PIANO-PLAYING.
[Sidenote: =Reisenauer.=
_February 13, 1896._]
The reception of Mr. Alfred Reisenauer by the large audience in the
Gentleman's Hall yesterday afternoon was marked by considerable reserve.
Not once during the recital was there any display of enthusiasm. Yet it
cannot be said that the performance fell short of Mr. Reisenauer's great
reputation. In his rendering of Schumann's "Carnaval" not a point was
missed, and the "Paganini" intermezzo, occurring in the middle of the
slow waltz, gave a foretaste of the quite extraordinary technical powers
which were more fully displayed later on. The "Davidsbündler" finale was
played with less noise and more subtlety than is usually bestowed upon
this curious march, with the Grossvaterstanz creeping in unobserved,
much as the "Marseillaise" creeps into the "Faschingschwank in Wien" by
the same composer. In certain numbers the pianist showed a tendency to
prefer pieces of a secondary and almost trivial character such as the
"Rondo à Capriccio" to which Beethoven has given the whimsical sub-title
"Rage over the lost penny stormed out in a Caprice." Not that this work
is altogether frivolous. As in almost all Beethoven's music, the
working-out sections contain much that is beautiful and interesting; but
the opening theme is quite as bald as the _motif_ of Haydn's "Surprise"
symphony. In the first part of the programme--that is, down to the end
of the Beethoven selections--there were comparatively few indications of
the pianist's true calibre. But in Liszt's transcription of the
"Forelle" Mr. Reisenauer began to reveal some of those marvels of which
he and perhaps one other living pianist have the monopoly. That
interminable trill, with the song _motif_ freely and expressively played
by the same hand first below the trill and then above it, was a thing to
be remembered. There was not the least trace of those licences which
even first-rate players commonly allow themselves in order to facilitate
such manoeuvres. To the ear the effect was absolutely that of three
independent hands. The "Erlkönig" transcription, on the other hand, was
much less impressive. It was performed with an exaggerated _tempo
rubato_, and was altogether too noisy. Of the Chopin Nocturne in D flat
as rendered yesterday afternoon it is difficult to speak in measured
terms. Mr. Reisenauer seems to be pretty generally put down by amateurs
as wanting in "soul." But if so, it must surely be admitted that he gets
on extraordinarily well without one. Anyhow, soul or no soul, his
rendering of the Nocturne was a revelation. In the midst of an almost
nebulous pianissimo the parts were still differentiated with perfect
mastery, and altogether a science of tone-gradations was displayed that
is probably unique. Not a lurking beauty in the composition escapes his
research or exceeds his powers of interpretation. For the concluding
number Liszt's "Hungarian Fantasia" was chosen, and this piece again
fell totally flat on the greater part of the audience, possibly owing to
want of familiarity with the Hungarian style. For this Fantasia is based
on Hungarian popular songs, and decorated with passages that are a sort
of glorified imitation of an Hungarian improvisatore's performance on
the "cembalo." The song-themes are some of the most beautiful and
interesting to be found in all Liszt's Rhapsodies and Fantasias,
especially the first, which, in Korbay's edition, is set to the words
"They have laid down him dead upon the black-draped bier," and the
wonderful "Crane" song, which colours all the latter part of the
Fantasia. The difficulties of the piece are some of the most
heart-breaking to be found anywhere in the literature of the instrument.
[Sidenote: =Moszkowski.=
_November 18, 1898._]
To those who already knew Mr. Moszkowski as a composer it must have been
interesting yesterday to make his acquaintance as a pianist. His playing
is the exact counterpart of his composing. It is brilliant, ingenious,
elegant. It shows a knowledge of pianoforte technique so consummate that
the listener is apt to be completely dazzled and to forget that our old
friend the pianoforte is capable of other kinds of eloquence besides the
eloquence of technical display. At the same time, it is not at all our
intention to speak slightingly of Mr. Moszkowski's technical display.
Though not the highest thing in music, technique is a very important
thing, and, when carried to such a pitch of excellence, has a kind of
self-sufficient beauty that may be compared to the lustre of pearls and
diamonds. Perhaps it does not mean anything; but it is beautiful,
cheering, enlivening. It raises the spirits somewhat like champagne, but
better than champagne, and it has all the arrogance and costly unreason
that are so fascinating in fine jewellery, in common with which it seems
to convey a kind of magnificent protest against matter-of-fact and
gloom. The wonderful charm of Mr. Moszkowski's composing and playing
depends, further, on the fact that he attempts nothing but what he can
do to perfection. He knows well enough that there was a Beethoven and a
Brahms, for whom music was the expression of profound poetic ideas. But
such ideas are not his affair. He leaves them frankly alone, in the
well-founded confidence that almost anything in the way of an idea will
serve his most entertaining purposes. The Concerto played yesterday is a
perfectly characteristic work. Completely devoid of originality as to
material, it is nevertheless put together with an unfailing sense of
style, and everything is so adorned and so laid out for the solo
instrument that there is not a dull moment from beginning to end. If
only as a compendium of all the most telling musical effects that are
absolutely peculiar to the pianoforte, the Concerto is likely to be
remembered. The two Mazurkas that were played in the second part of the
concert were interesting examples of that form which apparently no
composers but those of Slavonic descent can handle successfully. It may
be hoped that anyone who listened to them attentively will have grasped
the rudimentary point that there is nothing in common between that
clumsy dance of Western Europe called the Polka Mazurka and the
elaborate figure dance the music of which has been so wonderfully
idealised in the Mazurkas of Chopin, Tchaïkovsky, Wiéniawski,
Moszkowski, and Scharwenka.
[Sidenote: =Busoni.=
_December 23, 1898._]
Of the four principal pianoforte styles--the Bach, Beethoven, Chopin,
and Liszt styles--Mr. Busoni has shown himself a past-master. It has
been said that these four are the only genuine pianoforte styles. But if
there is a fifth having typical originality distinct from all others, it
is the Brahms style, and in that style Mr. Busoni was heard for the
first time yesterday evening. His interpretation of Brahms's first
Concerto was no less masterly than his Bach, Beethoven, Chopin and Liszt
renderings. The work is one of exceptional importance. Written when the
composer was only twenty-five years of age, and almost entirely unknown,
and proving, when first produced at Leipsic, with the composer himself
as soloist, a dead failure, it nevertheless was, like Carlyle's "French
Revolution," the first work showing the author to be a genuine and
original man of genius. It shows him deliberately rejecting all that was
traditionally connected with the idea of a work in "concert style,"
affording to the soloist none of the conventional opportunities for
display, demanding from him the mastery of an enormously difficult
technique, full of double-note passages, full of heavy and exhausting
reduplications; demanding also exceptional tact, intelligence, and
presence of mind such as are only to be found in a few players of the
very first rank. The music of the first movement is of profoundly
sinister and tragic import, portraying the rage, grief, and unrest in
some struggle of the heroic soul. It has nothing entertaining and
nothing to propitiate superficial taste. No wonder it was a failure at
Leipsic in 1859, when that centre of enlightenment was given up to the
Mendelssohn cult! After the composer himself, the first pianist to take
up the Concerto was Hans von Bülow, who with a performance at a
Philharmonic Concert in Berlin won early recognition of its surpassing
merit. Other performers who contributed towards the success of the work
with the world in general were Madame Schumann and Mr. D'Albert. At the
present time it may be doubted whether there is any better exponent of
it than Mr. Busoni. What a German writer has called the
"heaven-storming" first motive was delivered in a manner that showed
perfect grasp of its poetic import, and the tragic eloquence of the
ensuing development was never marred either by any sort of technical
fault or by inappropriate expression. The "Benedictus" forming the slow
movement is fraught with that profound religious feeling the musical
expression of which has been accomplished only by Bach, Beethoven, and
Brahms. It was no less perfectly rendered than the opening movement, and
the concluding Rondo was played with appropriate breadth, energy, and
mastery of heavy and intricate passages. Afterwards another work for the
same instrumental combination was played, namely, Liszt's "Spanish
Rhapsody," which Mr. Busoni has treated very much as Liszt himself
treated the "Wanderer Fantasie" of Schubert, making an arrangement on
the concerto principle, with a part for pianoforte and orchestral
accompaniments. The Rhapsody is put together on the same principle as
the Hungarian Rhapsodies, having majestic motives in the first part, and
afterwards dance themes with variations and ornamentations in the
transcendental manner peculiar to Liszt. Mr. Busoni's orchestration is
all very clever and telling, and in playing the solo part, which is
brilliant beyond all description, he, as it were, came down from the
pedestal of seriousness and showed that he also can, on occasion, be
simply entertaining. As an extra piece without orchestra, Mr. Busoni
played Liszt's "Campanella"--probably the most catchy and difficult
concert study in existence. The almost incredible brilliancy with which
it was performed seemed to leave the audience half dazed and wholly
captivated.
[Sidenote: =Busoni.=
_November 25, 1904._]
The concert was remarkable for one of Mr. Busoni's meteoric appearances,
the special function of which, in the order of nature, seems to be to
throw critics into a state of utter confusion and bewilderment. He has
been more frantically praised and more severely blamed than any other
pianist of the present day, and he never fails to justify both praise
and blame. He is the modern Sphinx among executive musicians, just as
Strauss is among composers. Nothing is certain but his matchless
technical power and the uncanny force of his own individuality that,
without misconception or inadequate conception, still does violence to
every composer, by a sort of inner necessity. Every accusation except
that of dulness or feebleness has been brought against Mr. Busoni, and
with justice. Yet he can well afford to smile at his critics; for the
fury of one is as eloquent a testimony as the rapture of another to his
prodigious faculty of stimulation. Most of the fault-finding is a covert
expression of rage at the writer's hopeless inability to estimate so
prodigious a talent or to guess what it will "do next." Henselt's
Concerto, hackneyed in Germany but almost unknown in England, was his
accompanied piece yesterday. It is the most considerable work of that
curious composer, who made a great reputation as a pianist though he
scarcely ever played in public, and some reputation as a composer though
he never did anything more original than the pianoforte Etude "Si oiseau
j'étais," and for the most part rested satisfied with giving enfeebled
reproductions of Chopin's ideas thinly disguised by arpeggio
accompaniments in extended harmonies and ornamental passages in double
notes. In a few points, such as the use of _martellato_ octaves and
chord passages, he had a more modern technique than Chopin's; but there
is no justification for his compositions except good laying out for the
instrument. From beginning to end one finds him cultivating the same
kind of mild and voluminous euphony. Mr. Busoni played the three
movements in his customary style, solving all the technical problems
that they present rather more intelligently than anyone else. His
unaccompanied solos were, first, two astonishingly ingenious Preludes
constructed on themes of chorales by Bach, which are treated as _canti
fermi_, and accompanied by passages in florid counterpoint, having the
character of an _obbligato_. The theme of the first was "Sleepers,
wake," and of the second the chorale known in this country as "Luther's
Hymn." The third piece was Liszt's seldom-heard transcription of
Beethoven's "Adelaide."
[Sidenote: =Borwick.=
_February 10, 1899._]
Among all kinds of solo playing it is pianoforte playing, the high
standard of which is specially characteristic of our age. The violin was
perfected in the seventeenth century, and, though the technique of the
violin has been further developed in comparatively recent times by
Paganini and others, there has not been during the nineteenth century
any other advance in a particular kind of musical performance at all
comparable with the advance in pianoforte playing, which, apart from
improvements in the construction of the instrument, is generally
attributed to the genius of Liszt. It is sometimes forgotten that Liszt
did not stand quite alone. He was the most brilliant pupil of a certain
school, namely the Czerny school. But Czerny, though probably the
greatest of all pianoforte pedagogues, does not stand quite alone as
the father of modern playing. There was another great pedagogue with
an independent system, namely Friederick Wieck, whose most brilliant
pupil was his daughter Madame Schumann. The modern art of pianoforte
playing may be traced back to one or other of those two remarkable
teachers, Czerny and Wieck. The most famous representative of the
Czerny-Liszt school at the present day is Mr. Paderewski, and the
most famous representative of the other--the Wieck-Schumann school
is Mr. Borwick. For a long time it was supposed that no member of the
English-speaking races was capable of taking rank among first-rate
solo-players, and it is therefore cheering to find Mr. Borwick--a
true-born Britisher--holding the position that he now holds. For his
first piece Mr. Borwick chose, appropriately enough, the Schumann
Concerto for pianoforte, which Rubinstein considered a no less happy
inspiration than Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto. It is the most important
of all Schumann's works for pianoforte, and Mr. Borwick, as a pupil of
the Schumann school is, of course, completely in his element when
playing it. Yesterday he seemed thoroughly well-disposed, and he played
the whole work with admirable purity of style and insight into its
delicate ingenuities and romantic beauties. On his second appearance Mr.
Borwick played a Ballade by Grieg in the form of fifteen variations on a
Norwegian air. The air is plaintive and pretty, and in the harmonization
is strongly stamped with the composer's individuality. Some of the
variations, too, contain examples of graceful movement, but there is not
much more to be said for them. They are not for a moment to be compared
with the typical modern works in variation form, such as Mendelssohn's
"Variations Sérieuses," Schumann's "Etudes Symphoniques," or the
variations on a chorale of Haydn by Brahms. The one really fine work of
considerable scope for pianoforte by Grieg is the Concerto. All that was
possible, however, to be made of the Ballade was made of it by Mr.
Borwick.
[Sidenote: =Siloti.=
_March 9, 1900._]
Of Svendsen, the contemporary Scandinavian whose name stood first on
yesterday's programme, we know very little. Until yesterday we had heard
nothing of his but the familiar Romance for violin. The first hearing of
his Moorish "Legend" for orchestra left an impression of sweetness and
picturesque charm, but also of a talent scarcely equal to the conception
and laying out of extended orchestral works. As painters sometimes say,
the interest of the picture was literary rather than artistic. It was
nice to read the pretty story in the programme to the accompaniment of
the pretty music going on in the orchestra. But whether the music by its
own eloquence could have roused the desire to know what was the
imaginative or narrative basis of the design in tones is doubtful.
Except for a short section at the end, containing some slight
suggestions of development, the composition is almost entirely arabesque
work, which is perhaps an appropriate arrangement, the subject being
Moorish. The amazing double power that Liszt possessed of translating
from orchestra to pianoforte and from pianoforte to orchestra was
certainly never matched in any other mortal. Both processes he performed
with consummate ability. Mr. Siloti rendered the solo part with the
restraint and the mature mastery of his resources that are
characteristic of him. He tears no passion to tatters; he does not play
"in Ercles' vein"; the tricks of the "Oktavenbändiger" delight him not;
nor does he tickle and paw the notes in the velvety-ineffable style. Mr.
Siloti is so considerate as not to obliterate the composer in any way.
There is a certain largeness and gentleness in his manner. His technical
power is unlimited, but he uses no more of it than is necessary to bring
out the composition, and with regard to tone-gradations, pedalling, and
the entire management of the pianoforte--as medium of musical
expression, not of acrobatic display--one may say that "what there is to
know, he knows it." Among distinguished pianists of the day there is
perhaps none other whose style is so good a model for learners. Many
other pianists have great powers, but nearly every other has some
frightful fault, whereas Mr. Siloti has no serious fault. He is simple,
equable, gentlemanly, masterly. He seeks not to dazzle, to bewilder, to
impose, to appal, to petrify--but simply to convince. He _brings out the
music_ written by the composer, and that is what a pianist should do.
The group of Russian pieces played by Mr. Siloti on his second
appearance we thought, on the whole, very charming, especially the
Caprice by Arensky. The concluding piece by Rubinstein was not quite so
interesting, but it gave the performer his opportunity of treating the
audience to that "rampage" which is considered the only proper
conclusion to a group of pianoforte solos; and it had, at any rate, the
advantage of not being hackneyed.
[Sidenote: =Rosenthal.=
_November 23, 1900._]
An exceedingly remarkable performance of Schumann's Pianoforte Concerto
was given by Mr. Rosenthal and the orchestra. In no other performance
that we remember was the balance between orchestra and solo part so well
preserved. Mr. Rosenthal played with his usual perfection of technical
mastery; his phrasing was beautifully intelligent, and the distinction
of his style was to be noted no less in the homely sweetness and
graceful fancy of the Intermezzo than in the rich and complex Allegro.
Again, in the finale, his marvellous accuracy and fine phrasing enabled
the hearers to enjoy every _nuance_ of the composition, notwithstanding
a tendency to hurry that was perceptible at certain points. The
tremendous "Don Juan" fantasia, for pianoforte alone, gave Mr. Rosenthal
an opportunity of exhibiting his technical powers in one of the most
audacious _bravura_ compositions that exist. In many persons the fine
frenzy that rages through the middle and latter parts of this piece
awakens no sympathy. It has, nevertheless, a legitimate place in the
Palace of Art, being nothing more than the logical development to the
highest possible point of the _bravura_ style that originated with
Liszt. The latter of the two variations on "_Là ci darem_"--that section
which precedes the entry of the champagne song--is the most bewildering
and repugnant part of the piece to the general public. For that reason,
and also on account of its heart-breaking difficulties, the variation in
question is often omitted. But Mr. Rosenthal omitted nothing yesterday.
He hurled forth the Dionysiac declaration of war against all the chilly
conventions and proprieties, the priggeries and pruderies of Mrs.
Grundy, that forms the real content of the piece, with that technical
power in which he is surpassed by no living performer. After many
recalls he was constrained to play once more; and, by way of the
sharpest possible contrast, he gave Chopin's Berceuse, bringing out all
the delicate moonshine filigree of the right-hand part with infinite
subtlety.
[Sidenote: =Paderewski.=
_October 29, 1902._]
The recital given yesterday evening at the Free Trade Hall seems to have
been the last of Mr. Paderewski's art that we are likely to hear for
some time. He is not expected to visit Manchester again during the next
few years, and the occasion therefore seems fitting for a more general
discussion of his playing than is usual in a simple notice of a recital.
No doubt Mr. Paderewski is, on the whole, the most distinguished
executive musician now before the public. The Paderewski "craze" in
England and America is not a mere matter of fashion and folly, but is
shared by experts and brethren of the craft, many of whom are
irresistibly fascinated by Mr. Paderewski's playing, even while they
disapprove of much that he does. Why will he insist on using a
pianoforte with so hard a tone? Why is the skelp of his hand on the
keys so frequently audible from the most distant point of the hall, as a
sound quite separate from the musical notes? Why does he never play
Bach? Why does he always play Liszt's second Rhapsodie? Such are a few
among the searchings of heart to which Mr. Paderewski's public
performances give rise, and to none of them--probably--is there a
complete and satisfactory answer. The shallow-toned instrument admits of
greater clearness in the bass, and has a more scintillating kind of
brilliancy in the upper octaves, and Mr. Paderewski, who likes all
passage-work a little staccato, naturally favours it. The rage of his
"con gran bravura" lends greater charm to his _grazioso_ style, by the
principle of contrast--a point on which he often lays emphasis by rapid
alternations of the two styles. Iteration of show pieces, such as the
second Rhapsodie, is excusable in a pianist who is incessantly touring
the two worlds and playing to all sorts and conditions of men by land
and by sea. As to the Bach question we know nothing. He may even have
played Bach in other parts of the world. Mr. Paderewski's distinguishing
quality is a certain extraordinary energy--not merely a one-sided
physical, or even a two-sided physical and intellectual, energy; it is
of the fingers and wrists, of the mind, the imagination, the heart, and
the soul, and it makes Mr. Paderewski the most interesting of players,
even though to the extreme kind of specialist, absorbed in problems of
tone-production, he is not the most absolute master of his instrument at
the present day. His art has a certain princely quality. It is
indescribably _galant_ and _chevaleresque_. He knows all the secrets of
all the most subtle dancing rhythms. He is a reincarnation of Chopin,
with almost the added virility of a Rubinstein. No wonder such a man
fascinates, bewilders, and enchants the public! Greatly surpassed by
Busoni in the interpretation of Beethoven, by Pachmann in the touch that
persistently draws forth roundness, sweetness, and fulness of tone, and
by Godowsky in the mastery of intricate line and the power of sucking
out the very last drop of melody from every part of a composition,
Paderewski still remains the most brilliant, fascinating, and
successfully audacious of present-day musical performers, and in
preferring him the general public is probably right, though the keen
student of the pianoforte in particular may learn more from Godowsky,
and the earnest lover of the musical classics in general, more from
Busoni.
The programme of yesterday's recital was on the usual lines, except in
regard to the Paganini Variations by Brahms, of which a selection from
the two volumes were played with astounding dash and incisiveness. The
unfamiliar Fantasia by Schumann was made perhaps a little more
interesting than any other player could have made it. Beethoven's C
sharp minor Sonata was given in a manner typical of Mr. Paderewski's
Beethoven renderings, except that there happens to be nothing in the
first and second movements that is alien to his Slavonic temperament.
The finale, belonging to that element in Beethoven which appeals to a
more broadly based human nature, sounded flimsy. The Chopin and Liszt
pieces were all splendidly done. The long-continued demonstrations of
enthusiasm in the latter part of the recital led to three additional
pieces, namely, a Nocturne of the performer's own composition, the
inevitable Rhapsodie aforementioned, and Chopin's A flat Waltz, with a
mixture of double and triple time.
[Sidenote: =Godowsky.=
_March 17, 1903._]
It is a little difficult to do justice to the qualities of Mr.
Godowsky's pianoforte playing without at the same time saying too much
and making claims that are not justified by the facts. It must be
remembered that there is no Liszt or Rubinstein at the present day.
Those men were giants--mighty personalities who dominated the musical
world, being essentially great as well as good players. The present
generation has no such personality among solo performers. Talents that
come to the top show a specialising tendency, and it is no longer
possible to say that so-and-so is the greatest pianist of the age. One
can only say that Mr. Busoni is the greatest musician who now plays
pianoforte solos in public, and Mr. Paderewski is the most brilliant
performer on the pianoforte, and Mr. Godowsky the most absolute expert
in tone production on the same instrument. It is not to be denied that,
taking Mr. Godowsky's art as a whole, and thus including musical
conception, one finds it imposing. He never comes within a measurable
distance of bad style: he always gives an essentially good rendering of
anything that he undertakes to perform. But what one principally admires
is not his mind, imagination, or temperament, but simply his hands--his
warm, subtle, and preternaturally deft wrists and fingers. Having
apparently been warned that the peculiar acoustic of the hall has a
tendency to make any pianoforte sound as if the pedal were down nearly
all the time, he yesterday avoided the bewilderingly elaborate style of
which he has made a speciality. But, in addition to the flawless
perfection of all the passage work, there was abundant opportunity in
the series of pieces by Beethoven, Chopin, and Liszt to admire that
marvellous control of tone which often enables him to reveal fresh
melody in quite familiar compositions. The pieces that were least
affected by the cross reverberations of the hall were the Etude in
extended chords and the C sharp minor Scherzo by Chopin. On the other
hand, no one who has not heard Mr. Godowsky under more favourable
circumstances can imagine, from the experience of yesterday evening, the
magical effect of his performance in the G sharp minor Etude in thirds
for the right hand. In playing the exquisite F minor Concert Etude by
Liszt he deliberately kept the tone down to a minimum, to avoid the buzz
and confusion as far as possible. Liszt's transcription of the
"Tannhäuser" Overture was used for the display piece that audiences
expect at the end of a recital. It is characteristic of Mr. Godowsky
that his favourite amusement is making rearrangements of Chopin's
Etudes--the "Godowsky Bedevilments," Mr. Huneker calls them. These
include the celebrated combination of the two G flat Etudes, where the
left hand has to play the one in the first book while the right plays
the legato and staccato improvisation from the second volume, and
another in which three Etudes in A minor are brought together
contrapuntally. Though they are all of course anathema to the purist,
the ingenuity displayed in some of these things is so prodigious that no
one interested in pianoforte playing can well be indifferent to them.
[Sidenote: =Lamond.=
_December 15, 1903._]
Mr. Frederic Lamond's strongest points as a pianist are not those which
the wider public most readily appreciates. He is not one of the
pianistic experts in the narrower sense, like Messrs. Pachmann and
Godowsky, for whom neat fingering and smooth tone-production are much
more important than musical interpretation. Mr. Lamond is before all
things a virile player. His style is broad and a little severe. He lacks
the peculiar grace and charm of Mr. Paderewski in the treatment of
dancing rhythm no less obviously than that faculty, akin to a Japanese
juggler's, which enables Mr. Pachmann to bring from the pianoforte a
tone more smooth and sweet than was ever before imagined possible. Mr.
Lamond's qualities are entirely different. Plastic force, technical and
imaginative grasp of the greater composers' greater ideas, a deep and
powerful but rather rough tone--these are the characteristics of his
playing, and they are characteristics better appreciated in Germany than
in this country, where music-lovers think too much of the merely smooth
and the merely deft and the "sweetly pretty." It is rather surprising
that neither of his recent performances in Manchester should have
included any example of Beethoven, of whose greater Sonatas Mr. Lamond
is now probably the best living interpreter, with the possible exception
of Mr. Busoni. He was of course quite right to play plenty of Liszt, but
it may be regretted that he gave so much of the later Liszt--who,
conscious of himself as the world-famous magician of the piano, often
improvised on rather poor themes, as if to show that any theme, however
weak, could be made interesting by his transcendental style of
ornamentation--rather than the earlier Liszt who wrote things of such
power and eloquence as the "Mazeppa" Etude. Mr. Lamond's mind seems
recently to have been running on Liszt's Tarantelle Fantasias. He played
the "Venezia e Napoli" Tarantelle at the Hallé Concert and the "Muette
de Portici" Tarantelle yesterday--both pieces which are chiefly of
interest as proving that Liszt could improvise effectively upon any
conceivable sort of thematic material. It would have been much more
interesting to hear the "Mazeppa," which Mr. Lamond played in the
composer's presence and to his evident satisfaction when last he was in
London, a few months before his death in 1886, or some piece in that
pregnant early manner. His best performance yesterday was in Chopin's A
flat Polonaise--a composition of such excellence that, hackneyed as it
is, it cannot in a good rendering fail to give pleasure. Mr. Lamond did
full justice to the majestic beauty of the themes, which are all
absolutely good, and brought out the famous _basso ostinato_ section in
some respects better than we have heard it done since Rubinstein's
death. He did not adopt any of the revised versions of the left-hand
octave passages favoured by certain distinguished modern performers. On
the other hand, he did adopt Rubinstein's version of the ending, with
the unexpected and telling chord of C major just before the final
phrase. In Rubinstein's F minor Barcarolle--so interesting in rhythm, so
original in colouring--Mr. Lamond was not entirely successful, his
temperament apparently not furnishing a key to the vein of lyrism in
which the piece is conceived. Yet in Liszt's "Liebestraum" he was
perfect, though one might have expected that his Beethovenish tastes
would have rebelled against the hothouse atmosphere of the composition.
The opening performance of Schumann's "Carnaval" was powerful and
distinguished, but too broad in style to be in keeping with the
sub-title "Scènes mignonnes." On neither of these recent occasions has
Mr. Lamond played anything of his own, though he has composed plenty of
effective stuff for his instrument. He is beyond all question by far the
most distinguished pianist of British extraction that has yet arisen.