The piano recital of Daniel Trifonov in the Grosses Festspielhaus in Salzburg shows one thing above all: how differently the composers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries viewed the future. From the conservative Johannes Brahms to the playful avant-garde Sergei Prokofiev, Trifonov spans the arc, starting with the third piano sonata by the important Polish composer Karol Szymanowski. This sonata breaks boundaries, and yet is completely focused on itself, creating a highly complex cosmos of hope, sadness, pain and ecstasy. A gift for a pianist like Trifonov. Here he can live through and playfully communicate all possible facets of pianistic expression.
Szymanowski, born in 1882 in what is now Ukraine, had joined the “Young Poland” group of artists, which dared to break into modernism around 1900 across all genres. The special preference was also in music for the pan-European currents of Symbolism and Impressionism. In any case, it would be wrong to simply want to see a late or neo-romantic current here. And as delicately and eloquently as Trifonov explores the details of this technically highly demanding sonata and puts it together meaningfully, one will not succumb to this danger.
Szymanowski’s music does not see itself as a counterpoint, as anti-romanticism
On the contrary, one is once again reminded of the avant-garde currents that shaped European modernism before and after the First World War. That there was by no means just one direction, even if many are forgotten today. It is unfortunate that, not least because of the philosopher and music lover Theodor W. Adorno, only the atonal serial modernity has been brought so much to the fore that it is considered by many to be the only linear development in music history – which they often can no longer follow. Szymanowski offers an alternative. One can listen to his works with ears trained in the Baroque, Classical and Romantic eras and yet understand immediately that this is new music that develops its own expressiveness. Above all, however, that it does not see itself as a counterpoint, as anti-romanticism, which often enough amounts to avoiding understandable harmonic progressions and propagating changes in listening habits.
Today, as the number of people with trained listening habits is dwindling, that largely comes to nothing. That’s why some contemporary composers have changed their compositional habits, and why promoters and artists are looking to other modern sources again. There are plenty of them, and one can only wish that the composers east of the Oder not only find more attention for current political reasons, but also as an integral part of a historical modernity that is yet to be discovered. Because it was not only extremely exciting in painting and literature, but especially in the diverse musical currents.
Even in Claude Debussy, as present as he is on the concert stage, there are essentials to be understood in a new way, as Trifonov explains in the small suite “Pour le piano”. What is special, what is difficult about Debussy’s piano music, is to strike an exact balance between the almost exaggerated clarity of detail and the impressionistic fog of mood. A dialectic balancing act that rarely succeeds and even more rarely so convincing that, as so often with Trifonov, one has to believe in basic musical instincts. On stage you hear nothing of all the work and experience behind it and you can concentrate completely on the piece, which speaks a dream language from seemingly concrete things that immediately and elegantly evade any attempt to reach for them and tie them down. Sometimes coquettishly escaping, sometimes furiously dashing away. It is astonishing how Trifonov keeps getting new timbres out of this piece. A normal pianist would be more than busy with fulfilling the technical virtuosity requirements.
Trifonov plays Brahms almost primly, avoiding any hint of sentimentality
Trifonov approaches Sergei Prokofiev’s “sarcasms” even more playfully, which the pianist apparently understands less in the mystical tradition of Alexander Scriabin than as completely unprogrammatic visions of the musician narrator Prokofiev, overflowing with ideas. He loves the rhythmically powerful play, the distinctive rhythm, the powerful musical muscle play – and always permeated with a touch of irony, never brutal, always empathetic. Trifonov enjoys it, emphasizing the goblin aspect. The actual, the musical virtuosity of Trifonov is shown here above all in how he lets the closely interwoven individual voices come to life as individual characters. Not only because he accentuates them differently, but much more effectively because he colors each melody line and each middle voice differently. But despite all the seriousness with which Trifonov still works here, you can also feel an inner smile.
The F minor Sonata op. 5 by Johannes Brahms then appears how far away. As if it had fallen completely out of time, although it too was once a departure. Trifonov plays them almost primly, avoiding any hint of sentimentality to which Brahms’ sound world tempts. He refuses the sweet tone as well as the thundering Maestoso, is extremely reserved, only illuminates the background – everything that is superficial has become secondary. He begins the Andante in a succinct tone, yet speaking lyrically: Brahms without earthly gravity, suddenly uncertain, enraptured. Against this background, the addition of Bach’s chorale arrangement “Jesu meine Freude” seems very earthly. The audience, applauding vigorously, demands more, but what should one play afterwards without trivializing what came before?