Chopin: Sonatas Nos. 2 & 3, Nocturne Op.15 No.2, Scherzo No.2, Barcarolle Op. 60
Krystian Zimerman
Royal Festival Hall, 23 February 2010
The South Bank Centre has been rather modest in its celebration of the Chopin year. It's clearly a matter of quality over quantity: no complete surveys here, rather two Birthday Recitals a week apart, nestled into their usual piano series. Those birthday concerts just happen, however, to feature two of our greatest pianists – Krystian Zimerman and Maurizio Pollini. For the first of these, Zimerman's appearance certainly had the feel of a major event. His recitals are rare enough, but the prospect of hearing him in an all-Chopin programme based around the second and third sonatas was especially mouth-watering. His fans were out in force, as were distinguished guests from the diplomatic hierarchy; a select few were even entertained by the Polish ambassador afterwards.
Zimerman's playing was, as one would expect, a model of meticulously prepared artistry, aristocratic to a fault and distinguished by the lightest of light touches and effortlessly scintillating passage work. He is every bit the cultural ambassador, and produced a sweetly sentimental curtain-raiser in the F Sharp Nocturne Op.15 No.2. While his lyricism was irresistible throughout the evening, however, the performance of the Second Sonata which followed gave the first hints of his tending towards speed and power in the more virtuosic passages, sometimes at the expense of poetry.
The opening Doppio movimento felt rushed, for example, and, apart from in the lyrical episodes, somewhat unaffectionate and driven. At times there seemed to be a tension between the aristocratic poise of his playing and his desire to emphasise stormy passion, which brought varied results. This power served the Scherzo better, where the dreamy central section was spell-binding. Even finer was a minutely controlled account of the famous Marcia funèbre. Here was clarity combined with granite implacability, a slow but precise build-up to each climax, the left hand trills machine-tooled. If the central section started less quietly than one might like, it was all with the long-term effect in mind: when the pianissimo did come, it was meltingly irresistible. An effect with the una corda pedal towards the close was maybe one slight miscalculation, before the cortège disappeared into the distance, to be replaced with the rumbling triplets of the finale. There were no quibbles, however, with the masterful account of the B flat minor Scherzo with which Zimerman closed the first half. His effortless transitions between gears in the most fiendish passages allowed for rare rhythmic freedom, whilst relishing the work's inherent poetry.
The concert's second half was shrouded in a certain mystery. Zimerman was distracted by something or someone in the front stalls as he sat down to play the Third Sonata, but launched straight in without addressing what it was. Although technically the performance was still superb, the pianist shot several sideways glances to his right and was clearly unsettled. Whether or not this affected his reading was impossible to tell, but the opening Allegro maestoso had an impatience about it that threatened to undermine its structure. Here the shifts in tempo seemed inorganic, with several passages – such as that preceding each appearance of the lyrical second subject – severely rushed. I also missed a sense of overwrought contrapuntal tension in his playing of the development section. The central movements were far more successful, and Zimerman created more moments of magic in the Largo before launching into the finale. Here the passage work was undoubtedly impressive but, again, velocity took precedence over an interpretative – rather than digital – lightness of touch. That said, few would be able to match the breathtaking sweep of his performance of the coda.
The final programmed number, however, showed us Zimerman at his very best. He steered us into some choppy waters in his Barcarolle, but displayed throughout the pearly, poetic touch and exquisite control that make him one of his countryman's supreme interpreters. The rather poorly behaved audience was rewarded with more of the same in a rare encore, a rendition of the C sharp minor waltz that came as near to perfection as one can expect.
By Hugo Shirley (MusicalCriticism.com)
Krystian Zimerman
Royal Festival Hall, 23 February 2010
The South Bank Centre has been rather modest in its celebration of the Chopin year. It's clearly a matter of quality over quantity: no complete surveys here, rather two Birthday Recitals a week apart, nestled into their usual piano series. Those birthday concerts just happen, however, to feature two of our greatest pianists – Krystian Zimerman and Maurizio Pollini. For the first of these, Zimerman's appearance certainly had the feel of a major event. His recitals are rare enough, but the prospect of hearing him in an all-Chopin programme based around the second and third sonatas was especially mouth-watering. His fans were out in force, as were distinguished guests from the diplomatic hierarchy; a select few were even entertained by the Polish ambassador afterwards.
Zimerman's playing was, as one would expect, a model of meticulously prepared artistry, aristocratic to a fault and distinguished by the lightest of light touches and effortlessly scintillating passage work. He is every bit the cultural ambassador, and produced a sweetly sentimental curtain-raiser in the F Sharp Nocturne Op.15 No.2. While his lyricism was irresistible throughout the evening, however, the performance of the Second Sonata which followed gave the first hints of his tending towards speed and power in the more virtuosic passages, sometimes at the expense of poetry.
The opening Doppio movimento felt rushed, for example, and, apart from in the lyrical episodes, somewhat unaffectionate and driven. At times there seemed to be a tension between the aristocratic poise of his playing and his desire to emphasise stormy passion, which brought varied results. This power served the Scherzo better, where the dreamy central section was spell-binding. Even finer was a minutely controlled account of the famous Marcia funèbre. Here was clarity combined with granite implacability, a slow but precise build-up to each climax, the left hand trills machine-tooled. If the central section started less quietly than one might like, it was all with the long-term effect in mind: when the pianissimo did come, it was meltingly irresistible. An effect with the una corda pedal towards the close was maybe one slight miscalculation, before the cortège disappeared into the distance, to be replaced with the rumbling triplets of the finale. There were no quibbles, however, with the masterful account of the B flat minor Scherzo with which Zimerman closed the first half. His effortless transitions between gears in the most fiendish passages allowed for rare rhythmic freedom, whilst relishing the work's inherent poetry.
The concert's second half was shrouded in a certain mystery. Zimerman was distracted by something or someone in the front stalls as he sat down to play the Third Sonata, but launched straight in without addressing what it was. Although technically the performance was still superb, the pianist shot several sideways glances to his right and was clearly unsettled. Whether or not this affected his reading was impossible to tell, but the opening Allegro maestoso had an impatience about it that threatened to undermine its structure. Here the shifts in tempo seemed inorganic, with several passages – such as that preceding each appearance of the lyrical second subject – severely rushed. I also missed a sense of overwrought contrapuntal tension in his playing of the development section. The central movements were far more successful, and Zimerman created more moments of magic in the Largo before launching into the finale. Here the passage work was undoubtedly impressive but, again, velocity took precedence over an interpretative – rather than digital – lightness of touch. That said, few would be able to match the breathtaking sweep of his performance of the coda.
The final programmed number, however, showed us Zimerman at his very best. He steered us into some choppy waters in his Barcarolle, but displayed throughout the pearly, poetic touch and exquisite control that make him one of his countryman's supreme interpreters. The rather poorly behaved audience was rewarded with more of the same in a rare encore, a rendition of the C sharp minor waltz that came as near to perfection as one can expect.
By Hugo Shirley (MusicalCriticism.com)
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