|
Back
25 Mesmeric Minutes New York
Merkin Hal, Kaufman Music Center
07/10/2024 -
Johann Sebastian Bach: Prelude in B Minor, BWV 855a (Arr. Alexander Siloti) – Sheep May Safely Graze BWV 208 (Arr. Egon Petri)
Fanny Mendelssohn: September: At the River
Felix Mendelssohn: Song Without Words, Opus 19: 3. “Hunting Song”
Franz Schubert: Impromptus, Opus 90, D. 899
Philip Glass: Etude No. 6
Leonard Berstein; Symphony No. 2 “The Age of Anxiety”: “The Masque” (Arr. Alon Goldstein )
Chen Yi: Variations on “Awariguli”
Fryderyk Chopin: Scherzo No. 3 in C Sharp Minor, Opus 39
Alon Goldstein (Pianist) 
A. Goldstein (© Jiyang Chen)
“I never try to be different just for the sake of it,. But somehow when I play a piece, it turns out unique anyway.”
Alon Goldstein interview, Jerusalem Post
To put it in the simplest words, the first 25 minutes of Alon Goldstein’s recital last night were spellbinding,
Spellbinding for three reasons. First, the selection of four works each complementing the other. Second, an audience which remained totally silent between each work. Third, of course the sensitivity, the grace and the utterly ravishing musicianship of Israeli-American soloist Alon Goldstein.
Frankly, I didn’t know what to expect before hearing him. A program of nine different works was unhealthily segmented. The soloist, given to speaking between his works, might lighten an evening for some. But I prefer to be overwhelmed by the notes. Third, despite his remarkable résumé, all that I knew was that Mr. Goldstein had been a prize student of Leon Fleischer.
The latter should have been enough to assuage doubts. Those first four works played in utter hushness was enough to hush any doubts that this would be an extraordinary evening for the International Keyboard Institute & Festival.
To the specifics. Two of the openers were arrangements of Bach, two were from the Mendelssohn siblings. From the start of the B Minor Prelude from Book 1, I felt a gentleness, a warm‑hued introspection, a lack of affects in order to bring out the effects. The famous Sheep May Safely Graze had that same supple tone, not so much with perfect balance as times when he brought out the bass to neatly overcome the treble theme.
Why choose the Mendelssohn’s in between? Obviously for history (Without Felix’s devotion, our Bach might have been as obscure as Telemann.) But second, that the third Song Without Words offered an unoffending energy. And Fanny? She and Clara Schumann might have had a competition (save that Clara’s father wouldn’t allow a Jew in his house). Her September was difficult, lyrical, hardly “feminine.”
For myself, Mr. Goldstein could have continued without an intermission. But he chose to talk, and the spell was broken. The Schubert Impromptus, though, had the same warmth (when necessary), the same dazzling technique (the second and fourth), and the G Flat Major which was offered like a Chopin Nocturne.
An extraordinary (and comforting) first half. The second challenging in a different way, starting with Chen Yi’s blindingly difficult Variations on “Awariguli”, that non-Sino-Tibetan name for a Uighur girl. The diatonic tune was simple enough, but Chen Yi then launched into nine variations which encompassed Western and Chinese modes, fugues, multi‑rhythms, crashing basses and an obvious coda which shook the Merkin rafters.
After this came a double triumph from Mr. Goldstein, his own arrangement from Bernstein’s Age of Anxiety. The opening was Bernstein in solitude. Mr. Goldstein then launched into a jazz movement played as if the pianist had never heard of Schubert and Bach. This was Art Tatum stuff, a brilliant survey of every jazz technique known, played with alacrity, electricity, joy.
The following Glass Sixth Etude was a joy of quadruple-fingering legerdemain. But equally, it led to the only downfall of this entrancing concert.
Starting the Chopin C Sharp Minor Scherzo without a break from the taxing Glass, he played this final work like a blazing Liszt third‑rate showpiece. The tempo was right, the fingers were accurate. But where the rest of the concert–whether Baroque or Bernstein–was the ultimate in clarity, this Chopin was muddled, fiery, doing what Alon Goldstein came nowhere near doing in the rest of his concert: milking for applause!
How could he apologize? Simple. A Scarlatti encore. I hate to use the word “refinement” so let’s say he played with thoughtfulness, surprisingly tasteful rubati, and–above all–with glowing luminosity.
Harry Rolnick
|
