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Restless explorer of the keyboard
Pianist Mitsuko Uchida at the Perelman
Some musicians provide consistently wonderful artistry, season after season, in a dependable and workmanlike fashion. But some more restless folk are never content to abide by a single conception, always seeking new ways of exploring the masterworks.
The pianist Mitsuko Uchida is such a musician. When she sits down at her instrument, you sense that not only will the audience hear the music in some new way, but also that Uchida herself will make discoveries along the way. It's a brave and exciting way to make music, and fraught with risk.
At her exhilarating recital this week, the payoffs of risk-taking far outweighed the stumbles. Uchida began with Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 27, a work on the cusp of his late period. Uchida's surprising rhythmic freedom emphasized the strangeness of the music. She phrased the powerful melodic motifs with loving care, but her rhapsodic approach gave the work a diffuse sense of architecture.
Schizophrenia at work
Schumann's relatively youthful Davidsbündlertänze is a representation of the composer's self-described dual nature, which he personified as Florestan, the fiery one, and Eusebius, the dreamer. A lively discussion rages these days among Schumann scholars as to the extent to which this duality actually reflected the composer's mental illness, which many have surmised was a form of bipolar disorder.
Uchida's bruisingly intense performance provided evidence of a schizophrenic mind at work. It's possible to play this music in a more measured way and make it work, but Uchida presented it as an emotional roller coaster, with fierce, lashing passages followed by sublime crashes and then ghostly blissfulness. It's a long piece— about a half an hour in her performance— and so emotionally draining that I feared for both the physical and psychic stamina of the pianist.
A few spare batteries
After Beethoven's other-worldliness and Schumann's angst, a second half of all Chopin would almost seem like a relief. Not for Uchida. After a crystalline reading of Chopin's ethereal Prelude Op. 45, she surprised the audience by not rising from her seat for an ovation, instead plunging directly into the vast Sonata No. 3.
This was a performance with nothing taken for granted, except the verity of the composer's vision. Uchida let the score lead the way. As in the Schumann, she built to such a level of intensity, especially by the time of the ferocious final movement, that I grew anxious about her ability to maintain her strength. But as was also the case in the Schumann, Uchida managed to keep a few spare batteries on her, and she ended with a furious burst of newly found energy.
Uchida is not, as these impressions should indicate, a typical virtuoso. Her tone is glassy, even brittle at fortissimos, and the excitement of her playing can lead to a fumble or two, though this risk doesn't rattle her.
Her playing is not lush. But Uchida is a great artist. Few can match the smart, probing way she makes old music sound alive and relevant.
The pianist Mitsuko Uchida is such a musician. When she sits down at her instrument, you sense that not only will the audience hear the music in some new way, but also that Uchida herself will make discoveries along the way. It's a brave and exciting way to make music, and fraught with risk.
At her exhilarating recital this week, the payoffs of risk-taking far outweighed the stumbles. Uchida began with Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 27, a work on the cusp of his late period. Uchida's surprising rhythmic freedom emphasized the strangeness of the music. She phrased the powerful melodic motifs with loving care, but her rhapsodic approach gave the work a diffuse sense of architecture.
Schizophrenia at work
Schumann's relatively youthful Davidsbündlertänze is a representation of the composer's self-described dual nature, which he personified as Florestan, the fiery one, and Eusebius, the dreamer. A lively discussion rages these days among Schumann scholars as to the extent to which this duality actually reflected the composer's mental illness, which many have surmised was a form of bipolar disorder.
Uchida's bruisingly intense performance provided evidence of a schizophrenic mind at work. It's possible to play this music in a more measured way and make it work, but Uchida presented it as an emotional roller coaster, with fierce, lashing passages followed by sublime crashes and then ghostly blissfulness. It's a long piece— about a half an hour in her performance— and so emotionally draining that I feared for both the physical and psychic stamina of the pianist.
A few spare batteries
After Beethoven's other-worldliness and Schumann's angst, a second half of all Chopin would almost seem like a relief. Not for Uchida. After a crystalline reading of Chopin's ethereal Prelude Op. 45, she surprised the audience by not rising from her seat for an ovation, instead plunging directly into the vast Sonata No. 3.
This was a performance with nothing taken for granted, except the verity of the composer's vision. Uchida let the score lead the way. As in the Schumann, she built to such a level of intensity, especially by the time of the ferocious final movement, that I grew anxious about her ability to maintain her strength. But as was also the case in the Schumann, Uchida managed to keep a few spare batteries on her, and she ended with a furious burst of newly found energy.
Uchida is not, as these impressions should indicate, a typical virtuoso. Her tone is glassy, even brittle at fortissimos, and the excitement of her playing can lead to a fumble or two, though this risk doesn't rattle her.
Her playing is not lush. But Uchida is a great artist. Few can match the smart, probing way she makes old music sound alive and relevant.
What, When, Where
Mitsuko Uchida, piano. Beethoven, Piano Sonata in e minor, Op. 90; Schumann, Davidsbündlertänze; Chopin, Prelude in c-sharp minor, Op. 45, Piano Sonata No. 3 in b minor, Op. 58. Philadelphia Chamber Music Society program January 18, 2011 at Perelman Theater, Kimmel Center, Broad and Spruce St. (215) 569-8080 or pcmsconcerts.org.
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