FRÉDÉRIC FRANÇOIS CHOPIN (1810 – 1849), ROBERT SCHUMANN (1810 – 1856), and ANDERS ELIASSON (1947 – 2013): Personae—Beth Levin, piano [Recorded at Peter Karl Studios, New York City, USA, on 27 July 2015; Navona Records NV6016; 1 CD, 67:32; Available from ClassicsOnline HD (Download | Streaming), Amazon (USA), iTunes, Presto Classical (UK), Spotify, and major music retailers]

One of the foremost keys necessary to discerning an important pianist  from the teeming throngs of people who endeavor to make their living by  playing the instrument is the manner in which that key’s significance  alongside its eighty-seven siblings is examined, analyzed, and conveyed  to the listener. If such an assertion seems to be an exercise in  semantics, that is because, as Hamlet might have suggested, knowing not  ‘seems,’ it is, but it is nevertheless a logical assessment. The world’s  conservatories continue to flood concert stages and recital halls with  highly-educated pianists with chrome-plated techniques who play as  though they cannot distinguish a ground bass from a gruppetto. When such  distinctions are also lost on many audiences, it is too easy to surmise  and accept that artistic standards no longer matter. Thankfully,  vitally, there are some few artists like Beth Levin and discs of the calibre of her Navona release Personae to remind everyone from the casual listener to the aspiring pianist  that important art and artists inevitably distinguish themselves:  observers need only have the good sense to surrender to their charms. In  the performances of works by Chopin, Schumann, and Eliasson on this  disc, engineered by Peter Karl with balance and clarity that  replicate the warm acoustic of an intimate recital hall, one of today’s  most poetic pianists crafts musical verses that proclaim, ‘The legacy of  great pianism is far from dead when fingers such as these still the  keyboard tread.’

It is sometimes suggested that aural evidence of Robert Schumann’s  struggles with sanity is manifested in his music. Perhaps there is some  validity in this assertion, but it is equally valid to argue that the  very act of attempting to translate one’s thoughts into musical notation  that can be followed by others is madness. Insanity, it has been said,  is performing the same action repeatedly with an expectation of  different results, but is this not a defining property of artistic  endeavor? That Beth Levin’s playing of Schumann is different from other  pianists’ is what makes her work unique and markedly elevates the  intrinsic merit of Personae. Essentially dances in name only, Schumann’s Opus 6 Davidsbündlertänze—mature  works despite the opus number—are vibrant pieces that soar to the  euphoric highs and plunge to the despondent lows that characterized the  composer’s courtship of his beloved Clara. In the first three of the  ‘dances,’ I. Lebhaft, II. Innig, and III. Mit Humor, Levin immediately  discloses her uncanny ability to simultaneously pinpoint the vast  differences among the pieces and establish and maintain an extraordinary  degree of continuity. The extent to which Levin conveys the essence of  each individual piece is exceptional, but her ability to identify and  perpetuate the parallels among them is a hallmark of an atypically  perceptive musician. The next sequence—IV. Ungeduldig, V. Einfach, and  VI. Sehr rasch—also reveals surprising breadth of kinship, complemented  by the searching treatment that they receive from Levin. Her approach to  VII. Nicht schnell is particularly successful, but she plays VIII.  Frisch, IX. Lebhaft, and the ingenius X. Balladenmäßig - Sehr rasch with  similar effectiveness, the irreproachable rhythmic consistency of her  playing lending each number its own expressive microcosm and also links  it to its brethren among the Davidsbündlertänze. Most significantly, Levin unaffectedly realizes Schumann’s goal of pacing Davidsbündlertänze as a metaphysical conversation between his much-discussed musical alter  egos, Florestan and Eusebius. In XI. Einfach, XII. Mit Humor, XIII.  Wild und lustig, and XIV. Zart und singend, the debate rages, points and  counterpoints discharged by Levin’s wrists with electric intensity. The  final four pieces—XV. Frisch, XVI. Mit gutem Humor, XVII. Wie aus der  Ferne, and XVIII. Nicht schnell—are played as thoughtfully as they are  powerfully, the pianist’s technique encompassing fingering that enables  her to bring off marvels of phrasing that elucidate  frequently-overlooked details of Schumann’s impressive musical  architecture. Some pianists make the mistake of misinterpreting the  title of Davidsbündlertänze and playing the score as though it were a miniature Swan Lake,  thereby depriving the work of much of its special cogency. Levin’s  performance is perfectly calibrated to the scale of the music, divulging  both the inventiveness of Schumann’s music and her incredible skill for  playing it.

Playing Frédéric Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B♭ minor (Opus 35), often called the Funeral March owing to its emblematic third movement and the prevailing sobriety of  the Sonata as a whole, is a pianist’s equivalent of singing the Götterdämmerung Brünnhilde. The opening movement, Grave – Doppio movimento, demands the  concentration of a prize fighter: if the pianist loses focus for a  moment, Chopin’s music will leave her breathless and embarrassed on the  mat. Levin’s playing of the movement combines the near-operatic phrasing  of Ivan Moravec with the pragmatism of John Ogdon, but her reading is  very much her own. Her handling of the Scherzo shudders with aggression  masquerading as broad humor, and the rhythmic precision of her  performance never jeopardizes the elasticity of her emotional response  to the music. It is here especially difficult to believe that all of the  music on Personae was recorded in a single day: few performances  edited from material recorded in multiple sessions reach the levels of  technical and sentimental mastery of the music that Levin exhibits. She  plays the bel canto Marche funèbre: Lento with unexaggerated  sincerity, finding Chopin’s tempo and dynamic markings liberating rather  than confining. In the final movement, Finale: Presto, the pianist  consistently places principal emphasis on the music itself rather than  her playing of it, meeting Chopin’s requirements with unperturbed  dignity. This is an account of the Sonata projected not to the last row  of a recital hall but to each listener’s singular sensibilities, both  engaging and empowering the hearer’s imagination. With her performance  of the Sonata on Personae, this Brünnhilde of the keyboard earns her arms and armor.

Published in 1987 and first performed in Stockholm in 1988, Swedish composer Anders Eliasson’s Disegno 2 for piano solo is a mature but exploratory work, roughly contemporary  with several of the larger-scaled pieces for which Eliasson is most  known. The composer’s innovatively contrapuntal idiom is always  apparent, but this is audibly the music of an artist still grappling  with the collisions of centuries-old formulae with trends in  late-Twentieth-Century avant-garde composition. It is a gift for  pianists with the technical competency necessary to navigate its  difficulties and interpretive insights sufficient to face its evocative  nuances head on. Levin brings precisely these qualities to her playing  of Disegno 2, her performance highlighting the cleverness of the  piece’s construction. The ears are always lured to the primary subject  as Eliasson surely intended, but none of the music’s inner voices can  complain of being unheard. Perhaps most surprisingly, Levin’s execution  of Disegno 2 causes Eliasson’s music to seem a wholly appropriate bridge between the works by Schumann and Chopin.

That Personae is a valuable release is evident from the first  bars that issue from it. That it is a disc of rare interpretive insight  and technical achievement becomes more evident with each subsequent bar.  There are legions of pianists capable of accurately playing notes, but  only true artists lift music from the page and give it life that becomes  a part of the listener’s community of musical experiences. It seems  counterintuitive to state that an artist should carve her own path  within the landscape of traditions and methodologies because  individuality is such an inalienable component of art, but the work of  so many of today’s pianists suggests that they are taught that, like far  too much of modern education, the interpretation of music is a  conveniently finite, multiple-choice undertaking; not so Beth Levin’s  profoundly personal playing on Personae. Emily Dickinson wrote  that ‘Success is counted sweetest / By those who ne'er succeed.’ As this  disc plays, the sounds of true artistry at the piano fall all the more  sweetly upon ears so unused to encountering them.

© by Joseph Newsome