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Music Both Challenging and Chimerical New York
The 92nd Street Y
11/19/2025 -
Nikolai Obukhov: Révélation
George Benjamin: Divisions (New York Premiere) – Shadowlines
Pierre Boulez: Piano Sonata No. 1
Maurice Ravel: Le Tombeau de Couperin
Pierre-Laurent Aimard, Sir George Benjamin, (Pianists)
G. Benjamin/P.-L. Aimard (© Matthew Lloyd/Marco Borggreve)
“Music is a labyrinth with no beginning and no end, full of new paths to discover, where mystery remains eternal.”
Pierre Boulez
“"Suffering furiously", "whistling", "suffering, regretting with a harsh voice", "with an insane smile", "enthusiastically threatening", "with malignancy"”
Typical score directions, by Nikolai Obukhov
New York’s immense Nikolai Obukhov Fan Club turned out in force last night at the 92nd St Y. Or perhaps... just peut‑être, the blue‑ribbon audience showed up for Pierre‑Laurent Aimard. (A poor joke.)
And it mattered not what M. Aimard played. For in terms of pianism he stands not on the peak of Everest. That’s two earthy. For as the master of Bach and Boulez and Beethoven, of Ravel, Ligeti and Stockhausen, the diminutive giant is pretty close to the pianistic cosmos.
Yes, we have Hamelin, also a master of every genre. But somehow, the European has (and this is patently unfair) more of a cachet than the Canadian.
M. Aimard’s recital last night was challenging, audacious and incredibly difficult. Challenging because the 92nd Y has no program notes. We must use our ears only. Audacious because, as one of the three 92nd Y “Modern Music” concerts this week, we have to prepare for utterly new sounds.
And challenging? Maybe for us. Yet M. Aimard can whizz through the Viv sections of Ravel’s Tombeau de Couperin or the Boulez Sonata without a second thought. Yet still managing to give us structure, melody and even emotion. If measures were chimerical, if the counterpoint was a spider’s web of grandeur or microscopic tropes, he gave the audience nothing less than a cosmic experience.
Starting with Nikolai Obukhov, a mesmeric genius hidden in the steppes of Russia to the dangerous streets of Paris, though admired by artists such as Ravel. (He was mugged when 49 years old, and never wrote another note.)
Musically, Nikolai Obukhov was to Scriabin as Medtner was to Rachmaninoff. Genius, mirror images of inspiration, But not quite hitting the apex of mentor or colleague.
Yet last evening’s Révélation had a crazy likeability, starting with the titles: “Death Knell of the Afterlife” (Wow!), “Death, Nothingness, Immortality, Satan’s Distress” and “Truth.”
How does that sound on the Steinway? Well, death excludes counterpoint. Instead we had a series of dissonant chords repeating themselves top and bottom. Where Scriabin would develop his mystic notes into a complex cloud, Obukhov would (at least in this piece, as I’ve never heard his modestly titled Book of Life) vary from stasis to repetition.
Hypnotic, no. Yet the repetitions, the contrasts between treble and bass, the resonance of the pedal, the anticipation of seeing what he would do–and of course Pierre‑Laurent’s masterly confidence–presented a singular aura.
I am not able to review the Boulez First Sonata, as I’ve always been confused by his piano music. (The quote above the review is appropriate.) The performance overwhelmed the music. M. Aimard contrasted theme‑less fast and slow in the opening movement, and played the second like a staccato gamelan instrument yet without the reverberance or expression.
(After the first eight measures, a young man in the third row, stood up, looked at the stage, smiled and politely walked out. I know the feeling.)
Ravel’s Tombeau de Couperin was not only familiar but gave an unalloyed chance for Aimard. Briefly, he transformed devilishly difficult notes into shimmering beauty. The “Minuet” is elegant, charming and... well, perfect.
But for sheer note-painting, M. Aimard drew a 19th Century French landscape. His morass of notes was so fast that they became an opaque misty cloud of music. And then, through this fog, Ravel and M. Aimard gave us short beams of light. Rays of tiny songs, shafts of six‑note measures leading to a grand sunlit finale.
It was a revelation. But one expects nothing less.
The program was billed “Pierre-Laurent Aimard and George Benjamin” but Sir George joined M. Aimard in only a single work, the New York premiere of a four‑hand Divisions.
Before that, the pianist had played Sir George’s Shadowlines: Eight Canonic Preludes. The British composer might not call himself a “serialist”, but these short works were as complex as the preceding Boulez. Except that the 15‑minute Shadowlines was, even at its most complex, graceful and even dramatic.
Could one follow the canons? Maybe in the piano score. But the explosions, the widening of themes, the serial‑like upside‑down canonic form made that impossible.
Two things: the titular pun for canons made up for that, and M. Aimard made the work somehow with Ravel‑like glossiness.
The two artists, friends for many decades, joined forces for Sir George’s Divisions, dedicated to M. Aimard. The duo sat at opposite ends of the piano (ergo the title). Again, the French element: fragments of melodies, fast but drifting harmonies.
More essential, each pianist was playing different music. They would coalesce at times, one’s cascade had another’s ripples, one’s cadenza had another repeated notes.
Like the entire concert (except Boulez), the most demanding music was filled with vignettes, solemnity turned to humor, mysteries. And of course Pierre‑Laurent, like Michelangelo, transforming the least malleable materials into things of utter beauty.
Harry Rolnick
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