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Robert Schumann’s Light-fingered Poems New York
Weill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall
11/08/2026 -
Robert Schumann: Arabeske, Op. 18 – Variations on an Original Theme, WoO 24 – Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6
Béla Bartók: Piano Sonata, Sz. 80
Alfred Schnittke: Prelude and Fugue
Carter Johnson (Pianist)
C. Johnson (© Courtesy of the Artist)
“The friends that have it I do wrong
Whenever I remake a song,
Should know what issue is at stake:
It is myself that I remake.”
William Butler Yeats
“To compose is to remember music that has never been written.”
Robert Schumann
It would be churlish and obviously misleading to say that Carter Johnson’s calm and steady demeanor was emblematic of his Canadian heritage. After all, Canada has not only produced not only his frequent partner, Angela Hewitt, some of the greatest idiosyncratic pianists of the past 50 years, Glenn Gould, of course, Marc‑André Hamelin, the wondrous John Kimura Parker and countless more.
Yet there was something about Carter Johnson last night which was too neat, confident, at times more respectable than resplendent.
The winner of the Dublin International Competition, a finalist in the Van Cliburn Competition, and a dozen more international challenges, Mr. Carter is hardly a shy flower at the keyboard. Even more impressive, he chose a fearless challenging program. Yet his physical stillness was, to these ears, somewhat disconcerting.
No pretty Chopin, no well-known Beethoven or Bach, Mr. Carter based his program around Robert Schumann. And while his three selections were difficult enough, he offered the Bartók Piano Sonata and an extremely rare early work by Alfred Schnittke.
Any artist would have show a visual muscularity for the percussive Bartók, or fervently pursued the dodecaphonic fugue of the Schnittke or at least showed the extremes of Schumann’s elongated Davidsbündlertänze.
And this may be unfair, but he simply let his fingers press the keys, his feet press the pedal, let our ears plumb the expression.
This was quite appropriate for the opening Schumann Arabeske, a lovely unassuming epigraph to his soon-to-be wife. Yet so poetic that when Mr. Johnson came to the relatively more exciting section, the first notes were rather jolting.
I was not familiar with Schnittke’s early Prelude and Fugue (is anybody familiar with this most prolific composer?) and the opening dark Prelude fit Mr. Johnson’s digital care.
The atonal Fugue was–for me–the glorious winner of the evening. Not the insane difficulty, not the inspiration. But Mr. Johnson’s utter clarity throughout the whole six‑minute structure. Complex as the composition might be, Mr. Johnson allowed every line its own personality, his fingers were never lifted from the Steinway. But it was a radiant performance.
For the Bartók Piano Sonata, one imagines a recording by the artist would be more pleasurable than watching him. Because the Bartók is fiendishly percussive, the first two movement bounce and bang and the chords of both movements are harsh, dark. Mr. Johnson caught fierce rhythms, he crashed to both ends of the keyboard, and those crazy last‑movement ersatz folk melodies (they were often taken from his For Children) were given the appropriate visceral excitement.
The body didn’t move, the hands never danced above the piano, but the sounds were fine.
The Schumann variations on an “angelic” or “ghostly” melody was a fake. What Schumann thought was original was a theme from his Violin Concerto, and the variations were...well, nicely crafted, yet hardly Schumann at his poetic, dramatic or original best. More appropriate, this was a work for the drawing room. Mr. Johnson is technically expert, he played these minor variations with major expertise.
The last 35 minutes were devoted to Schumann’s Davidsbündlertänze. Later realizing that only the waltzes were dances, he shortened it to Davidsbund. In any case, Mr. Johnson offered a variety of moods–not quite volatile, never ever maudlin.
To those who wanted a more electrifying performance, Mr. Johnson would not be memorable. Like his previous work, and his single Schumann short encore, it was a recital that had its rare bravura notes (the Schnittke fugue) and frequent moments of subtlety, grace and always perception.
Harry Rolnick
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