Boris Petrushansky Live Recital at Gran Teatro La Fenice, 2019

Description

There are events in history which one would have liked to witness personally. These may be classified among the foundational events of human history, or may pertain to more local or specific kinds of history, such as the history of music, or the history of musical performance. In order for such an event to reach the level of “history”, it must be qualified by several markers of exceptionality. All of these are found in the live recital recorded and published in this Da Vinci Classics CD. We have here a legendary pianist, who is the heir of one of the most important piano schools in the history of pianism; a superb instrument, hand-made with exceptional craftmanship; a magnificent location, in the buildings of the astonishingly beautiful Theatre La Fenice in Venice; and, last but not least, a mouth-watering programme, which leads us through a variety of styles in terms both of music history and of the overall character of music. Petrushansky was born in Moscow after World War II, and had the good chance of growing up into a household of musicians. His talent showed itself early, and at the ripe old age of eight the child gained access to one of the most prestigious institutions for music pedagogy in the world, the Central School of Music attached to the Conservatory of Moscow. Whilst most of his piano education was due to Inna Levina, the final touch completing his formative years came from the legend of legends, Heinrich Neuhaus. The name of Neuhaus is one which elicits constant wonder and devotion among pianists and musicians; he taught musicians such as Svjatoslav Richter and Emil Gilels, to name but two; and his legacy in terms of famous pupils and of written sources is one from which the entire Russian piano school continues to draw creative energies, while disseminating them throughout the world. One of the heirs of this school was Lev Naumov, who was Neuhaus’ assistant. While Petrushansky was fortunate enough to profit from Neuhaus’ last teachings, in 1964 (for a few months before the Master’s death), through the mediation of Naumov was he able to receive the whole of Neuhaus’ tradition in a more complete form in the following years. Empowered by his encounter with Neuhaus and several years in the school of Naumov (with whom he would continue his education until 1975), a barely twenty-y.o. Petrushansky embarked in the venture of the piano competitions, awarded in three of the most important contests in a row (Leeds in 1969, “Tchaikovsky” in Moscow in 1970, and “ARD” Monaco in 1971), followed by the “Casagrande” Prize in Terni in 1975. From then on, his career took off abruptly, and he was officially admitted into the Gotha of piano performance. In turn, he became one of the most sought-of teachers for the new generations of pianists, while performing extensively and at the top level both as a soloist and as a chamber musician. Faithful to the Russian tradition, Petrushansky did not concentrate on just a section or segment of the piano repertoire, but kept playing works from all epochs and styles, in the fashion of the late-Romantic virtuoso. This approach is meaningfully exemplified by the programme recorded here, which spans over the full range of the mainstream piano repertoire, boldly juxtaposing composers who have little in common, except the greatness of their artistry and musicianship. To be sure, the first two composers featured in this programme belonged in the so-called Vienna School, and epitomize many of its distinctive traits. Indeed, perhaps Haydn and Schubert are the two Viennese composers who have most in common, though their outlook on life (and their lives, indeed) could not be more different. What Haydn and Schubert share is a particular attention toward the folk element of music (and particularly of Hungarian elements which proudly surface within the framework of “cultivated” music); a particular feeling for melody and for its organic development; the capacity of “losing” themselves in the world of sounds when this is worth doing. What differentiates crucially Haydn from Schubert is biography. The former was long-lived, by his times’ standards; and though his life was certainly not without its crosses and pains, in comparison with many other musicians Haydn was a happy and fulfilled man. This contributed to, and was in turn helped by his positive outlook on life, his good-hearted and good-humoured character, and his irony and nonchalance. Haydn was also a man of faith, and this certainly supported him through the difficulties he did have to face in his life. Finally, Haydn was a man of the eighteenth century through and through, even though some of his late works are not devoid of pre-Romantic influences. By way of contrast, the life of Franz Schubert was short even for his contemporaries, and mainly unhappy. Whilst Schubert did love good company and mirth, he was never truly happy and fulfilled; he was inhabited by a perennial longing for infinity, but, having lost his faith, he was unable to find an answer to that yearning. This nostalgia suffused his entire musical output, and is precisely what makes it unforgettable; it is also, of course, one of the characterizing traits of Romanticism, which Schubert almost “founded” as a musical style. If Romanticism can be foreseen in Haydn’s output, certainly his Andante with Variations in F minor qualifies as a prime champion. The theme itself could easily come from a Schubert Sonata, thanks to its hesitations, its singing tone, its depressive mood; however, at its heart, the theme itself contains an antidote to the Romantic depression. The sections in the major mode temper the sombreness of the opening gestures with a more nonchalant approach, and the lightness of the rococo style counterbalances the pre-Romantic agitations and turbulences of the minor key. This composition was written in 1793 for a young pianist, Barbara von Ployer, who was a gifted amateur. Not only had she the honour of receiving this delightful composition by Haydn, but she had also been the dedicatee of two of Mozart’s finest Piano Concertos. She might have been just a dilettante, but evidently she had made an impression on two of the greatest geniuses of music history… Ployer was probably gifted with a special sensitivity and expressiveness; and if one cannot speak of pre-Romanticism proper in this work, certainly it bespeaks the very soul of the Empfindsamer Stil, the style of sensitivity, about which Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach had written extensively. Sensitivity abounds in the four Impromptus op. 142 by Schubert, published posthumously and written in his last year. According to Schumann, these four pieces (whose title “Impromptus” is a label imposed on them by the publisher) could be interpreted as forming a Sonata. Schumann argued for this on tonal grounds (the four pieces build up a consistent tonal itinerary which could fit well with the aesthetics of Schubert’s Sonatas), of form (the first Impromptu is reminiscent of a Sonata Allegro form, the last is similar to a Rondo, and the two central pieces could correspond to the slow movement and to a theme with variations replacing the usual Minuet or Scherzo), and of character. While today’s musicologists no longer subscribe to Schumann’s hypothesis, undeniably the pieces of this set are best played in a row, as Petrushansky does, and without excerpting them from the cycle. The first Impromptu is built on a powerful contrast between the opening gesture – dramatic, tragical, “showy”, solemn and pathetic – and the second theme, almost whispered within a forest of pianissimo semiquavers. The longest sections of this piece build up a fascinating dialogue between two musical characters, as in a duet between a female and a male voice, set over a monotonous accompaniment of semiquavers, reminiscent of the never-ending motion of the mill’s wheel or of Gretchen’s spinning. The second Impromptu is one of those quintessentially Schubertian miracles, where simplicity becomes a beacon of beauty. In the classical A-B-A form, this piece weaves an A section combining a Chorale-like prayer with dance rhythms, and a B section where the lopsided accents found in section A sustain a seemingly eternal movement of waves. The Variations building up the third Impromptu can fruitfully be compared with Haydn’s; here the lightness of certain passageworks typical for the Classical style is nearly lost, in favour of a deeper investigation of the theme’s harmonic structure (without fearing the possibility of venturing into distant keys), and of an overturning of the theme’s very character, which is transformed into a funereal march at the heart of the cycle. Finally, the last Impromptu closes the series with irony, brilliancy and some virtuoso passages; what is most remarkable here is how Schubert manages to hold the listener’s attention in spite of the elementary musical material he is employing – scales and repeated figurations. Prokofiev’s Sixth Piano Sonata has this in common with Schubert: similar to Schubert’s last three Sonatas, it was composed at almost the same time as two of its sisters, the Seventh and the Eighth; interestingly, the latter two were premiered by Neuhaus’ most famous pupils, Richter and Gilels, whilst the composer himself performed the world premiere of the Sixth. This Sonata came about after a relatively long distancing of the composer from the Piano Sonata form; it reopened the flow of his inspiration, paving the way for its younger sisters. It displays a fascinating variety of moods, exemplified by the quasi-polytonality of its opening theme and of the first movement, which reinterprets the classical Sonata Allegro form while remaining faithful to it. Reminiscences of Schubert’s skillful handling of harmonic and rhythmic ambiguity are also found in the slow waltz, offering itself as a decadent result of the Viennese tradition, whilst the enthralling Finale, with its utterly virtuoso style, recaps the entire Sonata by alluding to the preceding movements (and here too we may see a parallel with Schubert’s last Piano Sonatas). The audience’s enthusiasm for the tour de force performed by the pianist at the La Fenice concert elicited a dutiful encore; and it was certainly worth asking… Franz Liszt’s concert paraphrase on Paganini’s La Campanella is one of the epitomes of piano virtuosity, but also a piece offering to the audience a truly delightful listening experience. And though few of us were able to participate directly in the “historical” experience of Petrushansky’s recital, what is offered here, in this Da Vinci Classics booklet, is certainly a powerful experience, capable of recreating the feelings of that soirée.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2022