Van Cliburn, Lynn Harrell and the UT Symphony Orchestra: Autobiography Played Out at the Piano Bass Concert Hall,
September 24
There is, perhaps, only one piano concerto. When Tchaikovsky first played his Concerto No. 1 in B-flat Minor for his teacher, Nikolay Rubinstein, the mentor hated it: “Impossible to play,” the composer reported Rubinstein’s vehement, negative reaction, “with many difficult passages.” Its debut in St. Petersburg in 1875 was a critical failure. But later that year, in Moscow, it captured the hearts of its audience. Since then, it’s been an inspirational piece, challenging the pianist with its demands for virtuosity and sensitivity. With little delay, the familiar attack and following swells bespeak an awesome power; intricate solo cascades create a prize fighter of the classical musician, requiring he dart up and down the keyboard; gentler passages recall classic, pastoral scenes, Tchaikovsky conscientiously penning a stirring score for his orchestra to support the work of his pianist.
There is, perhaps, only one pianist capable of wringing every last drop out of the concerto today — its majesty, its history. White-haired now, a regal figure at the piano with his upright posture and slightly diffident air, Van Cliburn has made a life out of this concerto. At age 23, he played it and won the inaugural International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow during the height of the Cold War. Since then, it has been in his repertoire, a part of him. Seeing him perform it was almost like watching the man’s autobiography, played out at the piano. Cliburn and the UT student orchestra that accompanied him were equal to the challenge: The composer bending from the hip, tall even when seated; the orchestra, guided by Lynn Harrell, smooth and solid in accompaniment. When it was over, Harrell hailed Cliburn and the pianist beamed a gentle smile — a life well-lived, well-shared.
The musical part of the evening began with a flourish — a rousing, commanding performance by the student symphony. The initial, stirring blast of power and the intricate, sinewy passages of Verdi’s Overture to La Forza del Destino proved the talents of the young orchestra early on. If the following selection, Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8 in G Major, lagged from time to time with its swollen severity, respite was had with lighter moments in the middle movements recalling Czechoslovak folklife, its joys and sorrows.
Much less interesting — dare one say, less professional — was poor, tired Dan Rather, who recycled his 1995 address to the UT graduating class to start the evening. Then, in a hapless introduction of the great Cliburn, Rather turned to the program notes that anyone in the audience could have read, instead of offering some inimitable, down-home reverie about the pianist. He missed the chance to help the audience see beyond Cliburn’s regal bearing to the genuine, gifted man of the soft smile and awesome power. UT President Faulkner was there to speak, too, most awkwardly; but this was the kickoff of the “Texas Season” at the Performing Arts Center, and the official start to the well-begun UT Capital Campaign, hence the extra verbiage before the musical fireworks.
Fortunately for the student musicians and the VIP-filled house, at the controls of the artistic portion of the evening was conductor and cellist Lynn Harrell, a jolly presence on the stage, gentle, generous, and full of good humor, infinitely better equipped for speaking to his audience and his musical charges. Following Cliburn’s performance, he returned with cello and persuaded Cliburn to accompany him for a lovely, soulful slow movement of Rachmaninoff’s Cello Concerto to round off an exceptional musical evening.
This article appears in October 8 • 1999.