SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

 Poulenc, Debussy, Ravel, Tony Lin, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky: John Chen (piano) Capitaine Bougainville Theatre, Forum North, Whangarei, Northland, New Zealand, 21.7.2009 (PSe)


Thus spake the Whangarei Music Society’s programme booklet: “Without any doubt, John Chen is New Zealand’s finest young concert pianist,” pointing to his victory in the 2004 Sydney International Piano Competition and burgeoning international career. I’ll tell you what: if I could cash in all such claims made about pianistic young lions for a dollar apiece, I’d be a very rich man. Instead (and alas!), I stubbornly resort to the hoary old dictum: “You’re only as good as your last performance,” and ask myself: just how good is the young Mr. Chen?

Well, the programme for his 2009 New Zealand recital tour shows few, if any, signs of virtuosic self-aggrandisement, or of pandering to so-called “popular taste”. Instead, there is the distinctive odour of thoughtful planning. The programme’s two halves neatly counterpose the graphic and the formal, with each half exhibiting, as it were, the two sides of its particular coin. Thus, it focusses firstly on those “chalk and cheese” impressionists, the diaphanous Debussy and the crystalline Ravel, and secondly on two complementary Nineteenth Century giants: Beethoven, broadly speaking a romantically-inclined classicist, and Tchaikovsky, equally broadly, a classically-inclined romantic.

The hors d’œuvre was cunningly chosen. Poulenc’s Melancolie is just the sort of exquisite, up-market salon-piece that Casablanca’s legendary Sam might have been asked to play again. It seemed, certainly in John’s hands, custom-designed to charm an audience into the mood, either for love or – in this instance! – Debussy.

The second half also had a prelude. Mere mortals who take on the gods at their own game are either brave or foolhardy. On another occasion, Tony Lin’s In Veils Concealed, commissioned specially for this recital tour, might have made a greater impact on me. Unfortunately, being decidedly impressionistic, it ended up languishing in a long, looming shadow, cast clear across the intermission by the two – dare I say “undoubted”? – masters of the genre.

Ironically, that shadow was deepened by the brilliance of John’s advocacy. In Debussy’s second book of Images his fingers were like artists’ brushes, teasing the piano keys to evoke textures, shades, colours and forms in our minds’ eyes, creating in particular some singularly shimmering Poissons d’Or. Then, in Gaspard de la Nuit, those fingers became increasingly like diamonds, etching Ravel’s glistening imagery. Taken together, Images and Gaspard described a double crescendo, culminating in Scarbo’s dæmonic dancing, surging and flashing, now breathlessly disquiet, then breathing fountains of fire – a block that was truly busted. You rarely get your Debussy and Ravel more keenly interpreted or sensitively articulated than this.

Beethoven and Tchaikovsky make a very different kettle of fish. The Op. 101 Sonata is a catalogue of Beethovenian moods, each of which John characterised to a “T”. He perhaps slightly sentimentalised the classical-sounding allegretto’s ending, but that paled against the ensuing sprightly march’s stiffly starched collar, the chordal adagio’s profound simplicity, and the festive finale’s unbuttoned frolics.

Tchaikovsky’s Theme and Variations, Op. 19 No. 6, belying its polite title, was a right royal romp to round off the recital. Tchaikovsky dresses a folksy tune in classical “cool”, then makes an Olympic gymnast of it. Playing with pinpoint precision, John revelled in the reams of flowery flurries, crunching chords, languid effusions and waltzy whimsy, oozing oodles of that inimitable Slavonic verve. Fabulous stuff.

Even the encore had a purpose so pertinent that I suspect it’s really just part of the programme. As if to emphasise a stylistic line of descent from Beethoven to Tchaikovsky, John regaled us with a Brahms Intermezzo. Giving full measure to its bounding energy and dewy-eyed central tune, John reminded us – or at least those of us who needed reminding – that the Brahms’s stodginess is entirely in the eyes of the misapprehending beholder.

Throughout the recital, John disdained gratuitous virtuoso pyrotechnics. True, his fireworks were often spectacular, but they were always integral to a thoughtfully-balanced whole. I still harbour doubts over that “finest young pianist” tag, but for no better reason than ignorance of the other pretenders to the title. So, to answer my question: on this showing, I definitely have no doubt that he’s an extremely fine performer. I’m looking forward, with considerable impatience, to a return visit – and the sooner the better.

Paul Serotsky