Charisma and Other Facts

National Review, Dec 23, 2002 by Jay Nordlinger

The young Russian violinist Maxim Vengerov is undertaking an unusual concert tour. When he shows up, he brings only his violin. There's no piano, no accompanist. Vengerov does have a stool and a microphone. He likes to banter with his audience between "sets," if you will, introducing pieces and telling jokes. He's half concert artist, half Yakov Smirnov (the "What a country!" comedian).

Over these concerts hangs the spirit of Eugene Ysaye. Who he? Every violinist would know the answer to that question. Ysaye was a Belgian violin master who lived from 1858 to 1931. Like most big musicians of his day, he was a composer as well as a performer, and he gave himself -- along with his friends -- many interesting things to play.

Vengerov is playing them. Ysaye wrote six sonatas -- unaccompanied -- for six different colleagues, including Jacques Thibaud, Fritz Kreisler, and Josef Szigeti. Each expresses something particular about its dedicatee, and each is, in its way, a loving tribute to violin playing itself. The Sonata No. 2, for example, quotes from Bach's famous E-major partita.

In addition to these sonatas -- or at least a handful of them -- Vengerov plays a new transcription, by Bruce Fox-Lefriche, of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor, one of the most transcribed pieces of music in existence. (Remember Stokowski's version for symphony orchestra?) He also plays a sonata -- again, unaccompanied -- by Rodion Shchedrin, a Russian composer born in 1932. Shchedrin wrote this piece in 1984, to commemorate Bach's 300th anniversary the next year. The sonata draws from Bach (as what doesn't -- or shouldn't?). Vengerov learned and memorized the piece at age ten, to play for the composer. Shchedrin was no doubt pleased.

This 28-year-old has by now established himself as a great, free- spirited violinist, continuing the tradition of Ysaye and his friends (not to mention that devilish Italian, Paganini). He has loads of technique, of course, but that's almost beside the point, in the face of musicianship so keen. He is one of those who are simply born to play the violin. Ysaye once said of Szigeti, "I found in him that rare combination of the musician and the virtuoso." The same is true of Vengerov.

Moreover, he's an embodiment of that elusive and prized quality, musical charisma. It radiates from him, in whatever he attempts. And his love of performing is obvious. During a recent outing in Carnegie Hall, he confessed that, when he made his debut -- age five -- they practically had to drag him from the stage, so much did he enjoy it. He enjoys it no less now. And the pleasure he takes in it is not egotistical, but more like grateful.

The unaccompanied music found on these recital programs is now available on an EMI compact disc. During that same evening at Carnegie Hall, Vengerov said, "I'm afraid we've lost a sense of improvisation and spontaneity. And we don't have very much time for composing these days. I myself would like to make time to compose." Terrific. He should get busy.

-- Murray Perahia's career has gone in two phases: Perahia I and Perahia II. Perahia I is a pianist many of us remember with great fondness and longing. He was a "poet of the piano," a graceful, refined player in the mold of Myra Hess and Dinu Lipatti. But at some point he decided he wanted to be a "lion of the keyboard," a "thundering virtuoso." Perhaps it was his friendship with Vladimir Horowitz -- late in the old wizard's life -- that did it.

In any event, Perahia started to behave in most un-Perahia-like ways. He began to bang, to pound, and to emote. At a recital in New York a couple of seasons ago -- Carnegie Hall again -- a critic friend of mine said he planned to leave at intermission, to catch part of another concert across town. As the second half was about to begin, I found him still in his seat. "Change your mind?" I asked. He answered, "I have to see whether Murray Perahia is still a good pianist." The concern was that deep.

Even in his second phase, however, Perahia can still impress. His latest album is the complete Chopin Etudes (on Sony). Here the "lion" - - the keyboard burner -- can go to work: These aren't gentle mazurkas. And Perahia II is in full evidence. In days gone by, the opening, C- major etude of Op. 10 would have been limpid and rippling -- now Perahia simply rips through it, though excitingly (I admit). He plays less straightforwardly than before: For example, in the simple, songlike E-major etude, Op. 10, No. 3, he indulges in a lot of "rubato" -- a lot of personal license -- stretching the "song" out, and coming close to distorting it. In Op. 25, the "Aeolian Harp" etude is rather less angelic than it would have been in the past. But the New Perahia has to be given his due: The C-minor etude, Op. 25, No. 12, is astoundingly majestic -- thrilling -- as much like a Rachmaninoff etude-tableau as like a Chopin piece.

One thing we see in this recording is that the complete Chopin Etudes can be listened to in one fell swoop. These are studies, to be sure -- in which a pianist works on arpeggios, thirds, sixths, and so on -- but they have unquestionable musical value, and no little variety. Murray Perahia does well by them. He can still play, needless to say. Or is it?