|
PIANIST
Victor Asuncion is a man in a hurry. He
had barely stepped on the stage of the Little Theater of
the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) when he
went straight toward the piano and, without even so much
as a smile or a bow to acknowledge his audience,
launched into the Bach-Busoni “Chaconne.” All throughout
his July 30 concert, the opening show of the CCP’s
Filipino Artists Series 2008, he showed little regard
for pauses, with pieces following one after another
almost without break, as if you were listening to
gapless playback on your iPod. There was very little
show of appreciation for his audience as he whisked
through his program of Bach, Mozart, De Leon and Liszt.
He deigned to acknowledge the applause of his audience,
and they were quite enthusiastic about their response.
In just 90 minutes, the pianist was done — and out of
the CCP, too, I suppose. Well, I shouldn’t complain; I
made it home just in time for the last few minutes of
Dyesebel.
Why was
Asuncion in so much hurry that he wanted the concert to
be over as soon as possible? Was it a painful experience
to perform before a hall that was only half-full? Was he
perhaps raring to get home to catch the tail end of
Dyesebel, too? At the end of the concert, after his
single encore, the house lights went up all of a sudden.
Did he just dismiss his audience quite suddenly, too?
Music,
like wine, needs time to be appreciated well. The
moments you spend between sips heighten your enjoyment
of a good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. It is the same
with music, especially classical music. You need a
little time to process in your mind what you have just
heard, as you prepare to hear the next piece on the
program. Take away those little moments of repose, and
you lose your focus. You feel like you are being robbed
of your enjoyment of the music. Since when has a little
rest or pause been so unnecessary?
You need
this sense of balance to fully appreciate Asuncion’s
playing because the concept he devised for his FAS
outing is a virtuoso one—well, almost. An entire concert
on transcriptions is a rare thing in Manila, especially
one of Liszt transcriptions.
And
then, you wonder. Why anyone would want to start a
concert with the Bach “Chaconne”? This piece of music,
lasting almost 15 minutes, is one of the most difficult
pieces to listen to because it is truly abstract music.
Originally written for the violin, it concludes the
“Second Partita for Solo Violin” with bravura playing.
Busoni transcribed the piece for the piano, and greatly
enlarged what was only implied in the violin original.
But then, the piano has a compass far greater than that
offered by just four strings.
The Bach
“Chaconne”—in the original or in its transcription for
piano, orchestra, or guitar—offers a challenge to any
musician. The music is serious and imposing, and the
performer must make it accessible for his audience.
Asuncion takes a different approach with this music:
rather than revel in the grandeur of Bach’s theme, he
rushes through it, playing confidently at speeds that
would faze any lesser pianist. I like my Bach moving at
speeds that make me marvel at his ingenious writing, and
not hearing the music spat out by a musical sewing
machine.
The
Mozart was no different, although Asuncion lightened his
touch this time: the “Piano Sonata in D, K576” came out
sounding like a music box on speed. Whatever charm the
piece has was lost. All that was left to do was marvel
at how quickly the pianist’s hands fly over the piano.
Then
there were the two pieces by Felipe Padilla de Leon. The
“Kundiman” sounds modern yet melodic, while the “Sayaw
ng Igorot” is a truly rambunctious dance. However, they
may as well have been one composition because Asuncion
paused no longer than a few seconds between each, making
you think they were one seamless whole.
It was
only after the break that you realize what all this
rushing was for. All that fast playing in the first half
of the program was a warm-up. With four pieces by Franz
Liszt, Asuncion pulled out all stops to prove that he
could dazzle us with his fast-paced playing.
And, oh,
yes, he did.
Although
the song transcriptions, namely, Schumann’s “Widmung”
and Schubert’s “Gretchen am Spinnrade,” could have used
a more singing line, all that quibble was swept aside
when he played the “Mephisto Waltz” and the paraphrase
on the waltz from Gounod’s Faust. Here was bold playing
coupled with secure technique to make you weep as you
bask in the glorious music unfolding before you. The
playing was still swift but with nary a misplaced or
wrong note. And, yes, he took his time here—you cannot
rush through Liszt because it will spoil the drama that
is built in these works—but only within the framework of
Liszt’s music; between pieces, he still rarely stopped
to take even a breath.
And at
the end of the Gounod waltz, he was quickly running into
the wings, except that an usher blocked his way with a
sampaguita garland. After a few pauses onstage and an
encore, he was once again off not to reappear again.
|
