Royal Festival Hall
Schumann – Arabeske, op.18
Schumann – Kreisleriana, op.16
Chopin – Preludes, op.28
Maurizio Pollini (piano)
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| Pollini joining the protests against Berlusconi |
Apologies for having taken so
long to write something about this, the most recent visit of the world’s – and thus,
presumably the universe’s – greatest living pianist to London. I must also
apologise for the generalised nature and, most likely, the superficiality of
the following remarks. Not having had chance to write something earlier, much
detail has now escaped my memory. ‘Never apologise, never explain’: I know, but
anyway…
Schumann and Chopin have
always been central to Pollini’s repertoire, and have almost unfailingly showed
him at his greatest. This recital was no exception. I have never been clear why
we do not hear the C major Arabeske
more often in concert. Pollini showed why we should. Its ‘poetic’ form –
somehow, Schumann at his best always manages to inform his music with ‘literary’
sensibility, without in any sense forsaking its ‘musical’ nature – was revealed
both as straightforward, readily comprehensible, and yet as rewarding of the
most careful of playing and listening. Counterpoint was clear, yet not too
clear: the pianistic depth of Schumann’s re-reading of Bach was understood on
its own terms, not those of ‘authenticity’, and of course on our terms too; we
have heard Schoenberg and Stockhausen, not least from Pollini. Subtle rubato
drew one in, and held one there. This is a musician as incapable of self-regard
as, say, Sviatoslav Richter; whether one agrees with an interpretation or not,
or indeed whether one finds fault with a performance or not, there can be no
case of denying the pianist’s commitment to the music. Here, what, in lesser
hands – it was one of the relatively few Schumann solo works I hubristically
dared to play in public – might sound sectional, proved cumulative and, above
all, poetically and structurally satisfying. ‘Satisfaction’ might sound a faint
compliment; it is not. The conclusion, ‘Zum Schluss’, was rapt as only the
non-narcissistic can be. It seemed over in a trice, yet its infinitely touching
musical poetry remained.
Kreisleriana followed. Florestan and Eusebius inevitably
came to mind, indeed came into well-nigh physical reality. Not the least of
Pollini’s skill here was to ensure that we never forgot that they were two
characters, or complexes of character, but of one mind and body. ‘Hoffmannesque’
may be all to easy a term for Schumann’s reimagination of E.T.A.’s novel, or
perhaps better, Hoffmann’s spirit, for this is no ‘setting’ as such;
nevertheless, the proximity and indeed extension of temperament were striking.
Soulful, innig slow movements were no
mere oases; they were necessitated by, for instance, the furious tonal
alternations of the work as a whole or the kinetic energy of the fifth
movement. Romantic tonality and its structural implications sounded as if they
were being thoroughly explored for the first time; they were not, of course,
but the unfolding of the tonal drama brought the shock of the new to music that
for some has become too comfortable.
The Chopin Preludes are a
Pollini speciality, of course. I have reviewed several performances on here
since I began writing. In a sense, I have little to add to what I have written
before, especially at this distance. But this performance was every bit the
equal, and in no sense a routine reproduction. The ability to hear the work,
irrespective of the composer’s ‘intention’, as an entirety, as an exploration
of a tonal universe both informed by Bach and yet going beyond him, is in my
rare experience rarer than one might expect. Pollini showed how that is no mere
conceptual framing, but a living, animating musico-dramatic imperative. The
dignity of the ‘smaller’ pieces was just as apparent as the world-conquering
larger pieces. (It is all relative, of course.) Everything had its place, yet
was never confined to it; this is no bureaucratic mind. Yet, in the
exploratory, almost experimental temperament Pollini has always divined in his –
and our – beloved Chopin, one sensed, even dared perhaps to understand, the
affinity with the post-war avant garde, with those successors to the Romantics,
who wished to push musical parameters still further, indeed once again to
establish quite how far they might be pushed. Boulez seemed as close as Bach.
And yes, the melting beauty of the ‘Raindrop’ Prelude, not remotely
sentimental, its sentiment intact and yet reaching outward, had to be heard to
be believed. The three encores – the ‘Revolutionary’ Study, the D-flat major Nocturne,
op.27 no.2, and a decidedly Lisztian-sounding C-sharp minor Scherzo – deserve essays
in themselves, not least in context. Next time…
