Maurizio Pollini, an Appreciation

Maurizio Pollini was perhaps the most important figure in my musical upbringing that I never knew.

Twenty years ago, on October 27th, 2004, I walked down the aisle of the Kennedy Center’s Orchestra Hall with two* (!) press tickets in my hand, headed towards perfect seats for a Maurizio Pollini recital that Eileen Andrews, then with the Washington Performing Arts Society, had unconscionably handed to this upstart crow. Row 18 (T/1&3?) or something, piano left – the first time I had requested review tickets for a “proper” concert where the tickets cost money – an unaffordable sum at a time when a sandwich was a luxury. And I remember keenly thinking to myself: “I will never stop pretending to be a critic!”

Lv.Beethoven, The Late Piano Sonatas Maurizio Pollini DG (1975/77)

Lv.Beethoven, Late Piano Sonatas 101 & 106 Maurizio Pollini DG (2021/22)

Lv.Beethoven, The Piano Concertos Maurizio Pollini, Berlin Phil, C.Abbado DG

L.v.Beethoven, Complete Piano Sonatas Maurizio Pollini DG

W.A.Mozart, Piano Concertos K.453 & 467 Maurizio Pollini, WPh DG

W.A.Mozart, Piano Concertos K.414 & 491 Maurizio Pollini, WPh DG

Stravinsky, Prokofiev et al., Petrouchka, Sonata No.7...) Maurizio Pollini DG

F.Chopin, Etudes opp.10 & 25 Maurizio Pollini DG

F.Schubert, The 3 late Piano Sonatas & 3 Pieces. Maurizio Pollini DG

I had picked Maurizio Pollini for this attempt at getting review tickets, not only because I wanted to see if that racket might work – but because Maurizio Pollini had long been in my personal Hall of Fame (where Eileen joined him that day). It was his disc of the late Beethoven Sonatas (subject of one of the earliest Dip Your Ears reviews) that hooked me. I innocently picked it up in a Best Buy in Fargo, ND, and brought it back to my college room. Even played on my rickety boom box, it was an overwhelming experience. The granitic perfection opened my ears not only to Beethoven sonatas, but, to an extent, to late Beethoven and the fascination of piano sonatas itself. I imprinted so hard on these performances that it’s sometimes been difficult to properly appreciate anyone else’s opp. 106 or 111.

Later came his Beethoven Piano Concertos, the second recording with Abbado, now with the Berlin Philharmonic, which fascinated me equally, if, alas, less momentously. Years went by until – it would have been in 2004 – I ‘discovered’ his Chopin Études at Tower Records, took them home, and marveled at the sound that came forth. Opus 10/1: Like marbles rushing down a marble staircase. So clean, so precise and pristine, you could hear every note and there wasn’t an ounce of fat or sentimentality anywhere in sight. I was bowled over once more.

These recordings – and the one of the Stravinsky Petrouchka movements – contributed as much to the reputation of Pollini as an ingenious perfectionist of unparalleled technical standards as they did to the stereotype that he was necessarily a cool, unemotional pianist. True, his clear-as-a-brook, granitic playing cleansed the treacle from many romantic piece and offered stunning x-ray views into contemporary works. But this did not always bear out in concert or on record, where he was well capable of considerable warmth. Case in point his (relatively) late live Mozart from Vienna, which is “understated, sunny, and genial… sophisticated in its simplicity…, [even reminiscent] of Keith Jarrett’s Mozart playing, but with ‘warmer’ results…” (MusicWeb review) The days of being a left-wing political firebrand (“Champagne Socialist” was a less kind, if certaily apt, moniker) had by then long been over, but the passion for the music burned unabated.

The recordings also set an almost impossible standard for live performances – those of others but also his own. In the recital in 2004, he still held up to that standard. Two years later, at a recital at Strathmore, he didn’t quite, but still moved and impressed:

Still, even at the least involving, the marvelous soft notes – never shy-sounding – demanded respect… The Ballade No. 1 in G Minor had been bumped up from encore status, last year, to the main program – and it suits Pollini’s rigor, his iron-frame rubato much better. Those who like his style in Chopin (it’s not the leaves that shake on the tree, the whole trunk is slowly moving), are invariably fascinated by his approach.

More recently, I wrote for Forbes.com and LISTEN Magazine about his Beethoven Piano Sonata Cycle, a project that he took 39 years to complete:

Beethoven Sonata cycles used to be monuments. Milestones. For a pianist today, a Beethoven Sonata cycle has become more of an ultimate business card, which is why we see so many of them. But one cycle issued last year is still a monument amid business cards: Maurizio Pollini’s. After four decades in the making, it has every bit the feel of a classic, like Kempff, Arrau, Backhaus, or Brendel. That's partly because Pollini is one of the last active titans of the ivories, and partly because the set is anchored around his towering, legendary 1975/77 recording of the last sonatas. His Hammerklavier is a pianistic Matterhorn, imposing and awesome. Thomas Mann spent a whole chapter in Dr. Faustus on op.111. Listening to Pollini, you wonder why not an entire book.

Somewhere in between, I actually did meet the man for a brief second, crossing the floor of an empty Philharmonic Hall in Munich, during or before or after rehearsals. Overcoming the (appropriate!) reticence, I approached my idol, pitched some awkward idea and made an even equally lame compliment, which was met with courteous disinterest. On greeting or parting I shook his hand, quite seemingly against his will, but he was too polite to not go through the motions and put his hand in mine, where it briefly lied, like an anesthetized squid. In my defense: I felt an acute and lasting sense of shame and remorse and I did not squeeze too hard.

I last saw Maurizio Pollini at his final penultimate recital in Vienna (review Wiener Zeitung), in the summer of 2021, at the Musikverein, within weeks of hearing Daniel Barenboim play the same hall. This battle of the dinosaurs, not that it was billed as such, made for instructive listening. That the latter performed Beethoven-as-Bruckner was one thing. One can like it or not. Mistakes in the heat of the passion are also one thing; only curmudgeons begrudge ’em. But the visibly – or seemingly – unmotivated, lazy sloppiness was hard to forgive. Even when you almost knew that you could expect as little. Barenboim made every indication of not giving a damn, played through his recital, and collected the rapturous applause he knew he was going to get, no matter what he did.

Further reading: Andrew Ford, "The clarity of Maurizio Pollini" (Inside Story, 2017).

Quite different Maurizio Pollini, born in Milan, on January 5th, 1942, and just ten months older than Barenboim. When he had given his first recital at the Musikverein, 60 years prior, my mom was still in high school. Now – in '21 – he still attacked every note with the same intensity and expectation of perfection as he had so long been able to do, unwilling to make any concessions. But in several places, like Schumann’s op.18 Fantasie or Chopin’s B minor Sonata, the hands no longer did his bidding in the way he wanted and he grumbled along, and every slip seemed to upset him. The tender moments were breath-taking, still, even if not everything was, strictly speaking, at the highest pianistic level anymore. And then for the Berceuse op.57 and the Polonaise Héroïque, it was back: That absolutely even touch, where every note, no matter which finger takes it, is perfectly even.

The ovations were the ovations not just for that night, but a veritable lifetime achievement award. The audience, myself appreciatingly among them, well knew that this might have been the last time they heard a legend live – and it was. He may have heard his last applause, but Maurizio will live on in the gratitude of music-lovers for a long, long time. Mille grazie per tutto, Maestro.

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P.S. If you want to hear Pollini perform Stockhausen's Klavierstück X, you can/should do so here. No matter how you feel about the music or Stockhausen in general, it is an amazing feat and something to behold.

* With me was ionarts' Charles Downey, who thus celebrated the birth of his first kid, earlier in the day.

Scale This! Pollini Plays Chopin

Études, op. 10 and op. 25 F.Chopin M.Pollini DG (1972)

Maurizio Pollini, Chopin Boxed Set with Études Polonaises Preludes, Études Polonaises Preludes, and Études Polonaises Preludes DG

More than 30 years after this recording was made, I finally discovered Maurizio Pollini's version of the Chopin Études, op. 10 and op. 25 (Deutsche Gramophone, 1972) for myself. Wow! Music intended to improve specific technical skills for players who seemingly don't need it, Chopin's two collections of twelve etudes each go farther beyond a mere practice manual than any etudes up until that point (notably those of Beethoven's pupil Czerny, who also gets a nod from Debussy in his Twelve Études). They are, not the least in Pollini's hands, works that stand on their own.

When the Études, op. 10, came out, they were rightly considered Chopin's first masterpiece and manifested Chopin as one of the true "Große Kleinmeister" (great masters of little things), a phrase that led the immortal Horowitz (speaking about Domenico Scarlatti, I think) to the remark that that was at any rate preferable than a "Kleiner Großmeister."

With the close, dry, and almost sharp DG sound—perhaps not as true to the piano sound as others, like the masterful Ashkenazy recording—furthering the pristine, crystalline sound of Pollini's playing, the result is a blazing entry in the two first Allegro etudes in C major and A minor. Breakneck-speed scales sweep you off your feet and the almost eerie surefingeredness of Pollini makes for incredible music. This is, by all means, an account of the Études that shows technical brilliance, diamondlike in perfection but also edging towards the cool (though never uninvolved) and less emotional end of the interpretive spectrum. Again, Ashkenazy is the best example for the more felt, sensitive way of playing these pieces.

No velvet with Pollini, though. This is Chopin for lovers of Nietzschean scales, mountaintops with cold air. Pollini affords the listener no rest, but with his playing, I would think that few people, even if they ultimately prefer their Chopin a bit cushier, would want to rest at any point. As always, the most enjoyment can be drawn from the recording when listening at high volume (turn it down a little if you just listened to the Ashkenazy, or else you might have to chat with your local police officer, courtesy of your neighbor) through headphones or completely undisturbed, perhaps in the dark, at night—in bed or a comfortable chair, eyes closed. There is, in this work and interpretation, little danger of falling asleep.

Etudes, like op. 25, no. 5, in E minor, are vivace, indeed. Spirited but not quite sprightly, Pollini steps over alleged difficulties with ease and make nonsense of the friendly polemics that Ludwig Rellstab poured out over the Études when they came out: "Those with crooked fingers will have them bent straight by these Études, but whoever has straight ones must stay away from them." The lento etudes, of which there are just two and a half, might be considered to suffer from Pollini's approach, but they too are endowed with an inflection that is at the very least interesting and furthermore refreshing in their steely touch. It never sounds as though a lack of willingness or even ability may be the cause for their presentation, but rather choice. A choice that may not be for everyone, but of the many accounts of the Études, this is one that deserves to be in every library. As I happily found out, it's never too late for that.


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