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Gyorgy and Márta Kurtág in New York: Hiromi Kikuchi (violin), Zankel Hall, New York City, 1.2.2009 (BH)

Kurtág: Hipartita for Solo Violin, Op. 43 (2004; U.S. Premiere)
Bartók: Canon at the Lower Fifth (from Mikrokosmos, Book I)
J.S. Bach: Das alte Jahr vergangen ist, BWV 614 (homage à Reinbert de Leeuw)
Kurtág: Consolation sereine (to Renee Jonker); Versetto (Apocryphal Organum); Knots; Antiphony in F-sharp; An apocryphal hymn (In the style of Alfred Schnittke) (to Judit Firgyesi); In Memoriam András Mihály
J.S. Bach: Gott, durch deine Güte, BWV 600
Kurtág: Dirge; Melody; Fugitive thoughts about the Alberti bass (to András Szöllösy); Hommage à M.K.; Merran's dream—Caliban detecting—rebuilding Miranda's dream; Study to Pilinszky's Hölderlin
Bach: Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit: Sonatina, BWV 106 (Actus tragicus)


Sometimes concerts seem more like extra-musical events, and there was no better example than this evening with composer György Kurtág and his wife, Márta, making a rare visit to the United States, as part of Carnegie Hall's Celebrating Hungary festival at Zankel Hall.  The previous night, Peter Eötvös had led an impressive group of Hungarian musicians in some of Kurtág's most evocative works, but tonight seemed as quiet and intimate as a gathering of old friends. 

To open, violinist Hiromi Kikuchi unveiled the delicacies of Hipartita, a half-hour score in eight movements written for her.  Standing in the center of a row of music stands on which the score spread its wings, she wandered from page to page executing the composer's little dramas—or "tributes" (from the notes) to Arthur Rimbaud, Greek philosopher Heraclitus, and to Eötvös as well.  As is typical with the composer, moments of near-silence frame tiny fortissimos.  Agitation gives way to brief islands of lyricism.  Kikuchi must be reckoned as the premier interpreter of this work, navigating its intricacies with the grace of a dancer who knows her steps inside and out.

In a portfolio he calls Játékok (Games), Kurtág has spent a good part of his career creating tiny miniatures, each of which has its own distinct flavor and style.  Each is a world all its own, such as the delicate hymn to Márta, not even 60 seconds long, or the homages to Stravinsky's Petrouchka or Domenico Scarlatti.  Some have arresting simplicity; others have odd twists of harmony or meter.  One sounded vaguely like a child trying out things for a teacher.  One repeats a complex chord that sounds like a cousin of the one that appears in Stele, Kurtág's ravishing orchestral score.

So for the second half of the program the Kurtág's sat together at a single upright piano, interweaving selections from Játékok with those of Bach and Bartók.  It could have been a 21st-century parlor, with a handful of invited guests gathering to watch the 83-year-old composer entertaining himself with his wife, playing selections they love.  Often the pair were playing side-by-side, but now and then one would stand to allow the other to perform solo.  Hands crossed as each explored the outer reaches of the keyboard.

Some in the audience would have liked a longer program, but that seems like carping on such a unique occasion.  The image I will take with me forever is of these two old souls, their backs to the audience, leaning against each other in harmony.  As they sat close, side by side in silhouette, I mused over the fact that I was seeing something very special—a collaboration honed over decades—and one that I would likely never see again.

Bruce Hodges


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