Mendelssohn, Liszt, Schubert (arr. Liszt, 1837-38): Marc-André Hamelin, Piano, 92^nd Street Y: Theresa L. Kaufmann Concert Hall, New York City, 28.03.2007 (BH)

 

Mendelssohn: Lied ohne Worte in E Major, Op. 19b, No. 1 (1830)
Mendelssohn: Lied ohne Worte in C minor, Op. 38, No. 2 (1837)
Mendelssohn: Lied ohne Worte In A Major, Op. 19b, No. 4 (1829)
Mendelssohn: Lied ohne Worte In A Major, Op. 53, No. 6 (1841)
Liszt: Réminiscences de Lucia di Lammermoor, S. 397 (1835-36)
Schubert (arr. Liszt, 1837-38): “Standchen,” D. 889 (3826), “Ave Maria,” D. 839 (1825)
Liszt: Hexaméron, S. 392 (1837-38)
Liszt: Selections from Années de pèlerinage, deuxieme année, Italie, S. 161 (1838-1861; revised 1859): Sonnetti del Patrarca Nos. 47, 104 and 123
Liszt: Venezia e Napoli (Supplement to Années de pèlerinage, duxieme année, Italie, S. 162 (1838-40; revised 1859)

 

At dinner after this fairly astounding recital by Marc-André Hamelin, a friend queried us all: “So whom would you choose as world’s greatest pianist?” and one reply was, “We may well have just heard him.”  It’s pointless to speculate, but evenings like this one beg the conversation even if a definitive answer is elusive.  Hamelin often commands a rare rapport with the instrument in programs that few people would attempt, but he is much more than a high-wire act.  He routinely transcends virtuosity, opening windows elsewhere, as great artists often do.

That sense of elevation took a few minutes to really achieve altitude.  Mendelssohn’s Lied ohne Worte have typically gentle melodies, suffused with tenderness and nostalgia.  Hamelin played them endearingly, although they didn’t seem to take full advantage of his prodigious gifts.  Nevertheless, he eased out the bits of counterpoint, the occasional sense of floating, the sensation of solitude.  During the last one, I had the feeling I was peering down on a small dinner party, bubbling with gleeful guests.

After these, Hamelin chose some of the most entertaining of Liszt’s output, and then showed them to be more than what they might appear at first.  Réminiscences de Lucia di Lammermoor had all the drama of the opera, but quickly overheating, running amok and pushed almost to the point of parody, yet Hamelin’s magical, pinpoint control kept it elegantly entertaining.  His good taste continued in the two Schubert works, “Standchen” and “Ave Maria,” which Liszt floods with romantic pianism.  Moments in the latter sound like distant church bells.

Hamelin tossed off the six parts of Hexaméron with impressive nonchalance, strongly articulating the insistent martial figure and ever-present pyrotechnics.  The bravos began almost as soon as his hands flew off the keyboard.  After intermission, the three Petrarch Sonnets were a high point, with Hamelin’s fingers as vertical as duck beaks jabbing the keys, yet revealing poetry and nuance swirled amid the virtuosity.  The ending of the third (No. 123) found him alighting on bar after bar with the insight of a great artist who knows that even a wild beast can have a delicate side.  And the final Venezia e Napoli showed his adept ability to characterize: dappled shadows and flocks of birds in the Gondoliera, mad mood changes in the Canzone with impressive articulation in each hand, and a final Tarantella that surely tested Hamelin’s own high speed limits.  All three demonstrated his ability to patiently unearth the tenderness and pain, sometimes lurking just below Liszt’s gaudy surfaces.

The packed, excited audience could scarcely contain its energy, although thankfully all night, the crowd was quiet, allowing the pianist plenty of room to let closing chords die out naturally.  As his first encore, Hamelin introduced his own version of Tchaikovsky’s Lullaby, arranged for the left hand with remarkable sensitivity.  But as seductive as this was, the audience would not have been happy with just one, so out came Debussy’s finale from Book II of the Preludes, the dazzling Feux d’artifice, an astonishing and mildly mysterious way to end the evening.

 

Bruce Hodges