The Croatian piano legend Ivo Pogorelich stages a Chopin evening in the Philharmonie. The 64-year-old became a star in the 1980s and wrote interpretation history with recordings of Ravel’s “Gaspard de la nuit” and Liszt’s B minor sonata. The future-oriented perspectives that the young spirit once opened up do not come to mind at the most recent appearance.
Obscene egocentricity
Does genius speak from the obscenely charged egocentricity or do we experience a talented pianist in the sad caricature of former greatness? De facto, Pogorelich succeeds in stretching his Chopin Deconstructed program consisting of op. 49, 57, 58, 60 and 61, in the usual dimensions 60 minutes, to two hours including an intermission. The repetition of the exposition of the sonata is also withheld. Chopin has never been heard like this before – and you don’t want to hear her like that again.
Concert as a sound experiment
Pogorelich seems strangely uninvolved, almost grumpy. The old master has acquired a remarkable catalog of eccentric stylistic devices. Pin-sharp melody notes flash again and again from the mush of sound from his cantilenas. Then, in addition to the absence of rhythmic sharpening, the cultivated exaggeration of the regularly exploding bass register, a rubato that is forced to the point of dissolving the meter is particularly characteristic.
Pogorelich reads from sight at half the speed, oblivious, listens and tries out different combinations. It would be incorrect to speak of “beautiful” moments – there are magical layers, but isolated and unrelated to one another. Chopin’s music turns into a caricature.
Just busy with yourself
In general, Pogorelich only seems to be concerned with himself. Nobody expects infallibility. Respect, both for the musical text and for the audience, must be demanded. Even if the shadows of the technical magician, the idol of an entire generation of pianists, appear spooky here and there, expectations remain disappointed. To paraphrase Grillparzer: here the piano world buried a rich possession, but even better hopes. The tears remain on the way home – from yawning.
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