Amal Choucri Catta is dazzled by singing fingers Piano recital by Elgiz Royanov. Chopin, Rachmaninov and Prokofiev. Al-Gumhouriya Theatre, 17 May, 9pm The scene looked quite lonely with its black curtains, its dim lights and a forlorn pianoforte in the middle of a stage large enough to accommodate an orchestra. That night, the theatre seemed colourless and desolate and the 30 odd listeners who had come to applaud star pianist Elgiz Royanov did not dare disturb the bleak silence prevailing in the empty hall. Elgiz Royanov is not a newcomer to Egypt, having been appointed professor for the piano class at Cairo Conservatoire since 2000. His recitals, however, are rare and he is quite unknown to the local amateur and music lover: most of the Gumhouriya listeners were professors and students of the conservatoire. Born in 1949 in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, Elgiz Royanov is nevertheless one of the best concert pianists of his country, soloist of the Uzbek State Philharmony, with a large repertoire of different styles. He was, likewise, professor at Tashkent Conservatoire, contributing towards the formation of a number of successful pianists who are at present performing in the United States and in different European countries. That night, at the Gumhouriya Elgiz Royanov gave his audience a ravishing, rather demanding recital: his choice of music was visibly not intended to entertain, but to amaze. The few amateurs therefore, left the hall prior to the end of the performance. The recital opened with the Chopin's Nocturne in F-sharp Major, Opus 15, No 2. Chopin's haunting Nocturnes are an essential part of the piano repertoire and among the composer's most appealing works. His 19 Nocturnes -- written over many years and hence covering a remarkable range of emotion -- have not always won universal acclaim. Some have been dismissed as Salon music, the claim being they do not make sufficient demands on a pianist's virtuosity. Their relative simplicity, however, requires a pianist to go beyond mere prestidigitation and to explore a wide range of moods within a simple structure, the middle section normally being more animated, even stormy than the quiet beginnings. Though of a tranquil nature, there is nothing of the boudoir about these pieces: they are, like the Polonaises and the Sonatas, sophisticated and virile works. "Let the fingers sing," Chopin told his pupils and nowhere is that shown better than here. The first and last parts of Nocturne Op 15, No 2, exude a euphoric optimism, tinted with sadness and dreamy melancholy, closing finally with a sorrowful sigh, while the centre-piece is as dazzling and vivacious as only Chopin can be. Born in 1810 near Warsaw, Poland, Frederic Chopin took his first piano lessons aged six, wrote his first Polonaise aged seven and made his first appearance as a concerto soloist in 1817. He played to Tsar Alexander I when he was 15 and was acclaimed in Berlin in 1822. Aged 19, he left Warsaw for Vienna: as the story goes, he was all set to board the stagecoach, when his teacher Josef Elsner appeared with a group of students singing a farewell cantata he had composed: "Although you leave your country, your heart remains with us." Chopin's heart did remain in Poland. He died in Paris in 1849 and was buried in the Pére Lachaise cemetery, between Cherubini and Bellini. After the burial, however, his sister, who had come from Warsaw for the occasion, set off home with his manuscripts and personal effects, and in a bottle of formaldehyde, she carried his heart which, as Chopin had requested, was buried in Poland. Chopin wrote four works for the piano which he called Scherzo, though they are marked more by intensity than by anything in the nature of a jest. That night at the Gumhouriya, Royanov chose to conclude his pianistic sequence dedicated to Chopin with Third Scherzo in C-sharp Minor, Opus 39, one of the composer's liveliest works, combining clarity with passion and exhibiting an acute sensitivity to colour and phrasing. With his dazzling pianism, penetrating intellect, beauty of sound and purity of line, Royanov, is superbly equipped for this music. He was likewise equipped for the next work on programme: six movements of Serguey Rachmaninov's Etudes-tableaux Opus 39, reminiscent of childhood fairy-tales and other stories the composer often hesitated to reveal. The Etude-tableau in A-minor, No 6, is a musical retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. The Opus 39 blazes with rhetorical glory before settling into intense, emotional, bittersweet themes. Born in Russia in 1873, into a fairly wealthy family, the fifth of six children, Serguey's first years were spent in rural Novgorod, between St Petersburg and Moscow, on one of the five estates his father had acquired as a dowry. However, like many land-owning aristocrats at this time, the family's fortunes were in decline and Serguey's father, Vassili, a charming spendthrift womaniser, was not the man to reverse the situation. When Rachmaninov was nine this idyllic life ended: the last of the estates had to be sold, his parents separated, and he went with his mother and five siblings to live in St Petersburg, where he entered the local conservatoire. Two years later he was in Moscow where his student compositions were drawn to the attention of Tchaikovsky, who took a keen interest in the boy. By the time he was 20 Rachmaninov had graduated with the highest honour Russia's academic musical world could bestow, the "great gold medal" awarded for his first opera Aleko. He likewise composed his first piano concerto and a group of five pieces for piano, Morceaux de fantaisie. The second of these, the celebrated Prelude in C-sharp Minor, was rapidly to become one of the most popular short piano solos ever written. However, after the glittering start, came a profound setback: the premiere of his first symphony was a disaster and the work was not heard again until 1945. His second piano concerto, however, was an astonishing success and the next 15 years seem to have been the happiest of his life. He conducted, composed and appeared successfully as piano soloist. The Russian Revolution however, changed his life: his home was seized and he set sail for America with his wife and family, never to return. By mid-1920 he was recognised as one of the greatest pianists in all history. He settled in Los Angeles and continued to compose and perform in public until a month before his death from cancer, in 1943, a few weeks after becoming an American citizen. He was buried near New York, a long way from his beloved homeland. If Rachmaninov was one of the greatest pianists and an extraordinary conductor, it is nevertheless as a composer that his name has lived longest: he was the last of the colourful Russian masters of the late 19th century. Elgiz Royanov's interpretation of the six movements of his Etudes-tableaux was passionate and poetic. The second part of Royanov's recital was dedicated to another Russian giant, Serguey Prokofiev. Prokofiev was fundamentally a romantic melodist and his style is formed from a reconciliation of the two strains in his personality: the tough, astringent avant-garde modernist and the lyrical traditionalist. Though Prokofiev's name is very well-known, so much of his music is unknown to the general public. To most people, his name rests on a handful of pieces: Peter and the Wolf, the march from his opera Love for Three Oranges, and melodies from his ballet masterpieces Romeo and Juliet and Cinderella. At least three of his operas have found their way into the repertory of several opera houses, and his symphonies, concertos, chamber music, songs and choral works, as well as film and theatre music, are much appreciated by professionals and connoisseurs. Prokofiev came from a comfortable background: his father was in business and his mother was a talented pianist. A child prodigy, he composed his first piece, A Hindu Gallop, aged five and wrote his first opera The Giant, aged nine. He left Russia for America in 1917, then moved to Paris in 1923 and returned permanently to Moscow in 1936. Born in 1891 in Sontsovka, he died in Moscow in 1953 from a brain aneurysm, aged only 61, on the same day as Stalin. His funeral was therefore not as remarkable as it should have been. Elgiz Royanov gave his audience that night Prokofiev's Sonata No 6, Opus 82. Though not as stunning as his No 7, it contains the composer's characteristic humour, originality, spiky tunes, quirky harmonies and unpredictability. There was a lot of Mother Russia in the slow passages, a lot of meditation mingled with regret in the gradual, hesitant wanderings from one musical expression to the other. Royanov's interpretation went beyond the score, beyond the chords and the tunes, delving deep into the composer's spirituality. His was truly a sublime solo performance. The few professionals remaining in the empty, dark hall were spellbound.
