As if the demands of this imaginative programme were not enough, the recitalist in the second concert of the SJE Arts International Piano Series also had to cope with a persistently irritating, yet obviously Chopin-loving moth. Yet Viv McLean literally swept the intruder aside repeatedly, as breezily as he rose to the musical challenges.
Book-ended by Schubert and Schumann, this programme was not short on apparent surprises. Yet somehow, Howard Skempton’s contemplative Whispers felt perfectly suited to the wide range of emotion offered by his fellow-composers. Here, McLean drew us immediately into an atmospheric, misty night, perhaps out of a Grimm’s fairy tale, as the sonorous, ultra-low bass led us, step by step, through a dark woodland, the lights twinkling into life in the valley below in the central section of the piece. By the time McLean brought us back to what was, in effect, a recapitulation, the sense of wonder and mystery he created left us musing on some of life’s big questions, silently whispering ourselves.
But with what drama the curtain had risen upon the recital! McLean’s intuitive response to the unpredictability of Schubert’s key changes, and his intimate, noble playing of the solo theme at the start of the first of the Four Impromptus D.899, both proved key elements in his concentrated, taut interpretation of this work, which stretches the term “impromptu” beyond the norm. Never quite certain whether it is to end in C major or minor (an ambiguity reminding us of the end of the Adagio in the composer’s String Quintet in C major), it swings between the ominous and the luminous. McLean played his cards close to his chest, his velvet tone alternating with the heavy, tolling bell, until – aaaaah! – with perfect peace and harmony, all conflict was, finally, resolved. Would that space permitted a more detailed account of the other three, shorter impromptus, since they were a self-contained delight.
For his account of Chopin Polonaise-fantaisie in A flat, op.61, McLean revealed the full range of his technical and emotional mastery. After the mysterious opening, stuttering into tempestuousness, he meandered, dreamlike, through whatever keys emerged until reaching what Graham Topping, in his informative programme note, aptly called a ‘blizzard of ornamentation’. McLean’s aural canvas was more fantaisie than polonaise, which reflected well the complexity of the writing, at times leaving one not quite sure which to listen to more acutely – melody, trills, chords that relished every moment of chromatic ecstasy – or indeed whether simply to allow oneself to be submerged in the richness of tone he drew from the Steinway.
Except in a recital devoted to Beethoven, it must be a rare privilege to hear not one, but two of his Sonatas. These, in C minor (a key McLean made his own during the evening) and A flat major, made an intriguing and complementary pair. In the Pathétique, with profound musical logic and great sensitivity, he gave a masterclass in dynamic contrast and in the control of power – the power of the instrument itself and indeed of Beethoven’s harmonic invention, not least in the pleading duet between bass and treble sung by the flying left hand. There was grandeur in the melting melody of the slow movement, but it was the opening movement that gave such a compelling experience: desolation and loss, and a devastating silence before the final, tumultuous hurtling to the end.
Beethoven’s op. 110 sonata revealed a very different side to the composer, unsurprisingly, as it was one of his last. Here we experienced musical intimacy despite the menacing bass melody of the opening movement, followed by sparkling, adolescent mock rage in the second, over in an instant. It was in the third (arioso dolente) that McLean showed just how emotional recitative can be, the pathos of its never-ending melody reminding us that, despite the larking around of the middle movement, the world is not such a fun place after all. In the ensuing allegro fugue that ends the sonata, McLean achieved that rare combination of the cerebral and the heartfelt in his deeply engaging, ever more tortured exposition of the first subject in all its transformations. Tension at the stretto, the bleakness of remote minor keys, pride through suffering – all this was conveyed as the music worked its way to total release in a major key, before the whisperingly soft re-emergence of the theme built into an intellectual powerhouse, a tour de force to end the sonata.
Two gems to finish the recital: first, Liszt’s arrangement of Schumann’s Widmung (Dedication), in which McLean’s luscious melodic lines and silky accompaniment never obscured his striking clarity. And then, a real surprise - a Chopin Nocturne as an encore reminding us that however awful the world might be out there (how apposite just now), there was always music to remind us of what it means to be human. Comforting, reassuring, McLean provided solace after all the passion, delicacy after the power, and such sweet peace.