Lenox — Dutch piano duo Lucas and Arthur Jussen were twice cheated out of appearances with the Boston Symphony Orchestra last year, as pandemic travel problems forced them to withdraw from their scheduled Tanglewood appearance, as well as their Symphony Hall dates in the fall. But finally, on Sunday, July 17, the brothers took the stage at Tanglewood, and the Shed crowd was well primed for the occasion.
The two pianists came here to give the American premier of Fazil Say‘s “Anka Kuşu” (“Phoenix”), a three-movement concerto for piano four-hands and orchestra co-commissioned by the BSO, the Munich Philharmonic, Amsterdam Sinfonietta, and Mozarteum Orchester Salzburg, with support from the Massachusetts Cultural Council.
In a perfect world, all BSO commissions would result in music that is as fresh, thrilling, and accessible to first-time listeners as Fazil Say’s “Anka Kuşu.”
Reaching into a piano case and manually mucking things up to produce novel sonorities is nothing new. The gesture, however, often comes across as musically vacuous and gimmicky—even silly. But not in the case of “Anka Kuşu.” Mr. Say’s use of the technique is integral to the work, serving an audibly musical purpose.
Mr. Say, a respected concert pianist and recording artist in his own right, would have been happy to perform this piece himself if only he had more hands. But he wrote it for the Jussens, it fits them perfectly, and it is exceedingly improbable that anyone could steal their thunder at the keyboard. The two players demonstrate their exclusive ownership of the piece every time they perform it.
The first thing one notices in “Anka Kuşu” is a Middle Eastern melodic mode, no doubt originating in the Turkish makam. Then come the jazz harmonies, melodies, and rhythms. In his own performances, Mr. Say improvises at the keyboard, and this sensibility is manifest in his written scores. This explains why the Jussens’ off-book performance of Say’s music often has the exhilarating feel of death-defying improvisation.
What sets Say’s music apart from other four-handed repertoires is its clarity. When you have two people playing one piano at the same time, you can expect to have a noisy, muddy texture. And you often do, even in works from 19th-century masters (who composed, let’s not forget, on pianos far smaller and less resonant than our modern concert grands). But in Say’s writing, the mud is nowhere to be found.
It will be difficult to find another composer from any period whose works in the piano-four-hands genre feature textures as consistently transparent as those in “Anka Kuşu.” No matter how busy the parts, no matter how dense the writing, we can hear every individual note even at breakneck tempos, something we cannot do quite so easily with much romantic-era piano literature. Say’s music, including his orchestrations, never gets muddy.
Much contemporary classical music is better than it sounds, possessing academically admirable qualities that look good in a program book but do not, outside of academic circles, contribute to music that humans actually enjoy listening to. By contrast, Fazil Say’s music sounds better than it looks on paper. It is more fun, more interesting, and more beautiful than much of what you’ll hear at this year’s Festival of Contemporary Music. Nevertheless, serious listeners are obliged to give the FCM composers a fair hearing, because the next Fazil Say is likely among their ranks.
