Daniil Trifonov, Barbican, London, review: One of the most gruelling pianistic programmes I’ve heard in a long time
The Russian superstar pianist, who was spotted buying some honey for energy in Tesco, just before his concert, didn’t disappoint, even when it got to the encore
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.As I nipped into Tesco’s, Daniil Trifonov’s recital was due to start down the road in 20 minutes. The queue at the till was moving so slowly that everyone was getting restive – apart from a young man in bomber jacket and jeans just in front of me. He half-turned: Daniil Trifonov! What was he buying? “Honey, for energy.” Shouldn’t he be togged-up and poised ready backstage for action? “It’s OK, I’m fine.” He talked about the tour he was finishing, and strolled off cool as a cucumber.
He was just four minutes late when, immaculate in tails, he strode onstage to launch into one of the most gruelling pianistic programmes I’ve heard in a long time. First he gave a delicately poetic account of Schumann’s Kinderszenen, before tearing full-pelt through the same composer’s exuberant “Toccata in C major”. Then it was down to serious business with Schumann’s Kreisleriana. He’d looked deeply into this multi-faceted masterpiece, and came up with ideas and effects which I had never heard before. Some were disputable, but all were interesting. His second half began with five pieces from Shostakovich’s Preludes and Fugues – again deeply pondered – before exhibiting the requisite showmanship in his Stravinsky finale, Petrushka.
This amazing young Russian has hitherto made a point of destroying his own magic with ill-chosen encores, but not this time: we got two rarely-performed Medtner pieces. But his magic was more effectively ruined than usual: we emerged into the foyer to be ear-blasted by some grotesquely over-amplified rap. An essential part of any concert experience consists of the echoes it leaves in the mind, and this repellent aural shock comprehensively trashed all possible echoes: I’ve never seen an entire audience so keen to get the hell out. Who sanctioned this? Do the classical-music and social-engineering departments of the Barbican not talk to each other?
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments