FOU TS’ONG’S MOZART
On 11 January 2014, four music
critics attended the Singapore Symphony Orchestra concert to witness
80-year-old Chinese pianist Fou Ts’ong’s performance of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.23 in A major (K.488). Here are their views:
KEVIN Y.L.TAN
is a well-known constitutional lawyer, hi-fi aficionado and
musicophile, former President of the Singapore
As the lights dimmed, out walked
a man too young to be Fou Ts’ong. He proceeded to announce the impending
performance by Fou Ts’ong and urge the audience to join the SSO in wishing Fou
Ts’ong a Happy 80th Birthday. Did a quick check – Fou was born on
the 10th of March in Shanghai
– so he was two months shy of his ninth decade. From a distance, the lanky Fou
Ts’ong did not look 80, but his gait and stooped shoulders gave him away. Hair
slicked back and dressed in a black silk Chinese top, Fou made his way slowly
to the piano, sat down and nodded his readiness to the conductor Lan Shui.
The orchestral introduction was
taken slowly, the first indication that this was not to be a firecracker
performance. Fou’s entry was muted and strangely lethargic and while he clearly
had the measure of the music, he was not able to get all his cylinders firing.
Age had clearly caught up with the old magician. The legendary touch and sound
were still there, but in flashes rather than in swathes. Every so often, one
heard the Fou Ts’ong of old – urbane, cultured, manicured, slightly mischievous,
and just-so – but not enough of it.
The sublime second movement was
little better, but far more acceptable, as Fou coaxed a wide range of sounds
and shades from the piano. Alas, the patchiness of the first movement persisted
and at points, the pace began to sag and teetered on the brink of somnolence.
Fou appeared to be having some problem with his right hand as his otherwise
pristine runs would mysteriously slosh about in muddiness from time to time. It
did not help that the orchestra was often too loud and threaten to drown Fou
out.
But in the third movement, Fou
was 40 again. It was as if the first movements were little more than warm-up
sessions for this finale which he took at breath-taking pace. I almost dared
not breath, for fear that he could not sustain the tempo, but Fou had clearly
found his momentum and he sailed – dare I say ‘effortlessly’ – through to the
end in a triumph of prestidigitation. It was the only movement where both
pianist and orchestra seemed to be ad
idem, and as the last notes of the orchestra died away, the audience roared
lustily. Maybe Sir Thomas Beecham was right after all, so long as you start
together and end together, the public will think it a good performance.
PHAN MING YEN
is a lecturer at Republic Polytechnic where he is pursuing a doctoral thesis in writing (hence the poetry). In his previous lives, he was
music critic for The Straits Times, Editor of The Arts Magazine,
and Programme Director of The Arts House. He is the author of the book of short
stories “That Night On The Beach”.
Listening to Fou Ts'ong with Mozart
(afterXu Zhimo's saying)
Like a
scholar from the past he leaves,
Just like
the gentleman he is
when he earlier walked on;
he smiles
softly to the audience
Or perhaps
to the memory of a Western sky.
Those soft
hued notes
that floated up from the keyboard
Are like
young brides in the setting sun;
The
lightness of their bodies
Keeps
echoing in my heart.
The Adagio
that is like a siciliana moves
leisurely
as if in reverie;
I am glad
for such a pastoral mood,
a gentle
flow within the river
of Time
That modulation
within those shades of notes
Holds not
clear hope, but a broken dream
Crumpled
within a body of sound,
Where
forgotten quavers settle.
To search
for that dream?
He runs with
the Allegro Assai,
Upwards
with scales and broken octaves,
That burst
from the stardom of his youth,
a desperate
clutch for the past
Yet, now he
cannot play too fast,
perhaps
peace is indeed his farewell music;
fortes are
now silent for him,
For Mozart
this evening
is mezzo forte, mezzo piano
Quietly he
leaves,
Just as quietly
as he came;
Gently with
a nod of his head,
He does not
give away a single encore.
NATALIE NG
is a pianist, oboist
and founder-editor of the classical music blog Plink, Plonk, Plunk (plinkplonkplunk.blogspot.sg)
They say that opposites attract, and that
cannot be more true in the case of husband-and-wife pianists Fou Ts'ong and
Patsy Toh's playing styles. The elderly couple was here in Singapore
Toh walked
slowly onstage, her gait slightly uneven, and with some difficulty took a bow before
readying herself. Her playing was poetic and lyrical, managing to make
the showpieces sound non-virtuosic. The technique was obviously beneath her, as
she glided through the difficult passages in Chopin's Barcarolle and Fourth Scherzo with ease,
delicately navigating through them without drawing any attention to the
virtuosic writing. Instead, she drew attention to the countermelodies, gently
coaxing them out while keeping the melody and accompaniment beneath. She was a
picture of elegance and eloquence as she sat playing at the
piano, still, unmoving, without any dramatic antics, letting her music express
itself.
If Fou
Ts'ong was a legend, his glory days were definitely behind him, his playing
merely a shadow of better years past. Fou picked a slow tempo for the first
movement and plodded along slowly with uneven
notes, playing with what can only be described as fragile beauty. The
orchestra, too, also sounded uninspired, letting him down with their nonchalant
attitude. Perhaps it would have been better for an octet or chamber
group to accompany him instead, as the orchestra was often much too loud
when contrasted with his brittle and small sound.
The second movement was even
slower and almost spiritual; in Fou's reverie-like state and use of rubato, he
seemed to be conveying some kind of sadness in regret or nostalgia. Unlike his
wife, his gestures were extravagant, shaking his head and lifting his arms high
as he played. The finale that followed was so surprisingly fast that one
wondered if he could sustain the energy and tempo until the end. He kept up
till the end, even speeding up. At the end if it all, the audience cheered and
clapped, possibly out of relief, or happy to have watched the living legend perform
in what may be one of his final performances.
