Much has been written in the canon of music history about the virtuoso performer. Starting with the likes of Paganini and Liszt, there has been an unbroken line of artists who continue to stun us with their seemingly effortless performances of the most finger-twisting repertoire. David Stabler put it well in his recent review of Yefim Bronfman’s performance of Bartók’s Second Piano Concerto this weekend:
So it’s worth considering what makes Bronfman, born in Tashkent, in what is now Uzbekistan, and who has become a piano gladiator around the world, the incredible pianist he is.
He can play very fast, but so can thousands of other pianists. He can play very softly, but so can others. He plays urgently, smartly, rhythmically, instinctively. He can call forth dazzlement and ovations from listeners unknowing of the piano’s ways and means. He does all those things with absolute jurisdiction over the spiritual and intellectual – and of course, physical – elements of music written for his instrument.
So can others.
What’s left? Sound.
I think what sets Bronfman apart is his sound. Sitting utterly still, this large man offers striking clarity, shading and fullness. Revelatory fullness. Touch isn’t as easy to differentiate on the piano as it is on the violin or cello. The piano is a percussive instrument and its music requires endlessly different demands.
But Bronfman achieves true sonority in breathing, speaking tonal lines.
It’s so true. Tonight he again played the Bartók with incredible efficiency of physical motion, but with the most amazing touch, sound, and range of dynamics. The octaves that close the coda of the 1st movement were just jaw-dropping. Then came the encore. A Scarlatti Sonata. Played with such a limpid sound and beautiful pedaling, it was the perfect antidote to the dense and dramatic Bartók. The audience (and the orchestra, too) wanted more. So then came Chopin’s “Revolutionary” Etude in c minor. I hate to say amazing again, but it was. But better. You think that he can’t play the fast notes clearer – but he does. You think that he can’t play those faster notes softer – but he does. And in the midst of all of that, he communicates the music with a minimum of fuss and dramatic mannerisms. He’s the anti-Lang Lang.