Mao Fujita: weaving delicate sound tapestries at Carnegie Hall

Mao Fujita made his debut in Carnegie Hall’s Stern Auditorium in January 2023, stepping in for the revered Maurizio Pollini. A testament to the impact of that performance, he is just one of the few pianists from today’s exceptionally talented younger generation to earn an invitation back for a coveted spot on the 2024-2025 ‘Keyboard Virtuosos’ series.

The recital’s surprise came right at the beginning: a selection from 24 Preludes, an early composition by Fujita’s compatriot, Akio Yashiro. These pieces showcased Yashiro’s keen ear for European Belle Époque musical developments – a remarkable achievement, given they were conceived a full decade before he travelled to Paris to study. Under Fujita’s touch, the character pieces evoked Scriabin, leaning more towards his lush, Chopin-inspired harmonies than his bold experimentation associated with Liszt. Melodic lines were occasionally tinged with Debussy-like oriental inflections, while some rhythmic accompaniments even hinted at Stravinsky.

Having demonstrated both his technical prowess and poetic sensitivity from the very first moments of the recital, Fujita continued with Scriabin’s Fantaisie in B minor. The pianist emphasised the Sisyphean character of the gloomy opening, marked by upward surges followed by abrupt plunges, while rendering the second theme with remarkable tenderness. He subtly avoided drawing attention to Liszt-like delayed harmonic resolutions or indulging in any virtuosic flamboyance. Instead, one had the palpable impression of a breeze among cherry blossoms.

Nowhere was the pianist's tendency to shift the decibel range lower – from unbelievably soft pianissimos to less penetrating sound explosions – more evident than in the two extracts from Liszt’s Années de pèlerinage, Deuxième année: Italie. In the Dante Sonata, the fff rolling thunders – each sound perfectly distinct – lacked the level of menace one might expect. Nevertheless, the improvisatory quality of the Andante was enriched with hints of mystery, and a sense of serenity floated above the tremendous struggle. Fujita’s ability to express regret and longing was as evident here as in Sonetto del Petrarca no. 104.

If the first part of the program could be considered a backward journey through time to uncover Liszt’s craftsmanship and influences, the second half was an exploration of the art of variations around 1800. Both minor works – Mozart’s Variations on Ah vous dirai-je, maman and Beethoven’s 32 Variations on an Original Theme – somehow reflect our perception of the two composers. Based on a popular tune, Mozart’s K265 is playful, insouciant yet encompassing moments of melancholy. Fujita highlighted the connections between the twelve variations, moments of chromaticism, and the gradual increase in their complexity. In comparison, Beethoven’s variations, beginning with a similarly unassertive tune, showcases a deeper exploration of tension, release, tonal complexity and emotional landscape. There is a sense of a permanent quest in the score, with the pianist – seemingly knowing the answer – taking pleasure in acting as a guide.

Published in the same year as the Variations, the Appassionata Sonata, with its Andante theme and variations serving as an isle of serenity in an ocean of passions, was the best-known work on the program, inviting easy comparisons. Fujita’s technical brilliance was, once again, merely a means to achieve greater emotional depth. The meticulousness, dedication, modesty and rich imagination associated with generations of Japanese craftsmen shone through, resulting in an interpretation that was unique yet entirely valid. 

Fujita concluded his recital with three encores, each treated in a similarly personal manner – enticing, yet perhaps not to everyone's taste: Scriabin’s Prelude in B flat major; Mendelssohn’s Song Without Words in B flat major; and Glazunov’s Étude in E minor.