Pianists charm with rough grace

Author: Ian Thomas Fleishman

Pianist Pierre-Laurent Aimard was presented to the Middlebury Community with such high acclaim that the blatantly wrong notes towards the opening of his performance came as a particular shock. Nonetheless, his playing of the Mozart sonata was creative and insightful, sentimental but withdrawn, recherché yet capricious - in a word, perhaps, French. The Beethoven which followed was similarly plagued by distracting inaccuracies, but the performer's playful approach and remarkable grace won the sympathy of his listeners.

The more difficult the repertoire, it seemed, the better Aimard performed it. The Chopin and Messiaen that he played were sparkling. And, although one may have hoped for an even more impressive, difficult or modern choice from a pianist of his distinction, the dramatic conclusion to the concert - Ravel's "Gaspard de la Nuit" - dazzled. Aimard, at his best, leaves any audience breathless.

Aimard and his wife, Irina Kataeva, have established their reputation in part on the praise of the rather abstruse Hungarian-Transylvanian composer György Ligeti - famous for such esoteric oddities as his symphonic poem for 100 metronomes - who considered the Frenchman the perfect performer for his clever, but rhythmically impossible piano works. Ligeti composed works for both Aimard and Kataeva. Aimard worked closely with the composer for fifteen years, recording his complete piano works.

Aimard is an educator as well as a performer, holding professorships in both Paris and Cologne. In an interview with France's "Adante" magazine, he discussed his philosophy toward modern music and spoke of his need "to play things that need to be played." His goal as a musician is not only "to provide good performances, but to choose repertory and to try to educate the audience," he said.

Although his program was made up of relatively well known and - besides perhaps the Messiaen - even rather accessible works, Aimard inserted a charming dialogue with the audience while correcting an error in the program. He also delightfully explained his choice of repertoire in an educational manner without demeaning the public.

However it was Kataeva, during her performance on the following evening, who remained truer to this pedagogical philosophy, providing not only a competently performed program of very obscure works by equally obscure composers - including an exquisite selection from the almost entirely unknown musical juvenilia of the Russian novelist Boris Pasternak - but an erudite verbal presentation of each of the works in context. Unfortunately, it sometimes felt more like a lecture than a performance, leaving an otherwise very pleased audience somewhat wearied at the end.