On Tuesday night, Dénes Várjon gave a recital in Zankel Hall. I believe I first heard him in 2009, in a chamber concert at the Salzburg Festival. I wrote, “He is from Hungary, and what a shocker: another good pianist from that country. They grow them there almost like they do goulash (if goulash could be grown).”
At Zankel Hall, he played a program whose first half consisted of Haydn and Schumann. It is this half that I will critique. Let me say—as I said in ’09—that Várjon is a good pianist. Having said that, I will be quite hard on him.
The Haydn was the Sonata in E minor, Hob. XVI/34. This is a wonderful piece, the kind that can be learned by children and enjoyed in a concert hall, played by a master pianist. It also reminds us that—as the composer Ned Rorem once said to me in an interview—minor need not mean sad.
Várjon emphasized the first note, incorrectly. This is a fault, and crutch, of many pianists: they lay on the first note, just to get themselves started. Even Horowitz used to do this.
As he continued, Várjon was on the heavy side. There was little snap or lightness in this first movement. Várjon was plodding, though not in tempo: in texture. Also, his passagework did not come easily—this from a pianist of sensational technique and deep musicality.
How do I know this? How do I know that he has these qualities? Because it says so in the first line of his bio: “sensational technique, deep musicality.” Bios are of course not bios anymore. They’re just pieces of PR nausea.
Haydn’s second movement is his slow movement, Adagio. From Várjon, it was Germanic, I would say. It was the kind of playing you would have heard from Kempff, Serkin, Brendel—and they of course had legions of fans. I myself prefer something smoother and more cantabile.
But Várjon enjoyed Haydn’s embellishments, enjoyably. A further embellishment—unasked for—was the rumbling subway that is a hallmark of Zankel Hall. (A Zankel Hallmark?)
Haydn’s closing movement is marked Vivace molto, and Várjon played it rather as he had the first movement: so you can credit him with consistency. What I most liked about his playing here is that it was bold and unafraid.
Next on the program came Schumann’s Fantasy in C, Op. 17, that glory. It is one of Schumann’s best pieces. It is one of anyone’s best pieces, for piano.
In the first of the three movements, Várjon was again bold and unafraid. He pedaled well, and his dynamics were well judged. His rubato, or license with time, was well judged too.
To my ears, however, the music was short of dreamy. Short of fantastic, as in “fantasy.” It was overly assertive. I would have liked more horizontality. It was hard to lose yourself in the music, at least for me. The music called for more beauty.
You know who plays this music beautifully? The much-hated—and much-envied—Lang Lang. (I have a musician friend who said, “If you keep saying nice things about Lang Lang, I’m going to call you a CRINO: Critic in Name Only.”)
The second movement of the Fantasy is march-like, and it’s not easy to play. Várjon selected a good tempo, which is crucial. But he did not quite keep it. The music would have benefited from greater strictness. Várjon was flabbier, I think, than he wanted to be.
In the final movement, we are above the clouds. It is hymn-like, mystical, jubilant, filling, uplifting, transcendental. Várjon was—again, to my ears—earthbound. If there was a wet eye in the house, I would be surprised.
So, as promised, I’ve been tough on Dénes Várjon. But what a good pianist, and what a privilege to play a recital in New York—or anywhere, really. I abide by the William Safire maxim: “Kick ’em while they’re up.”