Old Hands
Peter Burwasser on Classical
There may not be a more interesting pianist on the planet than Leon Fleisher. We will never know how different things would have been for the now 79-year-old artist if his career had not been halted in 1965, at the height of his power, by a muscular disorder in his right hand. Even then, Fleisher was a standout among his peers, as his many recordings from the 1950s and '60s — which are still available — can attest. His playing was a remarkable combination of brash athleticism, self-effacing thoughtfulness about the material at hand and, underneath it all, a keen sense for the range of sensual possibilities within the sonority of the instrument. That last quality is a Fleisher hallmark, one that marks an important connection to golden age pianists, but without their romantic excesses.
As serendipity would have it, Fleisher reinvented himself as a teacher, primarily at Baltimore's Peabody Institute, but also here at Curtis. He has often spoken about how this unplanned career change has made him a more complete artist. The influence of his own teacher, the legendary Artur Schnabel, came to dominate Fleisher's teaching methods just as it had his playing. In the world of the conservatory, he has become a Buddha-like figure, an awesome mentor to the students willing to accept his sometimes unorthodox methods.
Fleisher's recital at the Kimmel Center last month was a typically quirky mix, opening with a prayerlike Bach, and including two works for the left hand alone. The entire second half was given to Schubert's Sonata in B Flat Major, the composer's last; it's hard to imagine anyone in attendance not feeling deeply moved by this haunting performance. I was struck by my memories of hearing Mieczyslaw Horszowski playing here in the late 1980s and again in 1992 at age 99, a year before his death. Both gave us piano playing softened in scope by age, and addled with dropped notes, and yet there was a fluency that no young virtuoso could hope to match. As corny as it sounds, the music and the performer became one, as if there were a sort of joining of biorhythms. Words cannot describe the ineffable beauty.
Horszowski never had the superstardom of Fleisher (although he deserved it), but he also found great fulfillment and worth as a teacher. One always had the sense, at Horszowski's recitals, of being one of his students, of acquiring profound insights. So it is with Fleisher. And so please, please, Mr. Fleisher, keep playing. Play whatever you like, whenever you like, but just keep playing.
Also In This Week's Music Section
Pushing It
Soundadvice
Comments
Be the first to comment on this article.