The Russian pianist Arcadi Volodos was accorded the now statutory standing ovation at his Festival Hall recital last night. And indeed his playing was unbelievable — but not in a positive sense: his technical facility is remarkable but unsupported by musicianship that is convincing.
Schubert’s early C major Sonata, D279, veered between prettified pianissimo and over-emphatic fortissimo outbursts — the crashing Minuet was especially grotesque. Great Schubertians such as András Schiff or Paul Lewis balance classical form and Romantic expressivity; this missed the mark by a mile. Brahms’s Op 118 set was severely compromised by phrasing that was at best counter-intuitive, at worst simply perverse.
The depictions of childhood in Schumann’s Kinderszenen might have seemed appropriate for such capricious treatment but in the event childlike simplicity was swamped by pseudo-profundity. There were more extreme pianissimos in Schumann’s Fantasie in C, but although one might marvel initially at the delicacy the lack of tonal variety and over-indulgence in this expressive device soon became tiresome. As in the Brahms, Volodos gave us a succession of episodes, some of undeniable beauty but devoid of structural cohesion.
Gazing at the ceiling for inspiration, Volodos seems to want to take us to places we have never been. But I’m afraid it’s not worth the detour.
