Most of us know the anecdote about the young tenor singing his first major
role in a provincial Italian opera house and, on completing the famous
aria, being asked by the shouting audience to sing it again...and again,
and again.  Flattered by this apparent appreciation, he nevertheless
finally broke down and begged the audience to let him proceed with the rest
of the opera, whereupon someone in the audience shouted, "You're going to
sing this over and over until you get it right!"

Last night (April 1, 2000), I attended a recital at the Kennedy Center by
Awadagin Pratt, about which more anon.

His concert consisted of "The Italian Ground" by Gibbons, J.S.  Bach's
Contrapunctus I from *The Art of the Fuge* and *Chromatic Fantasy and
Fugue in d minor, Beethoven's Sonata in Ab, Op. 110, and, after the
intermission, Liszt's Sonata in b minor.

The thunderous applause from a standing audience at the recital's
conclusion brought him back for the expected encore.  Seated again and
crouched over the keyboard, he started clawing out a familiar sequence of
ominous chords separated by extended rests, suddenly exploding into the
first theme of the just played b minor sonata, at which point he stopped,
spun around to face the audience and grinned.

I, of course, hadn't been knowledgeable enough to notice, but he'd fluffed
that part when he first played it and now, given the chance, he was
repeating it correctly!

I've learned from previous posts that my enthusiasm for Awadagin (stress
on the third "a", I was told) Pratt is not universally shared.  I still
look forward to attending his recitals and, despite the unusual incident,
enjoyed the one I attended yesterday.

Normally, I would say it detracts from a performer to say that watching him
or her perform enhances appreciation for the performance, but in Pratt's
case, much as I enjoyed hearing him, seeing him added to my appreciation of
the performance.  Appearing in a brilliant, scarlet, tie-less, fly-front,
shirt, black pants, and dreadlocks, he sat down on his four-legged milking
stool (which gives him the appearance of Shroder in "Peanuts") and almost
before the audience had time to finish acknowledging his arrival set out
upon the Gibbons.  Coaxing the music out of the piano, he made the notes
sound almost as though they were plucked.  I've heard some music by Gibbons
before for strings, but not any keyboard pieces and this one made me want
to hear more.  It was short and Pratt started in on the Bach Contrapunktus
w/out pause after finishing the Gibbons.  Again it was fascinating to watch
him crouched over the piano patiently pulling out the theme, note by note,
and then the fugue was upon us in all its complexity.  I suspect that he
was putting a Romantic cast on Bach that I hadn't noticed in the short
Gibbons piece, and which continued in the Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue,
which he commenced after the Contrapunktus, again without pause.  The fugue
in the Chromatic Fantasy sounded orchestral.

The Beethoven was accorded the dignity of a pause after the earlier items
on the program, during which Pratt received appropriate and deserved
applause.  Perhaps because of the overwhelming energy expended in hearing
the Bach, or perhaps, at least partly, I prefer Beethoven's Opus 109 and
Opus 111 to the one in between, I wasn't as moved as I expected to be
hearing the Beethoven until listening to the fugue in the last movement.
I had to smile with pleasure and satisfaction (I'm never moved to tears by
music) at the part where, after the *arioso* passage following the fugue
seems to ebb, the fugue returns, inverted this time, leading to its
restatement and the sonata's triumphant finish.

Leaving the hall during the intermission I overheard one gentleman tell the
lady with him that he was familiar with the Liszt sonata and didn't care to
stay for it.  I don't know whether they left.  Liszt is not on my short
list (no pun intended) of favorite composer, but he's certainly not one I'd
avoid, and, while I couldn't recall the sonata specifically, I knew I'd
heard it and I didn't recall displeasure from the experience.  I listened
to the sonata, recalled it, admired what I considered Pratt's virtuosity,
the way he could make the piano sigh and also blare, and the control
evident in the slow, rest-laden passages as much as in the rapid passages
during which his hands (I had a keyboard side seat in the third row) were
simply a blur.  No longer looking like Shroder he looked, with his
dreadlocks flying, like a central European pianist (Liszt himself, maybe)
with long hair flying about as his head was moving to the music. I don't
even feel bad that I missed the fluff that he took the opportunity to
correct when called for an encore.

He then played two more.

Walter Meyer