San Francisco Classical Voice

Why is Haydn so neglected by pianists? One reason, probably the strongest, is that an effective performance of Haydn's piano sonatas requires so much more than just playing what's on the page. (Mozart is perhaps a little more forgiving in this respect.) With Haydn's late C-major Sonata (Hob XVI/50) the first movement generates a lot of its humor from the eighth rests that are peppered throughout the hiccupy main theme. True to Haydn's habit, that theme comes back in the secondary and closing thematic areas as well. Humor appears with the very first statement of the theme, which peters out and ends on a fermata eighth rest. The effect is that Haydn, or the poor pianist (and consequently, his audience), has lost his way; the confusion is erased only by a bald restatement of the theme, forte and in block chords. Sadly, Lang's cautious realization of the crucial fermata rest deflated its humor, effectively glossing over the one item that makes this opening so characteristically Haydn. That rest should sound odd, and be unpredictable in length.

Even less forgivable was his treatment of the rondo theme in the last movement, which stops abruptly on a ‘wrong note' harmony, followed by yet another fermata rest. (It sounds like the silly twit lost his way again.) Haydn deliberately marks the wrong note with a sudden forte, just to make sure the audience catches the joke — all four times. But Lang inexplicably placed the forte a measure earlier(!), cheated the fermata rest, and ruined the joke — all four times.

All this discussion of, admittedly, two tiny scraps in the Haydn Sonata is only to emphasize that clarity, accuracy, beauty of tone, and technical proficiency are important only as a foundation to musical artistry. Artistry that is truly phenomenal (pardon my cliché'd adjective) requires more intangible virtues, frequently idiosyncratic ones (but rarely self-indulgent ones). Undeniably, Lang's rendition of Chopin's Andante spianato & Grande polonaise (op. 22), Scriabin's C-sharp minor Etude (op. 2/1), and Tan Dun's attractive Eight Memories in Watercolor were all solid, reliable, highly polished. But they also were a bit faceless — there's that conservatory-produced ‘competition' style again — generally lacking an element of risk or danger. Lang tends more to grab your attention, he tends less to seize your emotions. The results lean toward the impressive rather than the exciting.

Which is what made Lang's chosen finale, Liszt's shamelessly flashy Réminiscences de Don Juan (S. 418) such a relief and a welcome discovery. While there is no dearth of pianists who ‘speak Chopin' well, the Liszt specialist seems to be an endangered species. Of course, recordings and performances of the B-minor Sonata and the piano concertos are legion, but pianists still shy away from the big operatic paraphrases. So few seem to have the mental and physical equipment required to project what Stephen Kovacevich once described in a master class as essentially ‘vulgar' music: that is, music that is ‘common,' existing solely to impress a large audience. And this is precisely the type of thing Lang understands. Perhaps more to the point, he understands pacing, keeping the loose, episodic structure moving inexorably forward, shrewdly building each climax, weighted for maximum effect. But the added freedom, the utter abandon in his attack, yielded what I believe is Lang's artistry at its very best: those wonderful moments when the fixity of Liszt's actual score faded away, dissolving into a kind of jazzy improvisation. It was almost as if the audience were witnessing the old man himself, concocting his latest best-seller right before their eyes.