Sunday, March 2, 2008

Andrew Armstrong is to Piano as Fine Wine is to Vessel?

 Andrew Armstrong, photo Checchia 2004
I   really feel I’m living on the edge a lot, and I think I’m a bit of a junkie in that respect. I think I’m a junkie in the way that I play, too. Because generally, if there’s a place in the music where there’s a choice of taking a risk and risking missing notes in order to create a certain tempo or a certain sound quality, as opposed to playing safer, I always choose the former, probably to a fault.”
  —  Andrew Armstrong, interview with Stephen Sawicki, NewCanaan-Darien, April 2007.

M   ost playing of melodies should be done with the una corda [left] pedal down so that the hammers strike only two of the three strings for each note in the  register where there are three strings per note. The sympathetic vibration of the unstruck string gives a penetrating and ‘carrying’ quality to the tone.”
  —  Thomas Manshardt, p. 86.
I’ve never before heard that Steinway yield up the clarity that it did last night in Andrew Armstrong’s performance, in concert with James Ehnes. Armstrong’s accomplishment has its origins deep within; his artistic sense is impeccable. But details of his technic are there in full view. From the box stage-right, I was able to observe his pedaling throughout. Fascinating, and quite unlike anyone else’s so far as I can tell.

The LeClaire piece required especially delicate balancing with the violin——and Armstrong performed almost the entirety of the Sonata in D Major, Op. 9, No. 3, with the una corda pedal depressed. At most, there were several ligatures where Armstrong allowed that left-pedal to come part-way up, with the associated effect on the resonant second and third strings, for each key that was depressed. The quality of the tone was crystalline, bell-like.

In the Brahms Sonata No. 1 in G Major for Piano and Violin, Op. 78 ‘Regenlied’, we again had extensive una corda pedalling. Expressive, in a way that heightens the drama through the dynamics. Armstrong’s face tells the story of where his motives lie. You can see his mouth and eyes reveal the turning wheels in his mind and the earnestness of his heart. Quite wonderful to watch from a vantage point not 15 meters away…

A  nother use of the una corda pedal occurs in the plotting of long crescendos. The basic plan is as follows: with the una corda pedal engaged, the melodic voice should increase in volume. When no further crescendo is [desirable] then the inner voices should expand, followed by the bass. When no further ‘unforced’ crescendo is possible, the una corda pedal can be raised—giving the effect of almost doubling the volume.”
  —  Thomas Manshardt, p. 87.
Manshardt’s book is the only written account that I can find that explains what Andrew was doing in the Brahms. Maybe this is old-hat to elite pianists; maybe only amateurs like me find this novel. But, if so, why do we not hear other performers doing what Andrew does? Why is his sound so astonishing? I begin to think it is because Andrew Armstrong understands the pedals better than some others do. No, let me correct myself. He concerns himself with the entire instrument; he concerns himself with his entire body. He plays as though the piano were one instrument, not an assemblage of a thousand mechanical parts. He plays as though his body were one unified thing. Most of all, he lets us know that the feet are not second-class citizens!

I  n performance of running passages. the pedal is in the position where it just barely begins to raise the dampers off the strings, the quarter-pedal. Quarter-pedalling prevents scale passages from sounding dry and colourless.”
  —  Thomas Manshardt, p. 88.
And it isn’t just what he does with his una corda technic: his insight into the other pedals’ artful uses is remarkable as well. In one concert it is possible to learn more from him than from months with other teachers who focus on the hands and upper-extremities … Thank you, Andrew, for your risk-taking and generosity!


 Andrew Armstrong


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