It has been a year since I first watched the YouTube
video of Yuja Wang playing the Liszt B-minor piano sonata. (I know it has
been a year since I left a public comment
on it at the time, something I rarely do.) And I find that I am as moved, awed
and transported by her performance now as I was then. The B-minor sonata, which
is in one 30-minute-long movement, is a snarling, graceful bear of a piece. I imagine that attempting
it is rather like preparing for a championship boxing match, or, perhaps more aptly,
an alligator wrestling match, since I think it is a piece that may very well devour you if you are not equal to it.
I have heard many pianists perform the sonata, from Horowitz
to Argerich, and each time I delve into it with the pianist in expectation
and anxiety. It is the only composition by Liszt which I truly
admire, the only time that he attained a height I would call spiritual; and, to
me, spirituality is the essence of genius. Bach often created on this level, as
did Beethoven; Brahms managed it occasionally, Schubert at the end, Tchaikovsky only once (the Sixth
Symphony), and most composers, never. And so, I think it takes – no, I know it
takes – an artist capable of both spirituality and genius to undertake the sonata with
the skill to perform it, the artistry to interpret it, and the courage to lose
herself in it, and emerge victorious.
That is what Yuja Wang does. And that is why it is so
important to watch her play the piece as well as hear her play it. In her face,
her body language, her expressions of lips and arms and shoulders, is not just
total absorption in the music, but a genuine spiritual connection to it. She
does not just play the sonata, she lives it, embodies it, makes love to it.
There are those who have commented on the performance that there is here and
there a missed note, but that is like saying that life is not perfect. But life
is vast and deep, joyous and tragic, filled with terrors and ecstasies,
perfect in its imperfection. And so is Yuja Wang’s performance of the Liszt. A Russian Literature professor of mine once said that Madame
Bovary is art, but Anna Karenina
is life. I feel much the same way about
her performance.
The piece, though in a single, prolonged movement, is,
in fact, divided into several phases, intricate in their interconnection and
breathtaking in their mingled delicacy and passion. If it were possible to hold one’s
breath for 30 minutes, I suppose this would be the time to do it. And yet Yuja
Wang remains utterly focused, sublimely transported, masterfully attentive both
to detail and to the sweeping emotions, gentle reflections and bombastic outbursts of the piece. She is playing it from inside;
not a brilliant technician approaching it from a distance, but a complex and
sensitive soul making itself at one with the piece. And the result is a melding
of art and music, artistry and poetry, poetry and profound insight that is at
once powerful and touching.
How this young woman manages to keep all of that
complex and demanding music in her mind, let alone under her control, is a
mystery to me. But that she does, and does so with a clarity of vision and
unity of expression, is nothing short of miraculous. I urge all of you to take
30 minutes out of your busy lives and demanding schedules, and sit in wonder
and awe with Yuja Wang as she guides you through the vast complexities and
delicate intricacies of this marvelous sonata, rather like a guide conducting
you on a private tour of Yosemite in winter, or a wingless angel showing you
the way into a world beyond the mortal.
