Wigmore Hall
Scarlatti – Sonata in A
major, Kk 113
Sonata in C major, Kk 159Sonata in D major, Kk 96
Ligeti – Musica ricercata
Chopin – Mazurkas: in B-flat major, op.7 no.1; C major, op.56 no.2; F minor, op.68 no.4
Messiaen – Three pieces from Vingt regards sur l’enfant-Jésus
Schumann – Piano Sonata no.2 in G minor, op.22
Many of us fall into an easy,
perhaps too easy, dismissal of ‘competition winners’. No one in his right mind
would say that winning a competition is anything but a beginning. Moreover, we
have all heard plenty of the bland, technically perfect playing, with nothing
to say about the music, or indeed the musician, which gives ‘competition
winners’ a bad name. That said, it seems perverse and indeed unfair to dismiss
the very real achievements, both musical and personal, triumphing in such
conditions may indicate. Antonii Baryshevskyi, winner of the first prize and gold
medal at the 2014 Arthur Rubinstein International Piano Master Competition here
made an impressive Wigmore Hall debut, which would have been just as impressive
whether he had won that competition or not, but for which that experience may
well have helped prepare him.
It was only in Schumann’s
second piano sonata, the final piece on the programme, that I thought in those ‘competition’
terms. It is no mean feat to perform the work with such virtuosity as we heard,
but I did not always discern so much beneath the surface. In its first
movement, likewise in the scherzo and finale, I did not feel that Baryshevskyi’s
Fazioli did Schumann many favours. There was welcome clarity, but the
brightness of tone did not always sound ideal. Fluency was undoubtedly
impressive. The slow movement, however, was possessed of a characteristic
sadness, with a crucial Schumannesque sense of ‘poetry’: songful, yet not
maudlin, with kinship to Mendelssohn.
The recital opened with three
Scarlatti sonatas. I could not help but wonder whether including one minor-key
and/or one slow piece would have offered greater contrast, but what we heard
was nevertheless well conceived. The A major sonata, Kk 113, opened in bright,
declamatory fashion. Terraced dynamics made their point but there was
variegation within too. The C major sonata, Kk 159, showed still more that
Baryshevskyi was unafraid to use the full resources – well, more or less – of the
modern piano to Scarlatti’s benefit: no attempting to imitate a period
instrument here, though there were welcome echoes of the guitar. Hand-crossing
was relished, and put to musical as well as technical ends. The Handelian
opening of the D major sonata, Kk 96, came with a splendid flourish. Harmonic
twists later on were conveyed with proper understanding. If there were times when
I thought the pianist’s way with ornamentation might have sounded more
idiomatic on a harpsichord, there were others when it emerged in melodic terms
to the advantage of his chosen instrument. Repeated notes were mightily
impressive in their despatch.
Ligeti’s Musica ricercata was a very welcome choice. This is process music
in the best sense; one hears and experiences the implications – whether as
pianist or as listener – of the increase in notes: from just the two in the
first (and the D is only added to the A in the final bar) to all twelve notes
of the chromatic scale in the eleventh. Baryshevskyi’s performance was as full
of wit and character as the work itself, and conveyed with evident understanding
its nature as a whole. The first piece seemed well prepared by Scarlatti, its crescendi
something quite new, magnificently executed by the pianist. One could really
appreciate the novelty of a third note in the second piece, which, moreover,
truly sounded as Ligeti has it: ‘Mesto, rigido e cerimoniale’. After its high
drama, the third piece sounded like the love-child of Scarlatti and Prokofiev,
its toccata-spirit unabashed. The ‘Tempo di valse’ piece which followed seemed
almost to evoke Chopin’s ugly sister, the ungainliness of its dance predicated
on a secure waltz-foundation. The eighth and ninth pieces sounded very much as
a Bartókian pair. (The ninth is dedicated to Bartók’s memory.) Rhythm and
melody alike in the former sounded very close to the earlier Hungarian master,
whilst his dirge- and night-music seemed reimagined in the latter. Toccata-like
writing again came to the fore, both in work and performance, in the tenth,
whilst it was Bartók, Bach, and of course Frescobaldi who were recalled in the
chromatic final piece, the ‘Omaggio a Girolamo Frescobaldi’. It offered a
clear, inevitable conclusion, again both as composition and as performance.
Three Chopin Mazurkas opened
the second half. For me – and this is unusual – the B-flat piece, op.7 no.1,
suffered from too much rubato, it proving difficult to discern a pulse.
However, there could be no decrying an identikit, ‘competition winner’
performance; this was clearly a personal response. There was no such problem
with the C major work that followed, op.56 no.2. It was far from metronomic;
such would be monstrous. There was, however, a strong, even heavy pulse – quite
appropriate to the piece – which was then varied tellingly. The F minor
Mazurka, op.68 no.4, one of my favourites, again was performed with pronounced
rubato, but in winningly ‘old school’ fashion. Baryshevskyi’s Chopin certainly
intrigues, from this taster.
In between the Chopin and
Schumann came three pieces from Messiaen’s Vingt
regards. ‘Première Communion de la Vierge’ instantly proclaimed the ‘right’
sonority, irrespective of instrument. The brightness of its treble was
certainly put to excellent use, but the ‘rightness’ was more a matter of old-fashioned
‘touch’ than anything else. Just as important, Baryshevskyi had a fine sense of
how Messiaen’s music hangs together and progresses: how it works. His voicing
of chords was often exquisite, but never narcissistic; there was always an
understanding, or so it seemed, that Messiaen’s theology insisted upon
something far more than the hoary construct of ‘absolute music’. Post-Lisztian
virtuosity was not, however, to be sneezed at. ‘Noël’ conveyed the ecstasy of
the Incarnation well, although there were just a few occasions, especially
earlier on, when rhythms might perhaps have been tighter. The echoes of Gaspard de la nuit were well judged,
though. In ‘Regard des hauteurs’, that excellent toccata-style once again came
to the fore, here well negotiated in terms of tricky metres. I only wished I
could have heard more.
