At Goyang Aramnuri, pianist Yunchan Lim offered a thought-provoking reinterpretation of Bach’s Goldberg Variations – one that seemed to ask, “What if Bach himself had access to a modern grand piano?” The programme opened with Hanurij Lee’s succinct contemporary piece Round and velvety-smooth blend... which, in about six minutes, set a crystalline stage for what was to come. Its transparent layering of harmonic shards, combined with delicate pedalling effects, immediately signalled that Lim’s approach to Bach would be informed by a similar quest for textural depth.
Performed without an intermission, Lim’s Goldbergs stretched to nearly 80 minutes, traversing an expansive expressive spectrum. A defining characteristic of his interpretation was his beautifully judged use of the pedal. Neither overbearing nor overly minimalist, his pedalling imbued each variation with an organic continuity, as if the final overtones of one variation gracefully merged into the meditative current of the next. Even the scintillating Variation 5, typically a showcase of virtuosic keyboard brilliance, emerged here with a beguiling transparency. Rather than a dazzling display for its own sake, one heard flashes of delicate lyricism woven into the rapid passagework, sustaining tension between excitement and introspection.
As the performance progressed, one could occasionally discern subtle alterations to the octave placements. Some purists might regard these departures from the Urtext as verging on heretical, yet the effect was unexpectedly alluring: Lim’s strategic explorations of the piano’s wide register functioned almost like a “re-orchestration” of Bach’s architecture. The pedal, in turn, served as more than a mere tool for sustaining tones; it became a catalyst for layering harmonies, allowing each resonant afterglow to build upon the next.
Lim’s most riveting moment arrived in Variation 25, which some commentators have nicknamed the “Black Pearl”. Here, he cultivated a stillness so profound that it felt almost funereal. Such sombre gravity, with each note descending into a private abyss, was deeply moving and underscored the inherent sorrow within Bach’s writing. This introspection then gave way to the majestic release of Variation 29, where hammer action and careful pedalling combined to yield an opulent, near-symphonic vista of sound. Those contrasting extremes – dark introspection and grand exultation – fused into a compelling narrative whole.
Inevitably, not every gesture was pristine. On occasion, Lim’s penchant for theatrical brilliance seemed slightly overemphasised, and a few transitions felt momentarily jarring. Yet these imperfections pale in comparison to the overarching audacity of his vision. One sensed a young artist intent on actively engaging with Bach’s timeless masterpiece, rather than passively venerating a hallowed monument.
Part of Lim’s appeal lies in his reluctance to prettify every note. When listened to in isolation, certain tones may appear rugged or even brusque, but they coalesce into a luminous tapestry when one takes in the full architecture. Like shards of differently tinted glass assembled into a sacred stained-glass window, each fragment contributes to a radiant whole. Indeed, it is this subtle interplay of colours – rather than uniform perfection – that distinguishes Lim’s performance, imbuing it with a reverent yet vital energy.
Reflecting on Lim’s transformation, I recall a private concert he gave at Myeongdong Cathedral in November 2020, well before his triumph at the 2022 Van Cliburn Competition. At that time, his performance already hinted at a raw and electric energy that, today, has evolved into something even bolder – power harnessed in service of interpretative daring. Whether he will maintain the same octave shifts and unconventional pedalling in a future traversal of the Goldbergs, perhaps a decade from now, remains uncertain. What feels certain, however, is his unwavering earnestness in meeting Bach on terms that are both historically cognisant and vibrantly modern.
