Alaska tactics

Sergei Prokofiev; Piano Concertos Nos. 2 And 4; Overture on Hebrew Themes; Israel Philharmonic Orchestra; Zubin Mehta, conducting; Yefim Bronfman, piano

My friend Curtis grew up in Skagway, AK. I went to Skagway during the summer of 1994 while aboard the Star Odyssey. Some friends and I played at the Red Onion Saloon. It sits on the Klondike Highway. This road connects Skagway and two other Alaskan communities with the lower forty-eight states. With a population of 862 people in the winter-time during the winter solstice when only a few hours of daylight grace the stark beauty of their environs, you can imagine the mind games that can plague one unaccustomed to such extremes.

Curtis told me once how the locals deal with someone who takes their situation a little too seriously. They simply take their index finger, doesn’t matter which one, and start poking the ailing malcontent in the shoulder, doesn’t matter which one, while repeating the phrase, “Poke the bear. Poke the bear. Poke the bear,” until the seriousness has evaporated and said malcontent is laughing.

This little finger-poke-shoulder-bear exercise induces the same result with me when I listen to the music of Sergei Prokofiev. Not all of the time, but a lot of the time. I don’t know what Mr. Prokofiev’s overall demeanor was like, but he packed his music with sarcasm and humor, creating structures of comical grotesquery and misshapen jesting. But weaving in and out of these caricatures are moments of breathtaking beauty. Kind of like decorating an old, rough-hewn, tree, devoid of leaf and life, with a string of sparkling Christmas tree lights.

Many, many miles divide the gap between Mr. Prokofiev’s first attempt at a piano concerto and his second. In at least two instances during his life, specifically his first symphony and his first piano concerto, he proved that he could “follow the rules” as a century of composers before him laid them down. After that, rules just got in the way.

The piano concerto tome contains some humdingers. I learned the third piano concerto of Sergei Rachmaninoff while attending college. Mr. Morris at CCM encouraged me to learn the third piano concerto of Sergei Prokofiev during my graduate school years. These two major works yield some of the most challenging passage work in the entire piano repertoire. I had no fear when I approached these pieces. My confidence level delivered the chutzpah necessary to conquer these two massive mountains of music.

When I stand before Mr. Prokofiev’s second piano concerto and look straight up in an effort to ascertain the scope of its immensity in terms of difficulty, musicianship and vital physical endurance to bring the behemoth to life, I quake. I have worked on sections of this piece in order to grasp its arduousness. On my best days, I walk away from the piano declaring, There’s no way. There’s just no way. Is this piece that difficult? Or has my confidence level diminished over the years?

Do you remember when you were young and you had no fear? When another mountain was just another mountain and we’d better get to climbing it before the compass of the effort to reach its summit will bog you down? When you could accomplish significant, extraordinary feats with immeasurable strength and boundless stamina because nobody dared tell you that you couldn’t?

Perhaps a sense of reality, actual or imagined, has corrupted my proclivity for flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, hanging-over-a-cliff musical adventure. Maybe I’ve reached a point where my talent for music does nothing but sag from here on in. Please. Somebody. Extend your index finger, doesn’t matter which one, and start poking me in the shoulder, doesn’t matter which one. “Poke the bear. Poke the bear. Poke the bear…”

Credits: To Sergei Prokofiev, for making me laugh, tremble, marvel, waver and triumph, all at the same time.