Frank Daykin | New York Concert Review, Inc.

SubCulture presents Ian Hobson: Sound Impressions: The Piano Music of Claude Debussy & Maurice Ravel- 4th in series

Ian Hobson, piano

SubCulture, New York, NY

February 28, 2018

Ian Hobson continued his six-concert epic presentation of the complete solo piano works of Debussy and Ravel with his fourth installment. By now (I’ve covered the first and third), I recognize repeat attenders in the audience, and plenty of fresh, young faces, due partly to the “edgy” downtown location, no doubt. I wish more people could hear this immense achievement, because while household names, Debussy and Ravel aren’t really programmed as often as one would hope.

Mr. Hobson’s opening work, Debussy’s resolute but sad little Berceuse héroïque, allowed me to ruminate on the terrible toll exacted by World War I. France lost at least 1,320,000 men in their prime, with a quarter of those lost in the first months of the war. Ravel, despite repeated unsuccessful attempts to enlist, finally joined the Thirteenth Artillery Regiment as a lorry driver in March 1915 at age forty (!), serving for two years—afterward he was never the same, either in physical or mental health. Debussy, already ravaged by the cancer that would take him in 1918, became intensely nationalistic, signing his works “Claude de France,” and contributing many short, bleak works to the many charity efforts that were pleading for funds. Thus, the Berceuse, destined for a Belgian war effort.

Mr. Hobson immediately relieved the gloom with a stylish peek into several of Debussy’s unjustly neglected early works: Valse romantique, Mazurka, and Nocturne. While each of them contains some tidbits of the progressive harmonies Debussy would become famous for, they lie squarely in the Romantic genre field, as one might expect from a student of a woman named Marie Mauté de Fleurville, who claimed to have studied with Chopin.

Mr. Hobson then gave us Ravel’s true first piano composition (though unpublished until 1975), the Sérénade ‘grotesque’ from 1893. The guitar-like pizzicati and other brief melodic figures would be put to much better use in the Alborada del gracioso (heard later on this program). Mr. Hobson was stylish in it, but did ignore the indication, so unusual for Ravel, très sentimental.

Then came one of Ravel’s masterpieces, the five-piece set Miroirs, in which Ravel sought to evoke not things themselves, but their reflections. Each piece is dedicated to a fellow-member of the avant-garde Apache artist group. Here, Mr. Hobson’s extraordinary fluency gave what was for me the most successful performance of the evening. He is able to “put things together,” the only downside being that many details get lost. Nevertheless, all the movements were great (including the astonishing, callous-building, double-third and double-fourth glissandi of Alborada), with the exception of La Vallée des cloches, which was way too fast! In Ravel’s conception, there was no valley, only the varied contributions of the many Paris church bells tolling at noon on a sultry day.

I hoped not to end this review on a down note, but Mr. Hobson’s concluding presentation of Debussy’s first book of Préludes was the most unsatisfying, despite a few jewel-like refined moments (La Danse de Puck was near perfect). His penchant for rushing disturbed the mysterious calm that underlies many of the works, and there was definitely a shortage of the pp and ppp dynamics, without which Debussy can seem like a terrible mistake. Particularly, he almost never observed when there was a crescendo immediately followed by a subito (sudden) pp. There was a great deal of rhythmic alteration too, in short note values. In this recital, Mr. Hobson used the scores for all his performances, I don’t object to that at all, but it seemed to lead to a kind of sight-read quality, but of course I know he wasn’t sight-reading. Putting together a marathon series like this is truly daunting. I did think that two preludes, La Fille aux cheveux de lin and La Cathédrale engloutie, were the best. I was surprised that they were these two. The others were rather manhandled, with rough patches intruding on one’s contemplation.

I’m sure the next two recitals will be well-attended and wonderful.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Key Pianists presents Misha Dichter in Review

Misha Dichter, piano, joined by Cipa Dichter in duos

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

February 21, 2018

Legendary pianist Misha Dichter is the next musician recognized by Terry Eder’s unique series Key Pianists, whose mission is to recognize musicians who aren’t necessarily before the public eye right now, or whose commitment to a certain repertoire might marginalize them in the cutthroat commercial concert world.

Mr. Dichter hasn’t played a major solo recital in New York since 1999, having suffered a disability of the worst kind that threatens the pianist’s primary tool: the hand. I won’t enumerate here, but he underwent successful surgery and rehab. Thank goodness for that. He has made enormous contributions in both live and recorded performance, and his commitment to duo-piano playing (at one and two keyboards) with his wife has always been in the forefront, unusual for most virtuosi.

I truly believe that one must exercise respect when speaking of legendary established artists, after all a reputation isn’t going to be made or unmade by my comments. The evening, while successful and often beautiful, was complex for me, something I will try to make clear in the ensuing comments. Two of Schubert’s massive late works bookended Copland and Scriabin, strange bedfellows but good contrast.

The entire first half of the recital was devoted to Mr. Dichter’s partnership with his wife of fifty years, Cipa Dichter (How is this possible?? Neither one of them even looks fifty!). They opened with the lyrical and ever-so-tragic Fantasy in F minor, D. 940. The normally excellent program notes by Paul Griffiths were a bit off-base on this occasion. He missed the point that the work is dedicated to one of Schubert’s piano students, and (as usual) an unrequited crush of his: Caroline von Esterházy, though anything between them would have been impossible due to the class difference. Mr. Griffiths also called the third section a “waltz” which it is most definitely not (just because it’s in 3/4 time doesn’t make it a waltz).

The clever G-flat which is introduced into the opening melody in measure twenty (enharmonically F-sharp) sets up the key relations of the two inner sections, so we have F minor-F-sharp minor-F sharp minor-sinking back down to F minor. Schubert has been so often patronized as a composer that most people don’t realize how much motivic continuity he loaded his mature works with, enabling him to create vast structures that hold together.

The Dichters gave a very well-coordinated, unsentimental reading of the Fantasy, with Cipa playing primo. She certainly could not have wanted for a more considerate partner in her husband, whose balances were preternaturally sensitive. I wished for more lingering over certain moments, especially fermatas, which were minimized. There was also a lack of “big” dynamic contrasts: the pp and ff in the central section of the third “movement” and elsewhere often sounded the same. This led to a reduction in the mystery and fatality of the piece, which for me is central. One should feel emotionally devastated after a rendition of this work.

They followed with an appropriately raucous, perhaps even reckless, joyously rhythmic performance of Bernstein’s transcription for two pianos of Aaron Copland’s El Salón México, named for a nightclub but based on assiduously collected material. The Dichters’ flair for dialogue between the two instruments was in full display, aided by the clever and faithful arrangement.

After intermission, Misha took the stage for his solo portion of the program, opening with two of Scriabin’s more lyrical etudes, one each from Op. 42 and Op.8. These were delivered with melting clarity and the sort of restraint that purged them of the sometimes overheated “purple” quality with which many artists often fill them. It was refreshing indeed.

Mr. Dichter’s major offering of the evening was the middle of the last three sonatas of Schubert, the A major, D. 959. There is nothing “enigmatic” about either the tonality or the half-step, which figures large in this work—revealed in every possible light, it gives Schubert maximum mobility to explore remote key areas, as Alfred Brendel said, “with the assurance of the sleepwalker.”

Mr. Dichter is a “big view” pianist, who I feel sometimes lets his virtuosity run away with him when more contemplation would be nice. On this occasion, just when I was starting to get antsy, he would then do something so angelic that it brought tears to my eyes. For example, the return of the lonely wanderer theme in the second movement, after the “breakdown” section (which, Mr. Griffiths, is not a cadenza!), was heart-stopping. He also handled the multiple remote-key visionary “farewells” in the Rondo finale beautifully. Elsewhere, tempi were pushed, which led to some inaccuracy, dynamic contrasts weren’t maximized (as in the Fantasy above), and a sense of discovery was lacking. The fact that all the movements were played attacca didn’t help, one scarcely had time to consider what had preceded. Don’t get me wrong, this is a valid interpretation, it might not be to everyone’s liking, but the audience went wild.

Mr. Dichter then offered two encores: the Berlioz/Liszt Rákóczi Marsch (from La Damnation de Faust, borrowed by Berlioz from a Gypsy fiddler). This was a white-hot romp through one of Mr. Dichter’s specialties, Liszt. He roared and glittered as I imagine the piano lions of old did, and people respond to speed and volume.

This was followed by Schumann’s Romanze Op. 28, No. 2, in F-sharp major, which again was very unsentimental, even hurried. I feel he missed the opportunity to vary the voicing in the repeat of the first section (it is a love duet, after all), unusual in a student of Rosina Lhevinne. No matter, Mr. Dichter proved that he still owns the keyboard, and I wish him many more years of fruitful artistry.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Wang & Tang Arts Promotion, LLC, presents Karwendel Artists Gala Concert in Review

Sven Stucke (Music Director) and Xi Wang (General Director), violins; Julia Yang, cello; Mika Sasaki, piano; Karwendel Music Festival Alumni: Jennifer Ahn, Maki Omori, Akbike Algi, and Linda Guo, violins, with Eric Malson, piano.

Well Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 31, 2018

Karwendel is a festival only two years old, located in the impossibly picturesque Bavarian Alps in a village called Mittenwald. If you were intrepid and got just a bit lost on a hike, you could easily find yourself over the border in Austria. Few people know that Mittenwald was also a center of stringed instrument building, rivaling the better-known Cremona. Despite their rather vague, high-flown mission statement: “to extend the impact of classical music on society,” they put on an effective, often exciting concert last night.

The concert began with a violin duo arrangement of two Chinese folk tunes, played expertly by the music director, Sven Stucke, and the general director, Xi Wang, who was also the arranger. Ms. Wang displayed her spot on accuracy in the highest violin positions in the first piece, Bird Song. It’s a shame we didn’t get to hear any more from her on this occasion.

Four of the festival’s recent best alumnae were then presented, each in a showy work. Jennifer Ahn muscled her way through Wieniawski’s famous Polonaise with great technical poise and accuracy, but her account lacked charm and ease, the sort with which the greatest players seem to be merely sporting with the material. Maki Omori was more successful, with a fine rendition of Fritz Kreisler’s Recitativo and Scherzo for unaccompanied violin. Akbike Algi gave a sultry performance of the Frolov medley from Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess. Finally, Linda Guo wowed the hall with her Carmen Fantasy by Waxman. This showed not only technical mastery, but somehow managed to convey the emotions of the original opera through color changes and phrasing. The collaborative pianist for all four was Eric Malson, who was always supportive, but sometimes seemed to be struggling technically, and definitely needed a page turner.

After intermission came the Mount Everest of the piano trio literature, Tchaikovsky’s Piano Trio, an epic lament on the death of his close friend, Nikolai Rubinstein, Russian pianist, conductor, and composer. This work was almost “not” created, for Tchaikovsky famously detested the sound of piano and solo strings. He could only abide the piano in a concerto or as total background in accompanying. Shall we say he overcame the issue quite enduringly? For me, the stunning find of the evening was the cellist in this performance: Julia Yang. She invested every single tone of her part with heartbreak and emotional intensity, even seemingly innocuous accompanying patterns. This is to take nothing away from her two partners: Mr. Stucke on violin and Mika Sasaki on piano. Every phrase was carefully worked out, the pacing was satisfying. There is a lot of heroic loud playing, but the ear never tired. They took the standard large cut in the final variation/finale, which is certainly forgivable from an endurance standpoint, but does amputate the sonata-form, and when you can play the piece this well, why not do it? Mr. Stucke was excellent in the busy violin part, bringing poignancy and detail to every phrase. Ms. Sasaki was completely, astonishingly, on top of every insane technical demand in this killer piano part, and she often played with beautiful lyricism in the middle to softer dynamics. I wish someone would teach younger pianists that they can play loudly without a harsh tone, however. I was missing warmth and roundness of tone. Perhaps one can blame the house piano in Weill Hall, though it all depends on who is sitting in front of it—I’ve heard magic emanate from it too. It is truly admirable for such a young group to have this work under their belts now; if they stay together, I’m certain they will continue to add layers of meaning to this already fine performance.

All in all, something really good is happening in those Bavarian Alps, so keep it up Karwendel!

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Tenri Cultural Institute presents Wa Concert Series- The Originality of Greatness: Celebrating Elliott Carter’s 109th Birthday in Review

Charles Neidich, Ayako Oshima, clarinet; Alexi Kenney, violin; Fred Sherry, cello; Lucy Shelton, Amber Evans, sopranos; Mohamed Shams, piano; John Link, musicologist

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

December 16, 2017

Only a musician with unforced naturalness of phrasing, total command of his instrument, and a puckish humor such as is possessed by Charles Neidich, could make an entire evening of Elliott Carter’s thorny chamber music approachable. He also assembled a team of superlative collaborators—four of the evening’s seven musicians had major experience working with Carter, including close personal friendships. This kind of advocacy is crucial if his music is to stay in the repertoire. Carter died just five years ago, a couple of weeks shy of his 104th birthday, and he was composing virtually up to the end of his long, productive life.

In illuminating remarks by John Link, it became clear that Carter viewed the lion’s share of his music as representing vivid characters. Each note had to be played with the fierce delineation that he had in mind, whether that represented one character with conflicting emotions, or interplay between several characters. Carter did not compose unless he was truly emotionally motivated to do so, even though the popular perception of his output is one of atonality and layers of rhythmic complexity (which are certainly there!). Most of Carter’s works have what I call an “arch” shape, with a satisfying sense of rightness to their endings; although some just end abruptly, like a candle flame being blown out. Carter’s curiosity was relentless, exploring literature, languages, and food with intensity and humor.

Mr. Neidich opened the evening, partnered by the evening’s excellent pianist Mohamed Shams, with the easy-to-take Pastorale, it was the earliest work on the program, showing some of the late-romantic traditions Carter would leave behind definitively. Hiyoku (Two Wings) for two clarinets had Mr. Neidich in duo with his wife Ayako Oshima, also a phenomenal clarinetist, as well as the chef behind the prodigious feasts laid out for all the audiences at these Wa concerts. Their ensemble was understandably perfect. Mr. Shams shone in the Two Thoughts About The Piano solos, the second of which, Caténaires, was a blistering perpetual motion toccata that seemed powered by nuclear energy. Duettino brought together violinist Alexi Kenney and veteran Carter specialist, cellist Fred Sherry (former artistic advisor of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, founder of Speculum Musicae and Tashi), sharing violent alternations of bowed and plucked notes with equal ferocity.

Another lifelong devotee of the contemporary music world, Lucy Shelton, shared duties with a younger soprano, Amber Evans, in the Poems of Louis Zukofsky. Here, Ms. Shelton’s years of commanding performance showed her total mastery not only of the difficult music, but intelligibility of every word; her attentiveness to the clarinet showed her fabulous attention to detail, while never removing emotion from her often witty presentation. Ms. Evans’ songs had more difficult tessiturae, perhaps that impeded some of the words, but her voice was true and powerful. I’m sure Carter was, as mentioned before, moved by this poetry, but I find that his settings often do “get in the way” of the words, my limitation I’m sure.

After the intermission of this long evening,Mr. Kenney, Mr.Neidich, and Mr. Sherry combined to present the Omaggio a Italo Calvino, as Con leggerezza pensosa was known. These players exude the Carter style with utter naturalness. Then Mr. Neidich played the brief solo Gra, which led me to wonder if the title was the Gaelic word for love. Alexi Kenney was brilliant in the solo violin work Rhapsodic Musings. I regard this as Carter’s answer to Ravel’s Tzigane, and Mr. Kenney’s intonation and style were perfection itself, with every double stop interval of a seventh (and they are cruel!) as pure as one can imagine.

Finally came the staple of Carter’s chamber offerings, the great Sonata for Cello and Piano from 1948 (revised in 1966). This four movement behemoth was dispatched with firm command and a wide variety of colors by Mr. Sherry and Mr. Shams. It doesn’t sound nearly as forbidding as it looks on the page, and even makes sly nods to tonality (heavily disguised) and the old Dies Irae that had so fascinated composers from Berlioz to Liszt and Rachmaninoff. Forgive me, Elliott, for noticing! The work is also cyclic, that is themes from the first movement reappear at the end, adding to the work’s comprehensibility, as did this perfect performance. The enthusiastic audience really hollered its approval after it was over.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

SubCulture presents Ian Hobson — Sound Impressions: The Piano Music of Debussy & Ravel in Review

Ian Hobson, piano

SubCulture, New York, NY

November 29, 2017

Esteemed pianist Ian Hobson opened his six-concert series of the complete solo piano works of Debussy and Ravel with his first installment on Wednesday at the edgy SubCulture location in New York’s East Village. Having made his reputation with insightful performances of everything from German standards to neglected Romantic masters to contemporary music written specifically for him, he now reveals another aspect of his curiosity: French so-called “Impressionism.” By the way, can we all stop using this term? Debussy and Ravel despised it, for it was applied as a pejorative, borrowed from the visual arts where it was used the same way.

The recital was a success, if one gauged by audience response to this sometimes diffuse music. I feel that it was more of a mixed success. Mr. Hobson inhabited the general atmospheres of all the works very well, with enormous technical fluency, but there were far too many flaws in the presentation: dropped notes, wrong notes, notes that didn’t sound, dynamics ignored, rhythms distorted (I couldn’t really tell if memory problems were perhaps a factor in some of this), and nearly every tempo too fast. Yikes! I’m going to attempt to temper this harsh verdict by saying that he appeared hamstrung by the piano in SubCulture, an inferior small Steinway that managed to sound completely wooden, almost pitchless at times in the bass, and out-of-tune. Please, SubCulture, when presenting an artist of such stature, doesn’t that warrant a full-size concert grand, especially when sonic splendor is a large part of the esthetic of the period of music being played?

Mr. Hobson began with what for me was a bit of a turn-off: “Ravel’s” Menuet in C-sharp minor (1904). I know this has been recorded recently, in pianists’ desperate search to add uniqueness to their Ravel canon, but just because a work is in a composer’s handwriting does NOT make it a work BY that composer. (As was the case for decades with some of Bach’s sacred cantatas now known to be spurious, he was merely copying out other composers’ works for his own use.) In this instance, the Menuet was found on the reverse of a sheet of exercises by Ravel’s composition student Maurice Delage. I have it on very good authority that either (1) Ravel was taking oral dictation from Delage, thus making the piece by Delage, or (2) that he was making fun of Delage’s maladroitness in the lesson, making it “sort of” Ravel. Ravel was such a fastidious technician, certainly in his master period by 1904, and I’m sure he is turning in his grave over this bad piece, which even a casual listen would demonstrate sounds nothing like Ravel at all. Sorry, Ian!

The entire recital was played without intermission, with only a slight pause between Gaspard and the Debussy Préludes. Mr. Hobson followed with a charming account of Debussy’s first surviving work for piano solo: Danse Bohémienne, which Madame von Meck sent to Tchaikovsky for evaluation. Pyotr Ilich said: “Your little Frenchman is charming, but perhaps the piece is a bit too short,” a pithy, accurate observation. Debussy was already demonstrating his unconcern with “development.”

After that came the two well-known and well-worn Debussy Arabesques, so beloved of adult amateur piano students everywhere. They were given a rough rendering that de-emphasized charm in favor of tempo. Most opportunities (in the score) for moins vite, ritenuto, diminuendo, were either not observed or minimally so.

He then gave us a truly unusual miniature, composed for a music magazine competition, called Morceau de concours (1904). It uses two fragments from one of Debussy’s many abortive opera projects, Le Diable dans le beffroi, based on Poe. This was very well played.

Next up were the Images oubliées, three pieces from 1894, portions of which were re-used in later works. These were first published (1 and 2) in the Piano Quarterly in 1977, and they really should be heard more often. The first is marked Lent (mélancolique et doux), but it sounded impatient in Mr. Hobson’s rendition. The second piece “In the tempo of a Sarabande . . .” (which later became the Sarabande in Pour le piano, with harmonic changes), worked its hypnotic magic and was a highpoint of Hobson’s evening for me. The third piece “Some aspects of Nous n’irons plus au bois” (a children’s song, later used in Jardins sous la pluie) was also played effectively, its rapidity uniting well with Mr. Hobson’s strengths.

Now we come to the first true masterpiece of this program, Ravel’s Gaspard de la nuit, “three poems for piano (Ravel’s own designation) after Aloysius Bertrand.” Mr. Hobson’s rippling accompaniment figure at the beginning of Ondine, the spiteful mermaid, was gorgeous, giving me high hopes for the rest of the piece, but in the middle of the first page, he played a notorious misprint where the figure appears to change (but is not supposed to!). I suppose he learned it that way, and such things are very difficult to change. His fluidity (in this ultimate water piece) was still gorgeous throughout, though I wish he had breathed more, and left her little “naked” solo without pedal, as indicated. Le Gibet, the story of the body of a hanged man swaying on the gallows in the red light of the setting sun, with bats bumping into it and insects abounding, simply was way too fast. It could not work its mesmerizing spell of dread at such a tempo. If Ravel had been present, he would have had the same falling out with Mr. Hobson that he did with Ricardo Viñes, over the same piece! Scarbo, the imp who tortures the insomniac by scratching at the bedsheets, bursting into flame, then vanishing, suited Mr. Hobson’s impetuousity. You must have that sort of fearlessness to attempt this monster, and he did. I do wish more details had been audible, and softer dynamics (when indicated) had been observed.

Mr. Hobson closed with the second book of Debussy’s Préludes, which still manage to sound really modern despite a lifetime of study and performance. Again, in terms of atmospheres Mr. Hobson nailed them. But there are so many subtleties that went by the wayside. Let me dwell on the best of his: La puerta del Vino (with brusque oppositions of extreme violence and passionate gentleness), Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses (rapid and light), “General Lavine”-eccentric (one of Debussy’s send-ups of then in-vogue cakewalk), Ondine (playful, less menacing than Ravel’s for sure), Les tierces alternées (really Debussy’s “thirteenth etude”), and Feux d’artifice (with its concluding broken, faraway evocation of La Marseillaise). Hey, that’s a pretty good average, six out of the twelve. What I missed in the others was the same as previously mentioned: whenever the music said Lent, it wasn’t, he seemed in a hurry to get through the material.

Of course, presenting the complete (and complex!) works of these two is a huge project: I hope Mr. Hobson will find the time to breathe more and enjoy the beautiful sounds he is capable of making, and transport his appreciative audiences even farther into the French soul.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Hemsing Associates presents Kimiko Ishizaka in Review

Kimiko Ishizaka, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

November 19, 2017

Kimiko Ishizaka gave an energetic, somewhat dry reading of Bach’s last work, Die Kunst der Fuge (The Art of the Fugue), further demonstrating her lifelong involvement with the master’s works. She has previously performed and recorded the “Goldberg” variations and Book I of the Well-Tempered Clavier.

She performed this gigantic series of fugues (referred to by the archaic term contrapunctus) and canons, all based on a single theme, from memory, an astonishing accomplishment, and she favored crisp touch, lots of détaché, generally brisk tempi, and absolutely no use of pedal. Andras Schiff also eschewed the pedal in his last presentation of the WTC at the 92^nd Street Y a few years back, stating that although he had used it before, he preferred to find what he calls the “hand phrasing” that is only revealed when no pedal is used.

Now, I am an advocate of Bach on the modern piano, but if you’re going to use it, why deprive yourself of one of its principal resources? Of course, Baroque polyphony mustn’t “sound pedaled,” but the piano tone can be given much greater warmth and color variety with careful use.

I had that reservation about Ms. Ishizaka’s choices, as well as musical, dramatic, and philosophical reservations in general about this contrapuntal afternoon, as expertly played as it was. All Bach’s fugues and canons in this collection were written out in four-part open score, the standard for study—no instrumentation was ever specified. These were never intended for concert performance, or even private performance at one sitting, and though I enjoy hearing it that way, it simply lacked variety, mystery, a sense of the “sacred,” from which Bach’s entire oeuvre is never very far removed.

The most successful portion for me was, oddly, the four canons, in which her approach was perfectly united to the material. In the excellent program notes by Paul Griffiths, he mentions “creeping chromatic scale fragments” in one of the more complex fugues, but Ishizaka’s chromaticism lacked just that “creeping” quality, rather it danced, chirped, and just sounded busy.

Ms. Ishizaka also dared to complete the unfinished (projected quadruple) fugue. As Christoph Wolff points out, since combinatorial fugues like this are usually begun at the final, most complicated area, Bach had probably actually finished it (at least in his head) and was writing it out from the beginning when he died. That his death took place after the introduction of the third subject, the musical spelling of his own name (B-A-C-H is the German nomenclature for the notes Bb-C-A-B)), gave rise to generations of romanticization and speculation.

Completions are always a risk—none of us is J.S. Bach. Ms. Ishizaka’s while clever and not too lengthy, displayed more about Ms. Ishizaka than Bach, though she used many of the themes from previous fugues, and even a great reminder of the end of Contrapunctus I at the very end, thus coming full circle in a satisfying way. What her desire for completion tells me, however, is that perhaps she is uncomfortable with the mystery of just having it break off in midstream. Perhaps she has considered and rejected a “spiritual” approach to Bach, or perhaps this is her spiritual approach, but I can’t help wondering what a bit more legato and slightly slower tempi would have added to the music, even with no pedal.

Elsewhere, she had a few variant notes that I had learned differently, and altered rhythms, I’m sure intentional, in her incredible feat of precise memory. Contrapunctus IX was excellent in her hands, as were the two pairs of mirror fugues. The first eleven fugues were put in order by Bach himself. As for the rest, they were rather hastily cobbled together by C.P.E. Bach, his second son, for publication, hence some different accidentals, rhythms, etc, crept in.

Shortly after seeing to its publication, C.P.E. sold the engraver’s plates for the value of the metal—not too much respect to the “old wig,” as he called his father, whose style, sadly, was already superseded when he died. Paul Griffith mentioned that the modern premiere of the cycle was in Leipzig in 1927, in an orchestration by twenty-year-old Wolfgang Graeser. What he didn’t mention is that Graeser committed suicide right after the premiere. What Graeser’s friend, musicologist Erich Schwebsch said about it was “He took his life as one who, having penetrated through the mystery of life, no longer saw any need to continue therein.”

I’m almost apologetic about being so hard on such an obviously accomplished Bach pianist, but I do feel that there is much more that can be revealed in this monumental work. Ms. Ishizaka appears young, her stage presence is very upbeat, and as she lives with the work for years to come, I’m sure she will make ever-new discoveries.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

The Rosalyn Tureck International Bach Competition presents Tony Yun in Review

Tony Yun, piano

Steinway Hall, New York, NY

November 14, 2017

Though only sixteen years old, Tony Yun has enjoyed a robust performing career for some years now—he is currently a student in the prestigious Juilliard pre-college division and has won numerous competitions. On this occasion, he was presented at Steinway Hall by the Rosalyn Tureck International Bach Competition, of which he is the most recent prize winner (October 2017).

At times it seemed as though there were two pianists present (and not because of the enormous amount of notes played): one, an impetuous, boyish virtuoso with technique to burn, the other, an introspective poetic dreamer. I preferred the latter pianist, though impetuosity also has its place. I fervently wish that he will meld these aspects together as he matures. This is a big, big talent, and anything I have to say below is only meant in the spirit of getting Mr. Yun to scrutinize all his pianistic and musical decisions carefully.

The recital opened with Bach’s Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue, BWV 903. Rosalyn Tureck always said the Fantasy was as close as possible to hearing what Bach extemporizing might have sounded like. The great thing about it is that no two people ever realize it the same way. Mr. Yun displayed creativity in his rendering of the many arpeggios that are not written out, only signified by half- or whole-note chords. I did not feel that he revealed the full sorrow of the immense chromatically descending section at the end. His Fugue, more rapid than most, achieved a playful quality. That is a valid choice, though again I feel that the ascending half-steps of the subject, which mirror the descent previously mentioned, should be experienced with a greater sense of mystery and struggle. I think Ms. Tureck, a formidable woman, but an open-minded musician, would have been happy with it.

Next came the one Beethoven sonata that is forbidden on most conservatory audition programs: No. 14 in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 2, “Quasi una fantasia,” known universally as the “Moonlight.” The first movement had become so hackneyed through amateur renderings, even transposed in some “easy” piano methods to C minor (!). Nevertheless, it is a haunting and progressive member of Beethoven’s canon. Mr. Yun really observed the indication of “delicacy with the damper pedal depressed throughout,” managing to create some daring blends on the modern Steinway, whose tonal weight is way too large, necessitating some compromises. I felt the tempo, though musicologically defensible, was too fast. Liszt called the second movement “a flower between two abysses,” and here the articulation of the phrasing was charming. The third movement, a gigantic sonata-allegro form, was Mr. Yun’s best of the three, remaining light while really showing off his rapidity, and he took advantage of every lyrical moment.

The first half concluded with Liszt’s Réminiscences de Norma/Grande Fantaisie, S. 394, a huge potpourri of themes from Bellini’s opera Norma. The story of a Druid priestess who loves a Roman soldier who deserts her for her best friend, and who then eventually offers herself as a sacrificial victim, is heavy going for a teenage boy. However, Bellini was twenty when it was produced, and probably a teen himself when composing it. Here, the “two pianists” theory of Mr. Yun was fully in evidence. The stentorian louder sections were all projected with superior virtuosity, but sometimes too harsh a sound, and a forgetting of the vocal nature of the music (still: always exciting). But when it came to the long, melting B minor/major theme in the middle, his poetic side created absolutely mesmerizing sounds, full of longing, and the rubati were perfection. The grande réunion des thèmes, a staple of all such transcriptions (not just Liszt’s) and the “three-hand” work were presented with complete mastery. Of course, to be able to play this at all is a triumph.

After intermission, Mr. Yun returned with another gigantic transcription: Busoni’s fleshing out of Bach’s Chaconne in D minor originally for solo violin. Busoni, I always felt, created a piece that is one composer’s emotional response to the spiritual message of the older composer’s piece, nothing to do with “faithful adherence” to the texture of the original, which would have been restricting (see Brahms’s left-hand alone version). Mr. Yun alternately thundered and whispered wherever required, with superb voicing and control over this very busy score.

He followed this with an incredibly mature, poised performance of Première communion de la Vierge (No.11: First Communion of the Virgin), from Messiaen’s Vingt Regards sur l’enfant Jésus. This is one of Messiaen’s twenty “looks” at the baby Jesus, in which Mary adores the baby still inside her, shortly after the Annunciation. Redolent with Messiaen’s system of mystical leitmotifs, established earlier in the cycle, the dynamic palette is mostly hushed, befitting the adoration. Mr. Yun’s colors and his patience with the slow tempo were exquisite. In fact, they made me think that if I was his current teacher I’d put him on a diet of only p, pp, or ppp pieces for a year, to develop this side of himself that is so hypnotic. Remember, you can always impress a lot of people with rapid, loud, accurate playing—but you will really move people emotionally with your lyric warmth.

Now with what could he possibly top that? Stravinsky’s Firebird of course (L’Oiseau de feu– ballet presented in Paris in 1910 by Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes), in the fierce transcription by the neglected Italian virtuoso pianist/composer Guido Agosti. This again showed Mr. Yun’s affinity with bold, fearless virtuosity, which is the only way to negotiate such a monstrously difficult score. He also really tried to evoke the spastic orchestral outbursts, particularly the wind sonorities. His blurred hush in the Berceuse was trance-like, another example of the “two Yuns.”

Mr. Yun favored the audience with Schubert’s Moment Musical No. 3 in F Minor, which was presented with innocence.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Mateusz Borowiak Third Recital in Review

Mateusz Borowiak, piano

Merkin Concert Hall at Kaufman Center, New York, NY

Sunday, November 12, 2017, 8PM

Mateusz Borowiak’s series of three recitals came to a close on Sunday, with perhaps his most magisterial display of pianistic grandeur. It also gave me, now having heard all six of Louis Pelosi’s piano sonatas, a clear favorite. This is terrible to decide, a sort of musical “Sophie’s choice,” but his Sonata No. 3 in B-flat gets my vote. The crystalline piano sonorities juxtaposed with the characteristically dense ones, the overall playfulness of some of the material, and a certain resemblance (spiritual only, not imitative) to Bartók’s Piano Concerto No. 3 (slow movement) in Pelosi’s slow movement, all endeared it to me.

Over the course of the three recitals, I heard numerous audience members grumbling that they couldn’t “follow” the structure, but make no mistake about it, Pelosi is a firm structuralist. It does take a certain fierce concentration, for it is more about densities, textures, and motives, things that the average listener has lost touch with identifying (a fault of society’s lack of music education, and the decline of home music making). I think someone clever could fashion two sonatas for every one of Pelosi’s, simply by removing about half the material and placing it on another manuscript page, but that is not for me to decide.

The Sonata No. 2 in A, a much fiercer, grimmer work, opened the recital, and it was presented perfectly by Mr. Borowiak, certainly Pelosi’s most capable advocate. Its principle of continuous evolving variation was clear, and there was even a Brahms-like consoling moment in the slow section.

After intermission, Mr. Borowiak presented the second set (Op. 39) of Rachmaninoff’s Études-Tableaux, which are programmatic, though the composer was often secretive about revealing specific images. They were composed near the end of 1916 to the beginning of 1917, just before the composer was driven from his native land, sorrowfully, by the turmoil of revolution. In fact, the famous E-flat minor etude (No. 5), the final one written, was completed just four days before the premiere of the set by Rachmaninoff himself. For who else could possibly have played these uncompromising, complicated studies?

Of course, today all young pianists grow up with these and other difficult repertoire firmly in their lesson plans, especially if they are serious about a career. In fact, through the course of Mr. Borowiak’s survey, I had to ponder how many physiological limitations have been conquered, how the landscape of what’s “possible” has evolved, even in my time, let alone since 1900.

Mr. Borowiak favored a “big-boned” approach to the Rachmaninoff, with gigantic sonority, big arching structure, clear voicing, and wonderful elasticity. Remember, Stravinsky referred to Rachmaninoff as a “six-and- a- half -foot scowl,” and it was mainly this person we hear in these distinctly anxiety-ridden works. For me, the stand-outs were No. 2 (“the sea and the seagull”), No. 5, No. 7 (“funeral march”), and No. 8, but they were all beautifully played, with complete fearless mastery. Mr. Borowiak organized their complexity with such assurance that the set sounded more coherent than I can recall from any recent artist.

After his customary tumultuous ovation, Mr. Borowiak, in a gesture of extreme modesty and renunciation, didn’t play an encore, though it was richly deserved (nor had he on any of the recitals).

When was the last time you saw the word aposiopesis in a program note? Yes, I had to look it up. Congratulations to you, Mateusz, and may you grace our shores again with more intelligent programming.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Mateusz Borowiak Second Recital in Review

Mateusz Borowiak, piano

Merkin Concert Hall at Kaufman Center, New York, NY

November 8, 2017

As serendipity would have it, I saw a poster in a small restaurant prior to attending Mateusz Borowiak’s second recital (of three) comprising his US debut. The slogan said: “The only way to do great work is to love.” This seemed particularly apropos regarding the sonatas of Louis Pelosi, two more of which (Nos. 5 and 1) were played on November 8, 2017 by Mr. Borowiak.

Clearly, Pelosi works with a great deal of love: love of imitative counterpoint, love of tonal harmony with many layers of complexity, love of the piano and its possibilities, and love of expressing large feelings and ideas. My fear, if that is the right word, is that this literature will not appeal to other pianists en masse, or the wider audiences it merits (and perhaps that’s okay) for it seems to me now that I have heard four of the six that his music lacks one thing the average concertgoer wants: memorable melodies.

Pelosi works with “themes and motives” more than “tunes,” and this certainly is an honorable practice going all the way back through music history, but it does make his music harder to listen to for the novice, even for those with some experience. The Sonata No. 5 made a strong impression in Mr. Borowiak’s expert hands—he has a way of clarifying these extremely dense textures, leading the ear to where the main matter is. Sonata No. 1 alternated between playful imitative materials and darker forces, and again, one could not imagine a better performance.

After intermission, Mr. Borowiak continued his marathon presentation of three complete etude cycles with all twelve of Debussy’s etudes. These are great late works by the master, pointing the way to modern trends while remaining totally “Debussy” in style as well. Debussy probably had the deepest, most intimate knowledge of the potential for piano sonority of any composer since Chopin. Let me make absolutely clear that at no time was the technical prowess of Mr. Borowiak in doubt, however, those who know my background and writings know how fervent I am about French music and its style. I feel that Mr. Borowiak could benefit from a bit more in the way of tints and tones of the same color, delicacy, and an almost indefinable French “wit” so essential to this music. The “cinq doigts” needed more leggiero and its last note was cut way too short, the “Tièrces” and “Quartes” were very good, the “Sixtes” however needed more legato gliding and delicacy, as they were a bit too jumpy. The “Octaves” and the “huit doigts” were very good. In the second livre I felt he grasped the nature of each piece much better—these are frankly much less didactic and more imagistic in tone. Everything was just put perfectly in place by Mr. Borowiak, and his tempo for the concluding “accords” was the fastest I’ve ever heard, and accurate.

I’ll admit I do quibble about things, but the secret to French music is truly in the details. He has such a secure foundation already as a pianist, I hope Mr. Borowiak will continue to let these major accomplishments of his repertoire “sink in” to even deeper levels of refinement. Then he will truly be sans pareil.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Tenri Cultural Institute presents Wa Concert Series- Emotion & Intellect: Robert Schumann and Max Reger in Review

Charles Neidich, clarinet and artistic director

Mariko Furukawa, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

November 10, 2017

Charles Neidich displayed several facets of his immense talent on Friday night during one of his well-curated “Wa” concerts. “Wa” is a word that means “circle” or “harmony, completeness,” and these values were abundantly in evidence, from the intelligent programming of works by Robert Schumann and Max Reger, to the divine performance, the genial verbal introductions and context-setting, and the pre- and post-concert feast and wine by his wife Ayako Oshima (also a fine clarinetist). The intimate setting of the Tenri Institute was perfect for this event.

Interestingly, all the Schumann pieces were transcriptions, since he didn’t really create for clarinet and piano duo. Mr. Neidich and his superb collaborator Mariko Fukuwara opened with Fünf Stücke im Volkston, Op. 102 (Five Pieces in Folk-style), originally for cello. They imbued the set with all the verve it requires and were seamlessly coordinated in every nuance.

Then followed the huge clarinet and piano sonata by Max Reger, Op. 49, No. 1. When one hears Mr. Neidich, one really doesn’t think about the instrument, only the music, so unified is he with the clarinet that it is never an issue. I can’t imagine a better performance than this one of this complicated piece, every whisper and yearning was conveyed with utter sensitivity, from both players. Again, Ms. Fukuwara handled the difficult piano part with complete transparency, no easy feat in this repertoire.

After intermission, they lightened the tone a bit by sampling two of Reger’s shorter works, the delightful Tarantella (WoO II/12) and Albumblatt (WoO II/13). This is a distinctly German interpretation of the tarantella from Reger, indeed, no one is going to dance out their spider venom with this one, but it is lovely nevertheless.

Then after some pointed introduction, Mr. Neidich and Ms. Furukawa performed a virtually unknown Schumann sonata (Op. posth. WoO 2) that was originally composed for violin, re-using the two movements Schumann had contributed to the joint F.A.E.- Frei aber einsam (“free but lonely”) sonata, adding two prior movements of his own, very late in his life. As Mr. Neidich poignantly reminded us, Clara Schumann was such a zealous guarder of her husband’s legacy and reputation that she burned the work, thinking it beneath Schumann, though she did perform it a few times with Joseph Joachim. A sketchy manuscript copy of those first two movements was located recently in a library, hence it does survive. It has all the Schumann characteristics, the way he “behaves” in A Minor, one of his favorite tonalities. The fourth movement is a veritable hell-hole of difficulty, stemming from its violinistic figurations—this inspired Mr. Neidich’s most overtly virtuosic playing of the evening, and earned him well-deserved uproarious applause.

For an encore, the pair reached into another obscure Schumann corner: the Abendlied, Op. 85 No. 12, originally for piano four-hands. It was a lovely way to end a rare and valuable evening.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY