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RECITAL REVIEW
December 1, 2003
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By Heuwell Tircuit
Given that Frank Huang has already several major awards in his pocket, including the most recent Naumburg International Competition, one had a right to expect technical competence from this violinist's local debut recital. But Huang had much more than that on offer. This was not merely some flash-on-the-fingerboard fiddler. He is a sensational musician, who happens to be using a violin to recite for us. And speak to us he did.
Huang's debut in Herbst Theater was part of San Francisco Performances' annual debut presentations for the Naumburg winner. It's been an energizing series, but this may have been the finest yet. Huang is a technical whiz but, more than that, a musician of elegance and impeccable taste. Even in the most taxing works of the evening, there were simply no flaws. Huang breezed by the difficulties as easily as a Horowitz playing "Chopsticks."
Although Huang programmed two familiar works, this was an evening of the unusual in so far as the familiar favorites are hardly ever programmed any more. He opened with the once commonplace G-minor Sonata of Giuseppe Tartini, the "Devil's Trill." This was followed by the Ravel Sonata and, after intermission, Arvo Pärt's Fratres, the Strauss E-flat-major Sonata, Op. 13, and the finale of Paganini's Second Concerto, Opus 7, "La Campanella." Pianist Carol Wong partnered Huang exceptionally well, though she was hampered by one tactical error: the concert grand had its top wide open, creating one noisy backdrop.
In a clever bit of PR, Tartini claimed that his mildly inhuman finale was dictated to him in a dream by the Devil. You bet! The first two movements consist of an almost Romantic slow movement and a basic Allegro. These are lovely bits of Baroque writing. Then comes the monstrously unreasonable finale. Look at it this way: the violinist has only four fingers to move about the finger board as his thumb holds up the instrument below the neck. To see why I consider the finale unreasonable, try lowering only the second and fourth fingers to the palm of your left hand while leaving the third and fifth elevated. Then lift the first two while depressing the second pair of third and fifth fingers. Now try alternating the two pairs up and down at blurring speed. And, mind you, the violinist has to accomplish such while moving back and forth along the neck of the instrument, finding the right notes as the composition progresses It's only a tad less impossible than kissing one's elbow. Huang managed all that brilliantly, almost casually, with no choreography whatever. It was sort of unnerving. Even the big, long cadenza of the finale didn't seem to faze him. Little wonder that he's won so many major competitions. I dare say he could have won his Paganini competition with nothing other than the Tartini.
Style! That's another factor of importance in Huang's playing. Fur flew and sparking timbres glittered during the sharp-edged Tartini, but for the Ravel Sonata, everything melted into the warmth of honey. Suavity dominated, and when he got to the second movement marked "Blues" — which it is — you'd have thought Huang had been a student of Louis Armstrong. The way he projected Ravel's little jazzy slides was flawless: slow, even portamentos in perfect N'Awlins fashion. And of course, the final perpetual motion flew along like gangbusters with extra flutes. The Strauss Sonata seems to be a favorite with violinists, though it's not obvious why. It's long and not particularly effective, although far better than his only piano sonata. The thematic material is generally ordinary, an unexceptional goop of sentiment. But worse, it's formally weak. Sonata form was not a strong point with Strauss, and this is very early Strauss. Huang played it lovingly, with much attention to small details, making it sound better than it really is. Much the same applied to his performance of Pärt's Fratres. Let me confess that minimalism bores me stiff. And the fact that Pärt goes in for very slow tempos and modal harmonies does not change that. Some people find it spiritual; but for me, the emperor has no clothes.
Back in fireworks land, there was the fanciful Paganini "bell tower," better known in Liszt's flashy piano transcription. It's a charming bit of virtuoso writing, with a sticks-to-the-wall main tune that tattoos itself on the memory. Huang's performance was nothing short of astounding. Not every single note of the left-hand pizzicati was rhythmically precise, but that's of no matter with such commanding playing. There was only one encore, a romantically gussied-up transcription of Chopin's Nocturne No. 8, second of the composer's Op. 27 pair. Huang played it with beautiful sound and sensibility to rubato that is rare in accompanied solo performances. I left the building looking forward to hearing him again, and often, particularly if he's programming more Tartini, a much too neglected master of worth. Some of his concertos next, please.
(Heuwell Tircuit, composer, performer and writer, was chief writer for Gramophone Japan and for 21 years a music reviewer for the SF Chronicle, previously for the Chicago American and Asahi Evening News.)
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Frank Huang