San Francisco Classical Voice

At Sunday's Davies Hall opening of San Francisco Performances' 21st season, an ecstatic capacity audience was witness to an interesting phenomenon. The great Russian pianist Evgeny Kissin seemed to be creating two different concerts. We experienced one of the finest pianists of our time, a fierce and committed artist capable of unbelievable pianistic miracles and delicious music making, shooting off one incandescent shower of fireworks after another. Simultaneously we heard a lonely artist doing what most lonely artists do onstage, trying to make sense out of notes written on a page, trying to lift those notes off that page, sometimes struggling too hard, exaggerating too much, making woeful miscalculations, or relying, unfortunately, on tried-and-true tricks from past performances.

Perhaps the ambiguous results of this recital stem from Kissin's admirable and courageous efforts to expand his territory. He is undisputed owner of most of the pianistic real estate extending from the late 19th century to the early 20th, from Liszt's Paris through Eastern Europe to Russia. This program — featuring Beethoven's "Tempest" Sonata, Op. 31, No. 2, Schumann's Carnaval, Op. 9, and the Sonata in F Minor of Brahms — draws from a little earlier in the 19th century, entirely from Germany. But thundering fortissimos, filmy pianissimos, stupendous tempos, and charm are not enough to pull off this kind of program, as they might other repertoire.

That Kissin possesses one of the greatest techniques is not even worth debating. His fingerwork is stunning, his big sound as massive and enormous as I've ever heard. He rarely seems to tire or become tight, still able to go from fortissimo to the lightest filigree passage in a split second. He is also a richly gifted musician: at all moments, even when the results may be argued with, he obviously cares about every note, projecting shapes (usually vertical or of short duration) of great beauty. But other skills are needed to negotiate the territory at hand, among them reticence, patience, thoughtfulness, moderation, and the ability to imagine mystery.

Kissin's constant extremes of dynamics, his excessive speed and intrusive ritards, and the shortness or absence of a true line could be discussed at length. But for me the greatest problem was the absence of mystery. Perhaps partially as a result of Kissin's technical approach, all of his music tends to sound a bit cartoonish — that is, clear, bright colors surrounded by a clear, black line. There is rarely ambiguity or grayness, or even a lack of gratification. By this I mean that if we need a good cry or ritard, we'll surely get one, even if the withholding of that ritard, music's version of Tough Love, might be ultimately all the more moving.

The Beethoven sonata was treated in a fairly ordinary fashion at first, if a bit overemphasized, and boasted some ravishing pianissimo chords. The initial shock of pleasure at these pianissimos gave way to the realization that many of the effects drew attention to themselves. The second and third movements had lovely moments offset by great thumping fortissimos, which by their very extremity suggested finiteness rather than resonance, struggle rather than expansion, and definitely lacked mystery and depth. I was also bothered by a cavalier sense of rhythm, which resulted in many delayed downbeats and structure-weakening ritards.

The Schumann and Brahms, which ought to have been better vehicles for Kissin's Romantic temperament, actually fared worse. I must admit that sheer athletic virtuosity has its own logic and raison d''tre. There is no denying the sheer vaulting energy and massiveness of Kissin's performance. However, it was as if George Lucas were to attempt remakes of Lola Montez or Moby Dick, with all the computerized effects that Digital Light and Magic can provide. Self-limitation would not be a working concept.

The Schumann was played with such shocking virtuosity that in places it was almost unrecognizable. All the notes were there, but so fast or loud that content seemed utterly different, that of a Liszt Ballade or Rachmaninoff etude. Pastel portraits, the tentative lurches of a clumsy clown, gay and mysterious gestures of masked figures, and elegant flirtations, indeed, even the very taking of time, which such chiaroscuro requires, seemed to be missing. And for "Coquette" substitute "Dominatrix."

Similarly, the opening of the Brahms, which is marked as a growth from one to two fortes, was all thundering attitude. Its final climax was played at speeds that caused a sort of involuntary gasp at its outlandishness, the reaction a photograph of an extreme body builder in full flex might cause. Sometimes Kissin's technical mastery was incomparable, as in the Carnaval's "Florestan" or "Papillons." At other times it was grotesque, as in "Paganini", "Pause," or the final "March." He had a marvelous way of letting the right hand play a bit before the left in "Aveu" that underlined the passion of the piece. Unfortunately, this had become a mannerism by the time he reached the Brahms slow movement, a clever pianistic trick that creates more right-hand brilliance without more volume, if only the audience doesn't notice it.

The magnificent desire to play these works was at all times evident. I have no doubt that Kissin will play them with greatness as he matures, even if we have to wait until he is 70 and simply can't play that fast anymore. The rapt audience was on its feet for a full 20 minutes at the recital's conclusion while Kissin (who has a strange, stiff bow like that of a robot low on batteries) played four encores. The first, Liszt's transcription of Schumann's song "Widmung," was beautiful, marred only by some exaggerations at the end. Then came perfection: a wonderfully shaped "Revolutionary" Etude by Chopin, a truly spectacular Johann Strauss transcription apparently based on Rosenthal's Vienna Carnival, and a quietly entrancing Tango by Albeniz.

(Mack McCray is a concert pianist and a member of the faculty of the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.)

©2000 Mack McCray, all rights reserved