Radu Lupu (piano)
19 February 2001
Benaroya Hall, Seattle
Janácek: On an Overgrown Path (selections)
Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 21, Op. 53 ("Waldstein")
Schubert: Piano Sonata in A Major, D.959
Part of the mystique surrounding Radu Lupu arises precisely from his lack of
interest in cultivating one. Considered by critics to be a holy man of the
keyboard, the Romanian pianist could easily hype his own personality but refuses
to do so. Aside from a few eccentricities, a Lupu performance keeps the
spotlight resolutely on the music rather than the performer. Yet the result is
often a form of communion so gripping that the term "recital" sounds
inadequately prosaic and limiting. Such was the case when Lupu made his recent
debut at Seattle's 2,500-seat Benaroya Hall.
The program was vintage Lupu. He may claim a rather narrow slice of repertory -- essentially Schubert, Beethoven, Schumann and Brahms -- but within it he's able to locate an entire universe. And the longer Lupu (now 55) lives with this music, the more it seems to reveal to him. Rather than offer a "final word," his interpretations feel like open-ended, exploratory quests.
Rather than offer a "final word," his interpretations feel like open-ended, exploratory quests.
The pianist rushed onto the stage and set to work opening a door into the world of wistful memory evoked by Janácek's On an Overgrown Path. He selected five pieces from this neglected anthology of miniatures, which bear picturesque titles like "A Blown-Away Leaf" and "The Madonna of Frydek." Yet instead of a programmatic, narrative line, his account seemed to propose the music as a series of three-dimensional, quasi-sculptural objects. The true object of his fascination here was on the shifting density of textures -- on music's capacity to be experienced now as almost palpable weight, now as an unbearable lightness. Lupu accomplished this exploration through an extraordinary control of dynamic gradation and momentum. He took heed of both the Schumannesque reverie and the Impressionist shading which Janáèek mixes together (he was noticeably delighted by the composer's harmonic surprises), but his preoccupation with textural shifts showed us these works from an unexpected and original angle. Instead of simple-minded nostalgia, the music had an evocative "wing in the bush" effect, culminating in a truly poignant balance, in the elegiac "Good Night," between remembrance and time's erasure of memory.
Lupu's behavior in the presence of live audiences can seem cursory, even dismissive at times. In Seattle, the most dramatic example of this came during the transition from the Janácek to Beethoven's "Waldstein" Sonata. At the end of the former, Lupu simply stopped playing, walked out briefly and, not waiting for the applause to stop, returned and launched full-sail into the Beethoven with an almost cavalier attitude, barely audible but at a racing clip. There were even moments when his vaunted technical poise faltered, resulting in some uncharacteristically blurred lines.
Yet for all its strangeness, what a thrilling ride Lupu provided: again, instead of a familiar warhorse, here was a discovery. His interpretation seemed confined, especially in the first movement, to the quieter end of the spectrum. Lupu's keen sense of dynamic nuance demonstrated that a more standard dramatic contrast between loud and soft isn't the only way to explore Beethoven's expansive musical spaces -- and may even diminish some of their mystery. In fact, the degree to which Lupu closely followed Beethoven's score directions (with frequent markings of pianissimo) might have surprised some who were convinced that they already knew the piece. Likewise Lupu's choice of a notably leisured pace for the Rondo finale, which featured several gorgeous glissandi and seemed to pave the way for Schubert's "heavenly lengths" to follow.
Some moments actually managed to shock -- the anguished, stabbing dislocations in the slow movement, for example -- but they emerged as part of a larger pattern.
Lupu presented a strikingly different face for the second half. (He even changed pianos, though he used Steinways in both cases.) Playing the Sonata in A Major from Schubert's great final trilogy, Lupu reacted more visibly to the music's course, in contrast to the deceptively "relaxed" demeanor presented earlier. His specific instructions called for a dramatic dimming of the concert hall lights, which literally ensured a spotlight on the music and created a ritualistic effect.
Earlier in the evening, Lupu's preoccupation had been with music as weight, volume -- an audible sculpture in process. For the Schubert, his interpretive stance was keyed to the sonata's progression as a kind of psychodynamic drama. Lupu has thoroughly internalized Schubert's style of building to a climax, only to drop things and suddenly turn in a new direction. He understands how Schubert reels us in from the opening movement by confiding to us not all at once but in pieces. What sets Lupu apart is his ability to build a coherent unity from those pieces -- and from the silences where Schubert leaves his music hanging in the air. Some moments actually managed to shock -- the anguished, stabbing dislocations in the slow movement, for example -- but they emerged as part of a larger pattern: seemingly "innocent" surfaces throughout the sonata eventually reveal their dark sides, and the pianist was particularly incisive at each point where the music bares its fangs.
Lupu accordingly availed himself of a wider dynamic
palette, including some contrasts of truly frightening violence, than in the
Janácek and Beethoven. Rather than experiencing Schubert in Beethoven's shadow,
we sensed the younger composer creating in a similar process -- involving the
transformation of "trivial" material -- but toward vastly different ends. Along
the way, Lupu's profound trust in the composer's voice brought home the abiding
paradox of the pianist's artistry: instead of submerging his individuality,
Lupu's reverent attention ensures a personal stamp of maximum interest. This is
the true significance of a "poet" of the keyboard.
