Mikhail Pletnev addressed an atypical audience

Air colors of Williams, Labas, Tyshler – and the sounds of Schubert; the image of a girl in a cabriolet in Pimenov’s famous painting “New Moscow” – and the real Kawai grand piano, coming to life under the fingers of Mikhail Pletnev. These paradoxical and at the same time harmonious combinations were born at the T Festival in the Tretyakov Gallery. The solo evening of the outstanding pianist, who presented a completely new program within the walls of the New Tretyakov Gallery, was the culmination of a three-month concert marathon, in which Vladimir Spivakov, Hibla Gerzmava and other classical music stars had already taken part.

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Mikhail Pletnev, the artist and chief conductor of the Russian National Orchestra, rarely performs in his original pianistic role, all the more solo. Therefore, each such case becomes an event. After an almost year-long pause, the national artist was generous at once with three clavirabands: two were held at the Philharmonic 2, the third at the New Tretyakov Gallery. It was assumed that the program would be the same everywhere: Mozart’s sonatas (No. 4 and No. 10) and Beethoven (opuses 110 and 111). However, at the last moment, the maestro decided to perform a completely different set of works in the museum: Schubert’s sonatas (opuses 162 and 120) and Tchaikovsky’s “Seasons”.

Did the public benefit from such a replacement? A tough question. One can only envy those lucky ones who did not spare money and time for two November concerts or heard the masterpieces of classicism performed by Pletnev a year ago in another great museum – at the “December Evenings” of the Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts. Apparently, there were few such people in the Tretyakov Gallery: the backbone of the audience was secular people, partners and patrons of the gallery, and not the fans of the pianist. In the context of this circumstance, the maestro’s choice turned out to be very reasonable: the late Beethoven is still more difficult to perceive than the bright miniature pictures from the famous Tchaikovsky cycle.

But the main thing (and this effect may not have been planned by the musician), the romantic repertoire was better placed on the visual plots that surrounded the audience: early Soviet realistic painting, saturated with a little naive idealism, evokes today the same nostalgic feelings as “At the Kamelka”, “Shrovetide” “Or” On the top three. ” And Schubert, with its light and seeming simplicity, sounded by no means alien in this neighborhood.

However, in the case of Pletnev, what’s more important is not what, but how. Almost any musical images in his interpretation seem to appear through a light haze of sadness, light sorrow over a lost paradise. However, there is nothing external, superficial, deliberate – on the contrary, the maximum naturalness, high Schubert simplicity extends from him not only to the works of the Viennese genius, but also to the same Tchaikovsky.

And if the sonatas were conquered by the logic of development, the organic flow of musical thought, then in the “Seasons” everything was overshadowed by the signature Pletnev carcass. When in “Barcarole” (“June”) at the end, descending chords in the upper register sounded on piano, I wanted to exclaim “Stop, a moment!” – but it seemed to stop, and the audience stopped rustling with programs and held their breath.

Traditionally, Pletnev softens the contrasts, and even in the carefree “Shrovetide” (“February”) he does not have unrestrained funky fun, like other interpreters, but there is a feeling that Pyotr Ilyich himself aptly described in the explanation to the ending of the Fourth Symphony: “Have fun with a stranger fun. It’s still possible to live (and whether to rejoice ?!)! ” And no, no, and something out of this world will peep out, as if revealing a different dimension in landscape and everyday scenes. So, for example, a long pedal on the Harvest filled the initial measures with a bell. Although, of course, the pianist did not commit a single sin against good taste and the author’s text.

One thing is bad: there were no encores at all. Pletnev, it should be noted, never approaches this formally: the decision to supplement the main program with something is born as a result of intangible contact between the audience and the artist. Often this is manifested even not in the duration and power of applause, but in that listening sensitivity, emotional inclusion that cannot be imitated. She was not here. Rather, the opposite.

The maestro, for example, had to wait until the whispering in the hall between the two Schubert sonatas stopped. And after a ten-minute intermission, the guests were in no hurry to return to their seats, and Pletnev, who had already left the piano, just stood for a while, looking melancholy at the bustle between the rows. It is unlikely that even Bravo’s cries and calls for obeisance could compensate for this, all the more since the public did not show true perseverance. However, everyone was satisfied: the guests received exactly the portion of music that they had expected, and Pletnev himself, who had long been indifferent to any manifestations of mass love, was content with the harmony of art.