After a five-year absence, Zimerman has returned to Taiwan. This time, I was fortunate enough to secure a seat in the front row of the second balcony at the National Concert Hall. The richness of emotion and astonishment gathered over the course of this single evening convinced me that my greatest regret this year will be missing his subsequent performance at National Kaohsiung Center for the Arts this weekend.
Classical music has always been my principal delight (though I do listen widely), and piano recitals invariably top my list. For me, no other genre allows such immediate perception and modulation of emotional states. Having grown distant from regular piano practice, I now rely on pure feeling rather than technique when I play. In this context, attending masterful performances has become my remedy, a way to recalibrate myself through attentive listening. Parsing each performer’s interpretation yields infinite pleasure, invaluable insights, and abundant inspiration.
Zimerman’s approach to Chopin carries a subtle aura of improvisation. Beneath this spontaneity lies impeccable control and refinement. Each note resonates with a crystalline clarity, flowing naturally as if carried on a gentle stream. Every sound seems meticulously sculpted, and within that disciplined framework, one still senses surging emotions and a certain freedom of interpretation—his “as he wills it”—cohering into a seamless, architecturally sound whole, all anchored by formidable technique.
Of all the pieces in the first half, I was especially moved by Zimerman’s interpretation of Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor (Op. 35). This choice resonated not only with my present state of mind; it also revealed Zimerman’s mastery. Whether the music blazed with fervor, plumbed depths of gravity, or unleashed tempests of sound, it struck me squarely. His employment of tonal color and flexible pacing was supremely balanced and utterly captivating.
In the second half, Debussy’s Estampes did not emerge as the typical hazy impressionism. Instead, Zimerman’s rendition struck a perfect balance: never overtly dreamlike, but still radiant with the music’s innate grace. Likewise, his execution of Szymanowski’s Variations on a Polish Folk Theme showcased his extraordinary prowess. Already a piece that demands the full palette of piano technique—spanning register, dynamics, velocity, and articulation—it became under his hands a tapestry of varied moods and intricacies. Each variation’s distinctive ingenuity shone through vividly, yet never did the overarching thematic integrity waver.
Of course, not everyone will welcome the same degree of rubato or flexibility in tempo, given differing interpretations and tastes. But for me, the coherence in the program’s conception and his exquisite handling of touch and tonal shading were nothing short of astonishing.
Hearing Zimerman live—rather than through recordings—enables a deeper appreciation of his unwavering artistic convictions. His insights into the piano’s acoustic potential are profoundly nuanced, and his flawless technique ensures that he can realize these nuances with pinpoint precision.
In the program booklet, pianist Yen Hua-jung, who interpreted for Zimerman’s 2019 masterclass in Taiwan, recounted an anecdote: At that masterclass, Zimerman discussed the tempo conception in the first movement of Chopin’s Second Piano Sonata. In guiding the student towards a more faithful understanding and execution, Zimerman’s advice was simply, “You must have discipline!”
After experiencing his live performance, I grasp the full earnestness and potency of that injunction. One hears in his playing how unwavering diligence, focus, and sincerity have, over the years, coalesced into a sonic design both rigorously exacting and vitally elastic. His “discipline” is by no means rigid or dull; rather, it provides the fertile ground for understanding and interpretation to take root, ultimately defining his distinctive style.
Age and personal history can sometimes feel like hollow abstractions. But those willing to deconstruct their insights, melt them down, and reassemble them anew will cultivate true depth—a depth that, over time and through sharing, becomes a source of nourishment and strength for others.