|
RECITAL REVIEW
October 10, 2004
|
By Renato Rodolfo-Sioson
Although he may be largely unfamiliar to concert audiences on this side of the Atlantic, the Viennese pianist Rudolf Buchbinder has quietly built a reputation among CD collectors, partly due to the unusual breadth of his discography (currently in excess of 100 recordings). An arch-traditionalist of the Austro-German variety — included among those recordings are complete cycles of Beethoven‘s piano sonatas, Mozart's piano concertos and Haydn's solo piano music — Buchbinder nevertheless takes pains to avoid the taint of “rubber-stamp” interpretations. He accomplishes this primarily by injecting unexpectedly individualistic elements into his otherwise simple and forthright pianistic approach.
It was this attractive blend of extroverted pianism and artful detail that imparted a welcome freshness to Buchbinder's most recent recital, held on Sunday at the University of California's Hertz Hall. The uncompromisingly conservative program included such concert hall regulars as Beethoven's notoriously difficult Third Sonata (in C major, op. 2 no 3), his perennially popular Eighth Sonata (the “Pathetique,” op. 13) and Schumann's epic-scale Symphonic Etudes. And if Buchbinder erred — certainly, he is not the cleanest of technicians — he usually erred without sacrificing the drama behind the music. It is more compelling, after all, to attack the thorniest passages fearlessly than to back off for the sake of mere accuracy.
Strangely, an uncharacteristic lack of drama seemed to deflate Buchbinder's performance of the “Pathetique.” In the introduction (Grave), Buchbinder's extremely slow tempo and overly literal attention to the dotted rhythm (usually overdotted in performance for dramatic effect) made the crucial opening gesture sound flabby; the final downward chromatic sweep was delivered in such careful measure as to ruin its shock value. The introduction consequently was robbed of any sense of impending catastrophe. Nor were those Beethovenian crescendos into sudden pianos — so vital to the dramatic tension of the outer movements — emphasized to any advantage. One was left with the inescapable impression that the originality of Beethoven's masterpiece had largely dwindled into the merely “pathetic.”
But if I were to locate the great Achilles heel in Buchbinder's playing, I must point slightly lower on his actual anatomy. Sadly, were it not for a leaden pedal foot, the virtues of his style — the clarity of his phrasing, the evenness of his touch, even the cogency of his overall interpretation — could all have been brought into greater relief. One could, I suppose, blame a very reverberant Steinway piano and Hertz Hall's overgenerously reverberant acoustic. Nevertheless, the frequent washes of pedal made for some very muddy passages within an otherwise exhilarating Beethoven Third Sonata, and for some moments of near confusion during an otherwise electrifying Schumann. Still, to focus too much on his pedaling would be to lose sight of Buchbinder's finest qualities. After an initial shock, I was charmed by his gawky, slightly uncoordinated rendition of the third movement of the C-major Sonata; without its usual crisp staccatos, this fleet-footed Scherzo was now transformed into its somewhat clumsy country cousin — in effect, an amusing exchange of Puck for Bottom. Nor am I likely to forget the dizzying headlong rush of the fourth movement (Allegro assai) — never has that upsurge of all those wrist-snapping first-inversion chords sounded so effortless and gossamer light. Buchbinder's traversal of Schumann's Symphonic Etudes highlighted similar successes — and similar problems. (Schumann enthusiasts may wish to note that Buchbinder uses the original 1837 version except for the final etude, which follows the more concise 1852 revision; moreover, he places all five of the “posthumous'variations between Etudes 9 and 10.) While he skillfully depicted the unfolding progression within each etude — giving them a wonderful sense of inevitability — Buchbinder's tendency to bluster through some of the more difficult passages often marred the earlier etudes. Certain special effects, such as the awkward cross-string staccato arpeggiations in Etude 3 and the French overture-style overdottings of Etude 8, also suffered from the ever-present pedal. Finally, Buchbinder'spenchant for punching out sforzandos gave the unhappy impression that the etudes were all to be delivered as emphatically as possible. How shrewd, then, was Buchbinder's insertion of the posthumous variations. Their rhapsodic, somewhat looser construction, allowed Buchbinder to project a kind of meditative central “slow movement' — both a welcome respite from the Sturm und Drang of the previous section and a necessary springboard for the three culminating etudes. In fact, it was these final etudes that revealed Buchbinder at his finest. Quite suddenly, the overpowering pedal was gone — and Etude 10, delivered with increased articulation (and fearsome speed), now crackled with a newfound exactitude. In Buchbinder's hands, Etude 11 — a melody of such intense poignancy, expressed within a single crescendo-diminuendo arch — achieved that rarest of all things, perfection in performance. As for the Finale — the detailed inner voices, the expression of every shift in character, the sheer daring of attack, all gave ample proof that Buchbinder's abilities are by no means inconsiderable and possibly, if he divests himself of certain habits on the way, will evolve further.
(Renato Rodolfo-Sioson has a Master's degree in musicology from the
University of California, Berkeley. He also received the Licentiate of the Royal Schools of Music in piano performance while studying in India and occasionally appears as an accompanist and chamber musician throughout the Bay Area.)
|
Rudolf Buchbinder