REVIEW: Evgeny Kissin Connects and Communicates at Carnegie Hall

May 30

May 30 REVIEW: Evgeny Kissin Connects and Communicates at Carnegie Hall

Above, Evgeny Kissin at Carnegie Hall. Photo by Steve J. Sherman.

May 24, 2024

Today’s superstars of the classical piano world often seem compelled to prove their virtuosity by continually dazzling their Instagram followers — er, I mean, audience — with breathtakingly facile, see-it-to-believe-it renditions of the most fiendishly difficult pieces available (cough, Yuja Wang, cough). Density of notes. Speed. Feats of keyboard athleticism.

Evgeny Kissin bucked this trend in his recent appearance at Carnegie Hall. Generous of spirit — and with a pair of performances (five days apart), surrounded by listeners (some seated onstage behind the Steinway), of time — “pianist’s pianist” Kissin shared a program that did not aim to impress, but rather, to communicate.

The literature was technically approachable (I played a number of the pieces as a teenager), and in the case of the evening’s apotheosis, Sergei Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata No. 2 in D Minor, Op. 14, sadly neglected by pianists of Kissin’s stature because of it. Thus it was a thrill and luxury to experience one of Gen X’s greatest pianists bring his insight and ability to connect with the composer’s message to this robust program that preceded Prokofiev with Beethoven, Chopin, and Brahms.

The salon-like ambiance was ideal for Beethoven at his most Schubertian: Piano Sonata No. 27 in E Minor, Op. 90, a two-movement piece from the composer’s “late-middle” (or some could argue, “early-late”) period. Far from the bombast of the Appasionata, the first movement of Op. 90, “Lively, with feeling and expression throughout,” finds the composer turning inward, examining — through an expansive sense of melody that points the way not only for Schubert, but Romantic composers in general — the dichotomies of existence, the positive and negative implications of each musical germ. And by the second movement, a lilting rondo “To be played not too fast and very songfully,” it was clear that melody — not only Kissin’s plush, versatile voicing, but his free flowing eloquence in sculpting and shaping phrases — was the star of this show.

Like a troubadour accompanying himself on a guitar, Kissin played Chopin’s Nocturne in F-sharp Minor, Op. 48, with a spontaneous and melancholy whimsy — a lusty bel canto line decorated with delicate strumming. I wondered what lyrics — surely French and passionate, a bittersweet chanson — the pianist was hearing as he unspooled a tempo-rubato that conveyed the naturalness of language. The contrasting middle section had the character of a “hesitation-march,” and the gauzy haze of a distant memory.

The Fantasy in F Minor, Op. 49, features a very different kind of writing for the instrument, with Chopin exploring the symphonic capabilities of the piano. Kissin’s masterful realization proves that Chopin’s Fantasy (unlike Mozart’s and Beethoven’s hodgepodge precursors) is a full blown Romantic tone poem. Kissin summoned the reverberation of string basses and tubas in the opening funeral march, and built anticipation and tension with the omnipotent vantage point of a conductor in the poco a poco doppio movimento, arriving at a passionate, windswept melody in the high treble, driven with the passion of an ample violin section in an opera by Richard Strauss. The tender middle section was delicately shaped, yet with a full-throated legato line, even in the inner chorale voices. The climax and coda had the glistening color of a full orchestra, and the dramatic sense of the completetion of a journey, or a hard earned reward.

Johannes Brahms’s set of four Ballades, Op. 10, furthered the bounty of storytelling through melody — solemn and meditative in the “Edward” D minor Ballade, a mournful take on a Scottish tune about patricide. In the redemptive second Ballade, a lullaby-like D major segues into a sinister dream in B minor; Kissin’s supple, rhythmic contours and patient characters arcs fashioned each into a stunning short story. You could imagine Brahms entertaining Robert Schumann in his insane asylum with the playful and witty third, Intemezzo, as the pianist tossed off the sempre dolce runs like a witch casting a spell. In the final Ballade, Kissin illustrated what Brahms meant by molto cantabile, emphasis on “molto.” The plaintive tune in his right hand forged a trail, shadowed by a gossamer accompaniment. The middle section, Col intimissimo sentimento, ma senza troppo marcare la melodia, traversed a murky and mysterious valley toward a healing, clarifying resolution.

The evening’s highlight was Prokofiev’s Second Sonata, a youthful, wide-ranging work that Kissin interprets with the vivacity and electricity he brought to the Sixth Sonata in his own youth, in the riveting Tokyo recording that helped put him on the map. The restless Allegro ma non troppo had an impetuous ebb and flow, then Kissin attacked the sinister Scherzo: Allegro marcato without pause, and its wry mid-movement turn to cuteness was infused with irony. The finale, a zesty Vivace, exploded at a tempo befitting, yes, Yuja Wang — its reprise of the first movement’s second theme was like a squinting reminiscence — but it was a mere afterthought following the hypnotic slow boil of the Andante third movement.

Kissin’s choice of encores also demurred from the customary winking and peacocking. Just a few delicious tunes: more Chopin (a Mazurka), more Prokofiev (March from The Love for Three Oranges), and more Brahms (the Waltz Op. 39, No. 15).