For her previous solo recital in New York City, Alisa Weilerstein presented her ambitious, ongoing project “Fragments”, pairing Bach’s cello suites with newly commissioned responses, as well as dramatic lighting and stage design. A year later at 92NY, the boldness was entirely in her programming, setting two of Bach’s suites between Joan Tower’s For Alisa (part of the “Fragments” cycle) and Kodály’s Sonata for solo cello.
I don’t remember being so moved by the previous engagement. Wowed, yes, but the set and lights made it a bit like a planetarium show. This time out, there was just a piano bench and a music stand with her on stage (the barely used stand would disappear for the second half). The only decor was her bright red suit and bright red lipstick, the warm rose of the cello and the complimentary glow of the wood panels at the edges of the stage.
It felt as if the hall were made for Tower’s slow attacks just as much as the piece was made for Weilerstein, as if every hair on the bow could be heard scraping across the cello strings. The first half of the piece allowed for plenty of dramatic flair but little virtuosic flourish. As the tempo picked up, though, Weilerstein broke into a paraphrasing of Bach’s Third Cello Suite, which would follow it on the night’s program. It continued to gain steam and, again, called brilliantly back to Bach.
With barely a pause, Weilerstein leaned into the glory of Bach 3. Is one permitted to have a favorite of the six suites? Because the Third lifts my heart and empties my lungs every time. Weilerstein’s playing was animated and on point, joyous and precise. She took the Courante at a surprising pace, one I’d think ill-advised were it not for the exuberance of her delivery. She flew through – or with – the lines and leaned into the bass, not letting speed force her into strict meter. The following Sarabande was luxurious. It was just me, her and Bach. Presumably an audience was there as well. I did recall seeing them on the way in.
After the interval, the First Suite was icing: measured and playful, dramatic and beautiful, dancing when it should dance, marching when it should march, her timing remaining impeccable. The audience (ah, yes, I saw them now) might have lost its footing in the slide into the Baroque from Tower to Bach, but there was no missing the familiar climax. Weilerstein took a bow and took a short break before returning to launch into the fury of the Kodály.
What could follow Bach’s architecture to the glory of creation? Not much, but Kodály’s 1915 sonata was profound in Weilerstein’s hands. She had shown considerable musculature during the preceding, but this seemed more akin to rock-climbing before she found a footing and then a cliff from which to sing. It was at turns mournful and spiritual and, in the whole, draining. She seemed actually to dig into the fingerboard as she navigated the turns of turmoil, and took the longest pauses of the evening in between the movements, staring coldly at the audience as if daring us not to absorb such a manic and heartbreaking work.
