The concept of competition is essentially antithetical in temperament, or at least should be, with that of pure musical communication. And yet these ersatz sporting events continue to haunt the career path of many aspiring pianists, even though their requirements of conformity and cheap effects are deleterious to the development of comprehensive technique. The goal of every competition winner can only be achieved by a strategy which does not allow for any peregrinations outside of the lines: The very opposite of the daring philosophy of the artist. As I sat at the Grace Rainey Rogers Auditorium on Friday evening, I was reminded of my opposition to this type of over-choreographed circus act for two specific reasons.

First, the museum is in the midst of a series of six recitals featuring recent winners of such ordeals. Second, the opening of this particular concert, the debut of the German Severin von Eckardstein, evoked a painful memory. It was after the performance of one of these very Moments Musicaux of Schubert some years ago that I witnessed a particularly loathsome backstage scene, in which a mother slapped her son hard after his commission of a couple of errors during his realization. Like that hapless character in Franz Kafka’s story “In The Penal Colony,” piano competition entrants have a message etched into their backs, only their admonishment is “be safe.”

Thankfully, Mr. von Eckardstein did not exhibit any bruises, either physical or psychic, in his American debut. In fact, he eschewed the normal three-ringed approach in favor of a contemplative or perhaps distant – depending on which spin doctor is employed – interpretation.

Although I could appreciate this unhurried, almost Bach-like, traversal of these Schubert aural vignettes, I felt that this young artist had developed his technical skills far beyond the level of his interpretive ones. This is not to say that everyone needs to be a poet at the keyboard; but it seemed that every moment was of the same emotional stripe, handled correctly but dispassionately.

I hoped for a change in attitude for the mighty Prelude, Choral et Fugue of Cesar Franck. This is a work of great passion, a specialty of Sviatoslav Richter. Like many Franckian efforts, it reflects its composer’s years of improvisatory inspiration up in the organ loft, but is also a reminder of his roots as an aspiring pianist groomed by an overzealous father – Franck would probably have been a modern competition winner today. However, Mr. von Eckardstein did not loosen the grip of the gingerly in this performance. He almost completely ignored the great crescendo and, because of flatline dynamics, rendered the proposed orgasmic reprise illogical.

For me, the

best effort of the evening was the revelation of kinetic energy in “Le courlis cendre” from Olivier Messiaen’s intensely colorful Catalogue d’oiseaux. Here the frenetic spirituality of the music may simply have asserted its ultimate hegemony over a performance style less prone to pure excitement. For this work of atavistic worship, at least, Mr. von Eckardstein’s solid technique was enough to carry the day.

The recital ended with rather a parsing traversal of ten scenes from Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet.” This is music rich in orchestral color, which, when transposed to the keyboard, needs more of the painter’s brush than this acolyte has at the ready in his personal armamentarium. Even an impressively dexterous Mercutio section or a solid distinction of articulation between left and right hands in the quintessentially haughty Montagues und Capulets (this must have been a Teutonic compendium based on the printed program) could not save the piece as a whole from long stretches of tedium. Making such fresh music workaday is just plain wrong: Perhaps Severin von Eckardstein still thought that he was entered in a competition.

***

In the American system, wind players are introduced at an early age to a spectacular repertoire for concert band or wind ensemble. But if they show considerable promise as musicians, they are whisked off to conservatory, where the emphasis is so entirely placed on the orchestra that the fine writing of Persichetti and Hindemith, Grainger and Holst, Sousa and Vaughan Williams becomes just a faded memory of the halcyon days of high school. Their refuge is the world of chamber music, where the riches of the 20th century are stored in hundreds of combinations.

A quick survey of a typical New York concert season uncovers dozens of major recitals for string quartets and corollary combinations but virtually no wind chamber music whatsoever. Not that there aren’t established groups that specialize in this fare, it is just that they are vanishing from the American scene as inexorably as once did the buffalo.

One guesses that the situation is not that different in Europe. Although the composers might change – Bizet, Auric, and Francaix come readily to mind – the career path is essentially the same, leading inexorably to the string-dominated orchestra. But two of the finest of those behemoths have spawned the Ensemble Wien-Berlin, wind musicians of the highest caliber. From the Vienna Philharmonic come flutist Wolfgang Schultz and clarinetist Norbert Taubl and from the Berlin there is oboist Hansjoerg Schellenberger and hornist Stefan Dohr. Joined by freelance bassoonist Milan Turkovic, a member of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, this group showed the type of professionalism that one might expect from first chair players of such prestigious institutions. This past weekend, they regaled the audience at the 92nd Street Y with concerts of infectiously joyous music from that artificially created and now defunct land of Czechoslovakia.

Saturday’s soiree presented wind quintets from three composers who would be right at home in the Prague Spring Festival, but who are hardly household names over here. Antoine Reicha was a contemporary of Beethoven who specialized in wind music, composing an even two dozen quintets alone. The D major, Opus 91, Number 3 is an exuberant affair, infused in its first movement with the excitement of the hunt. Somewhat raucous in spots and reminiscent of the less sophisticated work of Leopold Mozart, the piece is always tightly controlled by the masterful hand of compositional experience. From the outset, it was apparent that these five friends performed flawlessly as a unit, able to phrase delicately and powerfully as if they were actually only one eloquent musician.

The quintet of Josef Bohuslav Foerster was immediately identified as the polar opposite stylistically. While Reicha had played in the same orchestras as Beethoven and as a result enjoyed his friendship, Foerster married the eminent operatic soprano Berta Lautererova, a favorite of Gustav Mahler at the Staatsoper in Vienna. Foerster was part of Mahler’s inner circle and was able to use his Philharmonic wind players for rehearsals of his chamber works. Not insignificantly, these were the same men who first breathed life into the phrases from Mahler’s symphonies, and the resultant Foerster Quintet in F is nostalgic and naturalistic in similar ways. The opening Allegro moderato is a stroll rather than the lockstep Allegro assai of the Reicha and this excellent ensemble relaxed accordingly, without letting their embouchures or their guards down at any point.

Joined by Israeli clarinetist Alexander Fiterstein, the group ended this brilliant and vibrant concert with “Mladi” (Youth) by Leos Janacek, a piece that he composed to celebrate his own 70th birthday. Janacek enjoys at least a modicum of fame for modern Americans, but the composer of the final wind quintet, Pavel Haas, apparently does not. Haas was a decided modernist and his work was infused with jazz and circus elements. He was interred at Terezin and suffered the gross indignity of having to write pieces for the Nazis to showcase when the International Red Cross came through the camp. He eventually was transferred to Auschwitz and gassed in 1944. However, he remains obscure, as evidenced by the comment overheard as I left the hall. One elderly man proclaimed to his wife that “the only piece that I liked was the one written by Karl Haas!”