MUSIC REVIEW : A Dazzling Debut for Shtarkman

Alexander Shtarkman. Remember the name.

He is only 22. He plays the piano with all the strength, flash and eagerness that his age would suggest. He also plays with the sensitivity and mellow refinement one associates with certain grand old men of the keyboard, most of them Russian.

In a world that likes to measure noble art in terms of vulgar contests, the young Muscovite is a prize-winner. He also happens to be something of an underdog.

He did come in first at Riga in 1985. However, he attracted more media attention last year when he came in fourth at the Cliburn Competition in Ft. Worth.

More than one sophisticated observer felt Shtarkman had been robbed--and robbed, ironically, by an even younger, more photogenic, more flamboyant Soviet rival. The Texas experience must have stirred some interesting memories in the Shtarkman family. Alexander’s father, Naum, had placed third, behind Van Cliburn himself, at the historic Tchaikovsky Competition of 1958.

The house was packed for Shtarkman’s local debut Saturday night. The management had to put 50 extra chairs on stage. At the door, a line of people formed in hope of last-minute admission.

Unfortunately, the house, looking more like a classroom than a concert hall, could accommodate only 300. While the impresarios at such locales as the Music Center, Ambassador Auditorium and Orange County Performing Arts Center were looking the other way--or napping--Santa Monica College scored the coup of introducing this major talent to California.

When Shtarkman returns, the venue no doubt will be more glamorous. The tickets, likewise, will be more costly. They were free on this happy occasion.

Shtarkman is shy in demeanor. Applause seems to embarrass him. He looks frail, almost giving the impression of a wimp. Then he plays. . . .

As a warm-up exercise in his remarkably demanding, discerning and revealing program, he tore ferociously into Beethoven’s G-major Rondo, Opus 129. The speed seemed reckless, the touch aggressive, but the pianist knew what he was doing. With every nuance in place, bravado made sense.

It also served as a strikingly breathless introduction to the romantic introspection of Brahms’ Four Ballades, Opus 10. Shtarkman took chances here too. He toyed with expressive rubato, paused to sigh over tiny melodic details--dared to dream at the keyboard. He favored dangerously slow tempos. Yet he never lost sight of the essential structural line, never let tension dissipate.

To close the first half of the recital, he turned to Liszt’s outrageous Fantasy on themes from Mozart’s “Nozze di Figaro” and showed what he can do with bravura bombast.

He blustered splendidly through the martial fragments of “Non piu andrai,” brought heroic ardor to the distortions of “Voi che sapete,” validated every vulgar flourish. The only element missing was charm, but Liszt, the inspired composer-violator, must take most of the blame for that.

After intermission, in the subtle miniatures of Debussy’s “Children’s Corner,” Shtarkman proved that charm does lie within his expressive vocabulary. He lilted with fine insinuation in “Jimbo’s Lullaby,” serenaded the doll with droll lyricism, danced with blurry wisps of tone on behalf of the Gallic snowflakes. He built the suite to a jaunty, nearly brutal climax in the “Golliwog’s Cake Walk.”

Then came an even more jaunty, more brutal climax: the three movements from Stravinsky’s “Petrushka.” Shtarkman reveled in the primitive character studies, exulted in the inherent grotesquerie, pounded out those sliding, gliding octaves with the force of two symphony orchestras. Nonetheless, he never lost control.

It was scary. It was wonderful.