Musicians universally have a tart sense of humor. Itzhak Perlman is no exception. Announcing works from the stage in the final segment of his program, he said, "Giovanni Battista Martini was born in 1706 -- and died probably of liver failure."
An heir to the virtuoso violin repertoire, Itzhak Perlman drew a raging applause as he entered Spaulding Auditorium Saturday night. People clapped knowing one thing for sure: he conquers audiences wherever he goes. But this Spaulding crowd heard him under-rehearsed and over-garnished.
Perlman and his accompanist, Sri Lanka native Rohan De Silva, warmed up with Beethoven's A-minor Sonata. It was nothing more than a warm-up -- like watching a runner stretch. What I want is the race; he can warm up back stage next time. The Guarneri Quartet pulled the same trick on Hanover listeners in January by butchering a Haydn quartet. It seems to be in fashion to play a lousy Haydn, Mozart or Beethoven.
Perlman is a successful player, at least on his recordings. But I was hoping to hear the same grace in a recital. Violinists struggle with the wretched scratchiness of their instrument, but I wanted to hear the Beethoven with perfection.
After warm-ups, Perlman moved to Franck, a little known Belgian composer with a keen sense of adventure. Heaving lines and passionate chromatic sequences crept up on the listener in his A-major Sonata. The piece explored distant harmonic and technical challenges; Mr. Perlman took the audience on ascents up the G-string, his fingers nimbly climbing far above the tree line.
In subsequent movements, Perlman waded through unreal displays of virtuosity. In the second movement, a haunting four-note segment metamorphosed into a frantic hunt.
By the third movement, Perlman had found his "tight" sound. An aching solo passage cornered the audience. Then Perlman plowed through his musical identity, stretching himself across the eternal phrases. His playing drew in both ears and hearts, a talent that Franck would have appreciated.
The nifty surprises of the fourth movement took the listener on an emotional roller coaster ride. Franck maintained his engaging tone throughout the coda, supplying the player with countless opportunities for weighty musical expression. Franck's harmonic and rhythmic palette remains dynamic, wild and crazy! And Perlman finally refined his problematic "one-tone-fits-all" texture to display those colors.
The impressionistic Debussy, whom most listeners know, sings a different tune in "1917 G-minor Violin Sonata." The piece tasted current, experimental and saturated with contempt. Debussy demands his listener to feel with eyes, ears and heart.
The Intermde is a sensual chant. Clumps of high piano notes and Perlman's electric shock pizzicato passages battered the unsuspecting ear. The piano-violin dialogue -- now piercing, now oily and thick -- told a sick tale of a scared man.
Pastoral colors, shades of cream, and glimpses of brighter worlds saturated the final movement. The rondo gave the audience a taste of what Perlman really loves -- high-speed finger marathons. He chirped and grumbled along past the finish line.
After thunderous applause, Perlman and De Silva dug out some of their favorite music: Kreisler's adaptions of showy pieces from the past four centuries. A devilishly fast "Toccata," a peculiar Spanish composition by Jascha Heifetz and "Little White Donkey" by Jacques Ibert amused players and listeners alike. These are the pieces Perlman plays best.
His loyal audiences adore him for his high adrenaline performances of these impossible compositions. One violinist in each generation digs up the pieces, dusts them off and builds a career with them. This time it was Itzhak Perlman.
I cannot decide if Perlman is a genius or a lazy protg resting on his laurels, but he certainly is welcome back to Hanover when the Hopkins Center has a replacement for "the big brick box." Perhaps Itzhak Perlman could skip the Beethoven, add some more short virtuoso pieces and play in a 2,000-seat hall on his next visit.
