Often, the hardest job of a reviewer is to churn out the right words when the concert is mediocre, neither inspiring love nor hate. Yet words also fail when the music transcends mere appreciation, when its inner power grips you so much that finding the right words becomes a cruel task sui generis. The following review is precisely that – an attempt to depict what went on at the Purcell Room when pianist Siwan Rhys channelled the colossal energy of Galina Ustvolskaya’s final three piano sonatas.
It all started with the three gentle chords of the Piano Sonata no. 4, just before a timid melody in the middle register began to wander aimlessly. From soft and subdued to harsh and hammering, Rhys delivered a timbrally varied performance, not just of this sonata but of the entire concert, an absolute must for conjuring Ustvolskaya’s excruciatingly lonely soundworld. The concomitant Bach-like polyphony sprang forth, creating a multilayered conversation between different registers, timbres and voices, possibly those the composer heard in her head. The pianist flowed through the music effortlessly, whether it was the assertive theme in the second part, the solemn bell-like chords in the third part (marking Ustvolskaya’s lineage to other Russian composers), or the nerve-racking left-hand trills in the last part. Using sparing pedalling to add resonance where necessary, Rhys preserved physical energy for what was coming next.
Next was the obsessive Fifth Sonata, full of thumping chord clusters. The performance grew bolder, the polyphony became more pronounced, loud notes became even louder and lonely notes became even lonelier. From then on, any silence, whether short or long, felt extremely uncomfortable, even baring. Ustvolskaya’s fixation on a D flat that permeates the whole work never slipped out of Rhys’s controlling grip. All that was needed to ignite the Purcell Room was the incessant and percussive knuckle playing in the middle part. I was progressively feeling dizzy and nauseated – a sure sign that the music is truly affecting you.
Finally, the concert reached its apogee, as evidenced by my notes becoming messier and harder to read. Roaring and persistent chord clusters were fiercely lashed out by Rhys in the Piano Sonata no. 6, making these eight minutes of my life particularly tormenting, but in a good way. At times, the clusters sounded explosive, making me feel even more sick. Now, the sound was bigger than the instrument itself, making the space feel restrictively claustrophobic for such cosmic music. There was simply no place for the lyricism found in the previous sonatas. It took me almost a day to recover and gather myself into one piece after such a powerful and engrossing experience.
Dmitri Shostakovich once said, “I am convinced that the music of Galina Ivanovna Ustvolskaya will achieve world fame, and be valued by all who hold truth to be the essential element of music.” It is difficult to contradict Shostakovich, yet it is worth bearing in mind that true love and recognition go hand in hand with outstanding interpretations. Only such performances allow one to earn a coveted spot in the dusty canon of classical music. The vitality and combustible energy of Ustvolskaya can only be unleashed from a fiery spark, such as the one Siwan Rhys provided here.
