An Old-School Youngster
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What a surprise: another young virtuoso pianist from east of Prague. In this case, well south, too. Simon Trpceski is from Macedonia, and he is in his mid-20s. On Wednesday night, he played the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto with the New York Philharmonic. And an awesome performance it was.
Where to begin? At the beginning: Mr. Trpceski played the opening chords of the concerto unusually precisely. They were not mushy or splatting; they were exact, and brighter than usual. In fact, the entire concerto felt scrubbed clean — it had zero Romantic excess (without being un-Romantic at all). Mr. Trpceski has a little Pollini in him, a little Weissenberg — and a little George Sandor. But he is neither cold nor harsh.
Mr. Trpceski did unexpected things in the first movement. Many of the notes were detached, though not clipped, and the music had a rare “scherzando” feel. More than playing it, Mr. Trpceski was playing with this concerto.
The technique was fabulous, with Mr. Trpceski’s arms perfectly loose (enabling him to play all those notes — tightness kills). His octaves were lightning-fast. Pletnevian. Still, they were a little over-pedaled, and he faked a few of them — which is perfectly forgivable.
Mr. Trpceski exhibited what you might call a sense of musical timing — he knows where the top of a phrase is, how to get the most out of a skilled composer’s rhythm. And his soft playing had a crystalline beauty. At times, you might have been listening to Debussy or Ravel.
For my money, the final movement — that dance, “con fuoco” — could have been more marked. More emphatic. But plenty of pianists overdo that aspect, and if Mr. Trpceski underdid it slightly, so much the better.
The Philharmonic’s music director, Lorin Maazel, is an excellent collaborator in concertos, but something was wrong on Wednesday night. There was a bit of a pushmi-pullyu effect. The pianist often wanted to go faster than the conductor; and the conductor did not accommodate. The playing was often out of coordination. And the orchestra was sloppier than it can be expected to be.
Yet Mr. Maazel did some admirable things. The rocking in the middle movement was wonderful. And I’ll tell you something funny: Mr. Maazel is a great cutter-off of notes — of the final notes of phrases, sections, and pieces. He is loath to linger. And once, when Mr. Trpceski was playing by himself, he cut him off in just this fashion. Mr. Maazel might have forgotten himself. But he was perfectly correct.
You may think you can’t possibly hear the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto — that old warhorse — again. But Mr. Trpceski proved you can. From him, the piece was fresh and lovely. Could we be looking at a great pianist? Yes, we could.
Mr. Trpceski played an encore, “October (Autumn Song),” from Tchaikovsky’s “Seasons.” And here he demonstrated an incredible capacity to sing on the piano — to sustain notes that, in lesser hands, die right away (or too soon). If anything, Mr. Trpceski’s playing of this gentle, elegiac piece was more impressive than his rendering of the concerto.
I might mention, too, that young Mr. Trpceski is old-school, and Old World: Before and after the concerto, he kissed the hand of the concertmistress, gallantly.
Wednesday was opening night of Mr. Maazel’s Tchaikovsky festival, though he had conducted the composer’s Symphony No. 2 the week before (splendidly, too). At this concert, the symphony was the First, nicknamed “Winter Dreams.” One of Mr. Maazel’s goals in this festival is to present Tchaikovsky not very often heard. And the last three symphonies of Tchaikovsky — 4–6 — are ubiquitous; the first three, no.
Another of Mr. Maazel’s goals is to show that the composer is not a priss. Rather, he is a rigorous exponent of the Classical tradition, and a genius, to boot. Those things are easy to prove.
From Mr. Maazel’s baton, the Symphony No. 1 was taut and disciplined, but had the desired touches of glitter and grace. Unfortunately, Mr. Maazel was a bit boxy on this evening – the music could have used more lyricism, more of a horizontal flow. And he lapsed into stodginess now and then. But the Finale was incisive, causing us to sit up straight, and we heard some of the Maazelian flair we want.
In the course of the symphony, a cellist and a violist — Carter Brey and Cynthia Phelps — displayed some fancy footwork. And a timpanist, Markus Rhoten, displayed a fine sense of rhythm. If a percussionist doesn’t have that …
Mr. Maazel let his pianist play an encore, but he himself, with the orchestra, offered no encore. He stopped doing this, a few seasons ago, which is a pity. Tchaikovsky’s “Festival Coronation March” would have been right nice.