Last night, Leif Ove Andsnes began his recital at Carnegie Hall with Grieg’s Piano Sonata (the only one he ever wrote). Did Andsnes do this because he wanted to? Or because he had to? What do I mean? Andsnes is a Norwegian pianist—the greatest in history, surely—and Grieg is Norway’s national composer. Does Andsnes feel a patriotic obligation?
At any rate, Andsnes does well by Grieg, and Grieg is one of the most lovable composers we have.
I have always liked the Grieg sonata. (Alicia de Larrocha was a proponent of it when I was a youth.) After Andsnes played it last night, I appreciated it more than ever. That’s the highest praise I can render.
About Leif Ove Andsnes, I’ve written the same things, the same words, for about thirty years. It’s not my fault. He is utterly consistent. Every year, he plays the same and, for that matter, looks the same.
“There’s not a hair out of place,” I always say. There is not a hair out of place on his head or in his playing. He is always tidy, neat, immaculate. His technical ability can be taken for granted. He has a knack for solidity and a knack for legato—for legato within solidity, if you will. This is rare.
In his playing, there is seldom a wrong accent. Phrases are logical, inevitable. His tempos tend to be brisk, for Andsnes is not a dawdler. When he employs rubato—license with time—it is always in good taste. With the pedal, he is shrewd.
There is balance between his hands, and balance in his mind. He is perfectly self-composed, self-possessed (not “self-obsessed,” mind you—he is a servant of the composer).
I could go on, but that’s the gist.
He followed the Grieg with another Norwegian composer: Geirr Tveitt, who lived from 1908 to 1981. Andsnes played a sonata by Tveitt. I will write about this matter in my forthcoming chronicle for the magazine.
So, on to the final piece on the program, the piece after intermission—a work with twenty-four parts. I am talking about the Chopin Preludes. Everything I said about Andsnes, above, applies to his playing of the Chopin. Yet I will jot you a few specifics.
The first prelude, in C major, could have been more exuberant. It was maybe a touch subdued. Toward the end of the G-major prelude, Andsnes missed a note or two—startling from him. I thought of a story about Dennis Brain.
Brain was a French-horn player so accurate, it was almost creepy. Once, he flubbed a note in rehearsal. The conductor, Sir Thomas Beecham, said, “Thank God.”
Andsnes’s rhythm was odd—unstraight and unnatural—at the beginning of the B-minor prelude. The prelude in F-sharp major was muddy (though inner voices came through, pleasingly).
Throughout the set, I could have used more lyricism here and there—more bendiness, more “play,” more “give.”
But, oh, what Andsnes did well. The E-major prelude was a rich hymn. The prelude in G-sharp minor, an elegant lawn mower. The one in F, geniality itself.
What would he do for an encore? More Chopin? I wanted him to play more Grieg—specifically, the Gangar from the Lyric Pieces, Book V, Op. 54, No. 2. It is one of the most delightful things in the piano literature, and nobody plays it better.
Andsnes started with Debussy, however. He likes Debussy, and he likes playing Debussy at encore time. He is known to do L’Isle joyeuse, for example. Last night, he did a prelude: “The Sunken Cathedral.” It was logical, impeccable, needless to say. I would have liked just a little more mysticism.
He then played a “Horowitz encore”—Rachmaninoff’s Étude-tableau in C, Op. 33, No. 2. Next, some Janáček: “In Tears,” from On an Overgrown Path, Book I. Beautiful, immaculate, both.
The crowd would have welcomed more, but he pulled a Steph Curry: he made a “night night” sign, indicating it was time to go to bed. (What Steph means is, “This game is over, in our favor.”)
Sitting in the hall, I thought of William F. Buckley Jr. and what he said about Paul Johnson, the British historian and journalist. So routinely excellent is Johnson, said WFB, that one can underrate him. Which would be a mistake.
The same is true of Leif Ove Andsnes, I think.
When I am asked to name the best pianists in the world, I usually name about five people, most of them born in the Soviet Union. I don’t include Andsnes. He is so consistent, so good, I suppose I take him for granted. No longer. He is one of the greatest pianists, and greatest musicians, we know.
