San Francisco Classical Voice

January 26, 1999

Lynn Harrell

A renowned soloist is sometimes able to make the music larger than life, to bring to it a power and intensity that both startles and engages us. Lynn Harrell's cello recital at Herbst Theater on Tuesday before an audience at once warm, and crackling with anticipation, had, unfortunately much the opposite effect. Here, Harrell's formidable instrumental skills, so much in evidence, were nonetheless put in the service of a stylized, mannered voice, which called more attention to the musician than to the music he was playing.

Beethoven's A Major Sonata, Opus 69 began the program. It was skillfully played. The articulations in the scherzo were wonderfully clear, and passagework in both cello and piano was faultless. The deeper, probing aspects of this important work however, were lacking. The opening motive seemed facile and deft rather than profound. There was not enough depth here upon which the rest of the piece could develop. And the poignant flirtation with the D major tonality at the sonata's conclusion passed with insignificant weight and attention.

Sugar and Shostakovich are a lethal mix. The composer's melodies often skirt a sentimentality, which can cheapen them if it is yielded to. This is exactly what happened in the performance of the Cello Sonata, Opus 40. Harrell's bow strokes too often fade in energy, and this is compensated for by an overly intense, exaggerated vibrato. Combined with an abundance of shifts and portati, the effect was of superficial, sweet crooning, rather than a direct, simple statement of faith. This music needs to be much closer to its raw, unvarnished roots to achieve the full realization of its rugged power.

The world premier of Tobias Picker's Suite for Cello and Piano followed, his first work for this combination of instruments. Its titles were intriguing: Serenade, Daylight, Lament, Night, Alone, but the music was less so. Picker's style is derivative, alternating between lyrical and rhythmically energized sections. Neither possessed a distinctive voice. While this music is easily assimilated, even at first hearing, it doesn't challenge the listener in any important way. The performers seemed intent on giving an accurate, rather than a dramatic, reading.

It is frustrating not to be addressed plainly and directly when the occasion calls for it. Rhetorical flourishes are not the stuff of Schubert and folk songs. In this respect, Andante Cantabile: "Songs of My Father," a pastiche of vocal works transcribed for cello and piano, which formed the concluding section of Harrell's program, was seriously flawed. Here, the performer's stylistic excesses took precedence over simple, heartfelt communication. Perhaps this was an effort to recall an older style of performance, and thereby to recreate the musical presence of Mack Harrell, Lynn Harrell's father, a distinguished baritone who died in the late fifties. One cannot take issue with the sincerity and dedication of this effort, but in the end, one would wish to hear more of the music, and less of the performer, for it is the music, not the virtuosity, which will touch the heart.

Simon Mulligan was the expert pianist for the evening. His playing was nearly note-perfect, and had an uncommonly sensitive control of tone, especially in the lower dynamic ranges. What he needs is more sense of conviction and inner direction. At 25, there is time for him to develop these qualities.

(Paul Hersh is a pianist and violist, and, since 1972, the James D. Robertson Professor of Piano at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.)

©1998 Paul Hersh, all rights reserved