The first writing about performance

I did not know the feeling of being born again until last week – that is how I felt after my first formal performance of the Op. 106 “Hammerklavier” by Beethoven.

People awed “Hammerklavier”. As stated by my esteemed mentor, Alon Goldstein, Op.106 is one of the three “carte de visite” (along with the Diabelli Variation and the Goldberg Variation) for pianists. One pulls the card out, his high caliber is validated. This humongous piece of power presents a challenge from the very first note to the very last — in fact, now that I am recalling my experience, this is not true — the struggle actually begins before the beginning and lasts... forever.

The first thing a pianist is asked to sacrifice is his/her security. Starting with the furious jumps in an impossible rhythm, I would sincerely warn all pianists to empty their bladders before embarking on the first movement. The next thing a pianist would notice is being driven by the accumulating impulse, emotion, and strength of the first movement. Of course, the little, shiny, "heaven-like" moments of the contrasting theme give resting points, but never long enough for the upcoming reinforcements of powers. Soon pianists would discover themselves overwhelmed by the danger.

The second movement is cute, although I always find it hard to make the subtle two-note slurs work. It almost requires an exquisite relationship between the fingertips and the wrist – destiny is decided at a tiny degree of a wrist movement. I find the middle section of the slow movement a “cliché Beethoven language”: the manly outburst that desires attention. Although I did not really enjoy the part of “checking the muscles”, I always loved playing the ending part of this movement. It made me feel clever with a smirk inside for what was going to happen after.

If words are not enough to describe depression, then this is -- the third movement. First of all, I am proud that I had the courage to open my wounds and my vulnerabilities. I learned to let go, not just a bit, but the whole self. Until the edge of almost losing oneself, one starts to speak the notes. This movement is my favorite of all, for it is the very process of being reborn. The process for filling cells with struggle and comfort, anger and tenderness, warmth and bitterness, smile and tears, life and death— the entity of oneself being emptied and sucked into a black hole, with the hope of waking up somewhere else. Every subdivision I count with my pounding heartbeat, every lingering between the notes I taste, and every faithful submission to fate and to the music itself… this is something that shall never end, but also, it should never have started. My favorite spots are the magical low octaves that state the changes of keys. For example, in measure 148. These notes have the ability to run my vessels with elevated blood. But my favorite out of favorites? Has to be the last “a tempo”. It tears my heart apart, and just as when I am about to explode, peace came and buries all inside. If Beethoven is trying to convey his contemplations about death and the peace of after-life, he failed to persuade people to love the after-life – after all, it was too brutal of a peace.

Without air, the last movement generates, and yes, this is the beginning of the new world. How does the new world look? What is inside? No answer yet. We all have to accept the journey. Aha! Perhaps out of the utmost achievements of the human mind, the longest fugue is exhibited in the new world. And, it is all about the beginning motive of the whole sonata – the leaping tenth/third, the trinity and the one, the “light” of the bible, the original, the beginning of everything. I do not know if intellectual is enough of a word to be put with this movement, philosophical perhaps, or psychic.

       Here I am, standing at the start point. I have a long way to go, but the goal is not important.