Maurizio Pollini came to wide attention in the music of Frederic Chopin nearly 60 years ago, and late in life he is revisiting scores of his defining success.
His recital Sunday afternoon at Orchestra Hall originally scheduled Claude Debussy’s Preludes, Book 2, as well as selections by Chopin, but the Debussy vanished in favor of an all-Chopin program, which attracted a large audience generous with approval.
That might have been predicted, as Pollini, now 75, has become a keyboard legend whose past attracts listeners regardless of the present. But, at base, his Chopin today is not that different from his Chopin of yesteryear, which may cause admiration and a certain excitement but not likely rapture.
This Chopin is the vision of a modernist intent on cleaning up sentiment of earlier generations. Not that there was much left by 1960. But Pollini scrubbed away the last traces of perfume, inspecting the skeletons under a bright light in the spirit of disinterested inquiry. Some termed the result aristocratic. Pianist Sviatoslav Richter heard only “well-developed biceps” and “Chopin cast in metal.” Pollini’s metal had a gleam that attracted for its strength, unblemished polish and illusion of effortlessness.
On Sunday the strength was largely, remarkably intact. The polish showed some smudges, mostly negligible. And only over the course of the entire program did the effort of sustaining both the hard surface and cleanly cut detail come to sound dogged. This determination was something audibly different from sweep. It could be heard as exertion in the concluding Third Sonata (played with first movement repeat) whereas before intermission, in the Third and Fourth Ballades and First Scherzo, there appeared just fine cracks in the illusion, momentary lapses from the wholly even and unbendingly controlled.
The sequence of pieces gave relief from strain, with each half of the recital opening with two Nocturnes and the Opus 57 Berceuse coming between the Fourth Ballade and Scherzo. None of Pollini’s pacific offerings had, however, light, veiled or relaxed tone. That long has been true of him. It is a chief reason for many finding his interpretations aloof or cold. The Berceuse came off best, gentle in relation to surrounding thunder. The Nocturne, Op. 55, No. 1 also dimmed somewhat the overly bright atmosphere he created there two years ago. But the great second Nocturne of Opus 27 was as matter-of-fact as it was in 2014 and 2015, unmoved by fragility and a withdrawn quality.
The encores were the Third Scherzo and First Ballade, both rousing a susceptible audience.
Alan Artner is a freelance critic.
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