Berlin Festtage (3) - Barenboim/Argerich, et al.: Schumann, Debussy, and Bartók, 26 March 2016

Philharmonie

Schumann, arr. Debussy – Six Studies in Canonic Form, op.56

Debussy – En blanc et noir
Bartók – Sonata for two pianos and percussion

Daniel Barenboim, Martha Argerich (pianos)

Torsten Schönfeld, Dominic Oelze (percussion)

 

Schumann’s op.56 Studies were written for the pedal-piano. It would be fascinating to hear them on such an instrument, which the Schumanns had hired in order to enable them to do some organ practice. It is always a joy, however, to hear them at least in performances as good as these, in Debussy’s two-piano arrangement. The first sounded, unsurprisingly, Bachian, with the added joy of the sound ‘in itself’, well almost, of two pianos. Was there perhaps a little hint of Dr Gradus ad Parnassum? At any rate, Schumann’s own voice asserted itself gradually, imperceptibly, not unlike the nineteenth-century rediscovery of Bach himself (at least as the myth has it). The second and third studies sounded instantly more Romantic, instantly more Schumannesque. The quiet musical delight Daniel Barenboim and Martha Argerich summoned up from intertwining of the parts could barely have sounded, in the Romantic sense, more ‘characteristic’. The second’s wistfulness was revisited in the fourth, canon proving a properly poetic starting-point rather than an end in itself. Then we heard a stormier impetus, speaking of Schumann’s Classical inheritance. The pianists judged to near perfection to the good humour and the sterne passages in the fifth study, which rightly remained enigmatic. Finally, the sixth flowed beautifully, as rich in performance as on the page, as rich in its inner parts as in the harmonies they helped create. And yes, Bach was reinstated, as if this were a late Chorale Prelude recomposed.

 

Debussy’s En blanc et noir followed. Whatever the historical facts, this sounded unambiguously here as music for Steinways. We heard in the first movement, and not only there, the composer’s Lisztian roots, but also something that was somehow both glassier and more aquatic. There was similar delight as in the Schumann to the interplay between the two instruments. How fresh, and yet how knowing, the scales sounded in context. The second movement, marked Lent, was dark, almost Gaspard-like. Debussy here seemed to look forward to Messiaen, even to Boulez. But he was rightly never to be pinned down, likewise any ‘meaning’ in the appearances of Ein’ feste Burg. Indeed, the strangeness of that chorale in context put me in mind of a Gallic Ives, if you can imagine such a thing. The finale was similarly yet differently enigmatic; it was sardonic, yet loved and lovable.

 

Torsten Schönfeld and Dominic Oelze joined Argerich and Barenboim for Bartók’s Sonata for two pianos and percussion. Schönfeld and Oelze certainly had nothing to fear from comparisons in such exalted company; indeed, if anyone were at times a little heavy-handed, or at least less fleet, it was Barenboim. That should not be exaggerated, however. The menace of the first movement’s opening registered properly; this was musical menace, with nothing of the banally filmic to it. The shock of the first outburst registered with at least equal strength. Percussion and percussionists alike sounded – and this is surely Bartók’s plan – emancipated by the pianos’ crescendo. There was no doubting that these were equal musical partners rather than purveyors of mere ‘effect’. Progress was built slowly, surely, above all dramatically, in the second movement. Likewise regress – and all manner of other musical operations, sometimes rather less slowly. The finale opened more as a sonata for two percussionists with pianos offering support. Interchange and transformation were thereafter the name of the game.

If Barenboim were not always on top pianistic form in the Bartók, he certainly was, as was Argerich, in the first of no fewer than five (!) encores. I do not intend to discuss them all, ‘free gifts’ ranging from Mozart (twice), through Tchaikovsky-Pletnev (‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy) and Rachmaninov (hardly Barenboim territory, and he did sound a little stretched), to an Argentinian piece both pianists had apparently played for solo piano, newly arranged for two pianos. However, the first, the slow movement to the D major Sonata, KV 448/375a, was as profound as it was delectable: a model performance, well judged in every respect.

 

Daniel Barenboim, Lang Lang, et al., 22 March 2008

Philharmonie, Berlin

Ravel – Ma mère l’oye
Liszt – Réminiscences de Don Juan
Bartók – Sonata for two pianos and percussion

Daniel Barenboim (piano)
Lang Lang (piano)
Torsten Schönfeld (percussion)
Dominic Oelze (percussion)

The piano four-hand version of Ravel’s Ma mere l’oye is the original, but I admit to wondering during this performance whether, at least for an audience, it has been superseded by its subsequent version for orchestra. It is another matter for performers themselves, for which the work is a joy to explore. In any case, it received a good, if not outstanding performance from Daniel Barenboim and Lang Lang. It was not always clear that the performers were equally matched, with the latter often sounding somewhat heavy-handed. The waltz of Les entretiens de la belle et de la bête lilted nicely, however, and Le jardin féerique possessed a grave, understated beauty.

I had not heard Liszt’s Réminiscences de Don Juan in the two-piano version before. Indeed, ardent Lisztian though I be, I admit that I was unaware of its existence. Lang Lang is clearly on surer territory in such repertoire than he had been during the Brahms First Piano Concerto two nights before. This is not to say that his performance was flawless: there was the odd slip and, more seriously, a little more playing to the gallery than might have been warranted. He would do well to remember that Liszt adopted super-virtuosity in order to beat mere piano virtuosity at their own game and thereby to restore musical virtues. Barenboim proved no mean virtuoso himself, although there were admittedly moments when a certain technical fallibility showed. On the whole, though, this was an enjoyable performance, if not the extraordinary one some elements of the audience seemed to believe they had heard.

The towering masterpiece on the programme was Bartók’s Sonata for two pianos and percussion. It probably received the best performance, not least since the two pianists were joined by two outstanding percussionists from the Staatskapelle Berlin, Torsten Schönfeld and Dominic Oelze. I could not fault their performance, whether in rhythmic precision, in finely judged dynamic contrasts, and perhaps above all in their fine contributions on tuned percussion. Barenboim was clearly if unobtrusively leading the performance, which undoubtedly benefited from his guiding hand. On the other hand, Lang, despite the undoubted quality of his performance in pianistic terms, seemed very much intent on playing his own part and did not appear to be listening so closely to his fellow performers. Certainly Schönfeld and Oelze were the superior chamber musicians.

As an encore, Barenboim and Lang offered the Andante from Mozart’s Sonata for two pianos, KV 448. This made me wish that they had performed the work in its entirety, in place of one of the first-half works. Once again, Barenboim took the musical lead, hardly surprising for one of the supreme Mozartians of our time. This performance was poised, stylish, and sometimes meltingly beautiful. It is something of an irony that Lang Lang, so touted as a Romantic lion of the keyboard, should have shone most here, not least through relative self-effacement; it also imparts hope, given that there can be no sterner musical test than the music of Mozart.