Ervin Nyíregyházi

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Ervin Nyíregyházi
Ervin Nyíregyházi

Ervin Nyíregyházi (Budapest, 19 January 1903 – Los Angeles, 13 April 1987) was a Hungarian-born American pianist. His name is sometimes spelled "Erwin" (the German spelling of his given name) and "Nyiregyházi" or "Nyiregyhazi" (by dropping one or both of the diacritics). He signed it as "Nyiregyházi".

From six to twelve years old this child prodigy was observed and studied by the psychologist G. Révész. Nyíregyházi's father was a singer in the Royal Opera Chorus in Budapest; he was also very encouraging and caring but died when Ervin was 12. Before Ervin's father's death he reported many extraordinary things about his son: that Ervin had tried to sing before he was 1 year old; that he reproduced tunes correctly before he was 2; he began to compose at the age of 2; and that he played almost every song he heard correctly on a mouth-organ by the time he reached 3. He played with the Berlin Philharmonic when he was 6 under Nikisch. He was known for his musicality just as much as his technique. On tests of general intelligence, Ervin scored a few years above average, which makes him a prodigy, not a savant.

He was interested in all sorts of subjects, not just music. He was described as a clever, happy and sociable young boy (Radford, 1990). His debuts in Berlin at 15 and New York at 17 were widely accepted as magnificent. He was sometimes described as "a reincarnation of Liszt". In a letter to Otto Klemperer, Arnold Schoenberg wrote the following about him:

" Dear Mr. Klemperer, .... I wanted to write you today about another matter as well, one which seems important enough to me to let some other tasks lie. Yesterday at Dr. Hoffmann's I heard a pianist who appears to be something really quite extraordinary. I had to overcome great resistance in order to go at all, for the description I'd heard from Dr. Hoffmann and from Maurice Zam had made me very skeptical. But I must say that I have never heard such a pianist before. No doubt you will already have heard his name: Ervin Nyregyhazy (sic.) -- he toured Europe as a prodigy at age 5, played in Germany, among other places, before the War as a young man (he is now 33), and concertized thereafter in America, apparently with great success. Hunecker (sic.), said to be the best American critic, called him "another Liszt." (And that appears really to be the case, if one can assume that Liszt was this good.). Then he seems to have gotten into some altercations, with Judson if I'm not mistaken, and has been blacklisted ever since. At present he appears to be living in near-poverty. Now let me describe the man to you. First, he does not play at all in the style you and I strive for. And just as I did not judge him on that basis, I imagine that when you hear him, you too will be compelled to ignore all matters of principle, and probably will end up doing just as I did. For your principles would not be the proper standard to apply. What he plays is expression in the older sense of the word, nothing else; but such power of expression I have never heard before. You will disagree with his tempis as much as I did. You will also note that he often seems to give primacy to sharp contrasts at the expense of form, the latter appearing to get lost. I say appearing to; for then, in its own way, his music surprisingly regains its form, makes sense, establishes its own boundaries. The sound he brings out of the piano is unheard of, or at least I have never heard anything like it . He himself seems not to know how he produces these novel and quite incredible sounds - although he appears to be a man of intelligence and not just some flaccid dreamer. And such fullness of tone, achieved without ever becoming rough, I have never before encountered. For me, and probably for you too, it's really too much fullness, but as a whole it displays incredible novelty and persuasiveness. And above all he's only [sc. 33 years] old, so he's still got several stages of development before him, from which one may expect great things, given his point of departure. And therefore I think he must be given the opportunity to participate again in concert life. I am convinced that his success will be great. And Zam and Crown, who are most enthusiastic and were in any case responsible for setting up my encounter with him, also refer to him as another Liszt. If it were up to me, I would engage him immediately. Crown and Zahm (sic.) tried to persuade me to let him play in my concert on Dec. 27, but I'm afraid I can't do that. For one thing, I've had impressed on me so often that this time I should play only my own works, which I take to mean that I shouldn't get involved in any extraneous matters. Then too, the time is too short for me to prepare an accompaniment, this being an area in which I possess too little experience as it is. And finally, it would make me too nervous. This time I planned to play only things which I have often conducted before - especially with just four rehearsals! But wouldn't you be able to find another spot for him? He would most like to play Tchaikovsky or Brahms. I would be gratified to know I had succeeded in portraying adequately to you my impressions of the man. I think once you get used to the fact that he has nothing in common with our conceptions of style, and if you imagine his unparalleled potential, and once you are acquainted with his astonishing technique (of which I have said nothing yet), then you will certainly do the right thing. Technique: it is amazing what he plays and how he plays it. One never senses that it is difficult, that it is technique - no, it is simply a power of the will, capable of soaring over all imaginable difficulties in the realization of an idea. - You see, I'm waxing almost poetic. "[citation needed]

His life no less complex than his musical imagination, Nyíregyházi was married as many as 10 times before his death. His first marriage ended in a bad divorce and his wife attacking him with a knife. Although born into wealth and privilege (his parents insisted that the servants literally feed him by hand so as to relieve him of mundane concerns) he nonetheless spent the better part of his life in poverty, at times reduced to sleeping in subways. Although he continued to play often, he didn't own a piano for roughly forty years.

His inability to manage his affairs led not only to financial crisis, but also to unusual, if not colorful, career decisions. He moved to Los Angeles and worked for a film studio. It is Nyíregyházi's hands we see playing in Hollywood films like A Song to Remember and Song of Love.[citation needed] He was a great and welcome friend to Béla Lugosi, among many other famous men of his era.

Concerts in 1973 led to two professional recording contracts under the auspices of Gregor Benko, which brought him into public view once again for a short while. Critical reaction to the recordings was sharply divided, with some claiming to hear an authentic 19th Century pianist (Harold C. Schonberg called him "Liszt incarnate"[1]), and others denouncing outsized dynamics, slow tempos, and many wrong notes. In 1978, he was offered return concerts at Carnegie Hall, but he declined.

Ervin Nyíregyházi died in 1987, having given his final concerts in Japan during 1980 and 1982. Only the last of his ten wives survived him. In 2007, a biography by Kevin Bazzana, entitled Lost Genius, was published by McClelland and Stewart of Canada.

[edit] References

  1. ^ Liner notes to Nyíregyházi, CBS Masterworks (1973)

[edit] External links

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