In the main, Yundi Li’s Liszt recital proves far more interesting and absorbing than his relatively faceless Chopin debut disc. There’s marvelous playing throughout, along with baffling moments. The latter include La Campanella. Li begins this piece deliberately, taking time to shade the right-hand jumps with coolly calculated hairpin dynamics. He ritards at phrase endings when difficult passages lurk around the corner (to ensure accuracy?). Then, suddenly, the pianist pushes down the accelerator pedal, cranks up the volume, wows the crowd, and destroys the music’s cumulative logic in five fell swoops. (Incidentally, Liszt doesn’t mark these tempo shifts in his score.) Whoever said the older generation of pianists took insane liberties with Liszt as opposed to today’s more “informed” and “responsible” modern players lied. Jorge Bolet also brought refined moderation to this piece, yet he kept his tempos steady. And Josef Hofmann, on his old acoustic disc, plays La Campanella considerably faster and absolutely straight, with 1000 percent more demonic panache.
In contrast, Li delivers one of the suavest, fleetest Tarantellas on disc, and I only wish he hadn’t lingered over the lyrical middle section so much; it’s droopy and flaccid in relation to the whole. Li’s rhetorical asides and slight distensions of phrase in the Sonata, however, genuinely suit the music’s epic trajectory. He doesn’t sectionalize the notorious octaves as many do, but rather allows them to evolve from what came before. He makes a seamless transition into the lyrical D major theme and avoids any hint of mawkishness in the quiet section before the Fughetta. These and many other details add up to one of this overplayed work’s most musicianly, intelligent, and technically accomplished performances in the catalog. It may not match Arrau’s shattering spiritual depth, Bolet’s aristocratic authority, Argerich’s feverish momentum, or Richter’s unflagging intensity, but it fully succeeds on its own terms.
Li’s feathery and svelte Rigoletto Paraphrase is pure, pianistically oriented ear candy, whereas Arrau’s plusher, more thoughtfully detailed reading equals a gourmet meal prior to a night at the opera. Widmung and the Third Liebestraume find Li at his eloquent, unaffected best. Excellent sound, trivial booklet notes, and never mind the cover art; it’s the music that matters and there’s plenty of that to give satisfaction.
