Key Pianists presents Terry Eder in Review

Key Pianists presents Terry Eder in Review

Key Pianists presents Terry Eder, piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
March 2, 2017

A musician’s musician is the phrase I kept returning to mentally during Terry Eder’s distinguished Weill Hall recital, the second of this season’s Key Pianists series. She is a pianist with utter seriousness of conception, beauty of tone, lyrical sensitivity, never any “grandstanding.” It is so important that we hear artists like this to remind us of what matters musically, and to balance the seemingly endless parade of flashy virtuosi.

The evening began with Bartók’s Fifteen Hungarian Peasant Songs (1914/18). In a 1907 letter to Stefi Geyer, Bartók modestly stated (not without patriotic bitterness),“As regards myself, I desire a little happiness for a few—to serve the society of run-to-seed princelings called the Hungarian intelligentsia by collecting national songs and so forth.” Here one witnessed just how total was his success in revealing the true spirit of a people, rather than the falsified notion that had long been accepted of “gypsy” (really Westernized café-music) music as “Hungarian.”

Schubert’s Drei Klavierstücke (D. 846) belong to the family of his astonishing late works, if death at thirty-one can be considered “late.” There used to be some speculation that they had been destined for another set of four Impromptus, though that seems to have been settled by scholars in the negative. Thank goodness however (as with all of Schubert’s oeuvre) that they survive, for they contain some of his most rapturous writing for the piano. I refer particularly to the B major hymn/prayer middle section of the first piece and the entire second piece (which I consider Schubert’s Venetianisches Gondellied), in which Ms. Eder reached mystical flights of vision, with just the right amount of freedom and beautiful color changes. The third piece, which many find “less than” the first two, nevertheless tied in to Ms. Eder’s general theme of music from the Austro-Hungarian empire, with its decidedly “Bohemian” rambunctiousness.

Two of her recital groups were absolutely revelatory- the Dohnányi Six Pieces, Op. 41 and the Bartók Improvisations, Op. 20. Aside from reading the sheet music and hearing it on recordings, I had never previously heard a live performance of the Dohnányi, a composer sadly underrated even in his own time, partly because of his great virtuosity as a performer, and his reluctance to participate in the most progressive “isms” of the early twentieth century. In Cloches (Bells), the last of the six pieces, (a memorial to his son who died as a Russian prisoner of war), we hear some of the blending of impressionism, and in Cascades, the rushing of water summons echoes of Liszt. Ms. Eder’s rendition of Canzonetta (the third piece) was ravishing, and she brought out the ironic humor of Ländler (the fifth piece), a decidedly retro dance that had not been performed since Schubert’s time.

In the Bartók Improvisations (eight pieces based on Hungarian folk songs), Ms. Eder was absolutely magisterial and inspired, revealing every melody with the appropriate parlando/rubato that was so important to Bartók, and keeping every bit of the often complicated surrounding accompaniment on its own clear level. One of the chief rules of the Hungarian language is that the first syllable of the word carries the stress or tonic accent. There is a strong musical/linguistic correlation to this in the folk materials collected and transformed by Bartók (this phenomenon was also clearly articulated as a compositional strategy by Janáček). Bartók stated of the Improvisations– “The peasant melody has become purely a symbol, and the essential thing is its setting. The melody and all that we have added to it must give an impression of inseparable unity.” Ms. Eder clearly enabled us to hear the motivic thread that unites all the sections. I always found it curious that the opening Improvisation should have such a solemn tone when the words are about cake-baking and a kiss in the garden. In Ms. Eder’s hands the death-haunted third Improvisation was perfection itself. On such a windy day/night in New York, the fourth Improvisation’s message that “poor people are always hurting when the wind blows” was especially apt.

Ms. Eder finished with a wonderfully refined account of Liszt’s arrangement of the Schumann song Widmung (“Dedication,” poem by Rückert), which is usually trotted out as a sort of guilty-pleasure encore by less-thoughtful pianists. Here, Ms. Eder never lost sight of the original as a German Lied (art-song), her phrasing followed the accented and unaccented syllables of the words perfectly, which allowed me to really enjoy it!

She favored her enthusiastic audience with an energetic account of the sixth of Bartók’s Six Dances in Bulgarian Rhythm from the last volume of Mikrokosmos.

Ms. Eder, who is the generous patron of, and visionary behind, the Key Pianists series, showed us why she is herself “key.” Brava!

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Adrienne Haan presents Between Fire and Ice—A Diabolical Weimar Berlin Cabaret in Review

Adrienne Haan presents Between Fire and Ice—A Diabolical Weimar Berlin Cabaret in Review

Adrienne Haan presents Between Fire and Ice—A Diabolical Weimar Berlin Cabaret
Adrienne Haan, chanteuse
Feinstein’s/54 Below, New York, NY
February 22, 2017

 

Adrienne Haan brought her unique passion for and devotion to the cabaret repertoire of 1920/30s Germany to the elegant room that is Feinstein’s/54 Below on February 22, 2017. In the several times I’ve heard her, her art has deepened—that includes this occasion in particular. Never have the bawdy, politically-charged themes of the material seemed more apposite, given the recent political shifts and conflicts here and abroad. Plus ça change.

She sang a generous program, and one would never have known, until she announced it, that she was appearing with a last-minute substitute pianist: the excellent Howard Breitbart ( her usual music director, Richard Danley, had a medical emergency). Their coordination was superb; she has appeared with Mr. Breitbart in Washington, D.C. previously, though not with this program.

Tonight, she brought extra undertones of sadness and fragility to her renditions. She sang a great deal in English, often turning to German for the refrains once the song was familiar. I assume this was done to increase the understanding of the largely monolingual audience. I found her instantly more expressive and idiomatic in her native German (true of classical art-song singers as well). She has precedent in that no less severe a figure than Arnold Schoenberg wanted his vocal works performed in the language of the audience.

Ms. Haan opened with the wonderful anthem to corruption “Alles Schwindel” (It’s All a Swindle). She never allowed her contemporary opinions to become heavy-handed to the point of making her evening unentertaining, but it was clear where she stood at all times. She circulated among the audience playfully, ruffling the hair on the heads of a few men, and, to be fair, sitting on the lap of a woman as well, during her saucier numbers. All this was done with the great ease of a natural performer. Her patter between songs was effective without being over-long.

Other highlights included: “Ich weiss nicht zu wem ich gehöre” (I Don’t Know Who I Belong To), “Medley zur Emanzipation der Frau” (Medley to the Emancipation of Woman), “Das Lila Lied/Maskulinum-Femininum” (The Lavender Song/Masculine-Feminine), and a forceful, haunting account of Kurt Weill’s well-known “Seeräuberjenny” (Pirate Jenny). In Ms. Haan’s tributes to Marlene Dietrich, such as “Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss auf Liebe Eingestellt” (Falling in Love Again), she sang expressively, but without the weary “used-up” quality that Dietrich could summon so effortlessly.

A well-deserved encore was the staple “Lili Marlene,” with its own complicated history: words, by a WWI trench soldier, set to music only in 1938 on the eve of the next world war, which became an anthem of sorts for soldiers of both sides. At the risk of repeating myself, my wish-list for Ms. Haan would be for her to delve more deeply into the bitterness, anger, even fear, of this era (she came closest in the Pirate Jenny, which was spooky); and seek out more unusual repertoire to weave into her narrative. Nevertheless, she provides a wonderfully committed, very engaging window into this specialized world, one whose message we must never forget. Chapeau, Adrienne!

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
The Sheen Center for Thought and Culture Classical Music Series curated by Mark Kaplan presents the Parker Quartet in Review

The Sheen Center for Thought and Culture Classical Music Series curated by Mark Kaplan presents the Parker Quartet in Review

Parker Quartet
Daniel Chong, violin; Ying Xue, violin; Jessica Bodner, viola; Kee-Hyun Kim, cello
Featuring special guest Charles Neidich, clarinet
Loreto Theater, New York, NY
Thursday, January 12, 2017

The Parker Quartet needs no advocacy from me—they are Grammy winners, artists-in-residence at both Harvard and USC, and regularly tour, record, and perform with the world’s finest collaborators. Their program was beautifully conceived: two major works, each by a classical/romanticist (or a romantic/classicist, if you prefer)—Mendelssohn’s first essay in the string quartet, and Brahms’ sentiment-drenched, nearly-final chamber work. Both works are also cyclical (music from the first movement recurs at or near the end of the final movement). The concert was without intermission, a form which appeals to me (and apparently to audiences).

Due to a colossal GPS/GoogleMaps failure, this reviewer was late to the hall, and had to witness the Mendelssohn from the lobby on a TV screen with sub-par volume. Therefore, the comments in most detail will be directed at the Brahms.

Mendelssohn’s opening gesture from the E -flat tonic triad up to D-flat seems to embody a world of yearning “just out of reach,” and is indebted to Beethoven’s Op. 74 as well. The Canzonetta in G minor (with faster scherzando middle section) may have inspired his colleague Robert Schumann in the final movement of Kreisleriana. The Andante espressivo in B-flat major leads without pause into the finale, which spends most of its time in C minor, until the cyclic coda resolves to E-flat major. In 1830, Mendelssohn added a secret dedication on the manuscript of Op. 12 to “B.P.” (Betty Pistor, 1808-1887), a member of the Singakademie conducted by Zelter, for which Felix was accompanist. He had a teen crush on her. B-flat up to E- flat- “Bes,” three musical letters of her name, forms a prominent thematic element. After he learned of her engagement to Rudorff, he had his friend Ferdinand David change the P to an R.

From what I was able to see (primarily) in the lobby, the quartet’s visual synchronization was a marvel, and their energy infectious. Of course, their intonation and phrasing were impeccable. Their choices were those of youth and impetuosity, certainly valid in the case of Mendelssohn, his infatuation, and their own youth. There may be, however, other nuances, less vehement, more in the direction of elegance and even restraint, that they will discover as they mature. Nevertheless, to play at this level is a marvel.

Brahms described his Quintet for clarinet and string quartet as “a far greater folly” (than the clarinet/cello/piano trio). It was conceived for Richard Mühlfeld (1856-1907), originally a violinist and self-taught clarinetist (!), who played in the Meiningen and Bayreuth orchestras, and whom the normally gruff Brahms called “Fräulein Klarinette,” “my dear nightingale,” “my Primadonna,” and “Fräulein von Mühlfeld.” Tonight, the legendary Charles Neidich expressed the clarinet part from the most lyrical place imaginable—his lifetime of living with the single-line instrument leaving no inflection unexplored, no color unpainted, our dear nightingale indeed. It was a master class for all musicians, really. Here, I felt the Parkers could have provided a deeper, darker velvet carpet for the clarinet to “walk” on. Though the ensemble was perfect, particularly the way the violist leaned physically toward her clarinet neighbor, the strings’ inflections were “paler” than the clarinet, sometimes giving the impression of a background rather than a full chamber texture. (I realize I am nit-picking!) They understood and reflected every harmony and texture, however. The Adagio had a beautiful meditative, rapt quality. The balance issue was overcome beautifully in the third movement, which suddenly sprang to full life and energy, and mostly in the fourth movement, where the final return of the first movement’s sadness was rendered in appropriately awestruck hushed tones.

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
DCINY presents Messiah…Refreshed!

DCINY presents Messiah…Refreshed!

Distinguished Concerts Orchestra and Distinguished Concerts Singers International
Jonathan Griffith, Conductor
Penelope Shumate, Soprano
Claudia Chapa, Mezzo-Soprano
John McVeigh, Tenor
Christopher Job, Bariton
Sunday, November 27, 2016, 2 PM
Carnegie Hall, Stern Auditorium

 

Well, the holiday season is officially here, with the sixth annual presentation of Messiah in the “inflated” version commissioned by Sir Thomas Beecham from Eugene Goossens for the Handel death-bicentennial in 1959. I shall try not to be too Scrooge-like about it, that wouldn’t really be in the spirit of things! I first heard (and reviewed) this version two years ago with pleasure, and the interpretation is remarkably consistent across that time. Only the mezzo-soprano was different (and of course the massed choirs). The whole endeavor, powered by Jonathan Griffith’s committed conducting, gives enjoyment to the performers and to their audience, so after all it must be counted a success, even if one has quibbles with specifics.

Is there any other single work that so identifies its composer, almost to the exclusion of Handel’s numerous other worthy genres: opera, cantata, organ music, anthems, even the other oratorios?

The grand old tradition of Handel-tampering, of course, began with Handel himself and continued through Mozart, Hiller, and many others. Gigantism began as early as 1784 in British performances of the then hallowed Handel with a 513-performer rendition. The European Magazine wrote: “The immense volume and torrent of sound was almost too much for the head or the sense to bear—we were elevated into a species of delirium.” Sir Joshua Reynolds wrote: “I was so delighted that I thought myself in the heavenly regions. The Harmony so unbroken that is was like the fall of Waters from one source, imperceptibly blended. The Spectacle too was sublime, So universal a silence, So great a number of people.” In an 1857 British performance, there were 2000 vocal and 500 instrumental forces. In 1859: 2765 singers, 450 instruments. In 1883: 4000 singers, 500 instruments. Objections to these outsize forces were also found as early as the beginning of the nineteenth century, but they were outweighed by Victorian reverence for Handel combined with the explosive growth of choral societies. G.B. Shaw, in the early twentieth century, also pleaded for something closer to what Handel might have known: “People think that four thousand singers must be four thousand times as impressive as one. This is a mistake: they are not even louder.”

I will confess that when I counted upwards of 400 names in the choral listing in the program booklet, I was a bit nervous. However, Griffith seems to have selected about half of them for Part 1 duty, then they retire to the balconies on either side of the audience, and after intermission the other half performs Parts 2 & 3. Choir 1 did not have clean runs; but Choir 2 did, and Griffith was quite merciless in pursuing brisk tempi that almost prevented anything but a choral smudge. Their block chord work however, was mostly exciting, and he even managed to elicit a few softer sounds from these large forces. All 400-plus joined together for the “Hallelujah” chorus and the concluding “Worthy is the lamb that was slain” for a truly thrilling sound that had actually been missing most of the afternoon in the “mere” 200-voice choirs. Even some audience members couldn’t resist the temptation to add their voices to the mix during “Hallelujah.”

Handel began work in 1741 in London on Messiah for a series of concerts for Irish charities, at the invitation of William Cavendish; the series would include many other works as well. Handel started on 22 August, Part 1 was complete by 28 August, Part 2 by 6 September, and Part 3 on 12 September. A few more days were added, polishing up the results, twenty-four days in all. Of course none of this could have happened without Handel’s well-known recourse to self-borrowing, or even appropriation from other composers, for which he was taken to task more than once in his lifetime. (Although William Boyce reportedly said: “He takes other men’s pebbles and polishes them into diamonds.”) Handel also reworked many numbers from it considerably over the years. Handel himself associated the performance of Messiah with Easter, but modern practice also favors Christmas—the text, dubbed a “Scripture collection” by its creator Charles Jennens, outlines all the festivals of the Christian church-year.

The premiere was in Dublin, 13 April 1742 (at noon), at the New Musick Hall in Fishamble Street, seat of the Charitable Musical Society. The audience capacity was between 600 and 700. Handel had to provide his own organ (portable, called a “bureau” organ) since there was none in the hall. Several of his own organ concerti were also on the bill with Messiah in what must have been a long afternoon of music. The chorus consisted of thirty-two: sixteen men and sixteen boys. The solos were considered so taxing that there was more than one soloist for each voice type.

Today’s soloists were uniformly excellent, with soprano Penelope Shumate and her sparkling coloratura perfection in “Rejoice greatly” and a very affecting “I know that my Redeemer liveth,” though at times her English had an “Italian” accent with many schwas at the end of words (they add clarity, but can be overdone). Claudia Chapa, mezzo-soprano, sang with absolute heart, so much so that I wished “He was despised” was not cut, but would go on forever (I really wanted to hear how she would express “He gave his back to the smiters.”). All afternoon her phrases were of admirable length, she seems to have unlimited air supply. Tenor John McVeigh reprised the sweet lyric quality that I remember so well from two years ago, tending to shade a bit sharp (nerves?) near the beginning, and once in a while chopping up phrases or single words instead of sustaining a legato. His “Behold and see if there is any sorrow” was beautiful. His most endearing trait was the attention he paid to his other colleagues when they were singing their solos, he even turned to face the chorus with an air of painful surprise as they hurled their accusatory “He trusted in God that he would deliver him,” before returning to face forward. Bass Christopher Job again had the perfect sound for the punishing “The trumpet shall sound,” but there were some weird additional musical lines in the orchestra during “The people that walked in darkness” that threatened to “like sheep,” lead the music astray. All the soloists risked being overbalanced by the heavier orchestra, but only at times (too much cymbal!)

May I suggest that Maestro Griffith go ahead and make his own version of this version, so to speak, removing some of the dated bombast and perhaps clarifying a few textures here and there? I do admire his devotion to this “relic” however. By the way, since this is not only about the massed choirs, but a substantial re-orchestration, the fact that the excellent orchestra is not listed person-by-person in the program is a grave injustice. The concertmaster is excellent, and the clarino trumpet was superb. The hushed return of the A section of the “Pifa” (Pastoral Symphony) was gorgeous, as it was two years ago.

The work affords the chance for these dedicated multi-state and international choruses, whose individual conductors were acknowledged at the end, the thrill of a holiday trip to New York and the unparalleled experience of singing on the main stage of Carnegie Hall. Bravo to all, and happy holidays!

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
The Hilton Head Symphony Orchestra and The Hilton Head International Piano Competition present Chang-Yong Shin in Review

The Hilton Head Symphony Orchestra and The Hilton Head International Piano Competition present Chang-Yong Shin in Review

The Hilton Head Symphony Orchestra and The Hilton Head International Piano Competition present Chang-Yong Shin
Chang-Yong Shin, piano
2016 Hilton Head International Competition Winner
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
November 19, 2016

The Hilton Head piano competition presented its latest first prize winner, Chang-Yong Shin, in a well-attended recital at New York’s Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall on Saturday afternoon, and what a stimulating afternoon it was. Mr. Shin has that rare ability to generate visceral excitement just by playing his instrument. He alternates between extreme fire and melting sensitivity, each of which gains by contrast to the other. Naturally, he has technique to burn. I found some of his forte dynamics strident in the small confines of Weill, but then I thought if he had tempered them, some other element of his presentation may have suffered. He has what Adele Marcus used to call “the big line”: a clear idea of every piece, every movement, and every phrase within the movement. Once a section begins, it travels on its own stream of energy that never flags; he does not “tear apart” phrases in search of detail, everything is integrated.

He began with Bach’s Toccata in D major, BWV 912. Anyone who has read my work knows that I love Bach on the modern piano. Mr. Shin seized every opportunity to use the “toccata” for its intended message—a) to show off the player’s dexterity and touch variety, and b) display a learned contrapuntal sensibility. These very early keyboard works of Bach are not programmed nearly as often as they deserve, but then one needs a Mr. Shin to bring them to bold, crisp, exciting life.

There followed Busoni’s fiendishly difficult Sonatina No. 6, subtitled Kammer-Fantasie über Bizets ‘Carmen’ (also commonly called Fantasia da Camera super Carmen) . I’m not sure what the “chamber” dimension is in this piece, which is resolutely a piano solo. Mr. Shin revealed (with Busoni’s help of course) the entire tragic unfolding of the opera in just nine minutes. His lyrical playing was absolutely superior, and the mysterious death-haunted ending was perfect. He also brought a genuine sense of playfulness, as though enjoying his own ability negotiate the score.

The first half concluded with Beethoven’s Sonata in A major, Op. 101, a test of any pianist’s maturity and depth. Again, Mr. Shin rose to every challenge, but he was particularly affecting in the Langsam und sehnsuchtsvoll (Slowly and full of longing) third “movement,” which proceeds directly into the exultant final sonata-fugue, where his energy was exuberant. His phrasing in the strictly canonic central section of the second movement was scrupulous, one doesn’t often hear it; however, I found the outer sections too rambunctious (though convincing).

After intermission, Shin gave the first movement, Los Requiebros (Flirtatious Remarks), from Granados’ piano suite Goyescas. Granados died when the channel ferry ship Sussex was torpedoed in the English Channel by the German submarine UB-29 on March 24, 1916. He had returned to England successfully from conducting his opera (also called Goyescas) at the Metropolitan Opera, but was on the Sussex as it was heading to France. Here Mr. Shin handled the ornate piano writing, never missing where the main melodies were, and clarifying every bit of this daunting piano writing. At the teneramente e calmato section, Mr. Shin managed to create an oceanic oasis of calm at the center of what had been very “busy” writing—it was breathtaking.

He closed with Prokofiev’s Seventh Sonata, in B-flat major, Op. 83, the middle sonata of the three “war” sonatas (World War II). This is music of almost unbearable anxiety, fear, and violence. Again, the inner fire of Mr. Shin was appropriate to the message of the piece. However, I found his most successful movement to be the central, lyrical one, Andante caloroso (warmly proceeding), that resembles a nostalgic romance one might sing after too many vodkas, and then becomes elevated and ultra-tragic, with alarm bells ringing obsessively, before the “inebriated” song returns, with a final disquieting bell. The outer movements really were exciting, despite the brutality of the sound—I never heard Gilels or Richter make a harsh sound in this work, but they were completely authentic in terms of musical message. (Yes Mr. Shin, you’re being spoken of in the same breath as Gilels and Richter.)

(Aside to all young artists: At the risk of sounding like a broken record, PLEASE provide program notes. If you aren’t comfortable creating them yourselves, hire someone who is. Also, this program didn’t even have sections or movements of works indicated.)

Mr. Shin favored the enthusiastic audience with two well-deserved encores: the Schumann/Liszt Widmung song transcription, played with maturity and lyricism; and the Liszt Transcendental Etude in F minor, which was wild, but again created a visceral thrill such as we don’t often get from typical “competition winners.” Keep studying with the best, Chang-Yong, and nurture that beautiful talent you have.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
The Peggy Rockefeller Concerts presents Weiss-Kaplan-Stumpf Trio in Review

The Peggy Rockefeller Concerts presents Weiss-Kaplan-Stumpf Trio in Review

The Peggy Rockefeller Concerts presents Weiss-Kaplan-Stumpf Trio
Yael Weiss, piano; Mark Kaplan, violin; Peter Stumpf, cello
Caspary Auditorium at The Rockefeller University, New York, NY
November 3, 2016

 

One feels either elevated or hopelessly inadequate, intellectually, when stepping into the semi-private enclave that is Rockefeller University on New York’s East Side. Nobel Prize laureates (and future ones) lurk around every corner. The motto of the university is “Science for the benefit of humanity” and the Peggy Rockefeller concert series continues with the “arts for humanity” as well. The audience for this concert was quite elderly, which does not bode well for these types of events in general, and the concerts take place in a strangely shaped, steeply raked lecture hall not designed for music, although on this occasion the sound was beautiful.

Thursday’s November 3rd concert featured the Weiss-Kaplan-Stumpf Trio, and was a wonderfully refined presentation of three of Beethoven’s output for piano trio, one from each style period: early, middle, and late. These three players (Yael Weiss, piano; Mark Kaplan, violin; Peter Stumpf, cello) play with uncanny unity, blend, and never the sense of any one member being “in front.”

First on the program was the all-too-rarely programmed Variations in E-flat major, Op. 44. This work begins with a gauntlet flung at the players by the impish Beethoven: fifteen measures of absolute octave/unison playing (eighth note followed by eighth rest) for all three players, with no smaller note values to indicate the tempo. The three musicians were totally in sync, as they were throughout the evening. Elsewhere in the work, bits of figuration or harmony that recall Op. 79’s finale, the clarinet trio Op. 11, the Eroica theme, and even the “Emperor” piano concerto are found in their infancy, so to speak. The trio brought great sparkle and polish to a neglected work.

There followed the second of Beethoven’s Op. 1 piano trios, the one in G major. The balance was gorgeous, but it led me to think about Beethoven’s notorious “rough edges” as a pianist, and that he would probably not have subordinated himself as much as Ms. Weiss did. Nor would he have rounded every single phrase off with such taper. The piano sounded, in fact, somewhat distant, something I attributed to the Hamburg Steinway D, incapable of making a harsh sound, especially when played with such elegance as Ms. Weiss possesses. The Presto Finale was ebullient, taken at a great clip, with humor abounding.

After intermission, the great Piano Trio in B-flat major, Op. 97, nicknamed “Archduke,” formed the entire half. Here everything was completely in its place, as had been everything in the concert previously. I did feel that the group lacked a certain spontaneity in the act of creating (I apologize for being so churlish), perhaps they were being careful because the concert was being recorded. Dynamics seemed unexaggerated to me, and everything was very “planned,” which gave a CD quality performance, that was somehow too polished. If the pianist is going to use an iPad, as I am increasingly seeing in concerts great and small, then she should also invest in AirTurn, so that her fingers don’t need to leave the keys to “turn” the electronic page, which is the point anyway. The transition from the rapt slow movement’s theme and variations into the concluding romp of a peasant dance was beautifully rendered.

After three curtain calls (no curtain), they retook the stage to give an encore, and sheepishly realized they didn’t have the music for it. “Next time,” was violinist’s Mark Kaplan’s wry answer.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Pro Musicis presents Francisco Fullana in Review

Pro Musicis presents Francisco Fullana in Review

Pro Musicis presents Francisco Fullana
Francisco Fullana, violin
David Fung, piano; guest artist JP Jofre, bandoneón
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
November 1, 2016

 

Pro Musicis continued its mission statement “Awaken the human spirit” in fine form last night with the recital of its 2015 award winner, Spanish violinist Francisco Fullana. The program was beautifully conceived, stunningly well-played, and thoughtful connections were drawn between the pieces on each half.

Mr. Fullana has a cherubic face, and he doesn’t scowl or contort it the way so many violinists do. In fact, the predominant emotion he conveyed (though not the only one) was the joy and playfulness in collaboration. He was actively listening to everything around him in his two musical partners. His pianist, David Fung, was superb. Mr. Fullana provided a real novelty in the presence of his frequent collaborator, young Argentine composer JP Jofre, who played the Argentine equivalent of the accordion, the bandoneón.

The program opened with a radiant interpretation of Bach’s Sonata for Violin and Keyboard in E major, BWV 1016. Mr. Fullana’s tone was appropriately scaled down (but never sterile), and he and Mr. Fung did not allow one single opportunity for dialog between the parts to go unexplored or unshaped. The technique and style were impeccable. In the final movement (which is preceded by a sorrowful cantilena), the sense of playfulness and joy of both players was vivid.

The contrast provided by the next piece could not have been more stark. Königliches Thema (1976) for unaccompanied violin, by the Korean composer Isang Yun (also spelled Yun I-sang), was the matter at hand. Yun (1917-1995) had an unimaginably tragic life, which included imprisonments, kidnapping, and torture at the hands of the Japanese and his fellow Koreans. Somehow, amid all this, he managed to study music in western Europe, and to keep his spirit from being broken through his composing. His music was even banned in South Korea until 1994, the year before his death.

The work is based on the famous origin melody for Bach’s next-to-last work, Das Musikalische Opfer. We now know with 99 percent certainty that it was in fact not Frederick the Great who provided the theme, but C.P.E. Bach, Bach’s son (and Frederick’s employee), who understood better than anyone his father’s ability to mine the potential lurking in any theme. Here Mr. Fullana’s tone suddenly became rich and darkened with tragedy, as each variation became more unhinged than the one before it. The technical demands of the work are severe, yet one never worried about his ability to surmount them. The piece ended on three fateful “knocks,” pizzicati perfectly graded so that they disappeared.

Then Mr. Fullana was joined on stage by Mr. Jofre, who partnered him in two of his own works for violin and bandoneón: Como el Agua (“Like water,” based on a Zen-like quote by Bruce Lee), and Tangódromo. It was wonderful to witness these two instruments and their players blending so totally into each other that at times one could not tell which one was playing which notes. Also notable was the extreme subtlety of which the bandoneón is capable, especially in the hands of Mr. Jofre (unlike the typical rush-hour serenading disrupters one encounters in the subways!). The water piece was mournful, and the tango-inspired one had great energy and wit.

After intermission, Mr. Fullana and Mr. Fung resumed their collaboration with one of Mozart’s most experimental sonatas in what was still a relatively new genre: the piano and violin sonata, with his Sonata, K. 303 (293c) in C major. Mozart stealthily gives the impression of two movements for the price of one, with the opening Adagio followed by an Allegro molto, until one realizes that those tempi changes are but the different parts of one sonata-form movement. There follows the true second movement, a Tempo di Menuetto, courtly dances often being considered the only polite way to end a “scholarly” piece like a sonata. In this work, both players recapped the almost supernatural unity they had found in the Bach, with perfect matching of articulation and phrase shape. It was perfection, and I don’t use that word lightly. Too often players either minimize or trivialize these gems.

Then came the sprawling Sonata for Violin and Piano by Richard Strauss (E-flat major, Op. 18), a composer not always thought of for his chamber music. The magic of collaboration continued with superb sensitivity to every harmonic shift (they occur about every two seconds in this work), and great virtuosity from both players. Mr. Fullana’s Stradivarius really got its “lungs expanded” in the big dimensions required by the piece, and Fung never overbalanced, amid the monster piano part. The aggressive moments were handled well, but in the soaring songlike melodies the transfiguration was even better.

After a large ovation, Mr. Fullana and Mr. Fung played two of De Falla’s violin arrangements (from songs): Nana (a lullaby) and El Paño moruno (the Moorish cloth, a metaphor for virginity!) with yearning authenticity.

Bravo to Pro Musicis for its track record, and to these three artists for elevating a room full of listeners seeking beauty.

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Star Concert Productions presents Carine Gutlerner in Review

Star Concert Productions presents Carine Gutlerner in Review

Star Concert Productions presents Carine Gutlerner
Carine Gutlerner, piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 27, 2016

 

A sizeable crowd picked its way through the chilly autumn drizzle, spirits undampened, to hear the recital by Belgian/French pianist Carine Gutlerner. Ms. Gutlerner is multi-talented not only as a pianist, but also as choral conductor, composer, and visual artist (her published book of drawings was on view in the lounge adjacent to the recital hall).

As a pianist, her recital presented many paradoxes. It is always refreshing to hear someone with a distinct, vivid, even controversial point of view, as opposed to someone comfortable in a “musical straitjacket.” However, some of Ms. Gutlerner’s virtues quickly became mannered, even working against her.

The concert opened with Ms. Gutlerner’s own composition: the American premiere of excerpts from her film music for Ann Frank’s Diary (an animated presentation aimed at children primarily). It is always risky to turn tragic events into music, as one risks merely trivializing them. That was not the case here, although the unrelieved gloom of the sections chosen shows more about our post-Holocaust response than it does about the often-optimistic teen spirit of the heroine.

After this, the program turned quite standard, with three large-scale works. The first of these was Brahms’ Third Piano Sonata in F minor, Op. 5. When Brahms arrived on the Schumanns’ doorstep in 1853, he was a slender, blond twenty-year-old with a satchel full of compositions, and both Schumanns promptly fell in love with him and his music. His celebrated belly and beard came much later. It seemed that Ms. Gutlerner was relating much more to the wild, untamed passionate outpouring of youth that this work can represent. If you like your Brahms autumnal or more sober, this was not the version for you. Fiery and impetuous would be the two adjectives to reach for in characterizing her interpretation. The beautiful Andante with its poetic preface from Sternau was played much too quickly—it didn’t sound like the two hearts were united in love under the moonlight, rather that they were hurrying to catch the last tram down the mountain. The Scherzo lacked the lilting references to the Viennese waltz that underlie its demonic energy (though the Trio section was lovely), and overall it was messy. The unusual fourth movement, titled Rückblick (A Look Back), was too angry for my taste, though a case could be made for one of the former lovers from the second movement having precisely that emotion. The Finale was anything but moderato.

If Ms. Gutlerner could slightly tame her inner “wild animal” perhaps her brain would follow suit, for every work was marred by major memory issues, from which she recovered however. After all, it’s not so much what happens as how one continues. She also needs to find some tie-backs for her ample hair, which had to be continually brushed back with one of her hands. It even got in her mouth. One final complaint: the hands-in-the-air drama at the end of nearly every piece gets old fast—one per recital, please? (If that.)

After intermission, the first work was Chopin’s Second Ballade, Op. 38 in F major (though it ends in A minor). This was a sloppy performance, though the lyrical opening had great potential. Ms. Gutlerner had every reason to be rattled, because yes, a STUPID cellphone went off several times, including during the final pregnant pause before the last two chords. People who are reading this: DISCONNECT while at live performances, and tell your friends to as well. No matter how many announcements are made, it always seems to happen.

Then came the immense challenge of Mussorgsky’s Pictures At An Exhibition. I thought that Ms. Gutlerner’s outsized temperament would be an asset in this sprawling and fiercely difficult work, and at times that was the case, but too often her technique was just not up to the demands of the music. Two sections that were absolutely perfect, however, were: the Promenade between Bydlo and the Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks, and then the Con Mortuis in Lingua Mortua (not “Latina,” as the program stated). Otherwise, the left hand was overbearing, even bangy, an issue that threatened the earlier works on the program as well. Loud does not equal Russian authenticity. The Great Gate of Kiev was unduly hurried, lacking the majesty it needs, and her troubles seemed to multiply until she just ended the work with a few perfunctory chords.

She played another mournful section of Anne Frank as an encore.

Ms. Gutlerner could become quite a formidable interpreter if she learns to balance her natural fire with more control, even quietude—it will make the fire stand out that much more.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Pianist Jasper Heymann in Review

Pianist Jasper Heymann in Review

Jasper Heymann, piano
Steinway Hall, New York, NY
October 29, 2016

Underground at the new Steinway emporium on Sixth Avenue and 43rd Street in New York City. is a small performance space, seating only a few more than sixty. Sure, it lacks the charm of the old rotunda on 57th Street, but time marches on. The seats are comfortable but the temperature is very warm. A water cooler located outside the hall looked promising, but no cups were provided.

It was there that an extraordinary full recital was presented by fourteen-year-old Jasper Heymann. I’m going to try my best not to make his age an issue. His pianism would be the envy of anyone two, three, even four times his age. My comments therefore will be just as they would be for any seasoned professional. He needs no apologia.

Mr. Heymann possesses the single most important ingredient (assuming talent, of course) in the musician’s arsenal: a deep, emotional bond with the music and the ability to convey that at the instrument. It can’t be taught. All the technicalities can be taught, and I’m not saying that he’s a “perfect” pianist—that would be hyperbole, but he did melt the sometimes severe heart of this reviewer as the afternoon progressed.

The first half of his program was “structural” and classic: Bach and Beethoven. (Though Beethoven’s Op. 31 No. 2, nicknamed “The Tempest” is quite “dangerously” romantic.) These weren’t his absolute strengths, although he displayed a beautiful ear for big color in the Bach Sinfonia from the second Partita. Hooray for the modern piano in Bach! And the second movement of the Beethoven displayed quite a bit of maturity that perhaps I didn’t think would be there. The outer movements were appropriately “stormy” and the sonata overall was convincing. He should be learning to do repeats in sonata-form movements. Perhaps he was conserving energy for the virtuosic second half. I really don’t wish to pick out details. What one heard was the sense of intense involvement.

After intermission, he favored us with several Schumann works: the delicious Op. 1 “ABEGG” variations, written in “code” fashion on the last name of one of Schumann’s pre-Clara girlfriends. This glittering showpiece was dispatched with clarity and grace, especially in the initial presentation of the theme: charm! (I was puzzled as to why he didn’t do the “funny” presentation of the theme near the end that occurs when the notes are released one by one, rather than sounded.) Then Heymann played the first two of the Op. 12 Fantasiestücke: Des Abends (Evening) and Aufschwung (Soaring). Des Abends possessed a beautiful hush, though it moved at quite a clip. Aufschwung had all the energy of youth. (I did miss the canonic imitation in the major-key contrasting middle theme. See, I can get picky.)

Then Mr. Heymann turned his attention and gifts to two Liszt works: the third concert etude “Un Sospiro” and the Soirée de Vienne No. 6 (based on Schubert waltzes). His Un Sospiro verged on the mystical. It was simply magnificent. I’m so proud of him for playing the short internal cadenza (one of three provided by Liszt) and the whole-tone ending. The colors and phrase expansion were masterful. The virtuoso waltz piece was also a marvel of clarity and charm (hard to do both) amid the welter of fast notes. He had flair to burn.

He played two well-deserved encores: Rachmaninoff’s gorgeous Elegy in E-flat minor, Op. 3 No. 1, inspired by the death of fellow-composer Arensky. This was, no hyperbole, perfection, astounding in its lyricism and sorrow. He finished with Fazil Say’s perky jazz romp on the famous Paganini Caprice that has inspired so many classical composers. Mr. Heymann was obviously enjoying himself, and so were we. I do hope he’ll be able to “forget” this trifle when the time comes to learn the Brahms Op. 35 Paganini variations and/or the Rachmaninoff Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.

Fazil Say was a Young Concert Artists winner. If Mr. Heymann continues on his course, he could well be too, soon.

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
The Edward J. Emerson Arts Foundation presents Daniel Adam Maltz in Review

The Edward J. Emerson Arts Foundation presents Daniel Adam Maltz in Review

Daniel Adam Maltz, piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall: New York, NY
October 23, 2016

 

Those acquainted with my reviewing style know how earnestly I try to nurture artists—that there are always positive things to be observed. That being said, a few dozen people, mainly family and friends, turned out for Mr. Maltz’ recital, which is probably a good thing, for it was not quite “ready for prime time.” I suspect there’s a great deal of poetry and musical creativity lurking in this young man, but his pianism isn’t fully formed enough or consistent enough to allow him to express it unblemished by memory lapses, wrong notes, notes that don’t sound, thin tone, and a lack of deep-in-the-keys finger legato. He did retain his composure, however, and that in itself is admirable.

His stage presence is stiff, though I did appreciate that he wore white-tie-and-tails, which isn’t seen so much anymore.

His opening group, Schumann’s lovely Kinderszenen, had the above-mentioned flaws from beginning to end. I couldn’t tell if it was opening jitters, but things didn’t really improve. This is not music “for” children, but rather about childhood viewed through the poetic prism of the adult. The composer was only six years older than Mr. Maltz when he wrote it.

Chopin’s Second Impromptu, Op. 36 in F-sharp major followed, and pleasingly, there was light and brilliant jeu perlé fingerwork in the thirty-second note section just before the end (so difficult to do!), though this impressive bit was undercut by wayward phrasing. Elsewhere, the piece suffered from eccentric rhythmic disruption and lack of legato. Mr. Maltz followed this with Chopin’s Third Ballade, Op. 47 in A-flat major. Again, the numerous slips and eccentricities marred what I’m sure could have been a probing account of this once-ubiquitous work.

After intermission came the D minor Fantasy of Mozart, K. 397, a work that comes as close as any to what listening to Mozart improvise may have been like. The D major concluding portion was tacked on at a later date, and I’ve never felt like it really “belongs” there. Mr. Maltz had much delicacy, and caught the questing, improvisatory spirit well, although again, with a deeper legato and better phrasing, he could have said more with these deceptively few notes.

In conclusion, he offered the Beethoven Bagatelles, Op. 126, Beethoven’s final works for piano solo. These “trifles” are anything but—in them Beethoven seemingly engages in dialog with the cosmos and the creation of new ideas of aural “space.” Here, Mr. Maltz was at his very best, he seemed unified with the music, the composer, himself, and the instrument. He sank deeply into the keys for the most satisfying tone of the evening. Here, his personality really emerged, and I could see what he might become in a few years. (He is only twenty-two, after all.)

His biography says he is a champion of the music of his father, Richard Maltz, a composer. It would have been stimulating to have included some of that, rather than one of the more standard works. I do hope he won’t let himself be discouraged by my response to this one performance. What is important is to keep going, and to keep learning.

 

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