But this kind of artlessness can be a double-edged sword: if you always let the music speak for itself, people might suspect that you have nothing to say. This was true in the second (and final) movement of the Sonata, which Beethoven deliberately marked "Nicht zu geschwind und sehr singbar vorgetragen" (not too swiftly, and played with a very singing quality). Such an idiosyncratic admonition deserves an idiosyncratic response. While Maloff's unstudied reading was a model of textural clarity, his approach — so forward-paced and dynamically inflexible — was ultimately too faceless and did little to convey the rare lyrical charm of Beethoven's tuneful melody and its shifting moods from sweetness, to tenderness, to playfulness.

The E-flat major Intermezzo (op. 117/1) of Brahms likewise suffered from Maloff's understated, strangely inexpressive manner. The gentle rocking motion of this lullaby, obsessively pausing on the second beat in bar after bar, cries out for some kind of rhythmic flexibility; the unsophisticated, up-and-down-again melody begs for some subtle dynamic shaping. But in projecting nothing beyond what was printed on the page, Maloff's over-literal rendition completely ignored the emotional content of the piece. Devoid of any loving and tender inflections, both rhythm and melody soon became hypnotic. The lullaby was no longer comforting, merely soporific.

All of this is not to imply the concert was restricted to a dynamic range of piano to mezzo-piano. Maloff possesses all of the power and brilliance required for the competition circuit; and given the right context, the results could be quite rewarding. I especially appreciated Maloff's generous, near-orchestral sound in the grandiose outer sections of both Brahms Rhapsodies (and I would have appreciated it even more if he observed the first section repeats). Here was impetuousity, fire, and even the passion so badly needed to propel these somewhat gangly, loose-limbed structures. How tragic, then, were the major memory lapses that marred the recapitulation of the B-minor Rhapsody (op. 79/1); all the triumph within the return of its opening theme was irretrievably crippled by Maloff's anxiety-induced stumblings that plagued the remainder of the piece.

Is there a developing tradition of performing all four of Chopin's Scherzos in a single sitting? Maloff is at least the third pianist in the past three seasons to do so, albeit in an atypical order (i.e., no. 1, no. 4, no. 3, no. 2). I must confess that I find this type of programming to be fraught with peril, all the more so in the case of Chopin's Scherzos — although they can work well in the recording studio (and complete sets are legion), they often are less than successful in the concert hall. Lasting some 40 minutes, the Scherzos require a pianist not only of impeccable technique, but also one of ample musical inventiveness in order to infuse some variety into their relatively narrow emotional range.

Maloff, alas, viewed these works as little more than a vehicle for displaying his (mostly) impeccable technique. Granted, there is a long, not-so-venerable tradition of hammering away at the most demanding passages as prestissimo and fortissimo as is humanly possible. Passages particularly scarred by this tradition (and Maloff was no exception) include the dramatic retransition of the Second Scherzo (the one in B-flat minor, op. 31) and the fiery coda of the Third Scherzo (C-sharp minor, op. 39). But the most damage was inflicted on the outer sections of the First Scherzo (B minor, op. 20), reduced here to a white-hot torrent of notes delivered with such violence as to become disturbing rather than impressive. If every single bravura passage is continuously pounded out at the same extremes of velocity and volume, their dramatic effect eventually becomes weakened. Remember, it's not so much the shriek of the wind and the relentless downpour that make a hurricane "dramatic" — real drama occurs at the moment when your roof is ripped away, or the moment when the levee bursts, or the moment when you realize you should have evacuated.

One can sense, therefore, that Nikolai Maloff stands at the crossroads. If he is to fulfill the promise of his undeniable talents, the time has come for him to divest himself of several ill-chosen habits — habits that, unfortunately, may have served him well during the competitive period of his career. But that standard works only when you aspire to be today's latest sensation. If Maloff wishes to be ranked among tomorrow's seasoned artists, well, that kind of longevity requires other musical abilities.