Yefim Bronfman, 'bear among pianists', sweeps notes from the keys like fluff

Some astonishment resonates in the tram after Yefim Bronfman's recital in the Main Hall of the Concertgebouw. ​​Was this really the 'bear among pianists' who sat behind the keys tonight? Was this the musician who, known for his muscular displays, passes for Mr. Fortissimo and who elicited the characterization of 'the musical brontosaurus' from writer Philip Roth? On Sunday evening, the 66-year-old master pianist seemed to have left his bear claws in the hotel room.

He plays Tchaikovsky after the interval: the rarely performed Grande Sonata . A masterpiece according to some, a monster of a piece according to others, because of the labyrinthine progression and the a-pianistic, orchestral textures. It is a piece of extreme extremes, with quadruple pianissimos and triple fortes. Bronfman, however, goes about his work surprisingly gently tonight: he plays fluently and steadily, with subtle accents and without major volume contrasts. He does not need to be told twice about Tchaikovsky's instructions for a dolce sound, so softly does he caress the tender passages. On the other hand, he skips crescendos and fortissimo moments more than once.

“Play with all the strength you have in you,” Tchaikovsky occasionally adds, but nowhere does Bronfman give the grand piano a good whack, or launch octaves that explode like rockets just before the balcony. There are certainly powerful moments, but always clear, measured, rounded. Yet he manages to make you listen breathlessly. Not a single note is lost in fluttering clouds of sound. He anchors the resolute march-like theme in a sonorous foundation of bass notes, runs roll out of his fingers with astonishing lightness and he subtly illuminates every middle and lower voice. Tchaikovsky's half hour is over in the blink of an eye.

Supple

The same goes for the evening's opener: Mozart's Sonata in F , KV 332. It starts out seemingly simple, but quickly throws you off track. Patterns that you've already finished in your head suddenly fly off in another direction. Bronfman sweeps Mozart's notes off the keys like fluff. He plants commas and full stops in the keyboard with a beautiful flying buttress, like a badminton player who drops the shuttle smoothly behind the net. In Schumann's Arabesque in C it goes from soft, softer, softest: every time the filigree motif returns, your ears prick up even more.

An almost incantatory calmness pervades the music: rarely does the Great Hall remain so quiet, all evening long. In the atmospheric paintings of Debussy's second series Images, Bronfman dots the 'church bells from the distance' with a supple brush in the foliage of tones. He allows the enigmatic chords that aim to express an Asian temple in the moonlight to pierce through the silence in perfect balance.

Balance is without a doubt the magic word of this recital. It is impressive with how much precision Bronfman stacks the notes into chords and with how much attention he creates relief in the different sound layers, including that of the left hand. Pianists sometimes forget it, but playing the piano is really done with two hands. Tonight that was not forgotten.