Stratford Summer Music
Pianist Jan Lisiecki at St. Andrew’s Church, Stratford Summer Music Festival, Stratford, ON. Aug. 27.
Over the past four years, I’ve been watching Jan Lisiecki closely. His career has been hyped so much that the expectations for the young Canadian pianist are nearly impossible to meet. However, the critical consensus for the Calgary-born Wunderkind has been largely mixed, with most saying, “He’s good, but not that good.”
As he sat down at the piano at Stratford’s St. Andrew’s Church last Saturday afternoon, there was an almost hysterical chatter amongst his fans — some of whom are notorious for following him around the world. “Oh, I’m definitely his biggest fan,” one woman boasted during the intermission. “I’ve seen him over 10 times this year.”
The first thing you notice at a Lisiecki concert is that the music seems almost secondary to his reputation. Even the most seasoned patrons are quick to step in line.
Lisiecki has never won any major international piano competitions. Instead, it has been his reputation as a boy genius that has magically unlocked doors to CBC documentaries and flattering exposés that call him a young Mozart, a new Glenn Gould, and ultimately the finest living pianist in Canada.
The people have spoken, and thus we must listen. But when you hear him, I can’t help but feel that the sound never quite matches the advertising.
An example was his dry, emotionless take on Schubert’s Four Impromptus Op. 142. The first movement was surgical in its precision. All the notes were in the right order, and the technique ample, but the music laid lifeless without the necessary lightning bolt to jolt it into existence.
Missing in the opening movement were connections between the short melodic fragments resulting in vague, incoherent phrasing. The dynamic shifts between pianissimo and louder dynamics were also played so oddly exact that the spirit of an impromptu was long gone by the remaining three movements.
The second movement — where some of the most touching melodies Schubert ever wrote fared better. Lisiecki relished the melodies with an uncommon touch and impressive dexterity. But it is this unevenness in Lisiecki’s playing that catches me most off guard. I wanted to be swept away like so many in the audience seemed to be.
Another example was Lisiecki’s approach the Scherzo No.1, which was played like a frank demonstration — a copy of a copy — its heartfelt depth replaced by sterile reproduction. Tada with a bowtie.
Lisiecki’s Nocturnes were welcome redemption for his focus on the poetry of the music, rather than the blind technique. But by the middle, Lisiecki seemed to lose track and meander towards an immoderately pensive trajectory. It was here that more pedalling would have offered the opportunity for grounding, but it was left largely unnoticeable.
Matching most of the playing, and obliged with callow smirks and humorous chuckles, Lisiecki presented monotone preambles between pieces demonstrating historical tidbits and important motifs. It came across as a missed opportunity to show his honest point of view, rather than a bland demonstration of Chopin’s bells and whistles.
Upon my leaving, Lisiecki rushed outside ahead of me to sign autographs for his fans. He looked at me and seemed to expect me to hand him my pen for a signature.
Lisiecki is certainly a capable young pianist, but I just can’t bring myself to join the party, yet.
#LUDWIGVAN
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