One would hardly expect a ‘Three Bs’ piano recital (Bach, Beethoven and Brahms), as conceived by Igor Levit, to merely juxtapose works by these composers randomly. True to his well-earned reputation as a thoughtful and innovative interpreter, Levit carefully selected pieces that invited fresh perspectives. His Carnegie Hall programme evolved into a journey through interconnected musical worlds, revealing unexpected parallels and contrasts, where each work seemed to reflect or refract elements of the others in novel ways.
The recital opened with a rendition of Bach’s famed Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue in D minor that sounded anything but early 18th-century. With generous use of pedalling, Levit conjured a soundscape that alternated between a Romanticism stripped of grandeur and a modern sensibility, where a full chromatic scale unfolded. The Fantasia swept listeners into a maelstrom, with Levit as the steadfast skipper steering his boat through turbulent waters with masterful control. At times, he would pause, take a breath and then propel himself and his listener-passengers into another chromatic whirlwind, varying his strokes and spinning the boat at thrilling, almost perilous speeds. Equally exhilarating, the fugue was performed with great rigour, its voices perfectly intertwined and distinct, yet seamlessly woven into the overall tapestry. Mercurial yet grounded by formal constraints, it was a fascinating interpretation.
Levit’s take on the other work on the program not originally conceived for the piano – Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, as recast by Liszt – was even more tempestuous. In his ambitious attempt to capture the orchestral richness, Liszt created a score of devilish difficulty. Levit threw himself headfirst into the battle with its demands, with variable success. However, it was not the technical imperfections that mattered as much as the way the score’s overwhelming physical demands occasionally overshadowed artistic expressiveness. Even so, for those willing to step outside their long-established comfort zone, there were magical moments – such as those imbued with a proto-Schubertian quality, particularly in the solemn, counterpoint-enhanced Allegretto – that offered a fresh and distinctive perspective on the original.
Schubertian echoes permeated throughout Levit’s interpretation of Brahms’ four early Ballades. The narrative depth, melodic simplicity, songlike nature, contrasting moods and harmonic explorations – hallmarks of Schubert’s piano works – were vividly brought to life. Intriguingly, Levit repeatedly used his free right hand for conductor-like gestures that seemed deliberate, as if he were casting the sound aside or urging his instrument to respond with greater assertiveness.
The rendition of the four Ballades was the afternoon’s high point. Levit approached them with tremendous clarity of intent, the technical aspects entirely subsumed into an artistic vision that wove predominantly meditative sequences over a solid scaffold, positioning the music between past influences (Chopin and Schumann, alongside Schubert) and future innovations (his own Intermezzi and even Schoenberg).
Levit concluded the recital with a single encore, Bach’s Chorale Prelude on Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland, BWV659, performed in solidarity with the people of Los Angeles, who are facing such challenging times. Another arrangement – this time by Levit’s much-admired Ferruccio Busoni – stood apart in its stark simplicity and depth from the more ornamental Chromatic Fantasia presented earlier in the programme.
Igor Levit is not among those who view an interpreter as merely a conduit for the sometimes-uncertain intentions of composers conveyed through a score. In an era where uniformity often prevails, he stands apart as an artist who defines his craft as a personal resonance, boldly embracing the consequences of his interpretive choices.
