Anyone who has
spent some time on the European continent in the last couple
of years, and has had access to the French produced TV channel
Mezzo, might conceivably have come across the films in this
rapidly expanding series. My introduction was the film of
Paul Lewis playing Schubert sonatas - very well too, it
should be said - on a stiflingly close spring afternoon
in Bucharest last year. Since then I have hoped to further
the acquaintance more generally. Within the series there
seems a fondness for Liszt, Schubert and Schumann.
And I certainly
have not heard Schumann playing like this for some time,
indeed maybe ever before. Kreisleriana is launched
into with such pace and ferocity as to knock you sideways
during the first few bars. Virsaladze’s conception holds
nothing back, yet is not just a pyrotechnical display of
technique at the expense of interpretation. The inner recesses
of the work are all the more apparent because of the contrasts
created by such an approach. Whether you like this in terms
of Schumann playing or not, there is no denying its provocative
nature – almost as if Virsaladze is saying, “So you thought
you knew Schumann ...” As an aside, it’s interesting that
Sviatoslav Richter – who certainly did know his Schumann
– thought hers “beyond comparison”; despite taking quite
a different approach himself.
The three Prokofiev
works form a counterpoint to the Schumann, and reveal Virsaladze
on home ground. The sonata appears a curiously impersonal
work as Virsaladze presents it: composed and played for
one person only, so that you feel as if you are overhearing
thoughts which you should not really know about. Visually
too this might also be the case, as you get side profiles
and full-facials from almost too close a range. Virsaladze
is far from facially expressive, eyes clamped shut as, one
senses, and she evaluates her own playing from within. Occasionally
an eyebrow twitches, indicating maybe a thought of ‘hmm
... how long should I really hold this note for?’ or ‘maybe
that chord was too loud?’ The keyboard and finger-work make
rare appearances.
The Sarcasms,
brief though they individually are, amount to five humorous
jokes but again, jokes that Prokofiev only seems to intend
for himself and the pianist. Their mood is not open humour,
rather bitter and mordant, allowing the pianist opportunities
for inflection and intimation rather than plain statement
of fact through the playing. This is particularly well captured
in Smanioso, Sarcasm no. 4. Against this almost self-mocking
sound-world, the Toccata that concludes the Prokofiev
selection appears of more regular character. Its inclusion
primarily demonstrates, for me at least, the range of Prokofiev’s
skill as a keyboard composer. The impression left would
have been notably different without it.
Some may consider
it strange to programme Tchaikovsky, the ultimate heart-on-sleeve
Russian, after the Prokofiev’s detached and inward humour.
In her choice of the Natha-Valse Virsaladze serves
somehow to link the sound-worlds of both previous composers
and create a synthesis out of diverse material.
The series ‘concept’
(since nothing is marketed these days without one) is relatively
simple: take pianists, established and emerging, in repertoire
that both suits them and provides interesting internal contrasts;
place them in an outdoor arena at La Roque d’Arthéron and
film the concert. An audience is present, though reduced
to some 150 because of the filming. However as with most
simple concepts there are complicated aspects: the recordings
are done ‘in the round’ using remote-controlled cameras,
thereby allowing maximum visual detail to be captured with
the minimum of interference with the performer.
I found some
of the trailers for other releases off-putting with their
tendency to float you at odd angles seemingly a foot or
so above an open-topped concert grand, though the playing
all too briefly points to directions for further exploration:
Lise de la Salle on “Les pianos de demain” and Vanessa Wagner.
And then there’s
the documentation in French and English you get with the
DVD. There are notes on the “unique experiment” of the Festival
at La Roque d’Arthéron, the filming process, an artist mini-biography
and a criticism of the performance given by the Georgian
“warrior poetess”. I am not against any of this, per
se, even of the fact my job as critic has been done
for me to some extent – in the end the listener will decide
if the artist has really “made this music her own” or “absorbed
these pages down to the faintest sigh”. What is missing
is something about the music itself, given “the originality
and boldness of the repertoire […] that was the criterion”
for producing the DVD in the first place.
My advice is
to leave all the surrounding ‘stuff’ behind and concentrate
on the performance – it’s what counts after all and it could
prove a real ear-opener. The faint-hearted are warned that
a firecracker is lit upon pressing ‘play’, so stand well
back.
Evan Dickerson
Elisso Virsaladze
(piano)
[69.26]
