Undiminished

Tottery old man in the black suit, sparse white hair on a pink head, one hand on cane, the other on the arm of a young girl, you moved slowly to the grand piano, sat down carefully, composed your long, white hands on your lap, waited, waited, then lifted them to the keyboard.

Russell Sherman

Your 85th birthday, 70th anniversary of your debut as performer, but the passion you put into the Appassionata, after the Sonata #30 and the Fugue and 15 Variations, was muscular and marvelous. From the balcony behind your surprisingly broad back, I could watch your hands moving side to side, forward and back, toward and away from the same hands reflected in the black lacquered backboard behind the keys.

Precisely controlled and modulated: left hand busy creating the complex bass line, sometimes reaching across the right into treble territory, sometimes exploding up from staccato chords; right hand, rocking, trilling, walking up and down, the fingers working separately or in unison; from crashing to whispering, frenetic to flowing, thrilling music poured out and filled the packed hall.

Then, the hands went back to the lap, and the hall rose as one person cheering. On the third curtain call, the audience began to sing Happy Birthday.

That frail body, that mighty music. My wife and I have listened to you with delight over the years: Schumann, Liszt and so many others. Tonight you gave us the master with mastery. Impressive.