Last week, Yunchan Lim appeared in Hong Kong with the Academy of St Martin in the Fields under the baton of Wilson Ng, bringing us his own take of the piano concerto in A minor by Robert Schumann. I sat up in my seat as soon as the piece started, because the way Lim conveyed the short introduction drew me in. I was fascinated not only by the slower tempo he took, but also by the way he made the opening chord progression sound like a resonant yet measured announcement. So often, this passage sounds frantic and is over before we know it, but Lim’s version felt like a real welcome as he invited us to join in his musical voyage.
Pianist Yunchan Lim with the Academy of St Martin in the Fields orchestra at the Hong Kong Cultural Centre Concert Hall. Photo: HKAF
Indeed, it was an eye-opening journey of discovery. What struck me most was his voicing. Musicians are expected to bring out top lines, good musicians provide a strong enough bass to support the melody, better musicians let interesting bass lines weave into melodic lines, and the best ones let countermelodies speak up so we hear a full conversation. And Lim? He brought out even the most subtle inner voices, conveying the clearest picture of how many layers there were in this piece and how they all worked together in creating this multicoloured soundscape. This, in addition to his carefully crafted phrasing, made the architecture of the work extremely clear. Moreover, I felt his rendition of this concerto was the most romantic version I have ever heard. Yes, the impulsiveness of Florestan and the dreaminess of Eusebius were there, but there was something else holding those two together, something deeper and perhaps more wholesome. It was romantic without being overtly passionate and ostentatious; it was the most sincere and intimate kind of romance.
Two nights later, I returned to the Cultural Centre Concert Hall expecting another odyssey. This time, Lim treated us to a new recital programme of his: the Schubert D major Sonata D.850 ‘Gasteiner’, paired with Scriabin’s Second, Third, and Fourth Sonatas. I really was transported to another world, so much that after I heard the flourish ending the last sonata, I felt that I was physically in a different realm, and my soul somewhere far, far away, until the crash of applause brought me back to reality and my soul back to my body. Lim’s sound was powerful without being harsh, his tonal palette was so refined and meticulously crafted, and his shaping so precise and carefully sculpted. It was apparent from both the concerto and these sonatas (as well as the encore of the Chopin A minor waltz) that Lim has his own understanding and interpretation of music. There is no display of pyrotechnics even when the music demands great technique, and there is no narcissism or self-indulgence in his phrasing, nor in his way of taking time. Rather, Lim lives for music: he does not play to please others, he does not play in order to show others what a great musician he is, he does not play for the stage. On the contrary, he puts music on a pedestal, and he is merely its servant.
Yunchan Lim – SCRIABIN – Sonata No. 2 in G-sharp Minor, op. 19 (“Sonata-Fantasy”)
Being able to watch Lim play was also mesmerising in another way. His body was so fluid – sometimes he rose tall, sometimes he was hunched over with his head loosely hanging from his neck, sometimes his torso was twisted such that his right shoulder and arm were much closer to the keyboard than his left side. I am no expert when it comes to body mechanics, but it is evident that all these movements, whilst being completely organic and not at all superfluous, must impact his sound production. On a superficial level, it goes to show how profoundly Lim himself and his music have fused together as one.
As I observed him taking his bows, I chuckled to myself. The conundrum that is Yunchan Lim stared me in the face: here was a great artist whose musical maturity and intellect suggest someone way beyond his twenties, yet he carries with him an innocence and hopefulness that exude a certain youthfulness. At the piano, he is a master in control; yet one cannot help noticing the boyishness and humility in his stage presence. How lucky we are that we still have decades and decades of watching this extraordinary artist blossom!
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