Mozart, Ravel and Chopin with smart-bomb precision

Music lovers who were wondering why pianist Krystian Zimerman dropped the Gershwin Preludes from his program have our Homeland Security Department to thank. The pianist, who travels with his own piano action (the keyboard, hammers, etc., which can be installed in any compatible piano case), announced to his Benaroya Hall audience that "the piano vanished for five days in New York. It was something to do with the terrorists." The piano was reportedly detained because the glue used in the action is similar to a substance used in making bombs. With no piano, there was no time to practice the Gershwin Preludes.

There certainly were no bombs in Zimerman's Wednesday recital — not from a negative standpoint, at least. Some of his interpretive coups had the force and excitement of a bomb, however, as the Polish-born artist wended his way through Mozart (Sonata K.330), Ravel ("Valses nobles et sentimentales") and Chopin (Ballade No. 4, four Mazurkas and the Sonata No. 2, "Funeral March").

Review

Wednesday, Benaroya Hall

Zimerman is a connoisseur's pianist, a player of enormous colors and variety, tremendous and heart-stopping technique, and total control over all his assets. He knows when to insert a teasing pause before the final chords of a piece. It's astonishing to hear him taper the dynamics into near-silence, then get quieter yet, and then explode with a force that sets the audience back on its heels, as in the Funeral March movement of the Chopin Sonata. The final movement of that sonata went like the wind, a sonic blur of perfectly even notes that dazzled with their speed and dexterity.

His Mozart is all grace and clarity; his Ravel a spectacular combination of careful delicacy and wild verve. Zimerman has an obvious affinity for the music of his fellow Pole, Chopin, and you can almost hear him ruminating over each phrase. The Mazurkas were enigmatic little treasures, played with a sorrow just beneath the surface.

The lone encore was a whirlwind performance of the first movement of a 1962 sonata by Polish composer Grazyna Bacewicz: the last word in virtuosity.

Melinda Bargreen: mbargreen@seattletimes.com