Leif Ove Andsnes at Wigmore Hall: a Deep respect for sound

Programme

Edvard Grieg Piano Sonata in E minor, op. 7

Geirr Tveitt Piano Sonata No. 29 “Sonata Etere”, op. 129

Fryderyk Chopin 24 Preludes, op. 28

I was lucky to snag a last-minute return ticket to Leif Ove Andsnes’ sold out Wigmore Hall recital last night. I had to pay a little more than the usual student discount but the brilliant concert he put on made that totally worth it!

Andsnes presented an unusual programme, blending beloved classics, Norwegian-flavoured music and innovative reinventions of folk traditions together, allowing each to shed light on the other. Uniting them all was Andsnes’ very intellectual approach to the piano, his curiosity one feels in exploring the different music, and most importantly, his deep, deep respect for sound.

It took me about a movement of the Grieg Sonata to grasp Andsnes’ musical personality, as it wasn’t as forthcoming as some of the younger artists, but once I understood it, his sound and understanding became very attractive to me.

The appeal of Andsnes’ playing lies in his intellectual rigour, his understanding of the wide range of sounds the piano is capable of producing, and his ability to map that out as he takes a step back and allows the music to unfold without interfering. His personality shows forth not so much in his emotional involvement but his imagination of colours and layers in which to couch the melodic lines. Under his fingers, any ordinary bar sounded orchestral. That, for me, was how he made such a convincing case for the Grieg Sonata, which perhaps isn’t the composer’s best composition.

After eloquently introducing Geirr Tveitt and his “Sonata Etere” to the audience—a much needed introduction, in my opinion—Andsnes made an extremely strong case for this rarely-if ever-heard Norwegian gem. A composition unusually calling for the use of radio technology to artificially swell the resonance of the sound, this Modernist composition called for everything Andsnes excelled at: understanding of Norwegian folk music, great sonic imagination and an unbelievably precise control of the keyboard. The last movement demanded sheer virtuosity and, paradoxically, Andsnes barely breaking a sweat over it made it all the more breathtaking.

If the programme of the first half played to Andsnes’ strengths, those same qualities appeared not to have favoured his interpretation of Chopin’s 24 Preludes as much. While I was still awe-struck by his faultless technical control and the way he was able to create unique atmospheres to envelope certain Preludes, notably the Raindrop Prelude, occasionally Andsnes seemed intent on enforcing control rather than allowing Chopin’s organic melodies free rein. Nevertheless, my the end of the recital I was thoroughly impressed and won over by Andsnes’ performance style.

For the encore, he offered Debussy’s famous Prelude “La cáthedrale engloutie”, once again showing me just how amazing his control and mapping out of different layers of sound was.

Article featured photo credits to Wigmore Hall.