
          Nelson Goerner shares with Daniel Barenboim both Argentinian nationality 
          and a parallel sense of introspection; Goerner’s Schubert, for example, 
          is emboldened by a muscularity of tone, as Barenboim’s was in his early 
          years, and a super-refined keyboard touch that speaks often with the 
          conflict of inner sounds (this is a pianist who knows exactly how to 
          play a pianissimo marking in the context of the wider dynamic 
          picture). In the D850, for example, Goerner bought an intensely prophetic 
          voice to the Con moto, which at times sounded almost improvised, 
          but the rhythmic syncopations and impressionistic colouring which litter 
          the second theme were masterfully negotiated with kaleidoscopic brilliance. 
          A similar delicacy illuminated a spontaneous reading of the Rondo. Yet, 
          things were not always as crystalline as this. Goerner is, to put it 
          politely, a diminutive figure (when he appeared on the platform he seemed 
          quite overshadowed by the Steinway) but he seems almost to overcompensate 
          for this by producing fffs of massive proportions. It is arguable 
          that his performance of the opening Allegro vivace was just too 
          loud with the consequent muddying of textures and dynamics such rampant 
          playing might suggest. Yet, even here, there were compensations – his 
          pedalling, for example, is a revelation that seems to control his sometimes 
          heavy keyboard range. 
        
        If such a technique is not ideally suited to the subtleties 
          of Schubert’s late sonatas it did not seem misplaced in a stunning performance 
          of Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz No 1. After recently hearing Kissin 
          perform the same work (in a recital of the same composers) Goerner’s 
          performance is one that doesn’t find itself overshadowed by Kissin’s 
          own forbidding technique. The interpretation was devilish with Goerner 
          overplaying the dissonance of the piled-up fifths just enough to suggest 
          the Mephistophelian allusions. With the waltz delivered with expressive 
          range and the gallop driven by an apocalyptic rush of horsemen on the 
          brink it was a performance that melded the seductive with the virtuosic. 
          Goerner’s tremendous forte playing (which reminded me of Toscanini’s 
          quip that if he got his orchestra to play any louder he’d break the 
          recording equipment – ‘Break the equipment!’) merely added to the drama. 
          His Proms debut this year – in Prokofiev’s Third Piano Concerto – should 
          be an unmissable concert based on this recital.
        
        
          Marc-André Hamelin’s recital was of a very different kind. Eschewing 
          the gravity of Schubert and the blistering virtuosity of Liszt Hamelin 
          chose Schumann and Albéniz. In some ways this recital was at 
          an altogether higher level of artistry than Goerner’s had been; yet, 
          Hamelin’s intellectual grasp, incandescent keyboard control and near-perfect 
          tonal range (especially evident in Iberia) didn’t always overshadow 
          Goerner’s own achievements. 
        
        Schumann’s Fantasiestücke Op.12 suffered 
          at times from a loudness that mitigated some of this work’s delicacy. 
          True, the opening bars of ‘Die Abend’ had been delivered with a clear 
          separation of the right and left hand variant that seemed at first hypnotic 
          but it was also somewhat anodyne, not helped by some splintered note 
          playing that coarsened the mood. ‘Aufschwung’ ended with an abrupt closing 
          pedal that made this reviewer too well aware of the problems with balance 
          Hamelin seemed to be having early on in the work. This settled quickly 
          – and for the next six movements Hamelin gave us a performance that 
          was as well defined as you could expect to hear. Brilliant articulation 
          – especially in ‘Traumes-Wirren’ - struck the ideal balance between 
          virtuosity and poetry and in ‘In Der Nacht’ there was a titanic struggle 
          that ended in almost unresolved anger, aided by some spectacular sonorities 
          of shattering proportions. Contrasted with the brooding introspection 
          of ‘Ende vom Lied’, with the resolution of the coda so beautifully counterpointed, 
          it was a performance that developed into something memorable.
        
        Even more so was Book 3 of Iberia, this performance 
          of which dripped with Mediterranean colour. Notable was the closing 
          ‘Lavapiés’ – in part of a riot of conflicting harmonies and decorous 
          tonality - which was incandescently played and poetically conceived. 
          ‘El Polo’ had been a raucous display of obsession and collision with 
          Hamelin evoking from the keyboard a glittering array of effects suggestive 
          of the strumming percussiveness of the guitar. ‘El Albaicin’ had the 
          perfect balance of tranquillity and sultry perfume. It impressed on 
          simple terms – and not least because Hamelin showed how intensely full 
          of colour and impressionistic the piano can sound.