Martha Argerich
The world belongs to those who let go.
~ Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
I was sixteen and about to perform Tchaikovsky’s 1st Concerto. I was out of town and had picked up a CD by an unknown pianist. From the opening chords, I was enthralled - what sounds! And what free-flowing lyricism! Then came the famous octave passage in the Development… a stampede of octaves out of Hell. I couldn’t believe my ears! I stopped the CD and opened the player to see who it was – Martha Argerich. {How I reached the age of sixteen without knowing anything about her still surprises me}.
Fast-forward two years.
My Piano Professor was having her annual end-of-the-year party for her students and late in the evening she invited us to watch a new video that she’d just acquired – Argerich playing Strauss’s Burlesque, live with Abbado on New Year’s Eve. I’d never seen her play before and imagined flailing arms and a bit of jumping up-and-down off the seat.
I see a petite, fragile, feline creature walk on stage with a shy, girlish smile and gesture to the conductor to begin. A few moments later, she enters with those same, massive octaves and humbling virtuosity. But she remains perfectly still and calm, as if she were sipping tea. My jaw dropped. My whole concept of technique was thrown on its head. I left immediately, muttering apologies, and went straight to the University. It was nearly midnight and the School of Music was locked up, but I searched out a cracked window and crawled through it like a thief in the night.
I found a classroom unlocked and felt my way to the piano without turning on the lights for fear of attracting security guards from afar. I had recently performed Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto for the first time, so I began re-working it, trying to keep my movements – even in the most passionate forte and fortissimo moments – calm and contained. I played until dawn, elated.
Roaring dreams take place in a perfectly silent mind.
~ Jack Kerouac
Argerich would be my idol for the next few years as I tried to come to terms with her technique and artistry.
In terms of color and orchestration, she’s a rather black-and-white pianist; she seems to have learned little in that regard from her studies with Michelangeli. Nor is she a great architect; she simply doesn’t seem to have a genius for form. But she dances and sings in a way that more than makes up for her deficiencies.
She’s also at least as great an accompanist as soloist. She’s malleable and mirror-like, such that when she works with a good conductor, her interpretations take on a more logical and well-organized form.
On her own, especially in her younger years, her fiery energy would often get the better of her. A Liszt Sonata, for example, might end several minutes sooner than it ought to have, details gobbled up in a flood of pedal and passion.
She has a race-car driver’s lust for speed and is one of the few who can often get away with it. Her performances have a visceral excitement, which she doesn’t apologize for. Speed sometimes becomes an art in itself. At her best, she makes you believe that every one else is simply playing several notches too slow!
Onstage she embodies passion, grace, absolute freedom, forward momentum and joy. She makes you get excited about Classical Music and live concerts because her concerts are live, not replicas of a studio recording. I was always the kind of person to leave concerts at intermission, but with Argerich, I would hang out at the scene long after the concert was over, savoring the occasion.
I was at her Carnegie Hall comeback solo recital. Only at an Argerich concert do fans rush the stage repeatedly and beg for encore after encore, clapping wildly even after she’s waved definitively goodbye for the tenth time and been offstage for more than five minutes!
My generation can only say thank you to that kind of inspiration coming from a pianist not 50 years dead but still quite alive. She’s truly a Spirit from another Age.