One of our favorite strategies, here at the DR, is to follow an opening premise to its end, to see if it actually pans out. In most cases, no, it doesn’t. And that’s what makes it funny.
So, in the spirit of tradition, let’s do just that, but abbreviated.
It’s tempting to call Vladimir Feltsman a madman.
Oh my gosh! An opening premise that presumably won’t pan out! Please, please, please tell us—so we can laugh at you—why is it tempting to call him a madman?
It’s crazy what he can do at the piano.
That’s what most of us would call virtuosic; but, then again, who are we to kiss the Oxford English Dictionary's ass? (And, by the way, screw you Webster! Stop calling.)
You expect the whole thing is going to come apart at the seams, that the elements holding the structure of the piece together are simply going to break apart, like a bridge compromised by a gale force wind.
If by “gale force” you mean Vladimir and by “bridge” you mean music, then no. You’re doing similes wrong, my friend. Bridges blown apart by gale force winds are poorly designed, which is not what you’re saying. Are you saying Chopin sucks. Are you? Didn’t think so.
For an encore, Feltsman offered the ever-popular Chopin Waltz in C-sharp Minor. As he finished the final run at the very top of the keyboard his hand kept going and he seemed to wave goodbye to the audience.
Then he smiled – like a madman.
Get it? Because he smiled like a madman, thus ending another awesome DR deconstruction, er, destruction.