Intermezzo

Evgeny Kissin's Barbican bash

Evgeny Kissin  - Barbican, 5 June 2009

Prokofiev 3 Pieces from Romeo and Juliet - Juliet, Mercutio, Montagues and Capulets; Sonata No 8
Chopin Polonaise-Fantasie;  Mazurkas Op 30 No 4, Op 41 No 4 and Op 59 No 1; Études Op 10 Nos 1,2,3,4 and 12, Op 25 Nos 5,6 and 11.
Encores: Chopin Nocturne Op 27 No 2; Prokofiev 4 Pieces Op 4 No 4; Schubert arr.Liszt Soirées de Vienne Valse-Caprice No 6 

Evgeny Kissin's forthright, pugilistic pianism and Russian heritage ought to make him the perfect Prokofiev interpreter. But for all his technical fluency, stamina and precision articulation there was a wearying air of bash-by-numbers about his Friday night performance at the Barbican. His Romeo and Juliet selection lacked the rich colouring of their orchestral counterpart; the 'War' Sonata was dutifully accurate, but little more. Never mind - the capacity audience, expanded by several rows on the platform, whooped and hollered anyway.

Kissin's introspective exhibitionism found a more satisfying outlet in Chopin. His Polonaise-Fantasie was unduly mechanical. But his loud Mazurkas were crisply turned, and a firework display of the flashiest Études drew out surprisingly subtleties.

But it was only the last of his three encores, a Schubert/Liszt Valse-Caprice of almost huggable charm, that showed there's more to Kissin than brain and fingers.

Dmitri Hvorostovsky and Evgeny Kissin do it Russian style

Dmitri Hvorostovsky / Evgeny Kissin  - Barbican, 16 October 2008

Wassiliy Kandinsky: Russian Scene (Sunday)

Dmitri Hvorostovsky's Barbican programme tonight was the same one I heard him perform in Edinburgh a couple of months ago, all from the more distant corners of the Russian repertoire. A not insignificant change of pianist though, with Evgeny Kissin joining him in London. As they stood, bathing in the warm welcome with their blousy black shirts, cheesy grins and curious hairdos, only the presence of the piano indicated that this was a recital not a hairdressing competition. 

The all-Tchaikovsky first half was frankly a bit of a disappointment. Hvorostovsky, though good, was not at his best. He looked and sounded anxious and challenged. Straining at the top, parched at the bottom, he approximated the most distant notes.  He improved as he went on, but there was no question that this was not the standard we had seen in Edinburgh - though here too there was vigorous applause between all the songs.

Kissin, on the other hand, was a revelation. Often justly criticised for thumping, here he was a sensitive and accomodating partner. And needless to say, he breezed through the many technical challenges. I've long admired his Shostakovich, so perhaps it's the old cliche, Russians play Russian best.

The second half, as in Edinburgh, was shared between Medtner and Rachmaninov.  Both demand much virtuoso pianism, a sort of river of shimmering semiquavers that the song line floats serenely above. Again Kissin impressed with his ease and sensitivity.

Hvorostovsky, meanwhile, was transformed, his full, rich, burnished tone back in place, as if the first half was just some bizarre aberration. I don't know, perhaps he was simply holding himself back, storing up ammo for the full second half attack. He moved more freely, he sang more openly, he hit every single note cleanly. And when he sang, we heard Goethe and Pushkin's wonderful poetry and could overlook Medtner's rather derivative settings. Pulling off a few miraculously-sustained final notes turned the audience into putty. And I know that's kind of a cheap trick, but that doesn't mean it's an easy one - it's gobsmackingly impressive in the flesh. 

Whatever the sins of the first half, the capacity audience didn't mind, or more likely didn't notice, and two encores were gratefully received.

The first, something I didn't know and didn't quite catch, meant 'Sounds of the Night', and was more of the same. The second, Robert's aria from Tchaikovsky's Iolanta, was the standout of the night, Hvorostovsky sounding totally at home in its simple, direct idiom.

I hadn't appreciated that poor Hvorostovsky was working on his birthday (46 today!) until he was presented with a bouquet and - a Barbican first I think - a birthday balloon.