Making his debut on Carnegie Hall’s main stage, the 24-years-old Japanese pianist Mao Fujita put together a recital including less frequently played compositions by Mozart, Liszt, Robert Schumann and Brahms, allowing him to bring out his own perspective on all these works without the pressure of too obvious comparisons with other interpretators.
Tentatively approaching his instrument, Fujita immersed himself without much ado into the soundscape of Mozart’s late but youthful sounding Nine Variations in D major, K573. The right-hand semiquavers in the first variation seemed like a series of little pearls, each with its own individuality, assembled in a necklace of amazing radiance, both dazzling and mellow. As with every time Fujita plays Mozart, repeats had a perceivable different perfume from the original statement. The sixth variation, in D minor, the only one hinting that the composer was traversing one of the darkest periods in his life, sounded as a foretelling of Pamina’s aria “Ach ich fühl's”.
Written while Mozart was visiting Mannheim in 1777, the Piano Sonata in D major, K 311, reflects the virtuosic demands common to sonatas composed by members of the Mannheim School. The many rapid changes of dynamics and texture in the final Rondo were handled with panache. Every note’s attack was well planned, while the overall flow had an intrinsic naturalness, as if the direction in which the musical arabesques were flowing was surprising and unexpected. At the same time, the interpretation lacked a certain sense of gravitas, while, in the first movement’s development, the pianist drew insufficient attention to the wondrous steps helping to propel the sonata forward.
Liszt’s imbricated textures and startling modulations were perfectly clear during Fujita’s rendition of the Ballade no. 2 in B minor. From the initial rumbling and menacing waves in the left hand to the peaceful haven of the final bars, the Fujita-led excursion into a world of contrasting emotions, continuously melting into each other, took a road whose rough surfaces have been smoothed out. Variants of the two initially stated themes – a broad, sad melody and a repeated sequence of four contemplative chords – had each its own colour; at least occasionally, Debussy’s music was not too far away.
The second part of the recital was devoted to the music of the two Schumanns and their younger protégé and friend, Johannes Brahms. The latter’s Theme and Variations Op.18b, a transcription of the slow movement of his First String Sextet, was meant as a gift for Clara Schumann’s birthday. Listening to Fujita’s rendition, it was easy to distinguish the sound of the viola introducing the main theme or the ebb and flow of the cellos in the third variation.
After quite superficially skimming over the innovative ambiguities in Clara’s Three Romances Op.21, Fujita launched himself with renewed energy into Robert’s Piano Sonata in G minor. Playing with unbridled verve, the pianist continued to display his innate gift for sensitive phrasing. In the Rondo, the contrasts between the dream-like and vehement segments – representing Eusebius and Florestan, the two Schumann Doppelgänger – were sharp but, like everything else in this recital, never exaggerated.
The evening ended with three encores: the Allegro from Mozart’s Piano Sonata in C major, K 545, (the pianist tempering the music’s extrovert character), Scriabin’s Etude Op. 8, No. 12 (sounding elegantly Chopinian) and Moszkowski’s Etude in A flat major (a last occasion to marvel at Fujita’s delicately fleeting fingering).
