Anastasiya Naplekova, Piano

Rachmaninoff 150^th Birthday Concert: Part I

Mary Flagler Cary Hall, The DiMenna Center for Classical Music, New York, NY

April 1, 2023, 3 PM

The April Fool’s Saturday sky wore a stormy countenance, as if to one-up Sergei Rachmaninoff’s own six-foot scowl, immortalized in nearly every photo of the composer. Yet what a happy occasion it was, no matter which calendar one uses to figure out his actual birthday: April 1, April 2, March something?

A two-concert marathon of Rachmaninoff’s solo piano music was offered by the 23-year-old Florida-based not-for-profit called Piano Lovers. (A second recital at 8 PM will also be covered in these pages.). The DiMenna Center’s Mary Flagler Cary Hall was indeed full of devoted piano lovers. What a treat they had; I sincerely hope that everyone there realized what a glorious gift they were being given, at the hands of pianist Anastasiya Naplekova.

The Founder of Piano Lovers, Abram Kreeger, tried a little too hard in his opening remarks to prove that Rachmaninoff’s non-concerto works are neglected in recital, something I have not found to be the case. No matter. The composer himself, one of the most capable virtuosi ever to survive into the recording era was constantly split between having to make a living as a touring virtuoso, and wanting to be taken seriously for his compositions in an era that was sprinting through “isms” faster than a Mendelssohn Scherzo.

It is always a pleasure to encounter another pianist I have never heard (no preconceptions!). Ms. Naplekova represents nearly everything I admire, enjoy, and stand for musically. Where to begin? Let’s talk about her stunningly low seated posture at the keyboard (let gravity do the work), her economy of motion, beautiful tone at all tempi and volumes, and her incredible good taste. It is as though she scraped off decades of sentimental excess to reveal the true expression and proportion that Rachmaninoff set down in his works.

Ms. Naplekova dived right in with three of the Morceaux de Salon, Op. 10: a melting Barcarolle, the Mélodie, and the one best-known work: Humoresque. Immediately one was struck by the technical achievement needed to “disappear” into the fabric of the music itself. There was no grandstanding here- she was even reticent in accepting the tumultuous applause that greeted every group on her program.

A generous helping of Preludes from both Op. 23 (Nos. 4, 5) and 32 (Nos. 3, 5, 10, 12) continued the immensely favorable impression I got. The G major from Op. 32 was ravishing. Once one has heard Rachmaninoff’s own recordings, one realizes how simple his own approach was, clear line, structural planning, everything leading to what he called “the point” (which is not necessarily the loudest place). Only the finest pianists, totally in charge of their equipment, can even come close to revealing these things. I marveled at Ms. Naplekova’s complete preparation of every note: she was “there” before she needed to be “there.” Yet nothing sounded stale or over-planned.

A blistering rendition of the Second Sonata (I believe it was the revised version) sounded ever so natural, with thundering climaxes (never bangy!) and tender lyricism vying for supremacy.

Two transcriptions received the golden treatment, lest we forget what a master Rachmaninoff was at those: Tchaikovsky’s Lullaby and the celebrated Scherzo from Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Tchaikovsky was perfection, and let me tell you, you can’t imagine (unless you’re a pianist yourself) what was involved in Ms. Naplekova’s Scherzo, to get it to sound light and elfin amid the thousands of notes.

Finally, five (Nos. 1, 2, 4, 5, 9) of the Etudes-Tableaux, Op. 39 showed the full range of Ms. Naplekova’s talents. Although they are “pictures,” Rachmaninoff shied away from direct programmatic stories for them. And they certainly abound in the type of technical “etude” quandaries that few prior to Rachmaninoff were capable of imagining.

As an encore, yes, Ms. Naplekova presented the “boulder” that had attached itself to Rachmaninoff during his entire life: the Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op. 3, sometimes referred to as the “Bells of Moscow.” When one has created one’s greatest hit early in a career, it does remind me of those present-day pop music stars whose fans don’t want to hear the new album, rather the old hit(s) that made them famous. I suppose one must find a special place in one’s psyche to be grateful indeed for having created such a hit.

More to the point, we must be grateful that there is a generation of pianists coming up, exemplified by Ms. Naplekova, with superb technique harnessed to a natural sense of expression, capable of revealing this important, passionately felt area of the repertoire.

Frank Daykin

Santiago High School Choirs (Corona, CA)

Santiago High School Treble Ensemble; Santiago High School Combined Women’s Choir; Santiago High School Madrigals
Karen Garrett, Director; Alexis Ohmar, Piano
East Brunswick High School Orchestra (NJ)
Arvin Gopal, Director

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

March 18, 2023

I should be, and in fact I am, a cheerleader for all things involving young people and music education and participation, and all the benefits they bring. Therefore, I may appear somewhat Scrooge-like in some of my less flattering comments below, but I wish to take nothing away from the hard work and enthusiasm these high school youth and their leaders put into their programs. Two disparate types of music (choral, string orchestra) from opposite ends of the country (between Riverside and Anaheim CA, and, just a few miles down the NJ turnpike) split the bill on Saturday evening.

Was it a sort of metaphorical Saint Patrick’s hangover that caused such a low (though highly vocal) turnout? Or was it the constant clomp-clomp of the Carnegie ushers swooping down the aisles to chide the omnipresent photo and video takers during the performance that detracted from my ability to surrender to the performance fully?

First on the program were the various combinations of choral activity from Santiago High School in California, ably led by Karen Garrett and their pianist, the sometimes too firm Alexis Ohmar. The Treble Ensemble, a group of twenty-six young women, shone best in the Hassler motet Cantate Domino. Elsewhere, in folksong and Spanish contemporary pieces, their sound and diction were diffuse, I believe mainly because of their odd positioning on the risers. With so few singers placed so far from each other, it is much more difficult to produce one cohesive ensemble sound. Perhaps they wished to appear more sizeable than they are, but this issue also affected the other two Santiago groups.

The Combined Women’s Choir was at its finest in Beverly A. Patton’s Exaudi Laudate!, though it lost a dimension without the TB portions of its original SATB choral layout.

Finally, the Madrigals (thirty-five singers, with the addition of male voices) was the most successful of the three groups. They sang a wide range of material, from Viadana to spiritual, with focus, diction, and color, even in the sometimes overwrought Lamentations of Jeremiah by Z. Randall Stroope. After all, isn’t Jeremiah himself somewhat overwrought?

After intermission and the customary massive stage re-orientation, the gigantic East Brunswick High School Orchestra took the stage. I am using their billing, but I must state that this was a group of 170 (!) string players only (violin 1 and 2, viola, cello, double bass). Why they don’t call themselves a string orchestra is beyond me. They were led in style by Arvin Gopal, an experienced, formally trained violist (inner voices!), in music by Sibelius, Warlock, Ippolitov-Ivanov, Mozart, and others.

Sibelius’ Andante festivo opened their half of the program, and it must have been the best rehearsed work, or perhaps something about its composition makes it more forgiving, for the massed string sound was luscious and very Sibelius-appropriate, in his own amplification from string quartet to full string orchestra, despite the lack of triumphal thwack by the timpani.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the other selections. An orchestra of one hundred seventy musicians is larger than any currently functioning professional symphony orchestra in the world, including ALL the sections (woodwind, brass, percussion). Here, the valiant East Brunswick youth lumbered their way through three sections of Warlock’s delightful Renaissance pastiche Capriol Suite, which lacked the needed delicacy and transparency. Hofeldt’s The Journey and Silva’s Forest Incantations  didn’t make a strong impression on this listener.

However, they did achieve success in Ippolotov-Ivanov’s Procession of the Sardar from Caucasian Sketches. This impression was immediately undone by the final offering, the Finale from Mozart’s Symphony No. 41 in C major, K. 551, known as the “Jupiter.” This work is for full (but SMALL) orchestra, and it was played at half the requisite tempo, with poor intonation and realization of the miraculous polyphony therein, based on its initial theme, a Gregorian chant fragment known as Confiteor (I confess to almighty God… that I have sinned).

I won’t go as far as to say that they “sinned,” but my advice to East Brunswick, which obviously has the means to fund such a huge string orchestra, is to invest equally in woodwind, brass, and percussion programs, and conduct rigorous auditions to create an ensemble of manageable size.

None of my carping can reduce the obvious pride and happiness shown by the parents of the young people involved, whose tumultuous ovations had nothing to do with any fussy reservations on the part of this, or any, critic.

JingCi Lu, piano

KNS Classical- available to stream on iTunes, Spotify, Amazon, YouTube

This past Valentine’s Day, pianist JingCi Liu gave us a lovely musical valentine, in the form of an album dedicated to women composers. Perhaps someday we can stop saying women before the word composer, but I understand how when one gender has been dominant and exclusionary, some redress is called for. The title of the album is Portrait of Beauty, one of those titles that doesn’t say much, but here is rescued by the quality of the playing.

For me, the real discovery is the first work, the first (of three) keyboard sonatas (E major) by Marianna von Martinez, a classical period composer, and that rarity—a woman allowed to pursue education and artistic goals—to a point. Imagine having Haydn, Metastasio, Porpora as housemates and teachers, and Mozart as a drop-in guest in Vienna. I believe this may be the first recording of one of her sonatas. Ms. Liu plays it with crisp, stylish articulation in the two quick movements, and lovely lyricism in the slow movement, where the music is very reminiscent of Haydn.

The five middle composers are: one concert pianist, wife of a famous composer (Clara Schumann), one neglected French “salon” composer (Cécile Chaminade), one recognized Amereican composer (Amy Beach), and two French sisters, one Prix de Rome winner who died too young (Lili Boulanger) and the other who devoted her life to the memory of her sister and to generations of pedagogy (Nadia Boulanger).

Clara Schumann’s Soirées musicales (1836) are her own attempt to do what she was constantly exhorting her husband to do: create recital pieces that are not too demanding (read: alienating) for the audience. The Beidermeyer aesthetic of coziness is present in the diminutive but precisely characterized pieces, all but the first sharing genre names closely identified with Chopin. Here, Ms. Liu’s touch becomes meltingly romantic. The Notturno’s main theme was “borrowed” by Robert Schumann, the two of them often communicated with each other prior to their “forbidden” marriage via musical themes and quotations. Ms. Liu makes all of Clara’s notational eccentricities/innovations sound absolutely natural. You would never mistake a mazurka, ballade, or polonaise by Clara Schumann for one by Chopin, but Ms. Liu makes as persuasive a case for them as I can imagine. The second mazurka in the set (piece no. 5) was directly quoted by Robert Schumann as the beginning theme of his Davidsbündlertänze, also his Op. 6. The whole is played with an appropriate intimacy and restraint.

Although Chaminade died in 1944, most of her music sounds like it was composed one hundred years prior; alas, such is the fate of retro-inspired composers, though I for one, enjoy her considerable output immensely. The Toccata, Op. 39, a delightful study in lightness and speed, ought to be on more high-school music competition requirement lists. Pierrette, Air de Ballet, Op. 41, is a perky, eminently choreographable trifle. I do wish Ms. Liu had chosen one of Chaminade’s lovely slower, lyrical moments, such as Automne, for greater contrast and balance.

Amy Beach also died in 1944, and similar to Chaminade, she has that backward-looking/sounding romantic-era style, though she did manage to find some quite original sonorities and tonal experimentation. A successful pianist, she managed to wrestle her way to recognition as a composer with larger-scale art music such as symphonies and masses, in the male-dominated classical world, while also having to fight her mother and husband for control of her own career. Dreaming, the third of the four Sketches, Op. 15, is preceded by an epigram from Victor Hugo: “You speak to me from the depth of a dream…” Ms. Liu delivers it in truly dreamy style; she has an ability to hold on to long sustained notes and create a true legato.

Nadia Boulanger was better known as a creator of other composers than as a composer herself. Her professorship at the American Conservatoire in Fontainbleau (known as the “Boulangerie”) attracted hundreds of aspiring students, many from the US. She had a unique ability to allow their individual voices to thrive, even if they weren’t aligned with her typically Fauré/Stravinsky esthetic (now there’s a contrast!). Vers la vie nouvelle (Toward the new life) is a completely un-ironic statement that might have been made by any of the women represented on this album; in this case written one year before the death of her beloved sister, 1917 (see below), a blessing at times dark and sinister and an envoi to the beyond.

Lili Boulanger was the first female winner of the Prix de Rome in its (then) 110-year history. Sadly, the frail, chronically ill young woman was to succumb to intestinal tuberculosis at age twenty-four, leaving behind a short body of work that undoubtedly would have grown and matured. The three pieces for piano, two concerning gardens, D’un vieux jardin and D’un jardin clair, and the Cortège (originally for violin and piano) all date from 1914. They demonstrate some harmonic exploration, but also hover somewhere between Schumann and Scriabin at times.

Caroline Shaw is the only living composer on the album, and a multi-prize winning one at that (Pulitzer, Grammy). Gustave Le Gray was premiered in 2012. Le Gray (1820-1884) was a French painter and an innovative photographer in the earliest days of that medium, exercising great influence on those who came after. If Caroline Shaw “says” the piece is about Le Gray, we must surely take her at her word. But which aspect of his life is contained therein? His student years, innovations, success, financial ruin, abandonment of family, adventures in the middle-East, death in Cairo? No matter, this, the longest work on the album, has the texture of most of the other works, nocturnal, sustained, playing to Liu’s strengths. There is a direct quote of the entire Mazurka, Op. 17, No. 4, by Chopin, right in the middle of the work—Le Gray was 29 when the composer died, but the famous daguerreotype of the sick composer was not by Le Gray, rather Louis-Auguste Bisson. This extended quote absolves Shaw of the need to compose a large section of her own piece, however, the payoff comes when she begins improvising with the actual ending of the Mazurka, signaling some sort of emotional shift.

The recorded sound is beautiful and the dynamic palette is such that an intimate mood is created and featured. This isn’t a “barnstorming” album, so if you’re looking for technical fireworks, look elsewhere. If however you, as do I, appreciate the sort of quiet virtuosity that involves control and sustained intimacy, this would be perfect for you.

Patricia Spencer, flute and alto flute; Marianne Glythfeldt, clarinet and bass clarinet; Curtis Macomber, violin; Chris Gross, cello; Steven Beck, piano

Guest Artists: Yoshi Weinberg, flute; Hannah Levinson, viola; Michael Lipsey, percussion; James Baker, conductor

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

February 26, 2023

I wish I could split this review of the Da Capo Chamber Players’ 51^st Season into two parts—I shall explain in a moment. Their 50^th season was spread over several years due to you-know-what. But think about a fifty-year legacy rich with commissions and a fierce desire to present works by living composers in addition to a few canonic works.

When you attend a concert by Da Capo, you hear transcendent virtuosity, including stunning extended techniques, as we did on this occasion. You know that each time you hear a performance you are hearing the finest possible rendition—as if it were a ready-to-release CD. Da Capo’s survival is largely due to the unwavering labor of its remaining founding member, flutist Patricia Spencer.

Three of the four works on this occasion were by women, and three of the four works by living composers- two of whom were present. However, and here’s where I must return to my above comment, I sat in the intimate gallery space of the Tenri Cultural Center, and aside from my admiration for the playing, I was left absolutely cold. How I longed for just one melodic phrase with some expansion, some yearning, or any sustained mood. Today’s composers seem more preoccupied with innovations in sonority and rhythmic dislocation—two important elements of music to be sure, but not the whole picture. The head/heart ratio, as I call it, is out of whack.

Bach’s Die Kunst der Fuge (The Art of Fugue), the work I have spent the most time living with in my career, is one of the most abstruse treatises on counterpoint ever conceived by a human, yet it is at the same time a gripping, emotionally moving statement.

The concert began with Barbara White’s Learning to See, her musical response to four prominent 20^th century visual artists: Tinguely, Brancusi, Hesse, and Johns, with their technical preoccupations translated into her music. The title of the first section (after Tinguely) with its phrase “junk heap” did not bode well for me, though I was able to appreciate the fine shades of instrumental blending the players achieved. Brancusi’s music (Bird) formed an alternating episode between the others, similar to a rondo. This was the only work in which Patricia Spencer played—she generously gave the rest of the evening to a young colleague, Yoshi Weinberg.

Next was, for me, the most successful work of the evening, Eleanor Hovda’s Ariadne Music (1984), in which one could imagine the mounting terror of being trapped in a labyrinth with a monster, as represented by wisps of sonority that grew to a shattering climax over an excruciating amount of time, then subsided to the point at which it began. This work was conducted by James Baker.

After intermission, a brief hard-to-hear interview was conducted by David Bridges of the Composers Now initiative with Barbara White and David Sanford. Folks, if you’re not going to use microphones, please project and enunciate. They discussed how the ensembles they work with may, or may not, influence their composing, and they talked about the importance of quotation (transformed, of course) to their process.

Then came the world premiere: David Sanford’s time isn’t holding us (2023), leaning on his great knowledge of jazz and “unstable” (as he calls it) music from the 1970s, including Jimi Hendrix, George Crumb, Miles Davis, and Charles Mingus, all demonically sampled and transformed. Among the new techniques I observed (perhaps I need to get out more often!), was the xylophone being brushed with string bows. I must single out pianist Steven Beck for his tremendous musicianship and versatility.

In conclusion, Da Capo offered Belinda Reynolds’ light hearted coming around… (1995), a sort of musical portrayal of a Californian working in New York City for a few years, then returning to her true homeland. Particularly enjoyable was a “fractured waltz” in the middle of the work, never staying in 3/4 too long.

I have every confidence that Da Capo will continue far into the future—and I hope they are, in fact, able to get a younger generation interested in placing and keeping groundbreaking works in the repertoire.

Langley High School Concert Band (VA)

Doug Martin, Director; Kai Smith, Director

Cancioneta Praga (The Czech Republic)

Lukáš Windřich, Director; Lenka Navratilova, Piano

The Music of Mack Wilberg

Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Mack Wilberg, Composer/Conductor; Gabriel Evans, Piano/Organ

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

February 20, 2023

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) offered another typically generous evening of a wide variety on President’s Day. The three groups featured could not have been more different, and each showed its personality successfully.

First up was the gigantic Langley High School Concert Band from Virginia. Under the sensitive, efficient direction of its conductor, Doug Martin, they played six short pieces (one of them was conducted by the young Kai Smith). John Philip Sousa’s Gridiron Club march made for a rousing opener, with beautiful contrast between the “A” theme and the Trio. Kai Smith then led Adam Gorb’s A Little Tango Music, which displayed little of the dangerous ritual of attraction/repulsion of the dance. Praetorius’ Dances from Terpsichore were rough going in such an inflated version, and they’re not even by Praetorius. Elgar’s beloved “Nimrod” variation (from the larger Enigma Variations) had melting legato. Johan Halvorsen’s Entry March of the Boyars was full of character. Finally, Brian Beck’s La Madre de los Gatos, the most recent work (2009), cleverly named for a middle school band director, Velma Shine, aka “Kitty Mama,” was spirited fun.

After considerable stage remodeling during intermission, the Cancioneta Praga, a group I had never heard, took the stage. A “mere” three dozen women, there is nothing “mere” about this precision choral group: their harmony, blend, dynamics, and precision were marvels. Their six Czech selections showed enormous range, from Dvořák, and Smetana, to Martinů, and they were exciting and controlled. Where I took issue was with the final two pieces: two traditional American spirituals: Michael, Row the Boat Ashore and When the Saints Go Marching In. (Is this what they mean by cultural appropriation?) Their English was heavily accented, and when Maestro Jindřich turned to the audience to solicit participation in the “Hallelujahs” at the end of each line of Michael, Row, I was left with this uncomfortable image: I (for some reason) am at a $700/person tasting menu dinner, and the chef invites me into the kitchen to put some finishing touches on the food.

Finally, Mack Wilberg, conductor of the iconic Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square (formerly the “Mormon T.C.,” Salt Lake City), was in charge of the assembled DCINY choirs who traveled from North Carolina, South Carolina, Texas, Utah, and Virginia. They were in charge of a group of inspiring sacred choruses (German, American), all arranged by Mr. Wilberg. I wonder if it was difficult working with these disparate forces, well-trained though they were, after the glories of his home choir, this group was somewhat short on male voice parts. He and his valiant organist Gabriel Evans also had to fight the disgraceful plug-in organ that serves Carnegie Hall. The American folk hymn My Song in the Night was particularly lovely. DCINY really made us wait for its umbrella title, the Shaker hymn Simple Gifts, which was performed nicely, if somewhat “complicated” by Wilberg’s arrangement. In conclusion, a blessing was offered, gorgeously sung, to the tune of English folksong O Waly, Waly, with words “Thou Gracious God, Whose Mercy Lends.”

The loud ovation showed that on many levels, people do understand (or feel) that “simple” gifts such as communal music-making, are not achieved without intricate work.

Ian Hobson, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

February 17, 2023

Pianist Ian Hobson continues his Colossus stride through the complete piano music of Robert Schumann, on this occasion offering two contrasting Schumanns: 1) the purveyor of Biedermeyer coziness to a burgeoning amateur piano market and 2) the prickly innovator, with one of his most neglected oeuvres. The normally excellent program notes by Richard Dyer were wrong about one fact: Schumann did not compose 28 consecutive opuses of piano music, for Op. 24, 25, and 27 are Lieder sets- though there is sometimes a discrepancy between composition and publication.

The two opening works, which included the beloved Arabeske and the lesser-known Blumenstück, are thought to have been conceived as parts of the same compositional outburst of flower pieces, Guirlandes (Garlands). Schumann was trying, against his nature, to create works that would not scare off pianists and listeners. He even denigrated the Arabeske as “slight, for ladies.” However, this “slight” rondo possesses thematic unity among its compositional qualities.

In Mr. Hobson’s traversal of the Arabeske, I found myself wondering why so many phrase endings were being accented instead of “lifting,” and other issues of phrasing, accentuation, legato, tone, and volume then began to usurp my attention. Was Mr. Hobson trying deliberately to de-sentimentalize this work, which indeed has been, shall we say, abused, by so many well-meaning pianists over the years? It’s just that the piece (and the recital as a whole) craved more tenderness. Its marking is Leicht und zart (light and tender).

The Blumenstück, conceived at the same time as the Arabeske, is an episodic interleaving of two ideas (including the famous “Clara” cipher). It offers much less variety musically than the Arabeske, therefore it needs even more poetic fancy in the repetitions than we were given. Had Mr. Hobson misgauged the room? For Theodor Leschetizky’s piano sounded very loud in the intimate space of the Tenri Institute. Every once in a while, Hobson found one of the softer, more intimate colors, and it made one wish for much more.

Mr. Hobson decided to divide the Noveletten in half, the first four ending the first half, then the concluding four after intermission. These are problematic works, due to their length, and repetitive square phrasing and rhythm. Although they contain many felicities, they have been neglected by pianists, and rarely played as a complete set. The term novelette, borrowed from literature, denotes a form shorter than a novel, usually light and rather sentimental. Schumann himself regarded them rather as “extended, interconnected adventure stories,” and he incorporated some of his intense study of Bach in the form of canons and other imitative textures.

There are eight character pieces, including Schumann’s favorite masked ball scene (No. 4), and an energetic polonaise (No. 5) that is extremely similar to one of Schumann’s swaggering macho songs Der Hidalgo (Op. 30, No. 3). Here Mr. Hobson’s approach conveyed some of the preening and boasting of a confident suitor. In some of the Novelettes, he was more hectoring than jovial, and contrasting lyrical episodes were shortchanged as to their intimacy.

For me, Mr. Hobson made us wait for his triumph in this group. The final Novelette was given a masterly rendition, with all the color and contrast one could wish for. In the moment when the Stimme aus der Ferne (Voice from Afar) appears, which is actually a quote from one of Clara’s own works, we were given all the haunting poetry this music is capable of in the hands of a great pianist. I tend to think of Mr. Hobson as a great “organizer,” that is, he doesn’t tend to linger, but has a great capacity to put wayward things together into larger wholes—not a bad quality for sure.

Dear Mr. Hobson, you know how very much I (we) esteem your great skill and commitment, but please “try a little (more) tenderness.”

Jason Neukom, violin; Andrew “Gio” Giordano, violin (& whistle); Sean Neukom, viola;

Ryan Ash, cello

J.P. Morgan Library and Museum, New York, NY

January 31, 2023

Beo means: to bless, make happy, gladden, and delight. Based on this one introductory hearing, I believe the Beo String Quartet is poised to do just that, to an ever widening circle of audiences. It is not easy to distinguish one’s ensemble these days, with so much competition, especially in the quartet formation. The Beo players have an unusual feature: All of the players are multi-talented, playing other instruments (and electronics, video, etc.) than their principal one, however on this occasion, we were only treated briefly to some of Andrew Giordano’s whistling. Also, first violinist Jason Neukom is violist/composer Sean Neukom’s brother.

Let me begin by stating clearly their primary virtues: two areas of perfection—1) absolute purity of intonation, which was really evident in their Bach selections and 2) that supernatural “one-ness” of interpretive intent that animates the best quartets. Well, you might say, is there a “but” coming? Not so much a “but,” rather a cautionary admonition to choose better contemporary music. I sense that they are a “young” group in attitude though the quartet itself is eight years old, and I’m certain they will grow beautifully.

The recital began with Mizzy Mazzoli’s Enthusiasm Strategies, a work about which she states “I think of music itself as a strategy for mustering enthusiasm and joy.” Composed for the legendary Kronos Quartet, the flights of skittering harmonics do collapse into a modern version of a chorale, but the disappearing ending for me gave a quite unenthusiastic tone to the end, depressing in fact. There was a lot of non-vibrato playing from the strings, a severe test of intonation, which Beo more than met. In fact, there was a lot of non-vibrato playing throughout the program, but they knew when to turn it on for heightened expressivity.

They then followed with a quick tour through just over one-fourth of Bach’s seminal Die Kunst der Fuge, his musical last will and testament, beginning with the first two, and ending with the (projected) unfinished quadruple fugue, the third subject area of which contains the musical spelling of Bach’s name: B (B Flat)-A-C-H (B Natural). In this selection, I felt the need for more experience. What they did do very well was truly give the sense of a conversation among equals. The subject’s first five notes are: D-A-F-D-C♯ (in German, the word for a musical sharp is “kreuz” or cross [♯], a word that held great significance for the Pietist Lutheran milieu in which Bach worked). The quartet played the first four notes without vibrato, then poured it on appropriately for the “cross.” Since Bach wrote out the work in four-part open score, to stress the pedagogical aspect, and included absolutely no suggestions of instrumentation, phrasing, or dynamics, every soloist or ensemble who wishes to tackle it faces a daunting multitude of decisions to be made. There were two areas I found lacking, despite my admiration for the give-and-take: 1) some odd phrasing and articulation choices that would probably infuriate the “historically informed” people, and which plain old non-expert audiences would be blissfully unaware of; (appoggiaturas not resolving to their lower notes, questionable detaching of notes that could be smooth and vive versa) and 2) more important, there was a need for greater understanding of where the harmonic stresses and resolutions should be, the result of the vertical chords created by the horizontal lines, of which Bach was very aware. I’m being super-picky only because the greatness of this body of work deserves, as cellist Ryan Ash put it, lifetime study. However, it was a great pleasure, as the contrapuncti rolled over the audience, to gaze upward to the glorious coffered ceiling of J.P. Morgan’s library and its treasure trove of books and manuscripts, and to feel centered in a hive of civilization.

The quartet then turned to a composition by its own violist, Sean Neukom, whose People (2022) received its New York City premiere. Its program is a bit simplistic, “We’re born. We grow. We learn.” We achieve greatness… but wait, we’re so ineffectual at solving problems like war and poverty. Oh, we die and the cycle starts all over again with new birth. Such large themes, while often attempted in musical transformations, were not convincingly solved by this one. Although (!) we did get to hear the uncommonly pretty and pure whistling of Andrew Giordano. Sean Neukom is also the group’s producer, responsible for their already large (and growing) discography. In this work we heard the coalescing of elements into life, their increase, and the addition of chaos, and the slipping back into nothingness (reminiscent of the Mazzoli), where the whistling took on a poignant character. On the other hand, why are we whistling about the life cycle? Because there is nothing to be done about it? Today’s young people are clearly working out some existential unease.

The quartet saved the best for last: Shostakovich’s self-made memorial (though he would live another fifteen years), his eighth string quartet, Op. 110 (1960). Not only does it contain blatantly the musical spelling of his name (see Bach above) D-S-C-H (D, E flat, C, B Natural), but many fragments of his earlier works (First, Eighth, and Tenth Symphonies, Piano Trio, First Violin Concerto, First Cello Concerto, Second Piano Sonata, the song Tormented By Grievous Bondage, and the love theme from Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, the work that got him in so much trouble with Stalin). All this is presented in five movements dedicated ostensibly “In memory of the victims of fascism and war,” which the bumbling, musically ignorant Soviet bureaucrats could interpret as pro-Soviet, and everyone who knew Shostakovich could know was exactly the opposite. I call this phenomenon “the secret signs, the impenetrable wall.”

The heat of Beo’s performance of this work showed me that its strengths may lie in the traditional repertoire, despite their commitment to adventuresome commissioning and their admirable educational outreach angle—so necessary if there is to be an audience for this sort of thing at all in the future. Every contrast in the work was brought out beautifully, from the violence of “the three knocks” of the KGB on one’s door at three in the morning, to the song the Jews were forced to sing while digging their own trench graves, to the sickly limping of the klezmer-inspired waltz, and the cloying romance of the doomed adulterers in Lady Macbeth. Now there’s a composer who can successfully put ALL of life into a piece of music!

Bravo Beo, I hope to hear many more good things from and about you for years to come.

Mohamed Shams, piano; Eduardo Leandro, percussion

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 30, 2023

Is there any sound Charles Neidich can not make on the clarinet? If so, I have yet to know about it. I have reviewed the legendary clarinetist many times in these pages, always with the greatest pleasure, in the context of his groundbreaking Wa concert series in the Tenri gallery space in Greenwich Village (complete with a gourmet dinner, catered by his wife, Ayako Oshima); but this is the first time I have seen him in a more formal hall.

Mr. Neidich announced (in sometimes redundant verbal program notes) that not only was the Naumburg series titled “looks back,” but that one should also regard his artistry as perpetually “looking forward”- which is sage advice for all artists. Mr. Neidich has the mellow songfulness of decades of experience, but his youthful inquisitiveness informs his choices every bit as much.

There was a subtle thread of anti-Semitic persecution linking all the works on the first half. The recital began with Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s Clarinet Sonata, Op. 28, written at the end of World War II in 1945. Weinberg, once mentioned in the same reverential tones as Shostakovich and Prokofiev, was subsequently banned, and written out of Soviet music history. Bringing his substantial oeuvre to the public’s attention has been slow and difficult. Even his close friend and colleague Shostakovich couldn’t prevail on the authorities to let him out of prison (for “Jewish bourgeois nationalism”). Only Stalin’s death in 1953 saved him from certain execution (as had befallen other members of his family). Mr. Neidich likens the work to pages from a diary, a common enough “coded” musical practice in the Soviet era. The sonata begins with an ambling Allegro “as though one were going for a walk to buy some milk” and each movement slows down, with Jewish laments and mounting terror assuming center stage. This “universal prayer for humanity” was given the masterly Neidich treatment, and I must mention one clarinet leitmotif that characterizes his playing: the gorgeous, seemingly infinite qualities of his final notes, whether of a movement or a whole piece. They seem to hover in the air beyond what any mere mortal could achieve.

Ursula Mamlok, the puckish composition guru at Manhattan School of Music for 45 (!) years, had the “good fortune” (one feels strange calling it that) to escape Berlin with her family in 1938, directly the result of Kristallnacht, first to Ecuador, then the United States. Rückblick (In Erinnerung an die Reichspogromnacht 9.Nov.1938) (2002)  was originally conceived for alto saxophone (or clarinet or bass-clarinet) and piano. It is the only direct reference in her vast works list to the Holocaust. What I took away from the superb performance was the sheer economy of her four mini-elegies, conveying in a few minutes what another composer might have turned into a gigantic symphony.

The Mendelssohn F major violin sonata, abandoned by the composer in 1838 as a “wretched sonata,” was discovered and revised by violinist Yehudi Menuhin in 1953, Violinists have been grateful for another Mendelssohn violin sonata besides the F Minor, Op. 4. And now, will other clarinetists dare to take up the Neidich clarinet transformation? Honestly, although the work has all the beloved hallmarks of the composer, especially the “elfin” scurrying of the Finale, so reminiscent of Carl Maria von Weber’s Moto perpetuo, I don’t think the work is really top-drawer Mendelssohn, and that if he himself had continued working on it, it may have ended up with more complexity, especially in terms of contrapuntal development. No matter, the two players sparkled. Mendelssohn’s connection to the “theme” I detected for this half: grandson of the Jewish Enlightenment philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, Felix and his siblings converted to Protestantism in that earlier period of anti-Semitism, then his posthumous reputation endured smearing by Wagner, as well as being purged from German concert life by the Nazis, in favor of Schumann.

At this juncture, I must devote a special paragraph to Mr. Neidich’s long-time collaborator, pianist Mohamed Shams, a perfect partner if ever there was one. There is nothing he cannot do, he possesses what I call the “quiet virtuosity” that only those in the know realize is happening, solving every potential issue before it occurs, perfection of balance, phrasing, and unity with the soloist. Simply amazing. One little quibble, at times I felt he was being overly deferential, he could have let the piano roar a little more (the lid was up).

The “persecution” theme followed into the second half with Edison Denisov, who composed largely under the Darmstadt spell: the aesthetic of Boulez and Stockhausen, who felt that all music that was not serial was beneath contempt. Denisov too was blacklisted by Soviet bureaucrats in 1979. His cosmopolitanism enabled him to get influential Western-European contemporary music to his students behind the Iron Curtain. There is a later added subtitle to Denisov’s Ode for clarinet, piano, and percussion (1968)- Mr. Neidich explained, not found on the autograph or any published version,“in memory of Che Guevara.” The work required Mr. Shams to play inside the piano, brushing and plucking strings. Percussionist Eduardo Leandro was masterfully sensitive, particularly in the chimes that got softer and softer. Mr. Neidich revealed the drama in his improvisatory flights (Denisov had been forced to write “one” way to play it by his publishers), the first time I’m sure New York has ever heard the work as intended.

Now Neidich the composer comes to our attention, with a recent (2023) reworking of his Icarus Ascending. Bear in mind that 2023 is only 30 days old! He uses the advanced techniques of microtones and multiphonics in his already huge palette. One sensed the soaring, questing of the disobedient son, but I do take issue with his conclusion that Icarus rises again, which for me removes the tragedy.

I will admit that I have never heard a note of Julia Perry’s music live in concert. This is almost unfathomable, as she was prolific and gifted. (She also attended my first undergraduate school, Westminster Choir College.). Serenity (1972) was originally written for oboe, then clarinet by the composer. Despite her health woes (paralyzed by stroke), Ms. Perry still believed in music’s healing power. The piece was offered as a sort of balm and mood-shift prior to the concluding work.

Although Brahms had virtually renounced composition, a chance meeting with the Meiningen orchestra clarinetist Richard Mühlfeld unlocked his heart as well as his desire to compose, resulting in the masterpieces: Clarinet Trio, Clarinet Quintet, and the two sonatas Op. 120. Signs of the misanthropic, gruff Brahms’s flirtatiousness (non-sensual of course, but collegial) were visible in his nicknaming Richard “Fraülein” Mühlfeld. His clarinet ability revealed to Brahms new horizons in sonority, in Brahms’s beloved middle and low registers that he had always favored in his vocal writing. The two Opus 120 sonatas were composed at the same time, and they do have a valedictory feeling: the obsession with Bach chorales, the advanced, compressed compositional devices, fearless dissonance (usually experienced as passing tones or suspensions). At times during the E-flat, the more serene of the two, the writing seems to be noodling around between the two players (again the superb Mr. Shams on piano), and neither is really dominant, it’s like a private conversation to which we have been invited to eavesdrop.

The ovation was tumultuous, and so richly deserved. Therefore, Mr. Neidich said the only possible encore was the Andante un poco Adagio (second movement) of the other Op. 120 sonata, the F minor. A healing balm, a sharing, what Mr. Neidich stressed was the “communal” aspect of music making, the infinity symbol of energy that passes from the artist to the listener and back and forth.

All of us will keep “looking forward” to more Neidich!

“The East and the West”

Qilin Sun, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 20, 2023

Well, it has happened again. For only the third time in my nearly ten years of writing for this publication, a pianist has taken the stage, and by her very demeanor, and the way she played the very first note of her recital, I burst into tears (good ones!) and I knew that we would be in “good hands” for the rest of the program.

Qilin Sun, a Chinese-born prodigy, has had the best training imaginable (BMus, MMus, and now DMA at Juilliard with the superb Yoheved Kaplinsky), and she already has concerto touring experience.

Ms. Sun took the stage for the contemporary Chinese music half of the recital with her hair in a severe central braid and an aura of intense concentration. She waited at the keyboard until the hall had completely quieted down and she was ready. That was when that magical first note happened, the beginning of Pictures from Bashu (1958) by Huang Hu-Wei (1932-2019), six brief impressions of life in the pianist’s hometown, as she explained in her charming (but very soft) verbal program notes.

About those program notes, first of all, I thought we weren’t supposed to say “East” and “West” anymore, because: east or west of where? It implies centuries of colonial attitudes toward Asian countries. But lo and behold, during her small speech from the stage, Ms. Sun even said “Oriental” music, an even more pejorative term according to the late Edward Said.

Perhaps a more fruitful way to look at Ms. Sun’s program would be to focus on the dilemmas and compromises Chinese classical composers have had to confront. After all, any time someone is sitting down at a Steinway concert grand, and its twelve chromatic tones per octave, some degree of compromise is inevitable. In the best sense, all of her Chinese piano works are a “fusion,” a term we use in restaurants for example.

Ms. Sun’s pianism featured all my favorite things: liquid beautiful tone, fine rhythmic spine, and many many layers of sound (what the French call the plans sonores) in her voicing. Only when the dynamic rose above forte did her Hamburg Steinway not co-operate, instead producing its characteristic glassy upper register, I did not regard that as her fault. She also possesses that mysterious ingredient that can’t be taught: charisma. At all times, you could see, and hear (!), her strong sense of mission regarding Chinese music.

After showing us Bashu, the next work was Three Stanzas on Plum Blossoms (1973) by Wang Jian-Zhong (1933-2016), a work based on a piece from the Tang dynasty (618 – 907 A.D.) originally composed for the Guqin, a seven-stringed instrument of the zither family. Ms. Sun explained the importance of plum blossoms, which bloom first, even while winter’s cold is still present; that they symbolize vitality and vigor of nature, and courage and strength of the people. In this work, the musical compromise was most severe, as all the sliding and microtonal nature of the work that one hears on the Guqin was not revealed in the piano solo version, despite Ms. Sun’s continued gorgeous playing.

She then turned to Chen Qi-Gang’s Instants d’un Opéra de Pékin (2000). Qi-Gang (b. 1951), a naturalized French citizen and Messiaen’s last student, wrote a rhapsodic translation of (I imagine) his experience attending Chinese opera. If I didn’t know any better, I would imagine that this was a hitherto undiscovered work by Messiaen himself, and it refers at times to Debussy’s La Cathédrale engloutie.

Numa Ame (2017) by Zhang Zhao (b. 1964) followed. Numa Ame means Origin of the Sun or “most beautiful home,” a place where the Hani people put their good wishes. It represents the composer’s deep thoughts and good wishes for his hometown. I kept hearing numerous references to Zoltán Kodály’s folk rhapsodies, despite the 6800 km distance.

For me, the only unsuccessful work on the first half was Yin Qing’s Ode to Land, written last year by a twenty-four year old composer specifically for Ms. Sun. It was quite blustery, reminiscent of Liszt, but without that composer’s genius and experience. Here, the strident, bright piano was pushed beyond its limits.

After intermission, Ms. Sun took the stage with a change of gown, and her hair loosened, flowing free. She favored the audience with one work that had to convey the entire “western” portion of her chosen dichotomy, Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata No. 8 in B-flat major, Op. 84. This sonata, the last of the three so-called “war” sonatas, contains all the lyrical longing tinged with the undercurrents of fear and panic of the Russian people during WWII. Fragments of works originally conceived for homages to Pushkin (Eugene Onegin and Queen of Spades) waft in and out of the first two movements, and the work is cyclic as well.

In a similarity to the Chinese composers, Prokofiev himself was viewed as something of a compromiser for returning to his native Russia after a very successful cosmopolitan sojourn in Paris. All of Ms. Sun’s piano virtues were on vivid display. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the work played live with such exquisitely clear voicing, no matter how turgid the texture. She truly captured the sognando (dreaming) quality of the second movement. This sonata was premiered by the great Emil Gilels, and Ms. Sun may rightly take her place in the league of mastery.

After accepting a tumultuous, well-deserved ovation, and many bouquets of flowers, Ms. Sun ended with only one encore: Tchaikovsky’s poignant June-Barkarole from The Seasons, Op. 37bis, No. 6. Perfectly delineated, it scattered a balm over the hall if anyone was rattled by the violence of Prokofiev.

I would go out on a limb and predict great things for Ms. Sun, if she wants them and if she pursues them. I would love to hear her do a complete Ravel cycle. Thank you, Ms. Sun, for restoring me musically.