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Nakamatsu's Butterfly Touch

Ken Iisaka on January 15, 2013
Jon Nakamatsu
Jon Nakamatsu

We are extremely fortunate that Bay Area native Jon Nakamatsu performs frequently in the area, bringing us celestial/musical secrets to be revealed before our own eyes and ears. Such an occasion took place Sunday as part of the Mill Valley Chamber Music Society series at the Mt. Tamalpais United Methodist Church, which has excellent acoustics for solo piano or chamber music.

Central to the pianist’s program was a pair of Robert Schumann works: Papillons, Op. 2, and Carnaval, Op. 9. The former was written when the composer was only 19 and feeling inspired by the Jean Paul novel Die Flegeljahre. The word papillons, of course, means butterflies, though the music itself depicts anything but. It’s a portrayal of an extravagant masquerade, and each of whose pieces represents a vignette of the mini-events taking place.

Indeed, Nakamatsu brought us a full range of scenes: boisterous conversations, laughter of the attendees, and gossip being relayed around the room. Particularly touching was vignette No. 7, which took us from the festive ballroom to the balcony. There we found a lone woman with tears in her eyes under the moonlight. The slow, delicate, lyrical line sang of her lament, but she was soon joined by an escort, who comforts her. The woman then sang with more hope in her voice, while the man listened attentively. Then the two returned to the ballroom.In depicting each of the scenes, Nakamatsu was not afraid to bring out humor, surprises, and even sarcasm through his exquisite sense of timing.

In depicting each of the scenes, Nakamatsu was not afraid to bring out humor, surprises, and even sarcasm through his exquisite sense of timing, which connected his music to the audience. Like a strong dance partner at the masquerade, he took a confident leading role, tugging, throwing, yet never letting go. Very often, it wasn’t the notes, but rather the rests, or silence between the notes, that created tension by betraying automatic expectations. Nakamatsu was flirtatious.

The Carnaval, performed after the intermission, is a more substantial work, spanning nearly 25 minutes. With titles for each of the 22 sections, it was indeed a much more involved affair. The volatility of moods (Schumann was thought to have suffered from schizophrenia or bipolar disorder) was more extreme than in Papillon, and Nakamatsu provided a nearly psychedelic rendition of the each character.

Nakamatsu, introducing Papillon, and the story behind it
Nakamatsu, introducing Papillons, and the story behind it

In comparison to his authoritative performance in 2008 in Santa Rosa that I attended, his approach to the former work was more daring and unorthodox. He made several notable departures from the composer’s instructions that surprised me to the extent that I was compelled to view the score on my iPad (inadvertently bothering some listeners near me), on which I was taking the notes for this review.

Perhaps most interesting was the “Aveu,” or love confession, which follows the tender Valse Allemande (which gets rather rudely interrupted by Paganini). Instead of the marked “passionato,” it was very tender and utterly intimate. It gave an illustration of a quite different type of whispering love confession by someone more naive than the more typically ravenous festivities may imply. “Reconnaissance,” with the problematic repeated notes played with the right thumb, performed with soufflé-like lightness, and the regal “Marche des Davidsbündler contre les Phillistins,” which follows the ironically titled “Pause,” brought the colorful journey to a magnificent end.

Splendid Sonic Depictions

Perhaps the most magical moment of the entire concert was in the first measure of the Schubert Impromptu, Op. 90, No. 3, which opened the concert. With lush, layered colors, Nakamatsu boldly yet subtly painted the scene, indicating that it would be a very special evening. The three distinct layers — the richly lyrical melody, the warm and solid foundation, and the fluttering middle voice — together constructed an architecture in which every note mattered. Nakamatsu took ample time to navigate through Schubert’s extraordinary modulations, creating a most luxurious atmosphere.

With lush, layered colors, Nakamatsu boldly yet subtly painted the scene, indicating that it would be a very special evening.

The inner voice, too often played indistinctly and indifferently, was the heart of the music, while the lyrical line was the soul and the bass line the body. Its rhythm fluttered, just as our heart would when we are emotional, but it was also the source of life for the lyrical line. I felt an immediate connection, and I allowed my body to follow the music. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a performance of this piece so moving or profound; it brought tears to my eyes.

Nakamatsu cleverly followed the Impromptu No. 3 with a No. 2, in reverse order, which he began just as the last bit of resonance was dissipating into the sky. The magical change from G-flat major to E-flat major, along with the twirling melody, provided a humorous and relatively lighthearted change of atmosphere, preparing the audience for the intense journey that Nakamatsu would take through Schumann’s intense works.

The Beethoven Sonata, Op. 27, No. 2 (“Moonlight”) seemed almost frivolous in the end, though it was clearly presented. The first movement moved along, rather than being lazy, and the last movement was driving, like a steam engine. Yet, musically and programmatically, the work almost seemed like an intermission in itself, and it was followed by an actual intermission.