Claude Debussy said of his 12 Études that they served as “a warning to pianists not to take up the musical profession unless they have remarkable hands”. His set of solos might also require a sense of humor. The brilliant pianist Conrad Tao, who bookended his recital with Debussy’s wild rides, noted that the first étude begins as a parody, a simple execution of practice scales. It didn’t stay simple long, though. Zankel Hall was quickly filled with Romantic flourishes, quasi-ragtime runs and what for all the world sounded like a free jazz outburst, as well as some truly impressionist passages (despite the composer’s best efforts). The short works would be positively post-modern if they weren’t presaging much of what they were referencing. Tao played the drama for all it was worth and did so at a considerable clip, giving coherence to what is a fairly insane collection.
The jest wasn’t just in the Debussy, though. The program, performed on a concert grand and a large electronic keyboard, also included Robert Schumann and The Wizard of Oz, and together seemed like a cheeky dare, a challenge to himself, or to the audience, maybe to us all or at the very least a lot of ground to cover in a little more than an hour.
After the first set of études, Tao moved to the Lumatone, a desktop console with 280 keys which can be divided into 53-note octaves. He began with settings suggesting a harpsichord in a 2,000-gallon tank of reverb but soon pulled back the sustain, keeping the sharp attack of the notes and accentuating the remarkable malleability of the instrument. There was a formality throughout his improvisation, a sort of fractured Baroque sensibility. It was exciting and a little bit schizo, the dramatic shifts mirroring Debussy’s energy.
Tao kept to the Lumatone for his own Playing in C, which he suggested was another parody without specifying the target but it might have been 1970s soft rock. With more sustain, the Lumatone now sounded like a tipsy Fender Rhodes playing slow arpeggios that could have supported a lovelorn singer. It wasn’t the highlight of the night, it wasn’t even the highlight of the Lumatone pieces, but unusual tonality and prima facie prettiness isn’t altogether meritless.
Tao returned to the 88s to play his Keyed In, an attempt (he explained) to compose from timbre rather than tone – another exercise, then, and a wonderfully expressive one. Resonance grew through repetition and shifted like tectonic plates, reminiscent of Frederic Rzewski’s piano work (Tao has performed and recorded a number of Rzewski’s works) in its persistence, but without the melodic motif.
The second half began with a heartfelt rendering of Tao’s transcription of an Art Tatum solo on Harold Arlen’s Over the Rainbow, a tune which, much like Disney songs, feels to me like a suppressed memory, no matter who’s playing it. Those sentiments were quickly alleviated by Schumann’s Auf einer Burg, given a fantastic and surprising reading at the Lumatone. He played not just the song but the setting, suggesting not the reverberation within the castle of the song’s setting as well as the cold floors and dusty corners. It was a stunning piece of interpretation, proving the recital-worthiness of his unwieldy contraption. It also made me forget we were due another helping of Debussy. It was almost an indulgence, but I happily accepted another offering of Tao’s exceptional musicianship.
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