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RECITAL REVIEW
Perahia Falls Out With The Piano
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By Sarah Cahill
Murray Perahia always tops lists of great American pianists. He is famous
for his cultivated approach to the classics, for the subtlety and sensitivity
of his phrasing in repertoire from Bach to Schumann and Chopin. Above all,
Perahia never makes an ugly sound.
So it was shocking to hear, in Perahia's sold-out Zellerbach Hall concert on
Sunday, more banging than in any piano recital in recent history. He
hammered his way through Schubert's Sonata in C minor. He assaulted the last
movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata as if it were an endurance test
for speed and loudness. In Beethoven's Sonata op. 10 no. 2, he disregarded
the piano marking of the third movement and cranked it up to forte. It
wasn't just loud, it was abrasively loud. Watching Perahia reminded me of
those B movies from the 40s, the "Hands of Orlack" variety, in which a
pianist is possessed by a stranger's hands.
Occasionally, the Murray Perahia we know and love emerged. Sections of the
Schubert sonata came through lustrous and rich. In the opening of the
Moonlight, the melody shimmered on a serene surface. Perahia's control is
astonishing; chords were voiced beautifully, unusual inner lines revealed.
The second movement resembled chamber music, with compelling voice leading in
the thumb. But Perahia lured us in and then slapped us. He made us lean
forward, and then he made us want to cover our ears. The third movement's
opening can be tremendously exciting, but relies on suspense through the
pianissimo ascending arpeggios for the big surprise of the top sforzando
chords. Perahia punched every beat on the way up. Not only was there no
contrast but even his brisk tempo turned plodding from all the downbeats.
Similarly, the already lengthy last movement of the Schubert sonata became
twice as long through directionless meandering.
Perahia's recent recordings of Bach's Suites are models of structural
integrity, fluid counterpoint embellished with exquisite ornaments. But for
some reason, he fell into a romantic quagmire in this concert. Every phrase
of Bach's English Suite No. 5 swelled, every theme's entrance blasted forth,
every cadence was announced by a massive ritard. These little dances
capsized with so much turbulence. By the Passepieds, it seemed Perahia would
never stay at one dynamic level for more than three measures at a time.
Again, his outstanding technique and control were evident, but this fussiness
seemed very unlike him. I whispered to my friend that he sounded
tired. "Wouldn't you be tired too," he answered, "if you felt obliged to
climax in every phrase?" This concert had the quality of a tour stop, full
of careless mistakes and a bland palette. Perahia wore a weary expression
throughout.
The concert's best moments were two encores, Liszt's arrangements of
Schubert's Erlkönig and Ständchen. Although he again hammered out
Erlkönig's repeated octaves, Perahia brought out an intimate vocal line in
both pieces, and when he got to Ständchen's melody and echo, both within the
right hand, he cast a miraculous spell. What does this mean? Is Perahia
really meant to play Liszt, as he did under Horowitz's influence? Was he
having a bad night? Whatever, it was not the pianist we know as
Murray Perahia.
(Sarah Cahill is a pianist and a music critic for the Express, and hosts a
music show on KPFA (94.1 FM) every Friday from 10 am to noon.)
©1999 Sarah Cahill, all rights reserved
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