by Ryan Ross
When Nikolai Kapustin died in July of 2020, The New York Times failed to run an obituary. Of course, the newspaper provided glowing tributes to Kaija Saariaho and Sofia Gubaidulina when they passed away in 2023 and 2025, respectively. Not that the latter two composers should not have been recognized, but the contrast speaks to a disconnect between elite agenda-setters and the wider world of performers and music lovers. As they did with Gershwin and Rachmaninoff, critical and academic establishments tend to underestimate composers with direct appeal, especially those who shamelessly incorporate popular idioms into their works. Today Gershwin and Rachmaninoff have critical respect to an extent that belies their press treatment 75-100 years ago. True, some of this amounts to eccentric attempts to make them over as some or other kind of “modernists.” But it is clear by now that previous generations of pundits often got tripped up by their own customary snobbery.
I think a similar thing is happening with Nikolai Kapustin. His name now regularly graces concerts, competitions, and recordings. He has enjoyed the advocacy of such high-profile pianists as Marc-André Hamelin and Yuja Wang. But with occasional exceptions, his critical and academic standing remains paltry. The NYT’s omission, while lacking the vituperative flavor of early-20th-century criticism of Gershwin especially, speaks volumes about a figure some still view as a crossover curiosity rather than one of the most vibrant voices of late 20th- and early 21st-century classical music. It will be clear by now that I am firmly of the latter persuasion. Indeed, I’ll go further: Kapustin is the most recent in a historical line of great keyboardist-composers stretching at least back to Bach and Scarlatti, continuing through Chopin, Schumann, and Liszt, and blossoming anew via Rachmaninoff, Medtner, Scriabin, and Prokofiev.
This new SOMM release featuring pianist Nikolay Medvedev suggests a self-conscious advocacy of jazz-meets-classical with its title Fusions. If that is the case, I have a quibble. It is a mark of how much high modernist rot has infected our discourse that we look at what is offered here – works by Gershwin, Kapustin, and Earl Wild (paraphrasing Gershwin) – as its own special thing rather than a reflection of what high-handed commentators often ignore: popular and “classical” elements have long enjoyed interweaving throughout the tradition. Just because we are far removed from Beethoven’s incorporation of folk culture into his works, or Chopin’s massive debt to ethnic Polish dances and other vernacular manners, for example, does not mean they do not find clear reflection in what both Gershwin and Kapustin practiced. So, while Fusions is a technically correct description of what is going on here, I would love to see a point at which underlying self-consciousness becomes unnecessary.
Medvedev’s disc adds to Kapustin’s increasing traction. By my count, this performance of the Second Piano Sonata puts the total commercial release tally at just under 10 (depending upon how you count), while his selection of Op. 40 Concert Études shares company with well past two dozen others. The Op. 41 Variations here enjoy an outing in nearly as robust a crowd. In other words, the Kapustin discography alone (which scheduled future releases will only grow) is starting to reflect his true stature. It is clear to anyone who has followed this growth that Marc-André Hamelin’s and Steven Osborne’s Hyperion releases (CDA67159, CDA67275, CDA67433, and CDA67656) from the early 2000s really kick-started the present enthusiasm. In a sense, these stunning releases have been a blessing and a curse: a blessing for their effective advocacy, and a curse because of the dauntingly high bar they set for subsequent recording artists. When Kapustin heard Hamelin perform the Second Sonata in London, he gifted the super-virtuoso a signed copy of the score with a note that he didn’t think it likely anyone could play the piece better. I somehow doubt this will be true for all time, but right now Hamelin’s interpretation on CDA67656 seems consistent with Kapustin’s frank assessment.
To let the cat entirely out of the bag, Medvedev’s Second Sonata interpretation here is overall on the second tier. The culprit is the first movement, which admittedly makes fearsome pianistic demands. To a greater extent than the rest of the piece, this section at once needs firm technical command, inner-voice sensitivity, formal awareness, rhythmic drive, and a certain sense of sweep all at once. Keeping it together requires ability of a high order. Medvedev makes a valiant attempt, but his inner voices are sometimes smudged or underplayed, his phrase endings occasionally abrupt, and his narrative grip sometimes slightly off. The issue is not one of insufficient technique, but rather a shaky conception of the movement that gives the impression of drowning in its difficulties. This is all the more unfortunate because Medvedev dispatches the remainder of the sonata very solidly indeed. The resplendent Largo in particular is a thing of beauty, and shows the performer’s gift for velvety atmospheres that he will again demonstrate in later offerings.
The other Kapustin works here receive good to excellent treatment. Together with most of Ligeti’s and Glass’s études, Kapustin’s Op. 40 set is now staple late-20th-century fare. Expectations are therefore already high, and for the most part Medvedev acquits himself admirably in five of eight total numbers he has chosen. The opening and closing ones exude a polish that is substantially missing in the first movement of the sonata, while the Reverie and Intermezzo also come off very convincingly. Slightly less impressive is his Pastorale, a piece with breezy tunefulness and intricate rhythms. Medvedev slightly under-shoots the tempo, and does not consistently highlight different layers of activity. Still, the overall Op. 40 outing here is quite good. Better yet is his performance of the Op. 41 Variations, a work well on its way to canonic status. This is as good an interpretation as I have heard. Medvedev illuminates every little mood and intricacy along the way to a thrilling finish. Would that such panache and control have made their way into the sonata opening.
The remaining selections are Gershwin-focused. We get a fine account of the famous 3 Preludes, which stands tall even against ubiquitous competition. Medvedev is able to transfer what works so well in the slow movement of Kapustin’s Second Sonata to the more languid moments of this small masterpiece. Perhaps best of all are the complete 7 Virtuoso Etudes after George Gershwin by Earl Wild, which are essentially miniature paraphrases on some well-known popular songs. These accentuate Medvedev’s strengths and show that his playing can be superlatively smooth and well-judged in the right setting. Highlights include the fabulously rendered No. 5 (based on Lady Be Good) and No. 3 (The Man I Love). Perhaps the penultimate number (based on I Got Rhythm) could use a tad more melodic accentuation, but such a criticism strains at gnats compared to what Medvedev does right across the whole. Together with the Kapustin Variations, the Wild studies are the best reason to purchase Fusions.
On the whole, then, a quality release. If some playing does not quite measure up to the rest, the lows are not low enough to negate many very real highs. Most importantly, with each strong entry into the Kapustin discography his music becomes ever more difficult to ignore, and increasingly harder to square with the outdated view of music history represented by The New York Times’s obituary snub. A wise person once said that history does not repeat, but it rhymes. Gershwin won immortality out of all proportion to how he was treated by the haughty critics of his day. I predict that if Kapustin’s current slighters could read the music history books of times hence, they might be surprised at the fleeting relevance of certain present preoccupations, as well as the rising stock of specific figures now assigned lesser worth. Medvedev’s album is a sturdy brick in that long road.
