Critic’s Notebook: Víkingur Ólafsson Looks at Opus 109 through his Kaleidoscope

Also published in Die Presse: Beethoven durch den Ólafsson-Filter

W.A.Mozart Mozart & Contemporaries Vikingur Olafsson (DG, 2021) US | UK | DE

L.v.Beethoven Opus 109 et al Vikingur Olafsson (DG, 2025) US | UK | DE

Bach / Glass / Rameau Triad (1736) Vikingur Olafsson (3CDs, DG, 2020) US | UK | DE

Beethoven Through the Ólafsson Filter

Víkingur Ólafsson offers an evening in unwavering E major – and minor – at the Konzerthaus.

Víkingur Ólafsson (whom we predicted to have a great career at ionarts as early as 2005!) has built up an enthusiastic following in the cities he visits. Quite rightly so: with his distinctive mix of playfulness amid great seriousness, he is that rare phenomenon whose impact stems from the sheer quality of his playing rather than from interpretive gimmicks, exaggeration, or provocation. On Tuesday night at the Konzerthaus, he showed a different side.

The Bach Prelude from the Well-Tempered Clavier was still a conventional opening – leisurely, relaxed. Why he chose No. 9 in E major in particular became obvious during the seamless slip into Beethoven’s op.90. When the program noted that “the performance will take place without intermission”, they sure meant it literally: Ólafsson played straight through, leaving no space for applause (or regulated coughing) until after the last movement of the last work. Admirable for its efficiency but slightly taxing after an hour.

Beethoven’s two-movement sonata – a major little gem perhaps underestimated because of its brevity – took on an unusually dreamlike cast under the Icelander’s hands. “mit Empfindung”, indeed. And then, as the tempo tightened in the second movement (“mit Lebhaftigkeit”), he launched into it with such headlong abandon that the notes nearly tripped over their own feet. He let the whole piece unfold with unexpected emphases, freshly minted agogics, artful pauses, and a whispering close. From anyone with a lesser reputation, one would say: wildly distorted.

It was a sign of what was to come. After a progressively introverted reading of Bach’s Partita No. 6 – taken, like everything else, attacca in and out – came early Schubert and his likewise two-movement Sonata D.566, which Ólafsson quite plausibly places in the wake of Beethoven’s op.90. Individual, playful, a touch sugary – and with a stormy dash into the finale: an April-weather Schubert. Onto this, without so much as a breath, the supposed crowning moment was to follow: Beethoven’s antepenultimate sonata, op.109. His hand went to the keys... recoiled several times, visibly annoyed by coughers. But what does the young man expect when, in December no less, he gives no proper coughing-outlet to two thousand throats for nearly ninety minutes?)

There was, to be sure, much to marvel at in this Beethoven: vlafsson's outstanding sensitivity, naturally, and his finely cultivated touch. But there were also exclamation marks underlined twice, while subordinate clauses were stuffed into double parentheses. There were ritardandi that might have left Josef Hofmann blush and would perhaps not even occur to a Lang Lang. Also lots of pedalling, then breathless passages that pushed the Beethoven to the point of sounding like it consisted of clusters. A harried fugato was followed by a sixth variation in super slow-mo. At times it sounded like a departure from the pianist’s usual image – the one built on naturalness and exquisitely differentiated touch. A step from Wilhelm Backhaus toward Khatia Buniatishvili, if you will.

But one man's disappointment is another man's delight - and the four generous encores – Bach, Rameau, and Bartók, who in his Three Hungarian Folk Songs suddenly sounds like Erik Satie – brought the house down.


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