programme with Robert Schumann’s Papillons, Op. 2. This was a work that Perahia recorded very early on in his career, and his interpretation has now obviously matured. Perahia successfully managed the lighting fast change of mood between one piece to the next, and brought out the beauty and colours in each of the dance-like pieces. Here, the pianist seemed to have been enjoying himself more in these gems of Schumann’s. I enjoyed his performance of this early Schumann work unreservedly.

Rather than referring to Perahia as a Chopin player, I have often thought of him as a pianist that happens also to play Chopin. That said, he has always had interesting things to say about Chopin. The composer’s late Nocturne, Op. 62, No. 1, was the first piece in his Chopin group, and Perahia played this work beautifully. He certainly brought out the ethereal beauty of Chopin’s melodic writing, while drawing our attention to the intricacies and complexities of the inner voices. I really loved his pacing of this complex work, as well as how he makes the music float under his finger.

Unlike many of today’s young pianists, who would present one or both sets of Chopin’s Etudes in recital, Perahia, wisely, I think, presented only a small group of Etudes from both sets – Nos. 1 and 5 from the Op. 25 set, and No. 4 from the Op. 10 set. His performance of Op. 25, No. 1, the so-called “Aeolian Harp”, was extremely beautiful, and smooth as silk, as was his playing of the middle section of Op. 25, No. 5, with the stunningly gorgeous melody in the left hand. I thought that his playing of the opening of the same Etude was a little over-pedaled, thus missing the quirkiness of the piano writing.

For the last two works in his programme, Perahia finally threw caution to the wind and gave a take-no-prisoner approach to Chopin’s Etude in C-sharp Minor, Op. 10, No. 4, as well as the Scherzo in B-flat Minor, Op. 31. I do not always agree with Perahia’s tempo transition between sections of this work. It somehow creates an impression of disjointedness, rather than presenting a performance of organic unity so important for Chopin’s music.

After being recalled to the stage by a very enthusiastic audience, Perahia rewarded us with a performance of Schubert’s Impromptu in E-flat Major, Op. 90, No. 2. I felt that the rapid-fingered opening section worked better under Perahia’s hands than the dramatic second section. As with some of the works presented in this recital, I could not help wishing for more colours and a variety of sounds.

Murray Perahia is a sincere artist that always has a viewpoint, a perspective on whatever he plays. Perhaps his analytical approach to the music sometimes gets in the way of spontaneity. I am happy that after the finger injury that forced him to take several sabbaticals from performing, that he seems to be back in full force. I wish him continuing artistic growth, and greater insights into the music he presents to his audience.

A Young Old Soul

In the very crowded field of outstanding young pianists today (and getting more crowded every year), there have been many recent performances that succeed in impressing us with his or her pianistic prowess. Far more rare is a young artist who moves us, not with technical wizardry (which he has plenty of), but with depth, with artistry and musicality.

Such an event took place in Vancouver yesterday, with the Canadian debut of Kuok-Wai Lio, under the auspices of the Vancouver Recital Society. Mr. Lio played an artistically and technically demanding programme of Janáček, Schubert, and Schumann. I do not recall being so moved by a young pianist’s playing since the first time I heard Ingrid Fliter many years back.

Mr. Lio began his recital daringly, with a performance of Leoš Janáček’s four-movement piano cycle, In the Mists. Not being intimately acquainted with the piece, I can only guess that the composer named his work a “piano cycle” instead of “sonata” so that he didn’t feel bound by any constraints of musical structure. Indeed the piece sounded very free-flowing in its ideas, very colourful and beautiful, and highly imaginative. I did detect the influence of other composers, most notably in his use of harmony, which somehow reminded me of the harmonies Chopin used in some of his later Mazurkas.

Kuok-Wai Lio appears to be a quiet and unassuming young man, but from the first notes, Lio mesmerized me with his playing. There is a luminous quality to the sound he makes on the piano. Within minutes, I realized that I was in the presence of a young master. The playing commanded our complete attention without clamoring for it. Lio, I believe, is very much “his own man” in his musical ideas.

Franz Schubert’s Four Impromptus, D. 935, made up the final work of the first half. Unlike many of today’s young keyboard titans, Lio took the time for the music to develop. At the same time, the music never dragged, but flowed beautifully and logically. The many transitions, in mood and in tempo, within each of the four pieces were masterfully handled. Lio’s interpretation of these very familiar pieces did not remind me of anyone else’s playing. His ideas were completely original, but never idiosyncratic, and they made complete musical sense.  I believe Lio is one of those rare artists who draw our attention to the music, and not to him or his personality.

Lio’s playing of Robert Schumann’s elusive Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6, once again reinforced my impression that we were in the presence of an extremely rare talent. One of Schumann’s lesser played works, the piece has an inner beauty that makes it very difficult to bring across. I believe it was Busoni who said that a musician must, during a performance, lose and find himself at the same time. From beginning to end, Lio was completely absorbed in the shifting moods of Schumann’s sound world, a man completely lost within the music, but at the same time seeing clearly the way before him. His playing of the work’s two final sections (Wie aus der Ferne; Nicht schnell) was meltingly and heartbreakingly beautiful. 

After repeated curtain calls from an enthusiastic audience, Lio rewarded us with the Aria from Bach’s Goldberg Variations, giving us a tantalizing taste of what a performance of the complete work would be like.

No amount of designer clothing or brand name runners can give young artists depth and maturity. This young pianist already possesses such qualities in abundance. In one article I read about Lio, conductor Donato Cabera, who worked with him, called him “an old soul”.

Hearing his performance yesterday, that is exactly how I would describe Kuok-Wai Lio.

A Breathtaking Recital

Theodor Leschetizky, the famous pedagogue, reportedly said to Arthur Schnabel, his celebrated pupil, “You will never be a pianist, you are a musician.” I am happy to share that Ryo Yanagitani, the recital soloist at yesterday’s University of British Columbia Noon Hour concert, is both pianist and musician. January is perhaps too early for predictions, but I doubt there would be another concert of equal artistic merit in the coming months.

Mr. Yanagitani was born and raised in Vancouver, studied at the UBC School of Music, and subsequently at the Cleveland Institute and the Yale School of Music. Among his many accomplishments, he won the gold medal at the 10^th San Antonio International Piano Competition, and received kudos from the judges for his performance of all four Ballades by Chopin. The powers that be at the university, in their infinite wisdom, have appointed him Assistant Professor at his alma mater, but only for a single year.

Glenn Gould used to say that playing in Toronto, his home town, inevitably terrified him. I do not know if Mr. Yanagitani felt such pressure yesterday, playing in front of former professors and fellow students, and perhaps many who watched him grow up, but he certainly acquitted himself wonderfully. One of the hallmarks of a true performer is the ability to make an emotional connection with the audience, even before a note is played. I have witnessed this quality in musicians like Arthur Rubinstein and Yo Yo Ma. Mr. Yanagitani possesses such a quality.

It takes a brave man to begin a recital with Beethoven’s Sonata in A Major, Op. 101, one of the composer’s most elusive and technically challenging. I love the young pianist’s pacing in the first movement, as well as, from the first notes, the expressiveness of his playing. He certainly understood Beethoven’s instructions for the movement, Etwas lebhaft und mit der innigsten Empfindung – somewhat lively, but with deep inner feeling or emotion. Innig is an impossible word to translate, but “deep innermost feeling” is the closest I can think of.

The Schumannesque second movement, which never fails to remind me of the middle movement of the Schumann Fantasy, was played with great confidence and panache, not to mention rhythmic incisiveness. Time stood still in the brief but emotionally packed Adagio, marked Langsam und sehnsuchtvoll - slowly and longingly – before a brief return to the opening theme of the first movement brings us to the energetic, at times exuberant 4^th movement. Yanagitani negotiated his way through the complex contrapuntal thread of this movement like, to use Busoni’s words, a man who losses and finds himself at the same time.

Chopin’s 1839 Scherzo in C-sharp Minor, Op. 39 and Schumann’s beautiful Arabesque, Op. 18 followed the Beethoven.

Although written at around the same time, the two pieces could not be more different from one another. The Scherzo fluctuates between ghostly passages, filled with angry outbursts, to music of utter calmness and peace. His playing of the Scherzo is stunning, and he brought out the almost schizophrenic nature of the fluctuating mood of the piece. Yanagitani has always been a wonderful exponent of the music of Chopin. His debut CD - Alone With Chopin – demonstrates his flair for the Polish composer’s works.

The pianist paid tribute to one of his teachers, the great pianist Claude Frank, and related to the audience how Mr. Frank would always bring his audience to tears with the Schumann Arabesque. Mr. Yanagitani played Schumann’s miniature masterpiece with great feeling and understanding, and his performance was followed by a long silence before applause broke out. How rare and special it was to have that split second pause before applause broke the spell.

The pianist pulled out all the stops for the final piece of his programme, Let Hands Speak by Canadian composer Kelly Marie Murphy. This was the commissioned piece of the 4^th Esther Honens Piano Competition, one that Mr. Yanagitani entered, and won the prize for best performance of this commissioned work – a great honour indeed. It is probably safe to say that the pianist owns this piece, which exploits, in the best sense of the word, all facets of pianistic technique. His incredibly virtuosic playing of this work won him a well deserved ovation from the appreciative audience.

To disprove the adage that a prophet is never appreciated in his own land, the University of British Columbia should seize this young artist and keep him here, before more prestigious institutions begin to clamour for his talents.

Ryo Yanagitani is clearly a great artist, and one who deserves to be heard by many and in many places.