When musicians won't sit still

The cellist Alisa Weilerstein, whom I recently heard in concert with the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, is a rising star for good reason. Her performance of Tchaikovsky's Rococo Variations was a stunning display of virtuosity and musicality.

Nevertheless, I found myself looking away almost immediately. Weilerstein is such a demonstrative performer that I was distracted by her flowing, flying hair, her facial contortions, and the uncomfortable (at least to my eyes) way she sometimes bent her neck. Were these histrionic gestures truly reflected in her playing? Or were they just optical candy for the audience?

When I closed my eyes, some of Weilerstein's opening runs were indeed wilder in intonation than the composer intended. Still, she gave a masterful interpretation of the piece, earning a well-deserved standing ovation.

The teacher's plea

A few days later, I was reminded of my experience while rehearsing (on piano) with a young violinist who was preparing for a concerto competition. Her teacher urged the violinist to "perform" more, not just play. The assumption was that flair is what audiences demand.

(To be sure, in this case the flair was also geared to a musical end: by choreographing the student's bow movements a bit, the teacher hoped to improve her musical timing.)

The teacher, incidentally, appeared to be well under 30— which strikes me as relevant. "Choreography" in musical performance, while nothing new (I can't imagine a showman like Franz Liszt sitting absolutely still at the keyboard), is surely a generational phenomenon. The great pianists of the recent past, such as Rachmaninoff and Horowitz, sat calmly yet performed with great passion.

Physical therapy

An overabundance of movement by a performer isn't merely a visual distraction; sometimes the wrong movements can impede execution. My sessions with a physical therapist last summer (because of some shoulder problems) taught me that hunching over at the keyboard or lifting my chin too much actually work against digital dexterity.

That said, I can't remain absolutely still and perfectly erect when I play— when I do, I feel physically tight and musically inhibited.

But I don't move at the keyboard to entertain the audience; my motions generally help me, musically. Still, in a time when classical music is hardly a growth industry and such respected pianists as Leif Ove Andsnes feel the need to add paintings to a performance of a piece as inherently involving as Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition, I wonder if a Horowitz or Rachmaninoff would be as sought after as they were in their era. In a world where every movie seems to require 3-D, it almost seems like the only way to keep up is to stimulate as many senses as possible as much as you can.

I don't really care whether or not classical musicians feel the need to add a little visual "something extra" (as popular musicians have done for years). Nor would I advocate restraining musicians who express themselves fully only while they're in motion.

But having watched my young son— who has never taken a piano lesson— sit at the instrument and perfectly pantomime a virtuoso performance, I do feel that young performers should remember: The musical experience should be equally valid, whether or not the listener is looking at the stage.♦


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