What amazed me about pianist Nobuyuki Tsujii’s concert at the Philharmonic Hall was not the virtuosic playing, the passion he brought out in the music, the meticulous attention to detail or even the width and depth of emotion wrung out of every last piece. In these days of music on demand, with Spotify, Apple Music, or BBC Radio 3 through BBC Sounds, it is easy to take for granted our ease of access to world class performances. And to think we can all access them via mobile devices which fit into the palm of our hand, even if the wireless headphones much in vogue these days make us look more like we’re in the US Secret Service on Presidential protection duty. Or perhaps that’s just my son.
No, I was entranced by understanding the process by which Tsujii learns the repertoire. I know all concert pianists play from memory, but most of them have one clear advantage over Tsujii – they can see the paper on which the music is printed. But Nobuyuki Tsujii, blind since birth, learns new works strictly by ear. Time Magazine explained further. “A team of pianists records scores, along with specific codes and instructions written by composers, which Tsujii listens to and practices until he learns and perfects each piece.” Not the whole piece, mind. It’s broken down into small sections, sometimes a few bars at a time, and one hand at a time.
The concert opened with Bach’s French Suite No 5 in G Major. Written around 1725, the suite is a collection of dances and opens with a bright Allemande, with crisp trills and subtleties of light and shade. This is followed by a Courante, with sharp rapid passagework, a gentle Sarabande, and a lively Gavotte. The final movement, a Gigue, had a strong rhythmic drive and brought the suite to a close in a dazzling finale.
Bach’s work was written for a harpsichord or clavichord, both domestic instruments with limited tonal variety and range. Chopin’s Three Impromptus and Fantasy-Impromptu were written for an instrument rather closer to a modern-day concert grand piano, though still not quite the instrument we would recognise today. The first had a breathless opening, at first virtuosic with rapid semiquavers, then delicate and tender, then rich and sonorous. But the dazzling Fantasy-Impromptu was a fitting end to the first half, with an audience enrapt so much that you could have heard a pin drop at the end.
(As an aside, and at the risk of sounding old-fashioned and curmudgeonly, why oh why do people struggle to hold on to their plastic cups during concerts? The Philharmonic’s famously clear acoustic rings around too often to the clink of the plastic cup rolling around on the floor. But I digress.)
The second half started with a change of pace, with Debussy’s Estampes taking us into an altogether different impressionistic soundworld of oriental pagodas, rippling water gardens, almost jazz-like syncopations from Granada, and an in moto perpetuo depiction of a violent rain storm.
Finally, Rachmaninov’s six Moments Musicaux closed the concert. A dark and broody Andantino was followed by a lyrical, sombre Andante Cantabile. The Presto movement gave us a true wall of sound, a masterpiece of endurance and accuracy which, despite concert convention of not applauding until the end of a set of works, saw the audience give a spontaneous ovation. A gently rippling Adagio Sostenuto and a powerful and majestic Maestoso brought the concert to a triumphal close.
Or it would have been the close had we had no fewer than three warmly received encores, closing with Liszt’s famous La Campanella, widely considered to be one of the most technically challenging piano pieces ever written.
And with that, this truly mind-boggling feat of aural skill and memory came to an end. An outstanding performance, with musicianship dripping from every work like the raindrops from Debussy’s Jardins sous la Pluie.
Reviewer: Mark Humphreys
Reviewed: 7th April 2024
North West End UK Rating: