Good Evening Sports Fans!

I’m just back from watching the Red Sox crush the Mets 12-5 on a beautiful spring/summer day.  We raced through a burger and a beer at Tommy Doyle’s and made it back home to the old church we live in, just in time to snuggle up to my MacBook Pro and hear Steve Cummings announce the leadoff pianist this evening . . .

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Lukáš Vondrácek (22) hails from Prague, the pearl of Europe.  His program: Bach Italian Concerto, a pair of Chopin Nocturnes (the little Eb and the big c minor), Liszt’s Harmonies du Soir, and three of the Czech dances by Bedrich Smetana.

He’s 22, the father of a two-year-old toddler, and has already played with an impressive bunch of major orchestras and conductors, and — well, you can read the rest.

Lukáš plays with a beautifully focused and intensely musical sound — never forced, and voiced with exquisite attention to detail. His rep this evening is meat and potatoes, and will generally suit his fingers well. You can tell from the first note of the Bach that you’re going to hear performances that are rich and full of integrity. He certainly conveys a quality of sincere concentration.  This is a pro.

In view of this, it’s going to seem a bit nitpicky to say anything negative about the Bach. It was exquisite, for sure: I felt, in this music, it was a bit too Gouldian, a bit too intense, a bit too delicately and pianistically voiced. Mind you, I’m quibbling about a performance in which not a note was out of place, and each voice had precisely the sound Lukáš intended. It’s just that this is such an extroverted piece — I mean, how can you not be thinking about an orchestra full of Italians, laughing it up after a great meal, and ready to really rip into the music? Some performers make this piece bigger, by conveying a sense of grandeur, and others, like Lukáš, make it smaller by bringing us into his more intimate world.  I’ve always thought of Bach as sort of the Leonard Bernstein of his age: a hugely popular, boisterous, exuberant genius; a conductor, a composer, a brilliant pianist, a devoted teacher, a passionate family man, an immensely industrious producer of hit after hit in both sacred and pop settings. And this concerto is definitely one of Bach’s “Pops.” So, for my taste, Lukáš’ view, while gracious, was a bit precious for me.

Those sincere qualities in Lukáš’ approach played much more to his advantage in the two Chopin nocturnes. Both were beautifully played, flawless, poised. I’ve played these two as a pair myself, and have always enjoyed how they work together: the Eb is the smallest of his nocturnes, and the c minor is the biggest, and between the two, well, what a lovely way to caress an audience.

The same can be said about Liszt’s Harmonies du Soir, which is one of the transcendental études in the form of a nocturne. Liszt being Liszt, this is a piece that deserves a rather different character from the Chopin. Yet, Lukáš is still hunched over the keyboard, concentrating intensely. And as with the Bach, even though this is Liszt at his most tender and intimate, it’s still Liszt… One wants to feel a little more grandeur, more breath, more perspective: it’s not music for hunching over with your nose eight inches from the keys. It helps to look up, and perhaps think about how Liszt the conductor might have drawn these luscious sounds out of an orchestra. And when the music is con abbandano — go with it. Well, it was a perfect performance, moving at times, but missing something in its overarching character.

I’ll bet that not many listeners know Smetana’s charming Czech dances.  What’s not to love about them? These are quality pieces, and might have been written by Brahms if Brahms were Bohemian.  Full of raucous tunes, plenty of rubato, intimate beauties, and all wrapped in a sort of refined peasant character, and fun. Smetana was a terrific pianist.  He’d heard Liszt play as a young man (both he and Liszt were young), and later founded a substantial piano institute in Prague. Remember, Prague gave us Budvar beer (the original Budweiser), and the luscious art nouveau stylings of Alfons Mucha, among so many other beautiful things. Great pieces and brilliantly played.  I’m very happy that Lukáš has programmed them.

Steve is interviewing Lukáš now.  Lukáš has been a protegé of Ashkenazy, and has been playing all over the world.  Ashkenazy’s advice before the Cliburn?  ”Relax.”  Did he leave out the “…and have fun!” part?

I can’t imagine Lukáš won’t advance to the next round.  Not a single note was out of place.  The jury certainly won’t fault him for his consistent, concentrated, thoughtful approach.  Polished execution, and a sincere, caring musician.  I bet I’ll hear him play his concerti in the finals (which, by the way, will be the bubbly Mendelssohn g minor, and the Prokofiev #1 in Db).

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Feng Zhang (23) comes from the Shanghai conservatory by way of Zengzhou in Henan — a city of about 8m a few hundred miles west of Shanghai. He’s chosen: the Haydn sonata in G, Mendelssohn’s prelude & fugue in e, one of the Liszt Legends, and the Rachmaninoff second sonata.

Haydn: I have this as sonata #39 in G (it’s Hob XVI:6).  Haydn was an Austrian but he spent most of his life in the remote Esterhazy estate — and as he used to joke, living in such splendid seclusion, without much contact with other composers, forced him to become original.  Zhang’s Haydn was smooth — a reserved, classical performance of a classical piece.  Note-perfect, of course.  But it didn’t really have the coquettish humor, and the good natured joking that one associates with this most colorful composer.

It’s terrific to hear the Mendelssohn “homage” to Bach: this is a splendid, handsome piece and really deserves more air-time.  Mendelssohn was one of the most prodigious talents of all, and he loved Bach of course — in fact, he was almost single-handedly responsible for the Bach revival, and played magnificent organ concerts as well as conducting the St. Matthew Passion, and programming plenty of Bach in his piano recitals.  His music has an innocence and forthright nature that suits Zhang well.  This is the first of the preludes & fugues from a suite of 6, and it’s marvelous.  A stepping stone to Franck in a way. The fugue begins modestly and ends recalling a big chorale in a big way (”A mighty fortress is our God”). Interestingly, perhaps, there was no applause after the piece, and Zhang transitioned right away into the Liszt.  I think this belies a lack of connection with the audience.  At the very least, I’d have stood up between the Mendelssohn and Liszt — they’re awfully different.

During one of Liszt’s sojourns in Rome, he took an apartment at the Vatican (naturally), but after hobnobbing with the Pope for awhile, he moved into a nearby convent, the Madonna del Rosario.  For some reason I have a recollection that the nuns there took a vow of silence, and that Liszt used the place as a quiet retreat: there was a minimal studio there in which he wrote his two Franciscan Legends.  I’m sure Alan Walker wrote all about it in his magnificent three-volume biography of Liszt.  Look it up.  No doubt I’m misremembering.  All I know is that when I was in Rome, I didn’t stay as the Pope’s guest, and I couldn’t get into the convent, either.  Anyway.  They’re special pieces.  Zhang is playing the first of the two legends, which is an evocation of St. Francis of Asissi preaching to the birds.  It’s full of trills, and bird-like chirps, and an appropriately preachy chorale. People like to wax on about how this music anticipates Debussy, or Messiaen (who, obviously, wrote oodles of bird-inspired music).  That’s a bit of a stretch, but nonetheless, it’s a wonderfully fresh little piece.  I play the other legend — the Legend of Francis of Paolo (the “other” Francis) walking on the waves across the straits of Messina.  Zhang’s playing, again, is a bit overly elegant.  The trills and chirps aren’t Haydn — they’re more like splashes of watercolor, and need to be played for coloristic effect.  He’s not really able to conjure much out of the audience, I’m afraid.

Zhang not-so-carefully wipes off the keys with his little white towel — which seems to be the audience’s cue to applaud.  Some of the glisses and grace notes he inadvertently swishes out of the keyboard might have worked better in that Liszt…  ;)

OK: on to Rachmaninoff.  The first Rachmaninoff of the competition, it turns out.  As I recall, the second sonata was played about a dozen times at the 2005 (or was it 2001?) competition.  I like the piece (”like”, not “love”), but it’s really tough pull off.  In fact, it’s hard for me to recall a performance of it that really has stayed bright in my memory.  Claude Frank summed up the composition nicely when he told me “It’s like a beautiful woman at a party… who keeps leaving the room!” Well, Zhang can certainly play all those notes, and God knows there are a lot of them, but I’m afraid he’s not made much of a connection with the audience, or via this piece.  He seems oblivious to the music. Is that the Hamburg Steinway?  I think so. Probably not the instrument to use for the Rachmaninoff.  Too thin.

I must say, what an adventure it is, and what an extraordinary distance Feng Zhang has traveled in his young life to come here.  Steve interviewed him immediately after his performance, and he looked as calm and relaxed as he did before starting.  Unlike nearly every other performer, Feng started pretty late (age 9). I hope he’s having fun, but it’s sure hard to tell.  He seems a bit shell-shocked. Or maybe just out of his element.

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Mariangela Vacatello (27) hails from joyful Italy — Napoli!  She’s playing: Haydn #50 in C, Busoni’s ten variations on a theme of Chopin, the Liszt f minor transcendental etude, and the Stravinsky Petrouchka.

Wow!  A bright red dress and a red bow in her hair, and red earrings.  Very elegant.  Doesn’t it seem like a bit of a shame that the guys, by and large, are stuck wearing tuxedos?

Her Haydn is terrific.  Full of all the character that was somehow absent from the previous performer. A wonderful, vivacious, humorous, sparkling performance.  Hey! How come no smile after that, Mariangela? Brava!

The Busoni variations aren’t often played, and I’m thrilled to hear them.  The theme, of course, is the little three-line c minor prelude that Rachmaninoff used for his big set of variations — and that Barry Manilow baked into “Could it be Magic?” I’ve often wondered if Rachmaninoff wasn’t inspired by Busoni.  I’m pretty sure Barry Manilow wasn’t inspired by either of them.  I’ve always liked this piece, and there’s some absolutely brilliant, wild writing in it.  In many ways it’s much more interesting than Rachmaninoff’s effort. What’s really astounding to me is to think that Busoni was barely 19 years old when he wrote this, in Vienna in the 1880s.  It’s a major-league piece. Mariangela played it brilliantly.  Wow.  A great, uncommon choice, and a terrific performance.

Liszt’s f minor transcendental study bubbles out of what sounds like an improvised little riff, the two hands interlocked in a clever little figure.  If you want bravura fireworks and volcanic eruptions, if you want something to play in which you can really throw caution to the wind, this is your piece, and Liszt manages to tinge it with a few poignant melodies to boot.  I think it’s a great way to follow the Busoni. She’s terrific, but so serious, and just a bit restrained, don’t you think?  I’ve always liked Gyorgy Cziffra, and the mad Hungarian attitude he brought to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_sEJzZ8yBI

(God Bless Youtube).  Or Boris Berezovsky, who’s awfully impressive:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEHbRPxjpy8

That particular video has a sort of jazz club quality that I think one would do well to project in this piece. And both guys work up more than a little sweat. Check out the hose-job on Berezovsky. Not surprisingly, both Berezovsky and Cziffra are (or were, in the case of Cziffra) monster improvisers and jazz pianists.

And Mariangela’s last piece tonight is Stravinsky’s three movements from Petrouchka. I’ve always felt this came out of Stravinsky’s “Conlan Nancarrow” player-piano period.  (I actually have a couple of old, crumbling paper player piano rolls that Stravinsky himself cut in Paris: he was clearly fascinated with this sort of textural approach, and they’re full of pianola effects, overdubbing, and crazy patterned sequences). Petrouchka’s not subtle. Personally, I can’t stand it.  It’s exciting and splashy, of course, and has become a showpiece for plenty of pianists these days.  Well, after this performance, nobody on the jury will have any doubt that Mariangela can play loud and fast and for a long time in C major — which certainly qualifies her for Prokofiev 3 in the final concerto round. Which I bet we’ll be hearing.  She really threw herself into the piece, obviously loves the music, and won an enthusiastic and well-deserved standing ovation and was recalled three times.  In her chat afterwards with Steve Cummings she seemed overwhelmed to get that big ovation after the Stravinsky.  I’m sure other pianists have used it just as effectively to clear the room.  Ah, but not here… such is the magic of playing the piano in Fort Worth!  This is the town where I was recognized by a taxi driver who heard me play almost ten years ago (”…and I’ll never forget that beautiful Godowsky arrangement you played!”)

Well.  30 competitors (actually, 29, since Yue Chu sadly had to withdraw).   Bear in mind that the cut will be to 12 semifinalists, and then six finalists.  And since there are 10 preliminary rounds of 3 pianists each, you might get one, or maybe two, pianists from each of those rounds on average, who move on to the semifinals.  Best wishes to all the pianists: play your hearts out!

— Mike Hawley (mike@media.mit.edu)

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