Polish-Hungarian pianist Piotr Anderszewski brings Brahms, Bach and Beethoven to UWA’s Winthrop Hall

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times when Polish-Hungarian pianist Piotr Anderszewski brought Brahms, Bach and Beethoven to UWA’s Winthrop Hall for Musica Viva on Friday. From the first quicksilver cascade off the Kawai keyboard, Anderszewski was on another plane. A diffident figure, greeting the audience with a shy smile, he instantly absorbed then diffused the essence of Brahms’ lyricism in selections of late solo piano works from the 1890s. The first of Four Pieces for Piano (Opus 119) could have been an epilogue — Brahms would die four years later — yet its successor, the third of the suite, broke the reverie with dramatically playful phrases that built energy through charm rather than bombast. Anderszewski gently rambled through the repertoire, progressing to Six Pieces for Piano (Opus 118) with its dedication to Clara Schumann; paeans to a lost love riven with regret, yet also summoning hope in the second of the suite, Intermezzo Andante teneramente. Selections from Seven Fantasies (Opus 116) had the fresh promise of pop tunes, short with just enough passion to engage; especially Capriccio Allegro passionate. An Adagio to follow cooled the mood to meditation — a ballad, not a belt — while the last of this segment, Andante con grazia ed intimissimo sentimento, had the gracious sweep of a slow tango. All very fin de siècle, fitting Brahms’ declining years. The finale of Three Intermezzi (Opus 117) had a suitably questing air — according to Tonya Lemoh’s program note, these were “Lullabies for my sorrows” — an ambience Anderszewski seemed well suited to express, with drama fading to the tenderest of conclusions. Speculation surrounds Brahms’ inspiration at a time when he either decided to stop composing, or found a fortuitous second wind. Either way there was no sense of resignation in Anderszewski’s reading; certainly not in the endpiece to Opus 119, a Rhapsody Allegro risoluto announced in dramatically tolling chords. Renewed energy revived the room, breaking to whimsy and light relief then back to strident declamation. Slowing to Andante, “walking pace”, Anderszewski returned to Opus 117 and 118 to close the half. Another “lullaby” from Opus 117 was rueful yet sweet, while the finale to Opus 118 lingered longingly in tribute to Clara Schumann, with a listless hunger in the broadly plangent cadence. After the interval, a brightly pealing carillon of counterpoint broached a very different palette in highlights from Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. Anderszewski remained inward yet relaxed, as if content to let the metronomic regularity of the music do the work. Even so, he injected a touch of flair and variation to polish the patina off some hallowed passages. Preludes proceeded with pathos and fugues fled in frenzy: well-tempered indeed. Most soloists would by this point have breached the fourth wall to address the audience, but Anderszewski resolutely maintained radio silence; rolling without acknowledgement into Beethoven’s Sonata No.31 in A-flat major, just as he played the Brahms end-to-end without a break. It was a curious statement-not-a-statement, as if continuity were an end in itself. Inwardly satisfying, perhaps; but lacking something in engagement. Yes, Beethoven closes with a fugue, as did the Bach; but to fudge a century of development from Baroque to Romantic seemed to deny the distinct charms of each era. The encore was Bartok’s Three Hungarian Folk Songs.