— Connect the Dots

On March 11, world-renowned concert pianist Murray Perahia gave an afternoon concert at Zellerbach Hall. The program consisted of J.S. Bach’s French Suite No. 5, Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 27, Brahms’ Klavierstücke, Schubert’s Piano Sonata in A Major, and a selection of four Chopin pieces.

As mentioned in an earlier review, there is always a question of how best to interpret the works of Bach and his contemporaries for piano. Being originally written for a harpsichord, which has a different dynamic range and no pedals, Bach interpretations vary greatly from pianist to pianist. I personally prefer the interpretation provided by Perahia, as exemplified in this concert. The piano is not a harpsichord and as such, should not be played like a harpsichord. Perahia, in his liberal use of pedaling and dynamic variation, produces sounds that encompass the vast tonal spectrum of this instrument.

Overall, the performance was very impressive, though I do have one complaint. Perhaps it is only my personal tastes, but when I listen to Chopin, I expect to hear his work played with tremendous amounts of passion and energy (à la Argerich). It was surprising, and somewhat disappointing, to hear Perahia perform the Chopin pieces with such reservation. This is especially surprising after (1) hearing him perform the Brahms Klavierstücke, a technically demanding suite which he performed with gusto, and (2) listening to his CD recording of 24 Chopin études, which is far more expressive. Nevertheless, it is always a treat to see such a talented and experienced pianist perform live.

Good jazz is educational. It teaches you something about the very nature of music, the nature of performance. Tonight, I learned that jazz is a bodily music. When you see Keith Jarrett’s hands run up and down the keys with such intimacy and familiarity, you get the sense that the piano is an extension of the self. Playing, then, is a simple and natural as speaking breathing.

The program consisted of solo piano improvisations, each its own brief musical moment—a portrait of an emotion. Each piece was a encapsulation of a single idea, elegantly developed as one would an essay or painting. Some had glistening chords that floated like bells, others were straight-ahead blues, full of the grungy bass rhythms that got Jarrett up on his feet and stamping and moaning along.

But enough of this intellectual nonsense. Keith Jarrett is an entertainer, and a wickedly funny one at that. His humor combines passive-aggressive comments directed at unruly audience members, subtle self-deprecation, and of course the obligatory attack on classical music snobs. After the intermission, he directed his deadpan humor at a member of the audience who was photographing the performance, an act forbidden by Cal Performances’ policies, as well as the finicky Mr. Jarrett. He said, “I said I wouldn’t say anything about photography, so I won’t… But whoever you are, please send me your résumé.” After sitting at the piano, he got back up and said, “On second thought, I don’t want to know anything about you. You’re probably a very private individual who doesn’t like having his photo taken.” (For those of you who are not familiar with Keith Jarrett’s requests, he was talking about himself.)

I was also blown away by Jarrett’s encore performances. It wasn’t just the content of these performances that astounded me, but also their number. He played an unprecedented (in my experience as a concertgoer) five encores. Around No. 4, he sat at the piano and gave the keys a perplexed look and threw up his hands. “This is the problem with having no repertoire,” he explained. “It’s liberating, but I have a policy of never playing the same thing twice. And people will tell me’But you’re so good at it!’ And is that supposed to make it easier?!” I thought so.