In a review earlier this week, I wrote, “They will never stop coming, these excellent young performers—these pianists, violinists, et al. Never. There will never be a shortage of them.”
The occasion for that comment was an appearance by Bruce Liu with the New York Philharmonic. He is a pianist, born in 1997. He won the Chopin Competition in 2021.
Another pianist, even younger, gave a recital in Carnegie Hall last night. He is Yunchan Lim, from South Korea. Born in 2004, he won the Van Cliburn Competition in 2022. (He was eighteen.) He will turn twenty next month.
In Carnegie Hall, he played the Chopin études, all of them—the twelve of Op. 10 and the twelve of Op. 25, plus the Trois nouvelles études, Op. posth. For many years, I have been on a crusade against completeness: the “completeness craze,” I call it. Playing all four Chopin ballades, in a row, is screwy. Playing all four Chopin scherzos, in a row, is even worse.
But the études? They work very well, complete. They are flexible, those twenty-seven little pieces. You can play a small group of them. You can play one of them. You can play all of them.
When Mr. Lim took the stage last night, he got right down to business: no fuss, no muss. He bowed, soberly, and sat down to play immediately. This would be his demeanor all night long. A sober formality, as the audience went nuts.
He is comfortable onstage. He has been there before. He knows how it goes, already. He seems unimpressed by hoopla. He has self-possession.
The jewel of the Trois nouvelles études (with which Lim began) is the middle one, in A flat. I had a crush on it once. This crush lingers. When you have a minute—two minutes—listen to the recording by Sofronitsky, here. The pianist provides a definition of refinement and beauty (and so does Chopin).
Yunchan Lim played it oddly, and sluggishly. The piece did not breathe as it should. Lim, in my judgment, was trying to be too cute and “individual” in it.
In the first étude of Op. 10, he showed his virtuosity. He moves his arms. He does not reach. What do I mean by that? He moves his arms so that his hands are in front of their assigned notes. No reaching, no grabbing, no lunging. The young man has been well trained.
The Étude in E major, Op. 10, No. 3, was annoying. Lim held on to the opening B forever. Then the rhythm was warped—or further warped—with excessive rubato. Think of a car coughing, before running smoothly. The next étude, in C-sharp minor, was somewhat overpedaled, depriving the piece of crispness and bite.
Look, the first five or six études were fine, just fine—but I had to wonder what all the fuss was about.
When Lim played the Étude in C major, Op. 10, No. 7, I thought, “Ah. This is what all the fuss is about.” He played that piece with panache. He played the next one the same way. And he had me for the rest of the evening, pretty much.
Chopin’s études are virtuoso classical pieces. But they also incorporate folk elements—dances, songs. Lim is aware of this. He is also aware that, when you play the études complete, you have to feel the right timing between pieces. He certainly did last night.
Ending the Op. 10 études is the one in C minor, the “Revolutionary.” From Lim, this was fast and furious—and highly musical. But why did he have to hold the final chord as long as he did? I think he ought to reconsider.
In any case, about half the audience stood as they cheered—that’s a lot, for the conclusion of the first half of a recital.
The second half was given over to Op. 25—which begins with the “Aeolian Harp” étude. Bruce Liu, last week, played it as an encore (after playing Rachmaninoff’s “Paganini” Rhapsody with the Philharmonic). While I’m on the subject of études and encores, Yefim Bronfman played the “Revolutionary” as an encore about three weeks ago in Carnegie Hall. This was after playing a Brahms concerto—the one in D minor—with the Munich Philharmonic.
Let me quote once more from my review of that New York Philharmonic concert:
Bruce Liu sat down for an encore—a Chopin étude, the one in A flat, Op. 25, No. 1, nicknamed “Aeolian Harp.” It is the most beautiful piece of piano music ever written. (I exaggerate, but only a tad.)
Yunchan Lim handled it well (and hold that thought, because Op. 25, No. 1, will return). He handled the next one well, too: the Étude in F minor, Op. 25, No. 2. I had never heard so much left hand in that piece. Lim makes a point of this: integrating the two hands (as Chopin intends, surely).
The Étude in G flat was fantastically elfin. (But you have to imagine a big and grand elf.) The one in B minor was a super-storm. Lim’s octaves were—I choose this word with care—Horowitzian.
I have the same complaint about the “Winter Wind” étude that I expressed about an earlier one: overpedaled, somewhat soupy, depriving the piece of its full and proper effect. But listen: I have very high standards for this young fellow. The more he played, the higher my standards got.
Frankly, I thought it would be classy not to play an encore. Each Chopin étude is, in a sense, an encore. But if you’re going to play one, you might as well play four—which Lim did, if I counted correctly.
One of them was an arrangement of “Casta diva,” the aria from Bellini’s Norma. This was fitting—even inspired—given the influence of that Italian master on Chopin.
At the very end of the evening, Yunchan Lim brought the “Aeolian Harp” back. This, too, was inspired. Lim played some wrong notes. But “life is not a studio recording,” as I say. And thank heaven for that.
Evidently, Mr. Lim loves this étude in A flat—which is proof (redundant proof) of his good taste.
I began this review with a quotation from an earlier review. I will quote those lines again—but will continue on with the next sentence:
They will never stop coming, these excellent young performers—these pianists, violinists, et al. Never. There will never be a shortage of them. My worry: will there be listeners for them?
I hope so. By rights, Yunchan Lim should be wowing audiences into the 2080s.