Perahia's Poetic Piano

While still a teenager, pianist Murray Perahia made a recording of the music of Brahms and Schumann. He made the recording with the venerable Boris Kroyt, who, as violist of the Budapest Quartet, was at that time probably the world's leading expert on the performance of these pieces. Despite his expertise, Mr. Kroyt observed that he learned a tremendous amount about the original intentions of the composers from his young partner. On Sunday afternoon, Mr. Perahia brought his immense storehouse of knowledge to his superlative recital at Avery Fisher Hall.

Like Mauricio Pollini, Mr. Perahia is a composer's pianist. It was quickly apparent in his opening rendition of Beethoven's E Minor Sonata, Op. 14, No 1 that he was in complete control and wished to demonstrate the crystalline lines of the piece. Mr. Perahia also immediately showcased his ability to play loudly without pounding, an important facet of his current technique, since many fans and critics still fault him for a shift in focus that some believe caused him to turn his back on his signature delicacy in the 1980s. Although his transition to a more strident style was evident at the time, the reaction to it — along the lines of what happened when Bob Dylan first appeared before a rock band — seemed excessive.

During a Perahia recital of various composers, one tends to think of the best performance as the one wherein Mr. Perahia plays the music most appealing to the listener's personal taste. This phenomenon is a direct result of the artist's uncanny ability to channel a composer's thoughts and lay them out so clearly. The companion sonata in Beethoven's Op. 14, the G Major, is soft and cuddly, and this Zelig rendered it in that way.

But, having said that, it would be difficult not to consider the granitic performance of the opening Fantasia from Bach's A Minor Partita as anything but the highlight of the afternoon. Here Mr. Perahia's threedimensional sense of architecture held sway, each musical line distinct and logical, intersections inevitable, permutations exceptional. His handling of the subsequent dances was also impressive, dexterous, and rhythmically precise. He may be the best pianist at converting Bach's mathematical formulae to heartfelt emotional triggers.

Mr. Perahia has been described as poetic, and he indeed can be so, but only if the music warrants. Some practitioners can be lyrical even when the music is not; Mr. Perahia will only wax rhapsodic if the composer has lit the way. In choosing one of the most excruciatingly personal pieces in the entire literature, Robert Schumann's Fantasiestuecke, Mr. Perahia was making a statement that he was confident enough to expose the creator's most torturous inner thoughts and feelings in a way that would leave us edified and deeply moved. That old delicacy was back in the Traumes Wirren (dream confusion) section and was quite delicious.

Like Pollini, Mr. Perahia is a nononsense pianist and this sometimes leads to less than ideal interpretation. Chopin's Ballade No. 4 cries out for rhythmic sensitivity and irregularity that is not expressly written into the score. Mr. Perahia, however, would have none of this, and instead presented the piece straightforwardly. There was even some of that less than tasteful pounding, and while his fusillades of notes toward the end may have missed some of their marks of accuracy, they hit the center of the bull's-eye in the hearts of the sold-out audience, which leapt to its feet for a tumultuous standing ovation. This type of enthusiastic reaction has become de rigueur in contemporary New York musical life, but in this case was eminently justified.

There were also three encores, including a wonderful and touching work of Brahms. Some might say that Mr. Perahia is back, but, for me, he never really left.