When you misspell someone’s surname, click on it and the spell check programme offers you the correct version, you know the person is in a global league. I had this revelation after Daniel Barenboim’s concert at the Palau de la Música Catalana, where all in attendance learned that, in fact, he’s in a league all his own. We were privileged enough to witness a recital that was not for the faint of heart, as it more than once left us with gaping mouths, doubting if what we had just heard was physically possible. At times a crudely logical, almost impersonal reading of partiturs walked hand in hand with highly individualistic playing, resulting in a supreme display of technical mastery, void of excess but relentless in its desire to prove that it has no match on this planet.
The first two movements of Franz Schubert’s Piano Sonata No. 9 in B major were marked by an incredible sequence of notal miniatures—accurate, emotional and warm. A hard, almost muscly contrast would then break the gentle wave only to subside again, bringing about airy tranquility. Daniel Barenboim embodies strength and physicality as a conductor, and yet he has also mastered the lyrical as a pianist, which makes for a rare contrast.
The beautiful breaking and reassembling the miniatures was followed by an almost predictable, mathematically precise alignment of all the segments of the melody. During one note, his body swung towards the audience, who received a long, focused look from the pianist. The shifts in dynamics in the final movement were so stark that the ear found them almost difficult to follow.
Sonata No. 18, also by Schubert, starts with a walk through the middle and lower octaves, painting springy, yet concrete pictures. The highs sounded were almost too clear, though, like a decisive drop of water to which Barenboim added sharp color. As the work continued, the way in which he managed the changes in rhythm, followed by changes in the emotional charge was at times technically incredible and rather ingenious, ensuring that his performance was never conformist.
The combination of these qualities makes Barenboim a loner at the piano, liking and expecting approval, his presence torn between that of expectation and that of music.
The second half of the concert started with Ballade No. 1 in G minor by Frédéric Chopin, whose somewhat dramatic quality is apt for great concert mastery to come to the fore. Barenboim’s engagement with the notes of this piece was at times soldier-like, and at no point did he allow us to sneak a peek at his strategy. So he surprised with emotion, then with a bombastically played note, then with a harmony carrying on its back the weight of space.
After the audience expressed their satisfaction with Chopin with a loud applause and collective “bravo”, solemn, dark deliberations of Liszt started closing the concert.
Barenboim’s unique style made this an awe-inspiring, albeit impersonal experience. He never goes for the heart. That is not his way. Moments of warmth and intimate engagement with the music are not something a listener should expect from the concerts of this musician. Barenboim, instead, exhibits virtuosity and tries to explore what he likely believes lurks in the other dimensions of a composition.
In The Core (2003), a film about a pending cataclysm, a famous scientist (played by Stanley Tucci) tells another scientist, “Now, why don’t you begin and I’ll fill in all the difficult bits”. The concert in the Palau de la Música Catalana made it clear: Daniel Barenboim is the man you call when you want someone to play the difficult bits.