Vladimir Feltsman Fusing new ideas with old tunes

Author: Andrew Throdahl

To say that pianist Vladimir Feltsman is an "old school" musician would not do him justice, since he seems to have novel ideas about music. Then again, his approach seems to be thoroughly traditional. His Sept. 19 program, which he performed in the Mahaney Center for the Arts concert hall, was chronologically ordered, progressing from Bach to Schubert and closing with Mussorgsky. The intermission cleanly divided the introspective (Bach and Schubert) from the extroverted (Mussorgsky). On paper, it was a predictable evening, like most classical concerts, although Feltsman's "old school" methods were invigorating and worked to enrich the audience's understanding of three familiar masterpieces.

Feltsman lacks many of the eccentricities of certain younger concert pianists. Unlike Middlebury's beloved Paul Lewis, he made no strange noises while he played. And unlike the ridiculous Lang Lang, he did not writhe about. Who could not have appreciated his understated, devoted musicianship? If you did not, trust me, it was the way music should always be performed.

The highlight of the evening was Bach's elegant first partita, which was played alertly and rhapsodically. Each of Feltsman's innovative ornaments sounded like a spontaneous decision. The prelude featured one of Feltsman's favorite devices -- delaying the cadence but playing the tonic very quickly, as if he had played it umpteen times and now it was irrelevant to him. This is probably the literal truth, but to me it sounded like a stylistic decision. He played the "galanteries" as functional dances, keeping strict time.

One setback was his visceral interpretation of the gigue, which lacked the craftiness implied by its brevity. Bach tests the performer's patience in crossing the left hand back and forth over the mumbling right hand. Feltsman, perhaps in an effort to end with aplomb, played too loudly and made a few unnecessary slips with his thumb.

To some listeners, Schubert's impromptus may invoke a white piano in the Esterhazy palace, but to others they may recall butchered renderings at endless student recitals. The impromptus present every performer with elusive difficulties. Either they never seem quite expressive enough, or they are too languorous to communicate at all. This may account for Feltsman's inconsistent treatment of Schubert's poetic melodies. At times he seemed careless, but elsewhere perfect. During the quick transition into the second theme of the E-Flat Major impromptu, he took too little time and the subsequent tune sounded like a non-sequitur. It is never a good sign if the audience suspects Schubert made a mistake.

A swarm of latecomers made him wait before starting the first Impromptu. He peered for a few seconds into the audience, clearly ticked off. Once he started he made a few unfortunate smudges. Is it too much to ask that latecomers simply wait until the intermission to enter? Perhaps this should only be the rule for A-list performers like Feltsman. One cannot be sure if Feltsman's mistakes in the beginning of the Schubert were due to the delay, but it did break the audience's concentration.

Any pianist named Vladimir is expected to have some monumental Russian masterpiece up his sleeves. Feltsman pulled out all the stops for Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition," a 30-minute Russian extravaganza and encyclopedia of virtuoso technique. In a way, Feltsman pointed out that the ten "paintings" interrupt each other. His device in the Bach of delaying the cadence transferred into a kind of hesitation at the end of each movement, followed by an energetic start to the next. This architectural awareness made his performance fascinating. His false endings seemed to tease an audience that probably loves an ecstatic response to the music more than the music itself.

He mustered a tremendous sound for the final episodes, "The Hut of Baba-Yaga" and "The Great Gate of Kiev." Knowing Feltsman's difficulties in the Soviet Union - he was virtually forbidden to perform throughout the 1980s - it was moving to hear him play such a quintessentially Russian piece, especially the hymn-like "Kiev." Feltsman made a lasting impression on the audience (and the piano). I am grateful to have witnessed such timeless artistry.