An Evening of Two Pianists

This morning I woke up late, having had a most fascinating dream involving pirates. Then I read internet articles, went grocery-shopping, and played the piano. At first the playing was awkward and felt "fake" again, and I did do finger exercises; but then, especially during the Beethoven sonatas, I did get into the spirit.

In the evening I went to a piano recital at the Universität der Künste (henceforth to be referred to only as the UdK) building in the Fasanenstraße. I was late again, more so because I thought I had memorized the location of the room; I had more or less, but took the wrong staircase and therefore ended up roaming three floors again until I espied a member of the audience through a window. The recital took place in the Kammersaal, a not particularly large room tastefully done in a mixture of old and new style, with white and light greyish-blue paint on the molded walls, long mirrors with brass(-esque) sconces, nice large windows looking out onto the courtyard, light parquet in a herringbone pattern, light wooden chairs with dark red velvety cushions, a dark red cembalo with gold trim against the wall to the right, and two pianos. The piano that was being played was a Steinway. There were not too many people in the audience; the seats were only arranged in rows of eight, separated in the middle to allow for an aisle.

Two students played. When I entered, J. P. had just started Haydn's Sonata in E flat major (Hob. XVI:52). He played with vigour and excellent technique and some expression, but on the whole still in the way that beginners do: nearly constant mezzoforte, and a tendency to rush the tempo. The way he played would have been better suited to Beethoven. Aptly, therefore, F. P. then began Beethoven's Sonata in c minor, better known as the Moonlight Sonata. The first movement was good, unexciting but at the same time not boring. The second movement was played fairly legato; I think of it as a more sprightly movement, but I liked the other way too. The third movement was appropriately fast but not rushed, and the individual notes still came out nicely (I believe that the technical term is transparency; and in Daniel Barenboim's performance that we saw on television a while ago, I thought it was occasionally lacking). The chords were loud and startling enough to wake the dead, but that is merely by the way. F.P. had a more nuanced expression, and a technique that was, I think, as good (he had, by the way, seemingly adopted the Horowitzian curled pinky). Then followed Chopin's Étude in c minor (Op. 10 No. 12), which J.P. played what I would consider a forte throughout. After that came Liszt's Eroica, which (in my antagonistic point of view) consists of a profoundly uninteresting galloping motif being repeated at top speed in varying levels of thunderousness and squeakiness. Chopin's Barcarolle (Op. 60) and Liszt's Ballade No. 2 in b minor followed, at which (very long) point I let my thoughts drift. Finally J.P. rounded off the programme with two Romanian dances by Bartók, which appeared to have been more thoroughly thought through in terms of expression than his other pieces.

A last round of modest applause, and we filed out. F.P., who was sitting exhausted on a bench in the hallway had, as we passed, rather the air of a prisoner watching as the jury leaves the courtroom to deliberate on his fate. Altogether, though, the two pianists considerably impressed me. Their powers of memorization and their unpretentiously good technique were admirable, and they only made a very few perceptible errors, though they were nervous and perspiring. And I think that, as they get more experience, their ability to understand the music will improve -- and, even if they mistake loudness for expressiveness, at least they don't mistake theatrics for it.

Disclaimer: I am not an expert on piano-playing, despite the rather pedantic tone that has crept into this blog post, and my evaluation should certainly not be taken as the last word on the subject.