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Granados, Ravel and Prokofiev: Artur Pizarro (piano), Queen Elizabeth Hall, London, 9.12.2008 (BBr)

Granados: Goyescas (1909/1911)
Ravel: Gaspard de la nuit (1908)
Prokofiev: Piano Sonata No.7 in Bb, op.83 (1942)


As I sat listening to this recital I suddenly realized how audiences must have felt when hearing Paganini and why they thought that he’d sold his soul in exchange for a formidable, and phenomenal, technique. Tonight, sitting at the piano, was a most unassuming man, playing the most frighteningly difficult music as if it was a five finger exercise! No histrionics, no flashy throwing around of the arms, just total concentration on the matter at hand (no pun intended) and a desire to present to us the music in all its wonder.

And wonder is a word which springs to mind with this performance. Wonder at the audacity of the programming – two works which one seldom hears in concert: the Granados and Prokofiev – wonder at Pizarro’s technical fluency, wonder at his sheer energy and delight at his insight into the music and ability to convey his vision to his listeners with an ease and grace which was quite breathtaking.

Any complete performance of Goyescas must stand by the interpretation of the most famous section, probably known by all as a separate piece - Quejas o la maja y el Ruiseñor (The Maiden and the Nightingale). Pizarro obviously saw this as the emotional high point of the work but was at pains not to overplay it and, with a quiet and sustained manner, he turned an old friend into a wonderland of rare beauty and gentle expression. Elsewhere we had dance movements – a jota, a fandango and a tango – which were ebullient and perfectly placed within Pizarro’s conception of the piece, and a vivid portrayal of the girl lamenting for her lover who has been mortally wounded in a sword fight. We were indeed fortunate in having Pizarro as our guide through these six pieces for he was especially impressive in bringing out the tenderness and the pathos of the music. This isn’t brilliant, virtuoso, stuff for the performer and as such it requires a pianist of unusual insight and an heart full of poetry. Pizarro was most certainly our man for that.

After the interval things changed radically. From the warmth of a Spanish garden we were plunged into the devil’s domain with Gaspard de la nuit, a nightmare of a piece for listener and performer alike. But the music held no terrors for Pizarro. Ondine, the water nymph, was gently persuasive in her attempted seduction to music of great eroticism, Pizarro allowing her little leeway in her plan. Her return to the water, at the end, was sublimely handled. Le Gibet, with its insistent tolling bell, the hanged man swaying in the wind, was icy cold and it is a credit to Pizarro that he achieved this movement without a trace of emotion: he reported the events and left it to us to make our own decisions on the state of things. In Scarbo we were under no illusions as to what was going on. This is, surely, Old Nick himself, tantalizing us with his many and various attempts to see him as a good fellow who just needs to be loved:  but Ravel won’t allow that and his return to his domain, in the most brilliant and succinct of endings, is startling in its starkness. Pizarro played the final bar as if there was more to come; “I’ll be back” he seemed to be telling us and what a stroke of genius this was from the pianist.

To end, the middle of Prokofiev’s three war Sonatas. This is a tempestuous assault on the ears and senses with little respite. The violence of the music of the outer movements was well realized here and the tenderness of the slower music was quite magical. Pizarro’s storming close had the audience jumping to its feet, its joy unbounded. We were rewarded with two encores; Chopin’s Waltz in C sharp minor, op.64/2, in as limpid a performance as one could hope for, then, a barn–storming arrangement (by whom? Pizarro himself perhaps, certainly I’d never heard this version before) of Falla’s Ritual Fire Dance. Nothing could follow this but we were more than happy at what we had been given.

As I left the Queen Elizabeth Hall I looked over the river at the large clock on the old Shell Mex building and was astonished that we’d had 2 and a quarter hours of music which  hadn’t felt like more than a few minutes! Pizarro not only gave masterful interpretations but he also seemed to be able to make time stand still. Did I mention that the word wonder came to mind more than once tonight? I did? Well I shall use that word again and state that, without a shadow of a doubt, this evening with Artur Pizarro was truly wonderful.

Bob Briggs


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