The Sound of Young Pianists IV
The Sound of Young Pianists, Redux Edition IV was held last night at the Young Musician's Society, off Waterloo Street. From the moment this reviewer received the album sleeve-sized programme booklet I knew this was going to be a straight-to-CD performance. My suspicions were further confirmed by the opening act, aptly titled "The Cockroach" - describing all too well the stage charisma of its insipid performer. Lumbering onto stage in a frilly undershirt and what passes for a blue collar (except in this case it was a red bowtie), Tim Teo fumbled his way across three elementary-grade pieces, crashing out at least twice on a cold serving of
Turkey in the Straw. After this dose of pablum, this reviewer realized that this was hardly turning out to be the virtuostic display he had paid good money to see. What followed were a series of rather lacklustre performances, slept through by a lukewarm audience who typically applauded between the movements of Beethoven's Sonata in C#.
The repetoire was largely Romantic, with a kitsch rating notched at two Claydermans. Some variation in the arrangements and order of performance was obviously attempted, this astute auteur realized, with songs alternating fast-slow-dance-fast in the classical sonata format, the dance in this instance being Si Chen's
Tarantella(more on that later). The slow pieces were interminably boring and protracted, accompanied by the overexcessive emoting (read: headbanging on the keyboard) that is the plague of all half-baked pianists the world over. The fast pieces were amazingly dull, with nary an accentuated nor coherent melodic line, sending at least two audience members (an underestimate) into instant narcoleptic fits.
Performance-wise, much has been made of the costunmes (including the recycled Altar Maid draperies of the undynamic duo QiQi and QuanQuan) and the aforementioned emoting (read: headbanging), creating awful visual distractions that plague an already dismal performance. The inherent desire of the young un's to curl into fetal position is understandable considering the highly stressful environs of the YMS, but putting foetuses on stage is nevertheless a highly unethical use of embryonic stem cells that Bush has banned under Presidential Decree No. 243.
The highlights of the concert came in the first half with the
Tarantella, a folk dance that allegedly drives out the venom of the tarantula spider. Kitsch folklore aside, the adept hands of Zhang Si Chen injected fiery poison into the spine of this reviewer, while the tap-dancing fingers took on a life of their one reminiscent of hexed arachnids.
The main show came in the second half, with the Junyang and Jaow double bill. The largely martial Brahms
Rhapsody impressed this reviewer, but the jazzy undercurrents of Gershwin's
Preludes simply blew me away. Jonathan's rendition of Debussy's uncharacteristically atonal
Etude No. 9 went right over the collective heads of the plebian masses filling the auditorium. His Rachmaninov quartet however, was by far the most worthy virtuoso performance of the night. Exuding exquisite showmanship, this consumnate artiste (he's single, girls) channeled all the Sturm und Drang of Russia's Last Romantic, giving a palpable performance that was quite worthy of a standing ovation, had the audience understood it. While Rach's
Elegie and
Preludes (including
Prelude No. 4, one of the rare major-key Rachs) were altogether impressive, they were a case of too little, too late. The scintillating sensation that was Jonathan could not uplift the leaden weight of the whole dreary concert, last night at Waterloo.
[The reviewer is aware that the performers are by and large prepubescent pianists, and that a certain degree of patronization is required to refrain from crushing their young tremulous hearts in twain. However, in the tradition of LitCrit (why should Cowell take credit for essentially rediscovering this genre?), it is hoped that the personal affronts in this review will not attract any flying inkpots in his direction.]
