Intermezzo

the beard is back

Krystian Zimerman - Royal Festival Hall, 22 February 2010

Chopin: Nocturne in F sharp minor, Op.15 No.2,  Piano Sonata No.2 in B flat minor, Op.35,  Scherzo No.2 in B flat minor, Op.31,  Piano Sonata No.3 in B minor, Op.58,  Barcarolle in F sharp, Op.60
Encore: Waltz, Op. 64, No. 2 in C-Sharp Minor

Nowadays, the fashionably bearded Krystian Zimerman apparently 'only' performs around 50 times a year (which still sounds pretty industrious to me). The fact that so few of these appearances are in the UK is perhaps not surprising when you consider he carts his own piano around with him like some travelling minstrel, tinkering with its innards to accommodate his own needs and whatever programme he's performing.

Its sound is crystalline, a perfect vehicle for Zimerman's neat articulation. The tight, pinging notes at the top end especially enable the higher notes to emerge in revelatory clarity compared with the Steinway's usual veiled, chalky timbre. When Zimerman wants a softer sound, he creates it with some impressively adept pedalling. For Chopin, that most pianistic of keyboard composers, this extensive spectrum is vital, yet it's something few pianists have the equipment (let alone the ability) to play with.

Like a brilliant singer who polishes every syllable yet never loses sight of the line, or indeed the whole song, Zimerman makes every note count without getting lost in the detail. Indeed the way he drew out the architecture of each piece in distinct timbral blocks was just as impressive as his virtuosic finger work. Though there could be something rather analytical about his measured tempos and immaculately spun-out contrapuntal lines, other moments (particularly in the opening F# minor Nocturne) invoked the quasi-improvisatory inspiration that once had Chopin's own audiences gasping in adoration.

Only once did his focus seem to desert him, and that was in the challenging largo of the B minor Sonata. Unable to evoke the reflective serenity it requires, Zimerman reduced it to a dogged plod. As I later discovered via Jessica Duchen, a none-too-sneaky rogue recording device may have diverted him.

The audience had been trigger-happy with their applause all evening (between movements even!) so the instant standing ovation wasn't that unexpected - but the rare treat of a Zimerman encore, a beautifully detailed C# minor Waltz, was.

*****   more photos on next page   *****

Ingrid Fliter returns to Wigmore Hall

Ingrid Fliter - Wigmore Hall, 16 December 2009

photo: Dan Porges

Drama seems to pursue Ingrid Fliter, especially when she visits Wigmore Hall. Last time, she suddenly paused mid-recital when a key became stuck. A replacement piano had to be wheeled on before she could continue.

Last night there was a more prosaic excuse – flu – as Wigmore Hall’s director announced before she came on. But, he added, she had agreed to soldier on with a pruned version of her originally-planned and heroically lengthy all-Chopin programme.

At first it seemed like a mistake. Her opening Nocturne was dull and measured, the sort of thing you might expect from a competent student. Left and right hands played with little sense of having anything to say to each other. Smudgy pedalling failed to obscure basic fingering errors. The plunging fingers and tossed hair were it seemed, like Lang Lang’s, plastered on to the performance as a route into the music rather than an expression of it. She made it to the end, but I half expected her to get up and make her excuses.

Extraordinarily, the Barcarolle that followed just seconds later displayed an entirely different pianist, the one the packed hall had come to hear. Great Chopin performances fall on a cusp between expression and empty display. It is Fliter’s skill – sometimes - to locate that narrow groove. The lilting rhythms flowed from her fingertips effortlessly. The audience applauded spontaneously, and Fliter announced haltingly she would continue with the whole of the planned first half.

A Nocturne, a Mazurka, a Polonaise – Fliter located the heart of each unerringly. Her playing can be extraordinarily muscular, more ‘masculine’ than any man. But she is also capable of the most delicate touch, whisper-quiet yet firmly articulated. It’s this ability to explore the extremes, allied with a pronounced and sensitive rubato that seems to breathe with the work, that makes her Chopin so compelling. Every note is an event, the cumulative effect emotionally wrenching.

After the interval it was back to the truncated programme, eleven Waltzes in place of the promised seventeen. Fliter relaxed into a less intense but no less inspired performance, exploring the reflective introspection of these familiar ‘dances of the soul’ as much as their glittering brilliance. Medicine for body as well as the heart perhaps – by the end of the recital Fliter was sufficiently recovered to brave a CD signing.