In town for a few days conducting a Beethoven residency at the University of Washington, Irish pianist John O’Conor finished up with a terrific performance Tuesday night at Meany Hall of three great Beethoven sonatas, the Pathetique (Op. 13), the Waldstein (Op. 53) and the Moonlight (Op. 27, No. 2), plus Six Bagatelles (Op. 126).
Far too sparse an audience turned out to hear one of the best Beethoven interpreters of our time, but for those of us there, O’Conor’s performances were sheer pleasure. For the students who had been working with him earlier, both playing and demeanor were exemplary examples of how to present oneself as a performer,. His suit of tails was impeccable, his shoes shone, and it made one realize how few performers nowadays hold to such high standards of appearance at concerts. He walked out on stage, bowed, sat down and played without fanfare or airy gestures. Just the music, thank you.
Quite a change from the great violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg who performed with the Seattle Symphony last week and, while her performance was wonderful, distracted this listener by constantly smoothing her hair, or hitching up shoulder straps.
When Beethoven wrote these sonatas, between 1797 and 1804, the piano was still in early stages of development. Built of wood without the much stronger tension of a few decades later, the pianoforte was then a light instrument which could easily be moved about by a couple of people. It looked somewhat like a harpsichord (some were oblong, called “square” pianos) with one keyboard, but the strings were struck with hammers rather than plucked and it had the huge advantage of dynamic variability, and knee pedals to create legato or not. The keys were light and very responsive to the touch, with a quick decay of sound.
O’Conor has been known for his understanding and performances of Beethoven for over 20 years, and he seemed to keep the idea of this piano in mind as he played Tuesday on a Steinway concert grand. Today’s piano is far more unwieldy than that of 1800, with heavier keys and much longer sound decay. It takes more push to play the notes, and more control to keep them light and quick. In Beethoven’s day fast tempi were often faster than they have been played until recently in modern times, but now many pianists try to achieve the earlier tempi and the intended effects of playing that way.
O’Conor kept the tempi quite fast and rock solid, but his control made it look easy, the runs smooth as silk and completely even. Just as someone said of photographer Ansel Adams, “He can find more shades between black and white than anybody else,” so O’Conor played with an extraordinary range of subtleties. The sound seemed three-dimensional. At times he reached a pause in the music and lifted his hands right off the instrument allowing complete silence, yet always for just the right length of time to get the full significance of that break without stopping the onward flow; a feat which requred both courage and knowledge.
There was power in his playing, great anticipation building in the openings of both the Pathetique and the Waldstein and then the dams bursting as the music reached the main part of the movement. At other times, the melodies sang; thoughtfully, gently and tenderly played, always with judicious use of the pedal. The Waldstein second movement held mystery, the opening of the Moonlight made one think of light on water, its name well chosen.
Less well known than the Sonatas, the Six Bagatelles of 20 years later are briefer, more concentrated vignettes, and of course, written for a piano which had undergone continuous and multiple changes in that time. O’Conor brought out the Bagatelles’ differing characters and made clear the enjoyment of playing them. His encore showed Beethoven in a different mood, as he played six impish and witty Ecossaises.
