Junwen Liang, piano

Saint Thomas Church, New York, NY

October 22, 2023

This Sunday afternoon at Saint Thomas Church, this reviewer had the pleasure to hear, as part of their Sunday Recital Series, young pianist Junwen Liang. It was a brief recital, around forty-five minutes, but it communicated a lot in a very short time and had enough substance and variety – technically, emotionally, and stylistically – to confirm that this is an extremely gifted and promising young artist.

Mr. Liang opened with Mozart’s Sonata in C Major, K. 330, one of this reviewer’s favorites. It is not always easy to start with Mozart, especially in a highly reverberant church, so when one opens by playing Mozart as beautifully as what we heard, it speaks volumes. Mr. Liang’s playing had clarity, technical polish, and thoughtful attention to phrasing and articulation. It is easy to rush in one’s opening work but Mr. Liang’s approach was refreshingly calm and unhurried. There was one point in the last movement where there may have been a bit too much of a dramatic pause (before the return of the main theme), but all in all, with so much rushing in performances today such savoring is welcome.

This reviewer’s belief, after decades of playing and hearing concerts, is that when the music truly comes first, nerves are much more easily mastered. Mr. Liang puts the music first. Part of how he plunged so immediately into the music and brought it to life so well seemed to be related to his grasp of the operatic elements that lay within it, and these lie within all of Mozart’s Sonatas, in this listener’s opinion. The drama must be so completely engrossing that there is no room to think of oneself or any other distraction. One could hear in Mr. Liang’s interpretation the questions, answers, dialogues, and characters of an opera, all fitting together with beautiful logic. Phrases were allowed to breathe where they needed to – another vocal element – and, as with speech and song, there was always shape and inflection. Critics occasionally will mistake such expressive playing for “Romanticizing” (and this reviewer’s own concerts have received that allegation), but there is really nothing specifically Romantic about shaping phrases and projecting drama, especially when it all adheres so faithfully to the beat, as it did here. It was over in a flash (to the point where there was some regret that not all repeats were taken).

It is tempting to put some of this Mozartean finesse at the doorstep of Mr. Liang’s current teacher, the masterful Richard Goode, the only teacher listed in his printed bio; seeing his slew of degrees, however, this reviewer was curious to learn more and discovered that Mr. Liang has had a wide array of teachers, including also the extraordinary Edward Auer who has been reviewed by New York Concert Review as well. Beyond this, Mr. Liang clearly has his own natural artistry.

It must have been some relief when after Mozart the program moved to Debussy’s Images, Book II. As beautiful as the Steinway is in this church, its big sound along with the reverberant acoustics must have required extreme effort to tame for the Mozart. The reverberation if anything seemed to enhance the musical textures of Debussy. Cloches à travers les feuilles was beautiful and full of shimmering colors. At one point, this listener thought it could have been even more magical, and that was where the piece seems to “open up” (where the meter and key change), and one becomes aware not so much of bells and leaves but of the human spirit’s reaction to them. One wants more reveling here. All in all, though, this was an admirable performance. Et la Lune descend sur le temple qui fut was similarly successful – evocative and ponderous. Occasionally it seemed there might have been still more patience in holding long notes fully, but that can relate to one’s pulse and conception. Poissons d’or was full of silky pianism and sparkle. This listener only wanted a bit more of a sense of play in some parts. Where marked capricieux et souple, for example, Debussy so incredibly evokes the swish and splash of a tail in the water – some goldfish have personality! Anyway, with time and repeat performances, this sense of play will probably increase – and such matters are quite personal.

The program hit its high point with Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12. Mr. Liang seems simply made for this work, and it could become a “signature” piece. He knew just where to get the right declamatory feeling at the opening and elsewhere, and he moved on to brilliant fingerwork with not so much as a smudge or flub anywhere. Where there are cimbalom effects, he achieved dazzling speed with perfect clarity, and where there are quasi campanelle effects he created sonic magic. What was striking too was that there was never the showboating one sometimes finds with this repertoire, but exclusive focus on the myriad sounds. Bravo! As a postscript, speaking of not showboating, there actually could have been a bit more time in the Adagio breather a few bars before the close – mere mortals take advantage of it as a respite after herculean effort, so it feels somehow raced if not a bit broadened. Wow, if these are the biggest criticisms one can produce, Mr. Liang is in good shape.

The last work on the program was a delightful jazzy discovery, the Rondo for Piano (2001) by Catherine Likhuta (b.1981), serving almost a built-in encore. Based on an ostinato vaguely reminiscent of the Vince Guaraldi “Peanuts” theme – though more brilliant – it was lots of fun.

 Ian Hobson, piano

The Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

October 20, 2023

It is always a privilege to hear the great pianist Ian Hobson, whose repertoire in concerts and discographies could be that of ten pianists, and his complete Schumann cycle at the Tenri Institute has only reinforced one’s admiration. Avoiding mere chronological box-checking, his traversal was organized into themed programs, lending focus and insight to aspects of Schumann’s output. Mr. Hobson’s April program, for example, was called “Love and Nature” (Humoreske, Op. 20, Nachtstücke, Op. 23, and the Drei Romanzen, Op. 28 – to see that review, click here: Love and Nature), and his September program just three weeks ago was called “Variations” (reviewed by Jeffrey Williams here: Variations). This Friday, October 20th, we saw the continuation of the series with a concert entitled “Marches and Etudes” and there were revelatory moments.

This week’s “Marches and Etudes” program consisted of Schumann’s Vier Märsche, Op. 76, Six Etudes after Paganini, Op. 3, Six Concert Etudes after Paganini, Op. 10, and the Toccata Op. 7. Incidentally, when one hears of a Schumann program with etudes, the Etudes Symphoniques, Op. 13 probably will spring to mind, but those had already been included in September under the heading of “Variations” where they fit as well. So, except for the very famous Toccata and the more mature Op. 76 that opened the program, this program was left with some of the least performed works of Schumann’s output, twelve etudes based on Paganini Caprices, with half of them arguably not intended for performance. It takes a brave pianist to take on such a program, but who better than Ian Hobson?

Mr. Hobson strolled out calmly to greet his ample audience at Tenri and the tone felt immediately casual, like that of a university seminar. One could easily forget the huge renown that has surrounded him ever since his young prizewinning days. One could also forget the mammoth task ahead.

He described the opening work, the Vier Märsche, Op. 76, as coming after roughly a decade of little solo piano writing for Schumann (the 1840s being filled with songs, chamber music, and orchestral works). Dating from 1849, the Op. 76 was Schumann’s response to the May Uprising of Dresden that year. As Mr. Hobson lit into the very first Märsche, one could feel the stirrings of that uprising as well as the exuberance of Schumann’s return to piano writing in a “white heat of passion” (Schumann’s own words). The boldness and heroism of Florestan were present, along with a remarkable elegance in this pianist’s hands. The second Märsch in G minor followed with power and urgency, as well as sensitivity in its gentle E-flat middle section.

The third Märsche, subtitled Lager-Scene (“Camp Scene”) possesses many of Schumann’s mercurial qualities in harmony and phrasing, and it could easily give way to self-indulgence, but the cohesion here was solid. The playing reflected what one might call an orchestral overview – and that is not surprising, given Mr. Hobson’s very busy second career as a conductor. The fourth Märsch closed the set with a grandeur that underscored its noticeable references to La Marseillaise.

Moving on to the Six Etudes after Paganini, Op. 3 (1832), this listener felt ambivalent at first. As the program notes by Richard Dyer state, Schumann “evidently intended Op. 3 for study and educational purposes only.” They could conveniently have been excised from the cycle on that basis. Furthermore, technically, we want perfection from such pianistic hurdling, though there is little that any performer in a live concert can do to match the several flawless renditions available on recordings, most likely from studios with unlimited editing capacity. What’s more, musically, they are not truly representative of Schumann, for as the composer writes, “I copied the original more or less note for note, perhaps to its disadvantage, only expanding its harmonic scope.” That said, Mr. Hobson had them well in hand, and completeness won the day. Did one occasionally wish all had not been straitjacketed into the cycle plan, and that we could hear only some artfully chosen favorites of the pianist to let his gifts shine at their best? Yes.

Highlights of Op. 3 included the first two etudes with well-known Liszt counterparts. In the first by Schumann, we heard the opening A minor scales and arpeggios of Paganini’s A minor Caprice (No. 5) actually proceeding to the rest of that same Paganini Caprice; oddly, this fidelity was a jolt, because pianists are used to the Liszt-Paganini Etude, No. 1 (composed a good six years later) with the very same opening (transposed to G minor) introducing a tacked-on version of Paganini’s Caprice, No. 6. This “un-hearing” of Liszt took us back in time, bringing us closer to Schumann’s world shortly after hearing Paganini himself in concert.

A less dramatic surprise was felt hearing Op. 3’s second Etude (after Paganini’s Caprice No. 9 – La Chasse, or “The Hunt”), after being accustomed to Liszt’s Paganini Etude No. 5 based on the same Caprice. Here, it was a special joy to hear Schumann’s version, with help from Mr. Hobson’s gentle and graceful interpretation. Equally lyrical was the third (Andante), which Mr. Hobson played with a singing tone and inevitability of phrasing. The fourth was played with all the rhythmic mischief it invites, and the fifth was a romp. The sixth and final Etude of Op. 3 was played with stormy brilliance, reminding one of the Op. 13, then yet to be written. All in all, Mr. Hobson made a case for these neglected pieces.

The Etudes, Op. 10 (1833) followed intermission. One was starting to wonder how anyone could undertake this program, but there were no signs of flagging. Using music for much of it may have removed the stress on one’s memory, but it is nevertheless unwieldy music to tackle. The first of Op. 10 was artfully shaped, such that one almost forgot about its technical difficulties. The second brought to mind again the contrast with Liszt’s eerie G-minor tremolos (from Paganini’s Caprice No. 6), here replaced partly with repeated chords over an inspired, independent left-hand part. Surprisingly, just a year after his Op. 3, Schumann was growing in some ways freer with Paganini than Liszt would be. There is little question about which composer’s Paganini Etudes were  – and are – more popular, but Mr. Hobson made it apparent that even transcribing somewhat laborious exercises, Schumann was a poet.

Mr. Hobson proceeded to No. 3 making it sound easy overall. Despite rapid alternation of octaves and trills – requiring lumberjack and ballet dancer – Mr. Hobson was up to it all. Aside from tiny glitches here and there, it was an epic undertaking, amazingly handled – all “chased down” with Schumann’s diabolically difficult Toccata Op. 7 (1829-32). Few pianists can play the latter well, but it says a lot that its heroic themes echoed in this listener’s mind long after the concert.

It takes a special kind of heroism to rummage through neglected corners of a composer’s output. First, the pianist must devote increased effort to “selling” or beautifying what has been neglected (sometimes for good reason). After that, such a performer is very seldom lauded or thanked as champions of “new music” are. Why? Well, because it is Schumann, and we all know Schumann – or do we? Surely Ian Hobson is content to explore without looking for accolades, but let me at least offer mine, with gratitude.

Australian Haydn Ensemble

Skye McIntosh, artistic director

Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 16, 2023

On the evening of October 16, 2023, the Australian Haydn Ensemble (AHE) took an enthusiastic audience on a bit of time travel where Carnegie’s Weill Hall was transformed into an 18^th century salon (well, an 18^th century salon with electricity!) for a program of symphonies by Johann Christian Bach, Haydn (Joseph), and Mozart. 

Formed in 2012, the eighteen-member Australian Haydn Ensemble is a leader in what they call historically informed performances, specializing in late Baroque and early Classical repertoire using period instruments. The oboe, bassoon, flute and horn (valveless) sound substantially different from their modern counterparts. Love them or hate them, they do give one the authentic “sound” of the times when these works were composed and first played. 

Violinist Skye McIntosh led the conductorless ensemble, whose members played standing. I suspect this was to honor the performing style of those times, even though there is some dispute as to whether this was widespread practice. Ms. McIntosh was also a charming host, speaking with the audience to give some history about the works offered.  I would like to break with my usual convention and name all the members of this fine ensemble: Skye McIntosh, Matthew Greco, Anna McMichael, Annie Gard, Alice Richards, Ella Bennetts, Emma Williams, violins; Karina Schmitz, Kristen Linfante, violas; Daniel Yeadon, Eva Lymenstull, cellos; Pippa Macmillan, double bass; Melissa Farrow, flute; Joel Raymond, Kirsten Barry, oboes; Simon Rickard, bassoon; Michael Dixon, Dorée Dixon, horns. 

Johann Christian Bach, the “London Bach,” was highly regarded during his relatively short life, but time has not been so kind to him. His current reputation has relegated him to almost an afterthought, only meriting the faintest praise that is tantamount to “Well, he tried.” One should consider that Mozart thought highly of him (one can hear shadows of J.C. in some of his works), and that alone should give one pause to reconsider his worth. The Symphony in G minor, Op. 6, No. 6 is an impressive work, in which J.C. goes his own way in a manner we had not heard from his famous father. 

The AHE tore into the stormy first movement with a roiling intensity that caught my attention right away – this was passionate, emotionally powerful and impactful playing. The second movement had an austere quality played with simple sincerity, and the finale was dispatched with élan, complete with a surprise quiet ending that could have been written by Haydn. It was an impressive start to the evening. 

Written in 1761, Symphony No. 6 in D major (Le Matin), Symphony No. 7 in C major (Le midi), and Symphony No. 8 in G major (Le Soir), were Haydn’s fulfillment of Prince Esterházy’s suggested theme for composition: three times of day, morning, noon, and evening – hence the nicknames. These works could just as easily be classified as concerti grossi as symphonies. No. 7 was not included in tonight’s program.

Haydn had just been hired by Prince Esterházy and probably was eager to impress his new patron. The Prince’s orchestra counted some brilliant musicians, which gave Haydn the opportunity to write dazzling solo passages to show off both their virtuosity as performers and his own as a composer. It probably enhanced his working relationship with the musicians, as it was often customary for a player to be rewarded with extra pay for pleasing the Prince with brilliant playing – an early example of “paying it forward.”  These symphonies are chock full of such solos – one suspects many an extra coin filled the pockets of those musicians.  On a side note, Ms. McIntosh reminded the audience that Prince Esterházy’s orchestra also had eighteen members.

One could feel the warmth of the rising sun in the introduction before kicking into high gear.  Flute, oboe, and horn all had featured solos, with special kudos to flutist Melissa Farrow for her virtuosity. One must also give double bassist Pippa Macmillan special praise for her nimble solo work in the Trio. Ms. McIntosh and cellist Daniel Yeadon reveled in soloistic moments.  All in all, it was quite the “morning,” which could take the place of coffee to get the day going! 

Le Soir is a night with some storminess (the finale Presto, sometimes subtitled La tempesta). The opening movement quotes Gluck  – Je n’aimais pas le tabac beaucoup (I didn’t like tobacco much) – from Le diable à quatre, and once again, there were virtuosic solos (violins, cello) throughout. The finale sizzled with a tempestuous energy that was thrilling. It was notable how well these players meshed together – with such small forces one can’t “hide” behind a large section, so any gaffes are easily heard. One would have been hard pressed to find any significant issues with ensemble. 

Mozart’s Symphony No. 29 in A major, K. 201, written when the composer was eighteen years old, opened the second half. There are some who might suggest that this work needs the full forces of a larger orchestra to accentuate its grandeur. I believe that is incorrect, and the AHE validated my opinion. These eighteen musicians brought more than enough passion, power, and brilliance to their sparkling performance. It was the highlight of the evening for this listener. 

After the last notes were played the audience was returned to the 21^st century and rewarded this fine ensemble with an extended standing ovation.  For all lovers of period instruments and the music of this epoch played by superior musicians, the Australian Haydn Ensemble is not to be missed. 

Music of Elliott Carter, Louis Karchin, and Tyson David

Da Capo Chamber Players: Curtis Macomber, violin; 

Chris Gross, cello: Marianne Gythfeldt clarinet   Steven Beck piano

Guest artists: Catherine Boyack, flute (Patricia Spencer is on leave 2023-24); 

John Ferrari, percussion; James Baker, conductor

The Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

October 15, 2023

In a Tenri Cultural Institute concert billed as celebrating “innovation by three generations of American composers,” the Da Capo Chamber Players continued what they have done exceptionally well for decades: the thoughtful curation and expert performance of new music. Here they featured just one composer from each of the three generations, and the three were Elliott Carter (1908-2012), Louis Karchin (b. 1951), and Tyson Davis (b. 2000). 

The first half of the concert offered a sampling of all three composers, starting with Between Light and Shadow by Tyson Davis, now in his first year of the M.M. program at the Juilliard School (but who was just seventeen when the piece was written in 2018). Between Light and Shadow was scored for Pierrot ensemble (exactly what the Da Capo nucleus is) plus percussion – handled expertly here by John Ferrari. The work was inspired by The Twilight Zone television series and consists of four movements named from individual episodes (Third from the Sun, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet, Mirror Image, and The Arrival). The absence of pretense in basing a substantial work on a television program “had me at hello” as the saying goes, but it was the skillful and evocative writing that sealed the deal. The music was powerful, direct, and individual. Mr. Davis is no mere “star of the moment” (despite being booked with commissions through 2025) but is a genuine voice of great promise in the composition world. As Mr. Davis mentioned later in the panel discussion, he is not a synesthete, but he feels strong links between the visual and tonal worlds; in retrospect, it may have been this quality, plus his technique for projecting it, that gave this work such immediate appeal. 

In strong contrast came the program’s second work, Con leggerezza pensosa (1990), by Elliott Carter, who combined a long and productive composing life with the teaching of several generations of composers at Juilliard and elsewhere. 

Con leggerezza pensosa was commissioned by Dr. Rafaelle Pozzi in homage to the Italian author Italo Calvino, and its title suggests Calvino’s notion of “thoughtful lightness” as distinct from the “lightness of frivolity” (“In fact,” Calvino continues, “thoughtful lightness can make frivolity seem dull and heavy.”)  With thoughts of this elusive distinction never far, the work was given an engrossing performance by Marianne Gythfeldt (clarinet), Curtis Macomber (violin), and Chris Gross (cello) – with the author’s case resting most pithily in the final disappearing clarinet gesture, with faint pizzicati.

The third and last piece of the half was a work composed for the Da Capo Chamber Players, Incantations and Dances (2023) by Louis Karchin, currently a Professor of Music at New York University, among his many distinctions. It was a joy, after the cryptic complexity of the Carter piece, to hear a work that, for all its brilliance and sophistication, was immediately accessible, with clearly discernible dance references (the characteristics of a minuet, a hoedown, and pavane, for example). There was not a dull moment, and the Da Capo ensemble with percussionist John Ferrari achieved split-second timing under the leadership of conductor James Baker. Pianist Steven Beck was remarkable here and throughout the evening for his almost surgical precision. One could hardly imagine finding a better performance of this work. It was another feather in the cap of Da Capo to feature this very worthy, though perhaps underrepresented, composer.

After intermission, Mr. Karchin and Mr. Davis were joined by Elliott Carter scholar John Link and conductor James Baker in a panel discussion, and the rest of the program was music by Elliott Carter, with performances of his Enchanted Preludes (1988), and Triple Duo (1982-3). Not surprisingly the panel discussion touched on the influence on the two composers present of Elliott Carter, the senior member of the evening’s triumvirate – and there would have been enough material there to justify calling the entire evening a Carter-fest if Mr. Karchin and Mr. Davis had not offered such engagingly individual works of their own. There were recollections about Carter’s personality, about the composers’ first exposures to his music, and about his overall influence (regardless of whether it affected this evening’s works specifically). There seemed some consensus about Carter’s de-emphasis of downbeats, his music’s overall fluidity (which Mr. Davis noted especially), and the interest in metric modulation. There was in addition the mention of his every note possessing character, a quality which the superb Da Capo players brought out extremely well. The discussion became particularly fascinating in response to the question of how each composer composes – whether from an initial extra-musical idea, from small to large, large to small, from a desired proportion, or creating a figurative “scaffolding” – but sadly a report of these details goes beyond the scope of this review. The interested reader must simply attend the next Da Capo event. 

Carter’s Enchanted Preludes (1988) found flutist Catherine Boyack and cellist Chris Gross in an outstanding pairing, colored with wonderful flutter-tongue sounds from Ms. Boyack and compelling colors from Mr. Gross. 

The only work that was difficult to enjoy, despite its virtuosic performance, was Carter’s Triple Duple, which closed the program. Once again the acoustics of the Tenri Institute made the volume and tone quality in higher registers actually painful. Certainly there were all the tonal colors and individual articulations that give Carter’s music its “flavors” – but in this case (extending a food-music comparison started in the panel discussion) one’s musical “taste buds” had been obliterated by the musical equivalent of a pepper topping the Scoville scale. One kept trying to savor it, thinking “If only I could really taste this.” There were of course many moments for savoring between these strident sounds, but it was hard to unclench after them.

This listener will still eagerly await the next Da Capo concerts, and for more information, the reader can visit: Da Capo Chamber Players

Qianci Liu, cello

New York International Symphony Orchestra, Elias Miller, conductor

Zankel Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 15, 2023

Zankel Hall was the venue for a concert entitled Wandering Melody: Qianci Liu and Friends on October 15. 2023. Presented by the Paulus Hook Music Foundation , of which Qianci Liu is the founder and executive director, works by Chinese composers, composers of Chinese heritage, a Chinese “themed” work by a non-Chinese composer, and a Filipino-themed work formed the program. 

Ms. Liu has many very talented friends – there were sixteen biographies (including Ms. Liu’s) in the promotional materials, far too many to give any one of them any special attention without this review turning into a voluminous book report. I will list them by name here: Qianci Liu, Wei Luo, Zhen Chen, Michael Dadap, Kayden Hansong, Weixiong Wang, Elias Miller, Yang Xu, Hong-Yu Hsien, Fang-Tao Jiang, Ricky Feng Nan, Andrew Hansong, Sherry Li, Yi Ru, Jacky Xu, and Shiqi Luo.

Similarly, with nineteen listed works, it is also beyond the scope of this review to comment about each work.  I will limit myself to commenting on highlights of each composer.  The works naturally tended include the cello (except for one piano solo work), with Qianci Liu being the cellist in ensembles including various combinations of piano, guitar, clarinet, vibraphone, handpan, a cello ensemble, and – after intermission – the New York International Symphony Orchestra. A large undertaking, this concert reflected an impressive level of dedication and organization, especially towards the nurturing and featuring young musicians.

This was not a conventional concert by most listeners’ standards (mine included). If one would enjoy nearly three hours of music that was unmistakably similar in style and conception, this would have been a delight from start to finish. Let there be no misunderstanding: the playing was excellent and some compositions projected poignant beauty, but work after work filled with nostalgic yearning, sorrow, and regret, in what could be best described as a “New Age soundtrack” style, grew wearing to this listener. The “spontaneous” addition of two works just prior to the final piece, announced as a “gift,” after two-and-a-half hours was surprisingly clumsy and heavy-handed. 

Let’s give Ms. Liu her kudos – her cello tone was warm and ideally suited for the selected works. There were no pyrotechnics, histrionics, or other affectations, just complete devotion to the music. This is a quality that I much value in a performer, and regardless of my feelings about the works themselves, she has my admiration. As for Ms. Liu as a composer, I point to two highlights. First, Lily, To Mom, as played by Ms. Liu with nineteen of her students of all ages, from the young boy with the 1/8 sized cello all the way to adult, was enchanting – not so much from the musical standpoint, but from seeing the joy they projected. Second, Candy, the jazz-infused romp with the wailing clarinet of Weixiong Wang, might have been my favorite of the evening, possibly because it was the only piece that broke out of the formulaic shell that surrounded the program. 

The New York International Symphony Orchestra, as led by conductor Elias Miller, was outstanding. Special mention to the (unnamed) trumpet player who managed his often high-register playing without overwhelming the orchestra and while maintaining good intonation – it’s not easy!

On to the other featured composers. Kimball Gallagher’s Aranya Prelude had an improvisatory feel in the hands of young pianist Hong-Yu Hsien. Though a slight hesitancy suggested a case of nerves, this player shows promise of achievements yet to come. Zhen Chen’s Jade had shimmering qualities that offered promise of breaking out of the sameness of most the other works without completely escaping. Michael Dadap’s Cavatina in E minor showed a deep, brooding quality. Unfortunately, much of that effect was marred by the feedback of a misbehaving amplifier, which loudly announced its presence several times. Sixteen-year-old Kayden Hansong’s Beyond Paradise followed, displaying a maturity far beyond this composer’s years. One looks forward to seeing what the future holds for this young man. 

Wei Luo created the lion’s share of works on the program. Reading his biography, one learns of his extensive work as a soundtrack/television composer. There is little doubt of his ability in these forms, but I would have liked to have heard at least one of his works that had some differentiation. Yes, they were “easy on the ears,” but without hearing them in context (i.e., with the television show they came from) it all sounded a bit too much as if came from the same blueprint.  Estranged had a Chopinesque quality that had moments of an unsettled feeling that most of his other works were lacking. His “Wait for Me” Suite: The Years & I Need to Find You was a showstopper – with twenty-three young singers in front of the stage, and three outstanding vocal soloists on stage, Fang-Tao Jiang, Ricky Feng Nan, Andrew Hansong. I still had enough “gas in the tank” to enjoy the emotionally charged performance that elicited the loud approval of the audience. Wei Luo’s Lullaby should have then sent everyone home on a peaceful note, but this was thwarted by an hawkward post-concert “announcement” verbally beckoning the artists back to the stage for more. 

Ian Hobson, piano

The Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

September 29, 2023

On a day of flooding that brought New York to a standstill, Ian Hobson showed us all once again what his staying power can do. Though government alerts cautioned residents to stay home, there was a healthy crowd of music lovers eager to hear yet another chapter in Mr. Hobson’s complete cycle of Schumann’s piano music, and they were handsomely rewarded.

From the first gentle notes of the Variations on a theme of Chopin, Anh. F26 (based on Chopin’s G minor Nocturne, Op. 15, No. 3) right through to the triumphant finale of the Symphonic Etudes, Op. 13, we were treated to the kind of musicianship in which all is thoroughly conceived, each phrase well-considered, and each tone well-prepared. The program itself was also dream in its perfect balance between the grandeur of the more “tried and true” (i.e., the Op. 13) and relatively little-known works such as the abovementioned Chopin Variations, as well as the Variations on a theme of Beethoven, WoO 31 (on the Allegretto from Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7), which opened the second half.  The program was filled out by the Abegg Variations, Op. 1 and Impromptus on a Theme by Clara Wieck, Op. 5, both known but somewhat underplayed as well.

Though this listener is not always a fan of complete cycles in concert, one of the great advantages of them is hearing some largely overlooked works and exploring how they illuminate the rest of a composer’s oeuvre. One insight that emerged throughout this program was the importance of Chopin to Schumann. The opening of Variations on a theme of Chopin served to underscore this Chopinesque thread. While many are familiar with Schumann’s praise of Chopin, including his famous, “Hats off, gentlemen, a genius!” –  as well as the inclusion of a Chopin movement in his Carnaval and the dedication of his Kreisleriana to Chopin – there is no clearer illustration of Schumann’s regard than his own treatment of Chopin’s work. This evening’s program led one to contemplate this aspect more and more, even in the five posthumous Etudes to the Op. 13, which Mr. Hobson himself described as “Chopinesque” in his spoken introduction. Along with the ever-present Florestan and Eusebius, there emerged the character, Chopin. Incidentally, I’ve seldom felt that these five etudes “worked” with the rest of this great piece (with all due respect to Brahms, whose publication reinstated them), but here, folded in between the tenth and eleventh Etudes, and in the context of the Chopin influence, I almost became a believer. Mr. Hobson’s performances were assured and persuasive, as one has come to expect, from his many decades of performing and his wide-ranging discography.

Time will tell whether Schumann’s variations on Chopin and Beethoven will enter the “mainstream” repertoire, as the Chopin set was only published in 1981, and the Beethoven set in 1974 – both have interpretive challenges.  The Beethoven set contains fifteen variations, and not all were completed, so Mr. Hobson chose ten and arranged them in his preferred order. There is some unevenness in the quality of the variations themselves – and many might categorize them as mere academic curiosities – but Mr. Hobson made a compelling case for them, as he did with the Chopin set. He pulled off both sets with confident artistry, for which he deserves our admiration and gratitude.

The Abegg Variations, though certainly ensconced in the mainstream piano literature, are still underrepresented in favor of more accessible triumphs, so it was a joy to see them on this program. Mr. Hobson brought out their grace, charm, and pianistic pearls, again with many Chopinesque moments. The Impromptus on a Theme by Clara Wieck, Op. 5 followed them in an eye-opening performance of brilliance and sensitivity. With a title reflecting thoughts not just of Schumann’s beloved Clara but also the memory of Schubert (as suggested by Richard Dyer in his excellent program notes), these pieces hold treasures too often overlooked. Mr. Hobson’s playing offered much needed advocacy.

The evening was capped off with the great Symphonic Etudes, and here we had the bold and powerful performance one would expect from this important pianist. Despite the program’s surfeit of riches, one wanted to hear more. Luckily for music lovers, there is more. This monumental series continues with several more concerts, the next being October 20, 2023, also at Tenri Cultural Institute.

Kariné Poghosyan, pianist; Jason Tramm, conductor; 

The MidAtlantic Philharmonic Orchestra

St. Vartan Armenian Cathedral, New York, NY

September 20, 2023

It was a joy this week to accept an assignment to review an evening of concerti for several reasons – one being the piano soloist Kariné Poghosyan, whom I had reviewed favorably for New York Concert Review in 2009 (at the much-missed Steinway Hall on 57th Street) and whose passionate playing has since attracted admirers globally. Another enticement was the program itself, honoring composer anniversaries of Sergei Rachmaninoff (150th) and Aram Khachaturian (120th). The conductor Jason Tramm was yet another draw, having impressed on several occasions as an orchestral Pied Piper – and this would be your reviewer’s first time hearing him lead a group called the MidAtlantic Philharmonic Orchestra. Not least of all, this concert offered the chance to explore a magnificent building, the St. Vartan Armenian Cathedral, which dominates an entire block of Second Avenue at 34th Street.

It is important to state right away that this occasion was no ordinary concert. Not only was the event marking the 32nd Anniversary of Armenian Independence, but it happened to take place the day after particularly severe losses to the Armenian community from attacks on the disputed Artsakh region, a tragedy so devastating that the organizers had considered canceling the concert in the wake of it all, according to the Very Rev. Fr. Mesrop Parsamyan in his introductory words; music won, however, as the unifying and healing force that it is, and we learned later that all concert proceeds would go to affected families in Artsakh.

Even the most curmudgeonly critic would want to avoid the usual dissection of performances under these circumstances, as the collective grief of the Armenian community seems to overshadow all else. What becomes paramount at such times is the spirit, and there was plenty of that. 

Especially spirited was the Khachaturian Piano Concerto in D-flat major, given a fiery and athletic ride by Ms. Poghosyan. This was the part of the program that one would stash away in one’s memory. Though the work has an impressive discography of champions including Moura Lympany, William Kapell, Alicia de Larrocha, Marc-André Hamelin, and a few dozen others, Ms. Poghosyan’s performance here had a unique vibrancy – partly of course because it was live and partly because of the occasion. Her own Armenian heritage embraced Khachaturian’s in a performance of fierce energy, pride, and affirmation. She has a strong bond with this composer, as also evidenced in her important recording of his work for Naxos, and here she brought his music to life with confident pianism and strong projection of its phrases and moods. 

On a largely visual note, Ms. Poghosyan has become known for her demonstrativeness in physical movements at the keyboard, a quality that is controversial among pianists, with this reviewer finding both pros and cons depending on what naturally supports the music. Though some of her movements could be thought to be unnecessary or distracting, it seems that through them she helped illustrate the emotional journey of the music better than captions ever could have for some of her less experienced listeners – an advantage here especially, given the rather indistinct sound in this reverberant space.  Beyond that, some of the full-body thrusts seemed designed to help the Khachaturian’s percussive attacks overcome the rather dull sound of the church piano – though it seemed overall that there was little one could do to change that. The challenge was to pierce through the orchestra’s overwhelming power as well as the church’s reverberant wash – and though that was a tall order, her gestures might have at least helped the synchronizing, had everyone been attentive.

The Khachaturian’s deeply soulful central movement was a highlight, with the welcome appearance of that rarely heard instrument, the flexatone (often replaced in concert by similar but more readily available instruments). A very young Mason Tramm contributed his efforts here admirably, supported by the strings. For those unfamiliar with the flexatone, it is akin to the musical saw in its eerie bending of pitch, and it has a percussive element as well. Its sound is perfect for this composer’s slower doleful lines, and alongside Ms. Poghosyan’s clear and expressive playing, there was some memorable music-making.

Also notable throughout the work were the bass clarinet lines, ennobled by the strong, pure sound of Timothy Hanley.  The orchestra seemed to gain confidence and polish along the way, and Ms. Poghosyan shone especially brightly in the impassioned finale. The audience roared its approval as the beaming pianist and conductor shared bows and fist pumps – Ms. Poghosyan with noticeable Armenian flag colors on her right wrist. That was the “takeaway image” for this concert.

Among elements one may choose not to take away, but which need to be mentioned as a matter of course would be the rest of the program preceding the Khachaturian. Close to twenty minutes past the designated start time of 8 pm, we finally heard the opening piano harmonies of Rachmaninoff’s glorious and ever-popular Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor. It is a piece that would be more than enough for one evening for most pianists (Yuja Wang’s marathons notwithstanding), but unfortunately on this occasion it felt more like a mere appetizer for the Khachaturian. 

Despite Ms. Poghosyan’s physical exertions, including mini-launches off the bench with several of the opening chords, the muffled piano and garbled acoustics got the better of everyone. One also couldn’t help getting the sense – perhaps through some rubati that felt unsettled rather than natural – that this was not where the pianist’s heart truly dwelt. As the orchestra entered, they revealed a similar ambivalence. Rough patches seemed to suggest insufficient rehearsal time, and tempo discrepancies threatened to send the piece off the rails. These moments may be what led the pianist to be even more physically demonstrative in the attempt to corral some rogue orchestral personnel, but unfortunately, without a sufficiently compelling sound to match the visual, there were sections of chaos, scrambling, and blurring. Efforts to shoehorn cues into rapid fingerwork or wait midflight should rarely be necessary, but some of those were oddly impressive to anyone knowing the work’s challenges.

Why these issues beset the Rachmaninoff so much more than the Khachaturian is something of a mystery, but it is possible that the latter, being less well-known, had elicited more careful rehearsal. One might assume that orchestra players would know the Rachmaninoff almost well enough to play it without a conductor – after all, my pew neighbor was singing along with it (audiences, please do not do this!); alas, however, the piece still demands and deserves maximum effort.

After such stressful moments in the Rachmaninoff, many pianists would want to collapse, but – make no mistake – Kariné Poghosyan is a force.  She had stood out fourteen years ago as having “a passionate musicality that transcends repertoire issues, ‘off’ nights, and a host of other challenges…” (New York Concert Review, vol. 16, no. 3, 2009), and in some ways, this concert validated that comment. Given the rather “off” start to the evening, her rebound into the Khachaturian (after barely a two-minute break) was mind-boggling. Her finish was triumphant. Brava!

Thomas Nickell, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute New York, NY

September 17, 2023

It is always interesting, after one has reviewed a young student, to review that same performer some years later. Five years ago, I reviewed a very young Thomas Nickell in a program at Zankel Hall that included Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 2, Liszt’s Totentanz, and a composition by Mr. Nickell himself. He was on a dual path as a double major in piano and composition at The New School, Mannes College of Music (from which he now holds double B.M. degrees), but he had struck this listener at the time as being primarily a pianist who happened also to compose. Five years later (though still young!), with some more compositions, premieres, albums, and ballet company collaborations under his belt (including with the illustrious Pacific Northwest and Joffrey Ballet companies), he projects the opposite impression – that of a composer who also plays the piano, but much better than composers typically do. This is not to say that one needs to choose, because there is a synergy that happens by combining performing and composing – but each art can be “a jealous mistress” as the saying goes, so prioritizing can be helpful in building programs and ultimately in following one’s heart.

One had a sense that Mr. Nickell was following his heart and in complete comfort with his choice of the Satie Sarabande No. 1. It was a wonderful piece to precede Mr. Nickell’s own Sonata, as it readied the listeners’ ears for something fresh, new, and highly individual. It is funny that one can barely enter certain coffee shops without hearing Satie’s Gymnopedies, but the three Sarabandes have been relatively underplayed, so it was good to hear Mr. Nickell’s probing and sensitive rendition. 

It was also a joy seeing on the program the solo version of Poulenc’s Aubade, Concerto Chorégraphique (1929), which closed the evening. Though created by Poulenc himself from a ballet he had conceived, it has yet to gain currency as a piano work. Especially effective was Mr. Nickell’s fiery and fleet fingerwork in both the Toccata and the Allegro Féroce movements. The Andante – Variation de Diane, a meltingly lyrical movement, was given the sensitive devotion it needs and deserves. Bravo! Oddly, this movement wasn’t listed as the Variation de Diane, nor was there any mention of the story of the goddess Diana – the inspiration behind the work. Without a ballet to project the story, some brief program notes could have certainly helped guide listeners. Especially curious was their absence in view of the fact that there were notes for the four very famous Chopin works on the program. 

Newer still than Poulenc or Satie was Mr. Nickell’s own Sonata, which was given its world premiere during the first half, to a reception of the pianist’s cheering fans. Though this listener could have used more illumination to help knit together its chromaticism and thorny beginning with other sections, plus the brief appearance of a nostalgic waltz later on in the piece (is there a story there?), it contained many ideas one could find engaging (even if the composer himself, reading from an electronic score, needed a degree more of engagement at times). Also engaging was a movement called Silver Lake from the composition Scenes from My Childhood by Cameron Smith, about whom there were no biographical notes. Ms. Smith’s piece employs extended techniques (plucked lower strings inside the piano), to evoke the depths of the remote lake for which her piece is named. Mr. Nickell played it with a persuasive dreamlike quality.

Last of all to discuss, yet spread throughout the program and dominating it timewise – were four of Chopin’s most revered and frequently performed works, including two Ballades (No. 1 in G minor and No. 4 in F minor) and two Scherzi (No. 1 in B minor and No. 2 in B-flat minor). In these, Mr. Nickell acquitted himself well overall, but, given the immense stature of these pieces in the piano world and their very rich performing histories, it seems that programming these was not the best representation of Mr. Nickell’s considerable gifts. Though there were glimmers of magic where Mr. Nickell took more time than many pianists do to highlight certain inner voices and progressions, there were also a few too many details obscured or glossed over (a quibble mentioned also in my 2018 review) – and one hesitates even to use such a potentially dismissive term as “detail” in discussing the finely wrought creations of Chopin. 

Aside from some overlooked articulations, pedal blurring where clarity was needed, and lost textures (generally in the left hand), there was the occasional need for more attention to cantabile treble lines, which need to soar and ring out at phrase peaks. Pianists tend to live for such lines in Chopin, but perhaps Mr. Nickell was pre-emptively overcompensating for the notoriously harsh sound of the piano and acoustics of this venue, the Tenri Cultural Institute (and Tenri has been cited repeatedly for the harsh sound by reviewers from New York Concert Review). To Mr. Nickell’s credit, there was not a single harsh sound, neither in the bracing opening chords of the Scherzo in B minor (nor their return after the B major section), nor in the climaxes of the other pieces. Oddly, one might have willingly endured just a touch of harshness here and there, in pursuit of unleashing the big spirit in these great works – though it is of course hard addressing so many issues at once and finding the right balance. 

Projection, and the practice of thinking outwardly as a performer, may not be easy to combine with the introspection involved in composing, so it is undoubtedly a challenge to straddle two such demanding artistic pursuits; it is clear, however, that Mr. Nickell has the talent and potential to take on enormous challenges, so we’ll look forward to his next chapter.

Andrew Harrison, saxophone; Jason Lo, piano

Bargemusic, Brooklyn, NY

September 15, 2023

Friday, September 15, saxophonist Andrew Harrison played a program of new music with pianist Jason Lo at Bargemusic in Brooklyn, as the opening concert for a set of similarly tantalizing programs entitled “Eclectic Series.” I am happy to report that this concert lived up fully to the name of the series, boding well for the others (listed partially at the Bargemusic website: Bargemusic). This particular program was entitled “Imaginary Folksongs” for Saxophone and Piano, deriving its name from a featured composition of that name by Stephen Lias.

What first struck this reviewer was the personable style of the duo, joking about their flights to New York (presumably from California where they both teach) and about the airline losing some luggage. For outreach concerts, this duo would be a presenter’s dream with their approachable style and low-key ad-libbing. Though there were just biographies of the performers on the program, no notes on the program itself (something that might have been easily handled by these two performers, both with doctorates), Dr. Harrison mostly made up for that with some brief spoken introductions; printed notes, however, would still have been welcome!

Though their stage presence was “low-key” their playing was high voltage. Their first three selections from Imaginary Folksongs (2014) by Stephen Lias opened the concert with energy and brilliance. In Titania’s Bower, High in the Andes, and Bonnie-Bye, there are no actual folksongs referenced, but that is where the word “Imaginary” comes to the fore. The modally-inflected Titania’s Bower evokes a sense of the fairy queen of Ovid and Shakespeare dancing her way into a technicolor dreamscape, one foot in reassuringly traditional meters and tonality, while also exploring more adventurous musical territory. It was given a marvelous performance by Dr. Harrison on soprano sax, the instrument for all of the first three Lias pieces performed here. Pianist Jason Lo shone especially in the second piece, High in the Andes, with tonal colors that conveyed its melancholy well. (One had already had a hint of Dr. Lo’s coloristic bent from strains of his Ravel Ondine as he warmed up in the hall shortly before starting, but here he confirmed his fine collaborative sensitivity). The third piece, Bonnie Bye, was pure fun in its jaunty suggestion of highland dance, though, if there were any actual Scottish tunes in there, they seemed highly flavored by Poulenc and those of his milieu. This whole set has been embraced by a fair number of saxophonists – and it is no wonder, as it has immediate appeal and is brimming with lyricism – but one can hardly imagine the set being played better than it was by this duo.

Next on the program were Three Negro Spirituals (originally for violin) by Florence Price, recast for saxophone by Andrew Harrison. There has been something of a resurgence in programs of the music of Florence Price (1887-1953), and in all kinds of arrangements, but these were the first I’d heard for saxophone and piano. Arrangements of O Holy Lord, Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child, and Lord I Want to be a Christian were given respectfully minimal treatment and played with tenderness.

Returning to Imaginary Folksongs by Stephen Lias, the duo played Magic Island, Song of Light, and The Three Jolly

Pigeons – now with alto saxophone. In contrast to the earlier three pieces, these employ some extended techniques – including percussive effects, pitch bending, and air sounds – all carried out expressively by Dr. Harrison. The exotic atmosphere of Magic Island was especially enhanced by these effects. Dr. Lo achieved more of his sensitive shading in the Song of Light, with his gentle whole-tone patterns setting the perfect backdrop for Dr. Harrison’s long-breathed lines. The Three Jolly Pigeons concluded the set with zest and humor.

More lyricism of a meditative sort came next in the piece Journey (2008) by Lori Laitman. Lori Laitman is best known for her vocal music, but the story goes that she had written Journey as a song before the poet withdrew the poem – at which point she arranged it for saxophone and piano. Interestingly, there is a growing body of music that has been recast after being set to particular poems that became no longer available – one notable example being an Eric Whitacre setting of Robert Frost. The moral to composers seems to be, “inspiration first, details later.” In any case, the vocal world’s loss is the saxophone world’s gain in this moving work, which the duo played with devotion.

The program’s biggest virtuoso showpiece Rhapsody on Japanese Folksongs by Ryota Ishikawa, followed. Sailing through a panoramic range of moods and an encyclopedic array of trills and slides and tricks, the duo relished each one of these with ease. It was what could have been a perfect bravura close, but was capped off gently by what amounted to a programmed encore in the lovely miniature Lilac Tears (2022) composed by Jennifer Jolley. Ms. Jolley was present to acknowledge the receptive audience. The piece was, we are told, inspired by a Prince performance in 2004 of George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” at Harrison’s posthumous induction to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was a dreamy close, after which Dr. Harrison invited the audience to “hang out” and ask questions. Of course, inquiring minds being the way they are, the first question was about what happened to the duo’s luggage. If the readers wish to know, they’ll simply have to be in the audience at the duo’s next performance!

Speaking of audience, the sparse attendance at this high-level performance struck one as almost criminal. Though Bargemusic is a bit off the beaten path, it has established a fine track record since its founding in 1977. If the hindrance for some is cost, they even have an admission-free series called “Music in Motion.” It is definitely worth exploring!

Jiwon Han, piano

Chopin–Ballade No. 4 in F Minor, op. 52

Chopin–Barcarolle in F-sharp Major, op. 60

Liszt–Sonata in B minor, S. 178

Stravinsky–Three Movements from Petrushka

Isang Yun–Five Pieces for Piano (1958)

Recorded at Yagi Studio, Seoul, Korea, 2014

Fortified with two performance degrees and an artist diploma from South Korea, a second artist diploma from Cincinnati, two doctorates in piano from Michigan State University, and an admirable list of prizes, recordings, and jobs as conductor, educator, and collaborative artist, Jiwon Han should have little need to prove his status as an expert in the field. Judging from his album “Jiwon Han—Début,” recorded nine years ago at the age of twenty-seven, we can already hear Mr. Han’s formative tastes spanning the range of pianistic warhorses, pieces which define the real article and demand the utmost of a performer. These audio files present the young, pre-Doctor Han as a probing yet conservative virtuoso steering all ears toward an eminent future.

The chronological arrangement of the YouTube playlist, Jiwon Han—Début , begins in 1842 with rather late Chopin, although one could only imagine the effect of Mr. Han’s incisive fingers on a Baroque or Classic masterwork (perhaps something to anticipate in another release). Meticulous to a fault in the preparation of every musical detail, he squeezes the last drop of tone from each voice in Chopin’s multi-layered counterpoint and leaves no note to speculation. The poetic genesis of the Fourth Ballade is nascent and the woven, operatic gondola songs of the Barcarolle, among Chopin’s last and most reflective experiments in sound, are given highly burnished treatment marked by discipline and unflinching concentration. To be sure, audio engineering and the YouTube format place us in a digital environment quite different from that of a concert hall—which would not jostle our meditations with jingles and blaring ads—but the “acoustic” is somewhat distant, treble-centric, and wet, even when Mr. Han seems to be pouring both hands into a chordal tirade. Liszt’s symphonic and tumultuous B minor Sonata unfolds acrobatically yet earnestly, pacing out the glorious arrivals of second themes and fugal upheavals with an almost micro-managed conductor’s sense of time. We marvel at Mr. Han’s power and facility while we search for a trace of the Hungarian rhapsodist who would transmute absolute structure and tonality within several years of the Sonata’s publication in 1854. Perhaps owing to the limitation of computer speakers and the sprinkling of commercial breaks between sections of this one-movement traversal of the human spirit, Mr. Han’s assiduous interpretation leaves us longing to hear him live, in a setting in which we might actually hold our breath.

Igor Stravinsky’s Petrushka becomes an instant magnet for Jiwon Han, who recorded the three excerpts at nearly the same age as the composer of the original ballet (Stravinsky was twenty-eight in 1910 when he realized his orchestral vision of a magician instilling human energy and emotion into puppets). Indeed, the piano suddenly leaps into the room as Mr. Han conjures a model soundscape of electric octaves, staccatissimo accents, and carnival folk themes. His superb rhythmic articulation and dry ostinato, so well matched to the exacting style of the regimented Russian, could be lifted into a freshly choreographed performance if Vaslav Nijinsky’s mocking reincarnation were to reappear onscreen, as Petrushka’s ghost hovered over the stage at the end of the Shrovetide Fair scene in the ballet. A pianist, however, as the sole element absent a full tableau, must be set designer, theatrical costumer, director, and choreographer, and in this regard, we hear Mr. Han’s neoclassic character primed to discover more Slavic savagery and sheer zaniness in his brilliant playing.

In a surprising detour from the showy persona exemplified by the rest of his program, Mr. Han ends on an unsettled note, with the expressionist Korean-German Isang Yun’s Five Pieces for Piano, or Fünf Stücke für Klavier. These comprise the earliest work of a Korean-born composer who studied in Japan, Paris, and Berlin and befriended Cage, Boulez, and Stockhausen in his quest for the unification of Eastern and Western styles. In 1958, before his political imprisonment and voiced strivings for the reconciliation of North and South Korea, Isang Yun was influenced by a mix of twelve-tone serialism, Taoist naturalism, Buddhist chants, and Korean instrumental timbres. It is to his credit that Mr. Han champions such mathematically constructed and intricate music. The five pieces evoke strains of Schoenberg’s Suite for Piano, op. 25 and Messiaen’s Catalogue d’Oiseaux, with new ideas: extreme curves of high and low register, colorful grace notes, imitations of vibrato, glissando, and pizzicato techniques, and fortississimo or pianississimo fermatas as isolated sounds trailing off into silence. Mr. Han portrays the contrasts effectively and freely. There may be an even higher level of control indicated by the composer’s careful progression of rhythmic values (triplets, quintuplets, septuplets) that could warrant a sense of restraint in the performer’s instinctively Romantic rubato, but the result is dramatic and alluring.