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Kristian Bezuidenhout, Carnegie 2016

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Kristian Bezuidenhout at Carrnegie Zankel 2016Bezuidenhout at Carnegie, October 2016

On Monday October 24th, 2016, my wife and I went to see pianist Kristian Bezuidenhout at Carnegie Hall, New York.  Actually I did not know this pianist, but the Carnegie Series that I subscribed to included his Beethoven-heavy program and it looked promising.

Mr. Bezuidenhout’s name sounds Dutch. In fact he is from South Africa, a former Dutch and British colony. He lives in London, from where his trendy cosmopolitan clothing, stylishly tight with rumples, may have come. His patent leather shoes had beech-colored soles that matched the matte wood of Carnegie Zankel.

Carnegie Zankel Hall

This was the first time I had been to Carnegie’s Zankel Hall. In photographs, Zankel looks modern and sharp. In person and up close from the Parterre, however, the luster was tired. The Hall smelled musty, and the stage front needed cosmetic work. Also, the Hall is a couple of levels below the ground, so from time to time I could hear the muffled bass of the New York Subway somewhere to stage right.

The Instrument

The piano was angular in design, with frond-like cinnamon artwork on the casing. Naïvely I assumed that this was a modernistic design in keeping with Zankel’s styling, but many readers will know better.

Fortepiano at Carnegie Zankel October 2016

Beethoven Rondo in C Major, Rondo in G Major

Bezuidenhout opened with two Beethoven Rondos. I was struck by the fineness of his touch and his ability to separate voices, especially at the lower end. It was as if each voice were suspended in its own acoustic space. In part this was because the piano lacked the power of the traditional concert grand, so there was less “bleed” from one register to another. In the acoustic intimacy of the 600-seat Zankel Hall, this made the instrument sound as beautiful as it looked.

Expression and Gesture

As a young man I attended several seasons of the Leeds International Piano Competition. There I saw many fine pianists, including Radu Lupu and Victoria Postnikova, but I don’t remember those performers as individuals. Now that I am older, I savor the uniqueness of each pianist’s personal nuances of expression and gesture. For this reason we splurged on front-row seats, which gave us an unparalleled view of Bezuidenhout on stage.

There was no cultivated drama in Bezuidenhout’s keyboard presence: his performance was all about the music. I noticed that Bezuidenhout’s eyebrows were always on the move. His use of sheet music had a less-desirable impact, however. Leaning low over the instrument, he had a particular rightward glance that might in other circumstances be seen as “giving the evil eye”. Try reading sheet music from a few inches above the left keys and you’ll get the idea.

Beethoven Sonata No. 7 in D Major

When Mr. Bezuidenhout moved to Beethoven’s Sonata No. 7 in D major, he drew the Largo out so exquisitely that I barely heard the rest of the piece or the subsequent Haydn.  Only the best pianists can capture my attention like this, so I will be scouring the web for more Bezuidenhout and for other renditions of this Sonata.

The Fortepiano

During the Intermission I browsed the program and discovered that the recital instrument was a not a piano, but a fortepiano. When Bezuidenhout returned, he gave an impromptu monologue about this instrument. He commented on the light action, the four pedals, how the strings were not cross-strung, and how the design gave the instrument its unique sonic character. In this modern replica, he explained, we were hearing the Viennese fortepiano as Beethoven would have known it.

Beethoven Sonata No. 8 (“Pathétique”)

The last scheduled piece was Beethoven’s Sonata no. 8 (“Pathétique”), a personal favorite that I never tire of. Mr. Bezuidenhout’s Carnegie performance was stellar. While the fortepiano lacked the low end power of a modern concert grand, Bezuidenhout’s interpretation retained all of the Sonata’s drama.

Excellent and Informative

As an encore, Bezuidenhout played a Beethoven-like piece that I could not identify. It was a fitting close to the evening’s 18th-century repertoire, performed on an 18th-century instrument replica. I enjoyed this recital much more than I had expected, and thanks to Mr. Bezuidenhout’s short lecture I learned more about the fortepiano. Now I just have to find a fortepiano that someone will let me play!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pianists with small hands

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What does playing the piano do to your hands?

What playing the piano does to your hands

As a child I liked my small hands. They seemed appropriate for the son of writers. Marco Rubio‘s “if your hands are small we all know what else is small” exchange with Donald Trump was decades away.

Delicate hands

My mother told that me I had delicate hands. This became a metaphor for my life. Early in my career I had to fire someone. I could not do it, so I sat in my boss’s office to learn from a man with larger hands. But when he spoke to the employee, he stumbled. He was as sensitive as I, large hands notwithstanding.

Large Hands, Small Hands

If having big hands doesn’t make life easier, then having small hands shouldn’t make it more difficult. Or so I thought, until I took up learning the piano. I was half a century past the age when our hands are pliable enough to adapt physically to the instrument.

Rachmaninov, Liszt

At my first piano lesson, I could with forethought play an octave (an eight-note spread). A ninth was uncomfortable and a tenth impossible. I bought the scores of my favorite Rachmaninov piano preludes, but they contained chords that were too wide for my small hands. My dreams were shattered: I would never be able to wrap my fingers round the works of large-handed composers such as Liszt and Rachmaninov.

Virtual Hands

My teacher’s hands are tiny and yet she is a concert pianist. I asked her about those tenths, those 6-note chords and those unreachable arpeggios. I learned that what is written may not be what is played, and the audience may not notice or may not care. You can omit a note from a chord. You can break or arpeggiate a chord to reach unreachable notes. Such techniques create the illusion that you have played what you cannot play, making your virtual hand larger than your real one.

Sleight Of Hand

It is one thing to be aware of such techniques, and quite another to brave a piece that requires sleight of hand. But I am becoming aware, as my second year as an adult beginner pianist comes to a close, that something has happened to my hands. Those octaves are now easy, and a 9-note spread such as those in Beethoven’s Moonlight first movement no longer leaves my right hand hurting for days. Rachmaninov remains a challenge, but ever since I saw this exquisite performance by Marijan Djuzel I have had my eye on Rachmaninov’s Prelude Opus 23 No. 10 (watch this video, it’s impressive).

Does playing the piano change your hands?

A couple of weeks ago I got to play Chopin in New York. In a photograph taken at the time, I noticed that my right hand looks different. This might just be an illusion caused by loose, warmed-up hands, but I prefer to see it as a Lamarckian response to the demands of the piano. My hands appear to have gotten larger.

Yuja Wang at Carnegie – May 2016

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Yuja Wang at Carnegie Hall May 14th 2016

Yuja Wang comes on stage at Carnegie, May 14th 2016

On May 14th, 2016  I attended Yuja Wang’s recital at Carnegie Hall, with my wife Patti. This performance was the reason I became a Carnegie subscriber a year ago: I had to have great seats, and we did.

The last time I was at Carnegie was to see Kissin (reviewed here). For him, additional seats were placed on stage to squeeze in as many spectators as possible. Not so for Yuja Wang.

Since Ms. Wang’s recital was sold out, it surprised me that she had the stage to herself. I am sure that she was happy about that, however. It can’t be easy to have the audience intruding on your personal space when you are tackling such strenuous repertoire.

Yuja Wang’s Sparkle

People will tell you that Yuja Wang’s clothing has nothing to do with how well she plays, but this reviewer acknowledges that those fabulous outfits are part of Yuja’s brand. I would have been disappointed if she did not look like a diva. I was not disappointed: she walked out on stage in one of the most beautiful gowns I have ever seen. Its color reminded me of the pale salmon that I had across the street an hour earlier at the Europa Cafe (205 W 57th St., recommended). The gown didn’t just sparkle, it flared and outshone the highlights of the black Carnegie Steinway. You can get a hint of that from my photograph.

Brahms Ballade in D Minor

The recital opened with the Brahms’ Ballade in D Minor, Op. 10 No. 1. This was impressively sonorous, and for me the best part of the scheduled repertoire.  I settled back to absorb the rest of the evening, but when she moved on to Schumann’s Kreisleriana, I could not feel it. I can’t fault Ms. Wang: I personally have never gotten much out of Schumann.

Beethoven’s Hammerklavier Sonata

After the intermission, Yuja showed up in a dramatic new gown – dark green with a saucy slit on the audience’s side, as seen in my wife’s photograph (credit Patti Turner). If you wanted skin, this was your moment. But while the dress shimmered, Yuja’s performance seemed a little off. The Adagio was haunting but the rest, to be honest, did not work for me. Perhaps she was dulled by playing the same German program again and again. Or perhaps the Hammerklavier is so complex and demanding, that it is as hard for the audience as it is for the soloist.

Yuja: I don’t know what to play!

After the end of the program I wondered which of Yuja’s legendary encores we would be treated to. I had had enough heavy repertoire, as had most everyone else. When Yuja returned to the piano for an encore, the hall was electric with anticipation. She sat at the keyboard for a few moments, then turned to the audience and said ruefully “I don’t know what to play!”

My heart went out to her. This had not been the most inspiring evening. This was partly due to the program, but in some intangible way it also came from the pianist herself. Maybe she just needed to burn some Rondo Alla Turca.

Gretchen am Spinnrade (Schubert, arr. Liszt)

From that moment on, we were treated to the gifted Yuja we love. I have never heard such a beautiful rendering of the Schubert/Liszt spinning wheel, Gretchen am Spinnrade. There are few pianists who can make me teary, but she did. Or watch it on medici.tv: a year’s subscription costs less than dinner for two in New York.

Carmen and Ronda Alla Turca

At this point it had been a long night for us and for the performer. If Yuja had called it quits, that would have been ok. But she came alive with her encores, and so did we. She gave us both Horowitz’s Carmen and the Mozart/Volodos Rondo Alla Turca. I’ve watched these many times on YouTube, but to see Yuja Wang in person, elbows stretched to both ends of the keyboard delivering these delights, was the treat of a lifetime.

Chopin’s Waltz in C sharp minor

Yuja Verbier 2010 red dress

Yuja, Verbier 2010

Ms. Wang played Chopin’s Waltz in C sharp minor, Op. 64 No. 2 as her final encore. It was beautiful, especially the last 16 bars.

Most pianists do not bring out the descending right hand notes at the end of each bar (G, G, G, F, E, D, C, D). Kissin does, but Rubenstein, Horowitz and Ashkenazy do not. As written, the pedal comes off at the end of the bar, but Yuja holds her thumb down to sustain this note through the next bar. That’s definitely not what’s written, but it makes for a luminous sound. You can see her do this in her superlative Verbier 2010 video, starting right here.

Yuja Wang at Carnegie May 2016: sublime!

We saw two pianists at this event: Yuja Wang the professional who seemed weighed down by the main course, and Yuja Wang the star who lit up for dessert. The star was the Yuja whom I went to Carnegie to see.  She brings out the inner layers of familiar pieces in a way that makes me feel I am hearing them for the first time. At her best, she is sublime.