Biss Bliss

There are certain performers whose concerts I will try to attend no matter what they are playing, and Jonathan Biss is definitely on the list. Last June I heard him in a Beethoven marathon with the San Francisco Symphony at Davies Hall; this past Sunday, at the same venue, he played Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Granted, my allegiance has caused me no pain thus far: anyone would want to hear Beethoven and Mozart well played. But it would not be an exaggeration to say that I decided to attend last night’s concert—cutting short a lovely and informative trip to Los Angeles—for the sole purpose of hearing this talented young pianist set off his magic once again. And the decision paid off handsomely.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what is so great about Biss. Yes, he seems to know the music through and through (I have only seen him play by heart). Yes, he modulates each phrase intelligently and sensitively, so his emphases and dynamics seem singularly his and yet utterly suitable to the score. Yes, he can do the challengingly fast runs and trills and flourishes without making any of it seem like a challenge: he is never a show-off, though his fingers seem able to do anything. None of this, though, accounts for why audiences (myself included) find themselves filled with such wild zeal at the end of one of his performances. It is a feeling of connection, I think—a sense that the player and the composer and the people listening to their collaborative work have all merged, temporarily, into a single sensibility. It is a great gift, and I am always glad to receive it.