Schiff sets off fireworks with flashy finger work

I have long admired the Hungarian pianist Andras Schiff for his eloquence and sophistication as a Bach player. He has a new recording of Bach’s most expansive keyboard statement, the “Goldberg” Variations, taken from a recital in Basel, Switzerland, three years ago. It is a performance richly conceived and beautifully realized, Bach beyond reproach.

So there was only one thing to do Sunday night when Schiff came to town to play the “Goldbergs” at Walt Disney Concert Hall: Make it tough on him.

I had heard complaints about listening to piano recitals from the Orchestra View seats behind the stage, and they seemed reasonable. With the lid raised on the piano, it makes sense that the instrument’s sound would be projected mostly forward.

If this was a problem, it would surely be one in the “Goldbergs,” which were written for harpsichord. Schiff, properly, uses hardly any pedal; his Bach sound is clean, focused, unforced, unfussy. He also clearly understands that he must, in concert, make intimate music audible to more than 2,000 listeners, and, without it being overly fleshy, he generates a tone stout enough to reach out a considerable distance.

I can say that not only because I have heard Schiff often over the years in a variety of settings but also because, seated behind the piano, I could hear him just fine Sunday. There may be a hint of additional reverberation in this location that could subtly reduce impact, but it is subtle indeed.

And on this occasion, there happened to be terrific psychological compensations from the Orchestra View. Bach never imagined his variations, which were written as a soporific for an insomniac count, in concert. In fact, he never imagined a concert as we know it. Rather, he expected his harpsichord music to be heard by, at most, a few people gathered around the keyboard. Being behind the stage gives a listener a hint of such a gathering.

The other benefit in the Orchestra View section was the skylight, which is visible from the seats behind the stage. The program began around 7:40 p.m. As Schiff embarked upon the aria, that serene sarabande upon which Bach built his wondrous edifice, the early evening Southern California light was softly radiant, and it turned marvelous shades of blue as it darkened through the early variations. When the pianist reached the Italianate 14th variation, the window glowed a delicate turquoise. By the end of the following andante, it was midnight blue. With the big French Overture marking the halfway point of the 75-minute performance, night had fallen, and flashy finger work created the fireworks.

At this point, I couldn’t imagine a more pleasant environment in which to hear the “Goldbergs” or a more pleasant performance of them. When Schiff reached the famous 25th variation, a heart-rending slow movement, it seemed to be occurring in the lonely hours of late night. A spectacular flurry of activity then ushers in a reprise of the aria, and Schiff made the passage not the somber, spiritual reawakening that some pianists seek at this point. It was, instead, mellow morning’s dawn -- a new day, no more and no less.

Schiff’s playing lacks the drama and spice that Glenn Gould, say, brought to the “Goldbergs.” Nor does he give the impression of being a spontaneous player, although in the early variations he added embellishments and brought out inner lines in playful ways that were new and different (even from his recording of three years ago).

Instead, Schiff’s mandate appeared to be that of a kindly, wise Morpheus, to guide us gently through the meaningful night.