| RECITAL REVIEW Songs Without Words, or Substance May 8, 2002
|
By Jeffrey Rosenfeld It took less than a minute for Sergei Nakariakov to convince me that he is a
great trumpet player at his recital in Herbst Theater, last Wednesday. Then, what followed during the rest of his evening, presented by San Francisco Performances,
undid that impression a bit.
From the opening notes and throughout the recital, Nakariakov
breathed a winsome naturalness into nearly every phrase he touched. Later, in
perusing his website (
www.nakariakov.com), I see that others have called him
"the Paganini" or "the Caruso" of the trumpet. Based on what I heard on
Wednesday, I preferred to think of him, with caveats, as the Perry Como of the
trumpet. I don't think I've heard trumpet playing that could be more genteel
or phrasing more polished and understated. Even the razzle-dazzle staple for the trumpet, J.B. Arban's "Carnival of Venice," and the Prelude in D major (arranged from Johann
Sebastian Bach's "Well-Tempered Clavier"), were songs without words.
The word "air" came to mind, not only as a term for "song," but because
Nakariakov's breath control is so impeccable. In many pieces it was his
effortless use of circular breathing that allowed phrases to spin on and on
until the line of the music, subtly inflected, had mesmerized the audience.
In addition, Nakariakov kept his instrument under strict control. Very often
notes slipped into a whisper, as if he were barely blowing. He often seemed to
be putting minimal breath into it even when the notes poured forth at mezzo
forte or mezzo piano. Nothing evinced great effort with the instrument and
everything bespoke a deep understanding for vocal line.
This made Nakariakov especially suited for two of the first three items on
the program: arias from George Frederic Handel's Amadigi di Gaula and
Giulio Cesare. It also made his flugelhorn version of Robert Schumann's
"Adagio and Allegro in A-flat," Op. 70 (written for horn) particularly
pleasing.
On the other hand, Nakariakov rarely — perhaps never — did really play more than mezzoforte. However, the lack of air put into his trumpet ultimately undid a lot of the good he accomplished. He proved the vocal simplicity possible with his instruments, but with his underblown sound, I think he robbed us of much of the colorful attraction of this instrument. None of the notes really gleamed, except maybe in a fleeting moment near the end of a brief excerpt from Tchaikovsky's Neapolitan Dance, from Swan Lake. Nor did the sound soar weightlessly into the hall. I got the sense, by the end of the concert, that Nakariakov was holding back the whole night, passing on pearls of musicianship but cheating his instrument of some of its principal glories. In front of, in the back row of an orchestra, none of this playing would pass muster. Neither would a stage manner that placed the recitalist him at a distance, behind his accompanist, Peter Grunberg (filling in for Nakariakov's sister, Vera, unable to obtain a visa for the event). Visual communication from the stage was nonexistent, Nakariakov looking down at his feet the whole night, pointing the instrument's bell at the floor. If this to spare us an ear-splitting experience, it wound up limiting his contact with both accompanist and audience. In his communing with his instrument, each note was like a sweet kiss, but in playing designed for a small room, not Herbst. The low-flow blowing and demure stance made a tone that was warm and unoffensive but lacked true center and clarity. Even when he played the flugelhorn, an innately warm and embracing instrument, it seemed somewhat wan compared to what jazz musicians can do it. In addition, Nakariakov favored rounded and shy, practically stealthy articulation. This works wonders in many settings, especially when a brass player is trying to blend with strings. It also meant that the double and triple tonguing part of the technical wizardry was slightly blurred. Thus, the pyrotechnics passed without much notice. Often Grunberg's piano playing had far stronger profile than his partner's.
The lack of expressive range was reinforced by the uniform vocalise of the programming that included transcriptions of a song each by Borodin and Rimsky-Korsakov. The most substantial and enchanting performance was of Robert Schumann's Fantasiestücke, Op. 73, which suited Nakariakov's talent for melodic profile and simple musical pleasures. These pieces are, after all, basically lieder without words, and with particularly intricate settings (beautifully played by Grunberg). Where was the growing contemporary repertory for this instrument? Why no Hindemith Sonata or other modern standard? There's little enough solo stuff for the trumpet, but what's there is very interesting and worth hearing. If Nakariakov doesn't like the available repertory, he ought to be commissioning works at a furious rate. He's only 24 years old, but if he wants to be seen as a great trumpeter or a great musician, he will need to do better than this . . . Grunberg, on the other hand, benefited from the vast piano repertory in choosing a few pieces to play to spell Nakariakov. He commanded attention immediately with a somewhat fast and impetuous Prelude and Fugue in D major (BWV 851) by Bach, even if it was only partly successful. But, poetically played, a moody, rapt Widmung by Schumann (in Liszt's transcription), and a divine of pair of Songs without Words by Mendelsohn carved out little worlds of pain and redemption. Nakariakov, however, chose too much pleasant restraint Wednesday, and while revealing his mission as a virtuoso, showed that be may be a musician capable of deeper exploration. His future depends on what he can discover. (Jeffrey Rosenfeld is an oboist with the Kensington Symphony, West County Winds, and Pacific Wind Ensemble. He is a freelance science journalist and author of the recent book Eye of the Storm: Inside the World's Deadliest Hurricanes, Tornadoes, and Blizzards.) ©2002 Jeffrey Rosenfeld, all rights reserved |