Sound And Stasis

Using mostly the variable of finger pressure, Daniil Trifonov creates an astonishing variety of colors. Often, in the piano’s higher register, he makes the instrument sound metallic, as if it were prepared. Simple rhythmic accompaniments turn rich and propulsive. In one Shostakovich song, he somehow manages to give a Bösendörfer the exactly timbre of muted trumpets. Occasionally this focus on tone, rather than line and gesture, becomes a flaw. I saw Trifonov in recital with the baritone Matthias Goerne at the Kammermusiksaal of the Berlin Philharmonic on January 6, where Trifonov is artist in residence for 2018-19 season. Trifonov has a tendency toward stasis, occasionally seeming to enjoy each individual chord so much that he forgets the music. This happened in the third movement of Alban Berg’s “Vier Gesänge” Op. 2, and in the outro of the last song of Schumann’s “Dichterliebe,” “Die alten, bösen Lieder,” which came across as interminable. Mostly, though, the combination of Trifonov and Goerne’s broad sonic palettes was entrancing. Trifonov’s album covers for Deutsche Grammophon have the aesthetic of a made-for-TV spy movie: good suits, trench coats, old-fashioned trains. In reality, Trifonov is a more familiar type, the shy, awkward classical musician who is most expressive when talking about the details in a given score. Three people I talked to about Trifonov used similar language to describe him: “reserved” in social situations, “intense” in musical ones. After the Philharmonie recital, Goerne gave Trifonov a bear hug, and Trifonov responded limply, with one arm hanging at his side. I met Trifonov the morning after the recital for coffee.