Chopin: Études, Opp. 10 and 25; 3 Nouvelles études. Aaron Pilsan, pianist. Alpha Classics ALPHA1270.
I don’t know who first said “there’s no such thing as bad publicity,” but they were onto something. If the internet age has taught us anything, it’s that the sheer power of turning heads is not to be taken lightly—and doing so often demands a dose (or more) of shock value, especially when being first to the party is long off the table. Take Chopin’s études. If Aaron Pilsan had cranked out just another polished, tame set to add to the legions already available, we would have little reason to notice.
Pianists lucky enough to live during the initial recording boom enjoyed the good fortune of setting standards. And while walking wonders like Yunchan Lim occasionally come along and reveal genuinely new ways to hear this music, most latter-day pianists struggle against a market saturation their forebears never faced. Being provocative is therefore a tempting recourse. In a world that insatiably craves novelty, those who ask whether an original take is actually worthwhile are often put on the back foot. After all, few want to come off close-minded.
But I’ll risk it. Because the distinction between hearing a masterpiece anew and hearing what a pianist dares to do to it is still a line worth drawing. And Pilsan's playing gives me the strong impression that he values this music chiefly for what he can do to it. To nearly every challenge these pieces present, he brings the same approach: a heavy, suffocating sound rife with smudgy pedaling. Several of the études explicitly call for lightness, but Pilsan does lightness only reluctantly and awkwardly. Most of the time we get a wash of sound that obscures textures and individual pitches, except for when he rather whimsically pounds out a subordinate line almost for "good measure." Everything is made worse by a recording that sounds as though the microphone were placed at a distance and wrapped in a blanket. A perfect tempest of soupiness.
It is difficult to know where to start identifying issues, or how many of them I can list without being tedious. But six full pages of listening notes call for abridgment, and a few low points do stand out even amidst a poor average. Putting it bluntly, Pilsan's Op. 10/6-7 are perhaps the worst recorded renditions I have ever heard. His E-Flat Minor is especially self-indulgent. The tempo is faster than it should be, but the repeated 16-note figure is almost irreverent in its lack of expressive softness. Chopin indicates con molta espressione and (specifically for the repeated figure) sempre legatissimo. But my reaction to how these notes were played was: "that sounds like a choir member belting out notes haphazardly on a rehearsal piano after practice." Nor did that impression ever soften. The following étude typifies the worst faults across the whole: muddy textures, little dynamic color, and a kind of studied messiness in articulation. He's doing this on purpose and it shows.
An interesting footnote comes with Op. 10/3. Similar problems plague it here, but Pilsan does something worth its own mention: measures 30-31 and 34-35 feature a repeated melodic figure in the top voice. In earlier versions the figure goes unchanged from one measure to the next. Chopin later altered the repetition to descend a half-step the second time around. The later version is more expressive, chromatically consistent with the rest of the music, and rightly heard far more often. Pilsan plays the earlier, unaltered one. It's a small thing, perhaps, but just the kind of decision that makes me think he's about standing out more than anything.
Pilsan's best études are naturally the ones most compatible with his schtick. While he still plays the "Aeolian Harp" (Op. 25/1) too heavily, the sheeny arpeggios in it somewhat match his "blurred sound" approach. Likewise, the "Winter Wind" (Op. 25/11) and the "Ocean" (Op. 25/12) merit praise above the mean because their accompanimental 'barrages' (both in the right and left hands) better accommodate him. Maybe the best number is unexpectedly the "Cello Étude" (Op. 25/7), where Pilsan crafts the bass melody with admirable artistry, and supplies its support with uncharacteristic delicacy. Alone among these Opp. 10 and 25 numbers would I put this interpretation on a playlist to revisit and enjoy. I guess now is a good time to say that the Nouvelles études also come off well, but only because Pilsan kind of treats them like an afterthought...as if they're not worth the usual abuse. Be thankful for small mercies?
So yes, I predict Pilsan will turn heads here, and even cash in on his audacity. Some of my fellow critics will gladly lap up what this album peddles. But I'm hopeful that, bright spots notwithstanding, the judgment of history will eventually put this recording in its proper place. If it takes a while for the novelty to wear off, and the consensus to be that plenty of alternatives dispatch these pieces with requisite grace (rather than mere idiosyncrasy), I'm happy to wait.
Verdict: Not Recommended
