Recital

Yesterday evening I attended a recital of piano music at the konserthusteatern, whose outstandingly ugly façade mars one corner of the Great Square. This was the first such event I’ve ever attended, so my expectations were rather ill-formed. The artiste was Peter Jablonski, a virtuoso concert-pianist of at least some international renown who just happens to have been born in a neighbouring town: it is difficult to imagine a performer of a comparable calibre visiting a backwater like this for any reason other than an accident of birth.

The first I had heard of Jablonski was on a CD I’d borrowed from the town library a year and a half ago, featuring Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, and, what caught my ear more especially, brilliant renditions of Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto no. 1 and Lutosławski’s Paganini Variations. I happened upon some other CDs of his in the months that followed, but found nothing else that quite inspired me like that first one. His performance of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto no. 1, for instance, was smoothly accomplished, but seemed short on the drama and pathos that the piece can be made to convey.

The concert hall was a little more than half-full, with a turn-out of about 350. A polished Steinway grand stood on the stage. After a short introduction, Jablonski entered, black-clad, from stage-left. With no ado he bagan a Chopin Polonaise (Op. 26), a piece which, as with everything else on the programme, I did not know. I tried to close my eyes and concentrate solely on the music, but found myself intensely conscious, at first, of the minutest of movements or the quietest of stifled coughs from those around me. I was uncomfortably aware, too, of the slight hearing impairment in my left ear, which provoked in me a vague feeling of imbalance for which some part of my brain kept wanting to compensate by tilting my head a particular way, which can have been of no benefit whatsoever.

After the Polonaise, we were treated to a sequence of three Chopin Mazurkas. As these unfolded, I found myself able to blank out the various distractions, and to focus better on the music, which, although pleasant, did not exactly reach in and move me. Next came a half-dozen of Rachmaninov’s Études-tableaux (op. 33), renowned for their forbidding difficulty. These spectacular show-pieces highlighted Jablonski's pianistic skill to excellent effect, and seemed better-suited to his bright & brash style than had the Chopin.

An interval ensued, before the second half of the programme commenced with some extracts from Tchaikovsky’s The Seasons (Op. 37a), specifically the pieces meant to represent the months of October, November and December, and subtitled Autumn Song, On the Troika and Christmas-Tide respectively. Next came the second and third movements of Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata no. 8, sporadically fascinating music, which was just dissonant enough to make some among the audience squirm uneasily in their seats. A pair of piano-adapted movements from Prokofiev’s ballet Romeo & Juliet rounded out the set.

The audience loved their local-boy-made-good, and heartily applauded him through a pair of finger-blurring encores. I enjoyed the show & would go again if we’re still here when he next drops by.