The Miami International Piano Festival for several years has worked on the fringes of the South Florida cultural scene with its late spring splash of daring pianists at Miami Beach’s Lincoln Theater. Still, it was often submerged in the hullabaloo of larger organizations winding down their seasons with grand concert finales. But it bodes well for the current season that it will present over a half dozen events at the Steinway Gallery. On Dec. 14 Artistic Director Giselle Brodsky brought to the intimate hall F.I.U.’s Artist in Residence, the Croatian pianist and Liszt specialist, Kemal Gekic.
Gekic may be the most influential pianist in the region as regards the Romantic piano tradition. His nearly two-hour concert consisted of a smattering of familiar and seldom played works on the same Steinway Vladimir Horowitz used in late recordings and his memorable final return to Russia in 1986. In a mini-lecture after the concert he spoke about pianos versus pianists, the influence of Horowitz’s style and his acute sense of tone color, and the search for personal expressivity.
His first piece, J.S. Bach’s (1685-1750) Fantasy and Fugue BMV 944, was a study in contrasts. The initial fantasy movement was almost agonizingly slow and deliberate. Conversely, the fugue rushed along at breakneck speed with some occasional smearing although bass voicing was given firm emphasis. The descent and ascent in the coda delivered some dramatic finish in what might be considered overall more of a rubato than strict interpretation.
The following work, Ludwig van Beethoven’s (1770-1827) Rondo, op. 129, is a fully infectious early work best known as “The Rage Over the Lost Penny”. Gekic caught the impish spirit by seizing the treble melody in its subsequent humorous permutations. If the mid-section was slightly bangy the motif repeats were usually precise and percussively invigorating. On the other hand Franz Schubert’s (1797-1828) Impromptu in A-flat, op. 142, no. 2, demands a more subtle consideration as the main key shifts into the more melancholy domain of A-flat minor. The contrast was again quite sharp and he handled the left-hand dominance with skill although the tone was sometimes a bit cloudy.
Robert Schumann’s (1810-56) Toccata op. 7 can tear up and spit out pianists. Its technical demands with its incessant repeated broken chords, rocking motion and two hand octaves leave little room for error. (For an interesting comparison of techniques and style listen to the versions by Horowitz and Igo Pogorelich.) Gekic did his best to tackle Schumann’s gorgeous “beast” and for the most part succeeded in bringing across its poetic impulse. If the tempo was neither breakneck nor daunting the effect was more of a search for the lyrical elements that nonetheless are of necessity inextricably bound to its manic speed and thrust.
From Schumann’s Toccata he downshifted to Frederick Chopin’s (1810-49) Allegro de concert, op. 46 and the Ballade, op. 52, no. 4. Musicologists and Schumann himself acknowledge the former as possibly being the first movement of a projected third concerto. Gekic maneuvered through the virtuosic trills, octaves and runs with aplomb. More poetic by far, the Ballade in F minor had fine shading between pianissimo and fortissimo passages and vigor in the stretto and the difficult coda.
After intermission the complex Romantic program continued with César Franck’s (1822-90) Prelude, fugue and variations, op. 18, originally written for the organ, dedicated to Camille Saint-Saens, and obviously an homage to Bach. The lovely oboe-like cantilena of the opening five-bar phrases had a slow, meandering beauty matched by forceful, organ-like chords to the austere fugal section. Gekic shifted ably back to the main theme with an undulating, aquatic tone in the variations until the calm and meditative ending.
At this point most solo piano concerts would conclude, but he soldiered on in his ambitious program with Sergei Rachmaninoff’s (1873-1943) Valse, op. 10 and Prelude, op. 23. The op. 10, almost a musical valentine, had a delicate but solidly played spun-candy effect.
The Prelude, heroic in tone yet melting in its lyrical core, Gekic captured almost perfectly with its mixture of delicacy and muscularity. His shift from each tonal texture was sure-footed and showed his awareness of color shadings.
Gekic’s unbounded affinity for Franz Liszt (1811-86) resulted in his recording in the 1990s the complete Transcendental Etudes (JVC) and Liszt-Rossini transcriptions (Naxos). The program concluded with modified Lisztomania - the Hungarian Rhapsodies Nos. 4, 10 and 11. Among the three, No. 11 are best known (No. 4, the most popular) so it was a treat to hear the first two that are rarely played locally. Gekic’s technical skills were evident in the somersaults and flips of No. 2 as well as the deft change in dynamics and clear “gypsy” dance rhythms.
The cimbalon (hammer dulcimer) was loud and clear in No. 10 as were the treble arpeggios, scale smears, and resounding double octaves in the finale.
The bell-like trills of No. 11 followed by the overhand melody line and ferocious chords glowed with a scampering self-delight that never became overblown.
It was certainly a bravura ending for a rare and enriching piano recital where Horowitz’s Steinway added a whiff of coloration intensified by the compelling piano skills of Kemal Gekic.
