Yuja Wang’s Rachmaninov marathon reminds us what it means to be human — review

You could almost feel the stakes, as pervasive as the smell of hot dogs from the cart on the corner of New York’s West 57th Street. For the 2,790 people in possession of a ticket, expectations were high. And the sense of belonging to something big was heightened by the ticketless crowds who congregated on 7th Avenue, many bearing placards — “I need just one! I’ll pay anything!”

The something big was in fact someone tiny, at least in physical stature. For 2023, Sergei Rachmaninov’s 150th year, superstar Chinese pianist Yuja Wang had chosen a mighty marathon: all four Rachmaninov piano concertos, plus his late Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. In a single concert. There’s nothing New Yorkers love more than a challenge — except possibly to be in possession of a ticket that someone else wants. 

To rhapsodic applause, conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin, music director of the Philadelphia Orchestra, appeared on stage, along with Wang, his friend and — in his words — his “hero”. They smiled warmly at each other. She shook hands with the concertmaster, the superb David Kim. The maestro raised his baton. We were off.

Rachmaninov’s second concerto — composed in 1901 after a psychological breakdown and subsequent breakthrough — is as familiar as anything in the canon. Yet this interpretation began unfolding with a delighting freshness. In the first movement I heard witty textures, enlivening dynamic phrasing, a thrilling level of lucidity; in the second, a new emotional clarity and insight.

Then, a few bars into the third, a commotion started in the front of the stalls. The concert had been promoted as a “once-in-a-lifetime” experience; now an audience member had been taken seriously ill. A companion voice seemed to be keening, emitting a sound that Rachmaninov, having survived tragic circumstances in his own lifetime, might have recognised as a wail of raw desperation. The concert abruptly ceased. The fourth wall was breached. Wang — who, it seems to me, is really an exquisite and generous chamber musician masquerading as a showstopping soloist — rarely looks at the audience until she is taking a bow. Now she looked to us: all absolute confusion, even fear. Very different from the virtuosity she customarily exudes at the keyboard. She appeared suddenly very young. Then she and  Nézet-Séguin wordlessly exited the stage.

After a while (half an hour feeling like an eternity, in which we were left to contemplate our own existence, our mortality, and music’s ability to connect both), Clive Gillinson, who runs Carnegie Hall, entered the stage. “He is breathing!” Nézet-Séguin then took the mic “You know, we always say music is life. But: life comes first!” Cue relieved cheers from the audience, as Wang took her place at the Steinway and resumed — slightly falteringly at first — the third movement. Talk about an interrupted cadence.

The live performances that stick in my mind are the ones that probe and mine eternal emotions; those that pose multi-layered questions with curiosity and bravery. Later in the programme — maybe inevitably — there were passages when even Wang’s exceptional gifts and stamina were not quite enough to stop the flagging of collective concentration. (This concert was a good four and a half hours long, with the long medical delay.) In those moments, I even  questioned the programming — for what purpose, and whom does it serve? I thought. The audience? Wang? Rachmaninov? The lesser-known, lesser-loved concerti, ie One and Four? Is it all for show?

Answer came in the final piece, his third concerto, which was premiered in New York in 1909. I believe Rachmaninov offers a very beautiful and dignified sonic inquiry of everything it means to be human; Wang’s ability to reconcile the many complexities of the moment with such grace, even joy, was notable. The audience staggered out into the Manhattan dusk, as one, all changed; all humbled; all grateful for that ticket.

★★★★★

carnegiehall.org