Ohlsson's Tour de Force

Arguably the greatest compendium of Beethoven's 32 piano sonatas issued on vinyl is the boxed set by Philips of the Chilean master Claudio Arrau. This distinguished artist brought a degree of aristocratic elegance missing from many other realizations, and he did so with the utmost delicacy interspersed with mercurial episodes of granitic power. Arrau's most accomplished student, Garrick Ohlsson, continued his survey of the sonatas Sunday afternoon at Alice Tully Hall.

In part one, Mr. Ohlsson explored a rather measured and dispassionate approach that was notable for its clarity but lacked a certain sense of excitement. At this current recital, he abandoned his desiccated approach, offering instead a wild ride with maximum propulsion and an awful lot of notes per second.

The best performance of the day was that of the C Major Sonata Op. 2, No. 3. Truly an amazing piece, this early effort appears on its surface to be just a standard essay in the Classical style, something Haydn or Mozart might have penned. But the true rebellious genius is afoot from the start. The opening theme of the Allegro con brio begins to develop in the first few measures and journeys to some dissonant places for a work grounded in only the white keys. Mr. Ohlsson's version was tremendously exciting and presented at a challenging pace. But he can also shift gears well, intoning a positively bel canto singing line for the delicate Adagio. The final Allegro assai was thrilling.

Also on the program was perhaps the most affecting of all of the Beethoven sonatas, the "Les Adieux" (the E Flat major, Opus 81a). This reading was superb, even as it was haunted by some passages where the fingers did not always obey the heart, causing Mr. Ohlsson a momentary grimace. But his grand overarching scope was revelatory, the poignancy of his melodic line achingly bittersweet. This man can do poetic.

The 24th Sonata is known to pianists as the "seven sharps" because of its exotic key of F Sharp Major. Its two contrasting movements reveal the dual nature of its personality, and Mr. Ohlsson made the most of the dichotomy. His Adagio cantabile was sweet and lyrical, his Allegro vivace hilarious and bumptious, close to being over the top but stopping just short of the border of bad taste: Beethoven at his most devilish and most entertaining.

Robert Schumann described the Fourth Symphony as a "fair maiden between two giants," and it is certainly a welcome respite from the pulsating Eroica and the mighty Fifth. But there is also a strong dramatic undercurrent to the piece, a constant inner swirling later seized upon by the Beethoven disciple Richard Wagner. Wagner's father-in-law Franz Liszt published a piano adaptation of the score designed only for the bravest of virtuosos. It was a perfect final piece for Garrick Ohlsson.

Any keyboard artist who can navigate this score well — it was a specialty of Cyprien Katsaris — deserves our awe and admiration. Mr. Ohlsson not only can perform it practically note perfect, but he also makes it look so easy. He learned from Arrau the power of gravity, to let the downward motion work for him without expending unnecessary physical energy, and this technique allows him to exude elastic elocution even in the densest of passages. This reading was a tour-de-force.

So after so many notes, what can one possible do for an encore? Mr. Ohlsson, who seems an affable and gregarious fellow, sat down at that piano and announced he would next give us the Ninth Symphony. This induced hearty laughter from the crowd, but then this consummate showman channeled Victor Borge and actually began the expectant rumblings of that gargantuan score. More hilarity and huge applause from the appreciative crowd introduced his two actual encores, the Prestissimo from the Opus 10, No. 1 and the opening movement of the Opus 79, each played elegantly. This was quite simply a terrific recital.