Yesterday I was generously invited by HVC to a solo recital by the Russian pianist Grigory Sokolov. I've known Sokolov for a while and collected the few available recordings on the Naive label. I witnessed him live two years ago, with, amongst others Chopin's Etudes op. 25. He is likely not a household name, maybe not even for seasoned music lovers. This is due to his very limited discography and his seeming allergy to the traps of stardom. Interviews with him are few and far between. With his rather bulky posture he doesn't correspond to the aesthetic norms imposed by the contemporary music industry. And as far as I know he focuses to a large extent on the solo repertoire and plays only few concertos, eschewing the glamour of playing with a symphony orchestra. But for those in the know Sokolov is one of the most gifted pianists around. He is often mentioned as the natural heir to Sviatoslav Richter.
HVC thinks Sokolov is seeking out the extremes in his interpretations. I agree that there is something larger than life in his performances but it doesn't strike me as forced or recherché. He just happens to project the music on a grand scale, and he has the physical power and stamina to support this with a way of playing that in its granitic and sometimes volcanic qualities is fully commensurate with this panoramic vision. The grandeur is saved from bombast by Sokolov's remarkably poised tone. Yesterday again I've been marvelling at it. It's as if it is composed of a perfectly balanced mix of the four elements: earth, fire, water and air. It has depth and translucence, speed and liquidity all at the same time. Add to that his exceptional technical prowess which gives his playing an air of inevitability and you have to my mind a quite intoxicating mix.
His Brussels recital started with a long suite by Rameau, obviously intended for the harpsichord. Sokolov has a number of these pieces in his repertoire, including work by Couperin, Froberger and Byrd. I'm not at all sure that this is the kind of music that puts Sokolov's art in the best possible light. It seems to be much bound up with the instrument it was conceived for. So, particularly in the slow movements you get the impression of listening to quite simple, almost folkish pieces with elaborate right hand figurations pasted on top. The fast movements, however, had something of that irresistible energy, terraced dynamics and fluidity of line that Sokolov is able to infuse his music with. Then Mozart's serious Piano Sonata nr. 8, KV 310 (1778). Allegedly written in conjuction with his mother's death, it is one of only two Mozart sonatas in a minor key. The quasi monothematic first movement was played with tremendous panache. In its propulsive energy I was reminded of Gulda and maybe even Lipatti. The slow movement came across very well, with a marvelously introspective central section. A short Presto in rondo form brought the first part of the concert to an end.
After the break the programme was fully devoted to Brahms. First Sokolov played the Variations and Fugue on Theme by Händel, op. 24 (1861). It's not a piece I'm particularly fond of and Sokolov didn't change that. Many will disagree but to me the level of musical invention in this piece does not seem to be at a consistently high level. There are marvelous episodes, of course, not in the least the crowning fugue but perhaps the scope of the work exceeded Brahms capabilities who was after all not even 30 years old. Maybe I'm just talking nonsense here. Anyway, Sokolov sovereignly knows his way with piece, sculpting it as if it was out of marble, lending it an air of brazen monumentality. It's impressive how he is able to capture that archtypical Brahms sound, which is really undescribable. The final fugue, which transported us back to Bachian rather than Handelian roots, was an amazing feat which Sokolov offered with an almost orchestral splendor. And all of that dashed off with a surprising equanimity of the person behind the keyboard. The recital closed with the three Intermezzi, op. 117. A weird choice, as far as I'm concerned, to follow up the expansiveness of the Variations with these autumnal, brooding pieces (the famous 'lullabies' to Brahms' sorrows). At this stage I felt my mind wandering, saturated by all the felicities of the evening. The audience responded rapturously, seducing Sokolov (without relinquishing his totally uncommunicative mien) to play two encores: another Brahms piece (not sure what it was) and something I seemed to recognise as a short excerpt from Händel's Water Music.
This was a remarkable recital.
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