Kanade Tsurusawa Recital: Inner Necessity and Fantasia

On October 10th, I headed to the Gotanda Cultural Center for a solo recital by Kanade Tsurusawa titled "Wandering and Memory: The Form of Fantasia."

The program was:
■ Luis de Milán / Fantasia No. 8 from "El Maestro"
■ Bach / Capriccio "On the Departure of a Beloved Brother"
■ Brahms / "Four Pieces," Op. 119
■ Mackenzie / "Reminiscence"
■ Mendelssohn / "Fantasia (Scottish Sonata)"
■ Schubert / "Allegretto"
■ Schubert / "Wanderer Fantasy"

Usually, I can finish writing my thoughts on a concert in about an hour, but this time I find myself pondering, writing, and deleting as I go.

I could start with the fact that when I saw the program, I thought it was quite a heavy load for the performer, or perhaps with some trivia about how the fantasia is the oldest form of instrumental music that isn't functional—not for dancing or background music, but simply to be played—but that doesn't quite feel right. So, following the lead of the recital's title and the theme of the fantasia, I will just write down what comes to mind. I'm not sure if there will be a punchline.

Watching Kanade Tsurusawa play the first piece, the fantasia by Luis de Milán (one of the oldest collections of scores for instrumental music, and also the oldest collection of fantasias), I vaguely felt as if I were looking at a scene in a practice room. It was a dense sound, as if she were heightening her concentration and constantly searching for the best. I was a bit puzzled myself as to why I thought that, but I realized it was because the performance was not a result of responding to someone else's demands.

Playing because it is necessary—facing an inner necessity and refusing outside intervention, a certain nobility; to borrow Adorno's words, the very autonomy of art. One might think that is how a performance of serious music should be, but those who attend concerts know it is not that simple.

The first piece of Brahms' Op. 119, the Intermezzo, is a masterpiece of his later years and one of my favorite pieces. At first listen, it is a piece of simple, continuing arpeggios, but several motifs and melodies intersect, appearing in turns, integrating again, and fading away. As far as I know, there are only a handful of performers, even on recordings, who have fully depicted this form—the limit of the fantasia and one of the pinnacles of classical music. I had never seen it live, but today, I witnessed it for the first time.

Then came Mendelssohn's Scottish Fantasy and Schubert's Wanderer Fantasy. Both are sonatas in form, but they are works that can safely be called fantasias: Mendelssohn, who is usually perfect and acts freely within the form, shows a rare tendency to go too far and not quite return; and Schubert, who, as always, goes off and never really comes back, and then, not long after entering the fugue, it stops being a fugue at all.

Everything lies within the moment and the relationship between the preceding and following sounds. The performer reflects this, and we cannot understand it by seeing something with our eyes, nor can we receive the story surrounding the music and the performance as words; we have no choice but to follow it with our ears. I believe that is what it means to simply "listen," and it is the only way for the audience to participate in the music. For that, a performance like Tsurusawa's today is necessary.

It was an ideal concert for me. If I were to say something slightly critical, it would be that the Brahms leaned a bit toward polyphonic expression, resulting in a sound that was perhaps a little too clean. Conversely, the sound might have been a bit too resonant for the Bach. In either case, nothing was lost.