The Patient Pianism of Kate Liu Reaches the Philippines

Without question, Kate Liu is an artist in the highest sense of the term. This shouldn’t be surprising, considering the over-decade-long impression she made in the 2015 Chopin Competition, which still leaves classical music enthusiasts murmuring. Fortunately, Liu was gracious enough to bless the halls of Ayala Museum as Veniccio’s second production last May 2.

The summation of Liu’s playing can be characterized by an overarching slowness that scrupulously takes its time wringing out all the emotions the music had to offer. You see this with how she began each piece: eyebrows knit in consternation and mouth slightly ajar even before her hands touch the keyboard. During these moments of silence, you could see how deeply she entered into a specific state of mind. These quiet “preludes” were a foreshadowing of her playing, as she utilized silence within the music as well, like with Frédéric Chopin’s Op. 30 Mazurkas, which introduced the evening program. With the Mazurkas, Liu would noticeably stretch out the pauses between each phrase.

The other thing that stood out with her performance of the Mazurkas was her staccatos, something which you don’t usually associate with the pedal-filled romanticism of Chopin. In the D-flat Mazurka’s opening, Liu included a slight staccato that gave the music box feel of the opening a more rustic tone. But this characteristic was most evident with the fourth Mazurka in C-sharp minor, where the staccatos that concluded Chopin’s dotted rhythms were precise, giving a more nimble feel to the dance.

Liu ended the first half of the evening with Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor, Op. 35. Her entrance of the introduction marked Grave contradicted her heretofore gentle demeanor when she swung her left arm to strike the opening octave. It was this Grave section that stuck out in the first movement, surprising experienced listeners when reiterated during the exposition’s repeat–something which is not indicated in the score–and further shocking us when she added a subtle adlib with the lower register. Looking around at the faces of the audience, I knew Liu’s musical decision to stray from the score was a well-placed bet. For me as well, the repeated Grave section deepened the thematic doom and gloom of the movement.

Liu’s approach to the second movement opening was less of a sudden attack and more of a slow build-up towards agitation. Concluding the scherzo section of the movement, she characteristically prolonged the silence leading up to the quieter and slower trio section, where she reinforced her forte as an artist who takes her time with the music.

But by far this artistic trait of hers reached its zenith during the sonata’s 3rd movement, which contained the famous “Marche funèbre” (Funeral March). What more could be expected but the very best, what with what Liu had displayed so far? Liu understood mourning and death, evoking the sombre tintinnabulations of metaphoric graveyard bells with the repeating B-flats of the opening theme. Liu also displayed her understanding of acceptance by the movement’s second section in D-flat major. Her melodic phrasing was the most beautiful portion of music that evening before she went back to ring the bells of death once again.

The second half of the evening began with Schumann’s Arabeske in C that Liu played with a notably slower tempo, with her grace notes languidly strolling through the piano. The performance was less playful frolicking than most recordings, and more of a nostalgic reminiscence. It was a very unique take on Schumann’s flowery side.

Liu ended that evening with Brahms’ Sonata no. 1 in C major. Summoning Brahms’ orchestral spirit, she opened with a slower tempo than most. Like with what she showed with the previous pieces, this deliberately allowed her to take her time cherishing the melodies. There was, however, a slight strain in her movement and consequently her chords. Liu, as one of today’s greats, despite not achieving the effortless grandeur of others with her Brahms, evoked well over what most concert pianists could.

With the second movement, Liu was a singer who liked to breathe between phrases, luring the audience to the edge of their seats as they waited in suspense for the next phrase. To disrupt the serenity of this movement, she entered the third, a scherzo, with an attack. Some calculation came with this: the more pleasant and playful portions of the trio theme sprang out of the tumult of the scherzo. The fourth and last movement, being a seemingly perpetual display of virtuosity, is Brahms’ boisterous youth and restlessness put into music. Liu fulfills the composer’s demands with an air of heroism and passion that lasts all the way to the concluding chords.

As an artist, Liu is someone who has utterly decided they have nothing to prove or show off but their unadulterated love for the music. In this way, she is one of the greatest artists out there in the classical music world. Her recital was possibly the best live classical performance I’ve seen in my lifetime.