World-Weary Romanticism

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The New York Sun

If pianist John Kamitsuka had performed only Sergei Rachmaninoff’s “Moment Musical,” Op. 16, No. 3, at his concert on Tuesday evening at the Weill Recital Hall, I would have been a happy camper. Well, not happy exactly – rather more melancholy, but perfectly satisfied.

The piece is a remarkable tonal essay inspired by the opening of the third act of “Tristan und Isolde” – or, if you prefer, the “Wesendonck Lied Im Triebhaus,” in which Wagner first worked out this deeply affecting melody. Rachmaninoff transforms the tune with his signature chordal progressions so that it remains heartbreakingly poignant but takes on his unique style.

Mr. Kamitsuka intoned the poem with just the right touch of worldweariness, shaping this journey of despair in a manner that brought his audience along for the ride. This was Romanticism at its most probing, so utterly personal as to become almost unbearable, and this sensitive pianist received a warm ovation from the appreciative crowd.

Mr. Kamitsuka studied in Tokyo and at Indiana University.Later he pursued postgraduate work with Gilbert Kalish and Richard Goode. He has performed throughout the world and even toured Brazil as a United States cultural ambassador. He weighed in this evening rather heavily on one side of the everraging debate about performing the works of Bach on the modern piano.

No, not the discussion of whether to use a Steinway or a harpsichord, but rather the stylistic debate. Mr. Kamitsuka prefers his Bach lyrical and somewhat elongated. Although I loved how he began the Prelude in E minor from Book I of the “Well-Tempered Clavier” in medias res, I was less enamored of his phrasing, which seemed oddly redolent of the 19th century. He emphasized a singing tone,but correspondingly de-emphasized rhythmic purity and crisp enunciation.

Having just thrilled to the steely-fingered recital of Ofra Yitzhaki at St. Paul’s the other week, I found Mr. Kamitsuka’s bel canto style a bit flabby. But this is a matter of personal taste. Murray Perahia plays Bach like this, as does Andras Schiff. Pretty good company.

Next Mr. Kamitsuka offered Beethoven’s Bagatelles, Op. 126. Often long-winded and bombastic,Beethoven was capable of Romantic storytelling in miniature: Sections of these Bagatelles seem like modern short stories on the order of, say, Jorge Luis Borges.There is a definite journey conveyed in each of these jewels. Here the declarative style was most appropriate, and Mr. Kamitsuka made a strong case for this type of storytelling. I’ll wager he is a poetic interpreter of Schumann, as well.

Back in 1990, I had the opportunity to discuss the Sonata No. 7 of Sergei Prokofiev with a 13-year-old German pianist named David Kempe, who was preparing it for presentation at the Luzerne Festival. I asked him about the notoriously difficult final movement. “Lots of notes” was his pithy reply.

Over the years I have heard many attempts to communicate these notes in live performance, but only once, at a Maurizio Pollini recital in the late 1970s, have I ever heard them all. Prokofiev had freakishly large hands, and this final Precipitato is simply too much for most recitalists. The composer once stated that only Dmitri Mitropoulos could play this music as well as he, but he never had the opportunity to experience Sviatoslav Richter in his prime.

Mr. Kamitsuka certainly gave his all in this attempt. The first two movements were a little tame for my taste: His rather gingerly approach subsumed the palpable sense of anxiety in the music. And the devilish fingerbreaker that is the finale simply engulfed him like a tsunami. Mr. Kamitsuka seemed to concentrate all of his energies into the polychromatic and polyrhythmic passages in the right hand, the appendage that is charged with such breakneck minutiae.

To be fair, he was extremely accurate; he just left out some notes and imposed a few unwanted pauses that broke the mood. However, what was missing was the inexorableness of the metrical figure in the left, a monstrous grounding that makes this particular movement so utterly frightening. As a result, the finale was much less dramatic than it should have been. It simply seemed busy.

Just hearing this amazing music again reinforced my belief that, in a head-to-head comparison, Prokofiev is by far the superior composer to Shostakovich. Alas, it is not his 100th birthday at present.


The New York Sun

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