Islamey (1869) is generally ranked as his most important work. It rather set the pattern for Oriental kitsch in Russian music, and beyond. You can hear strains of Islamey in the better-known Sheherazade, which Rimsky-Korsakov wrote 19 years later. (The two had a falling out about this, to the point that they barely spoke to one another after 1890.)

Islamey took the most trying techniques from Liszt's piano writing and moved them forward into a thorn patch of terrifying proportions. It became known as one of the two or three most difficult piano works ever to appear in print. Many later composers were clearly influenced by it — notably Ravel. (Vladimir Jankélévitch's book on the latter composer refers to Ondine and Alborada del Gracioso as being Islamey's "little sisters.")

Yerzhanov tore into the thing with battle flags flying and took no prisoners. This was miraculous playing. It had everything: speed, dynamics, style, beautiful chording, lightning-fast and accurate leaps as his hands frequently had to play one atop the other. The result was not only thrilling for the ear but astounding to the eye. On reflection, I had never before seen a live performance of Islamey. Even the greatest of virtuosos have pointedly avoided it, for as long as I can remember. But when a pianist can pull it off as Yerzhanov did, it's a huge victory. I was not sure if I should merely applaud or drop to my knees to make salaams.

By extreme contrast, Yerzhanov's Bach managed all the poetry tastefully, with good tempos for this brief work. Unlike the big organ toccatas and fugues, Bach's toccatas for harpsichord are less flashy and a good deal less dramatic. They're in four sections, basically a prelude and a short fugue — in this case, both ruminative — then a mildly dramatic recitative and a second, brilliant fugue. Yerzhanov displayed a fine sense of proportions through those various sections, playing them in an unexaggerated piano style, clear in counterpoint and minus any harpsichord sonics.

Schumann's Symphonic Etudes exist in three versions, the original and two revisions. Then after his death his wife, Clara, agreed to publish the five he had dropped. It's up to the pianist to decided which, and how many, variations he or she wishes to present.

Friday's program listed this as the original 1837 edition, but that's not quite true. The original consisted of the theme and 12 etudes. The dozen that Schumann settled on can be expanded to 17, with the five that were added in the revisions. I prefer the shorter, standard version, as did Clara. This, however, is less a matter of the length than of architectural strength.

Yerzhanov played everything, including the "appendix" variations — and extremely well, too. Having drawn major world attention when he took first place at the 1993 International Schumann Competition in Germany, Yerzhanov has a command of the Schumann style that is to be expected. True, he missed a note here and there, but that only went to prove that he's human.

Both Tchaikovsky pieces went trippingly, the little festive February, and the larger, virtuoso rhapsody that is Dumka — his finest concert piece for solo piano. But isn't it odd that the collection of 12 pieces named after the months is known as The Seasons? Should it not be The Months? (By the way, what amounts to Op. 37a is a big, dull piano Sonata in G Major.)

That leaves Medtner (1880-1951), another Russian piano virtuoso who also composed, and whom Rachmaninov admired greatly. There was, perhaps still is, a Medtner Society in England. Most of his compositions are for piano, one way or another — by which I mean songs with piano and such. I've not heard a lot of Medtner's music, but what I have heard has failed to impress me as more than quasi-Rachmaninov, minus the good tunes.

Medtner's 12-minute Sonata-Reminiscenza, in one movement, showed off brilliant piano writing, but was way too episodic. I could almost hear where he put down his pencil each day. Yerzhanov, who now calls the Bay Area home, played it beautifully and respectfully to thunderous applause, but I did not think it worthy of his efforts.

For an encore, Yerzhanov played a delicate prelude of Anatoly Liadov's. The major event, however, remained his stunning performance of the Balakirev. That was a memorable event in my life's concert experience.

(Heuwell Tircuit is a composer, performer, and writer who was chief writer for Gramophone Japan and for 21 years a music reviewer for the San Francisco Chronicle. He wrote previously for Chicago's American and the Asahi Evening News.)

©2007 Heuwell Tircuit, all rights reserved