JPMorgan Chase & Co. and the Sander and Norma K. Buchman Fund present The Sphinx Virtuosi in Review

JPMorgan Chase & Co. and the Sander and Norma K. Buchman Fund present The Sphinx Virtuosi in Review

 JPMorgan Chase & Co. and the Sander and Norma K. Buchman Fund present
The Sphinx Virtuosi
Isaac Stern Auditorium/Ronald O. Perelman Stage at Carnegie Hall
October 20, 2016

 

The Sphinx Virtuosi delivered another of their brilliant, fierce, dedicated, and inspiring programs on Thursday night, celebrating the eve of their twentieth year of standing as a sort of rebuke to the hidebound institutions of classical music—insisting on representation, participation, education, and development of Black and Latino musicians. For those who don’t know, the Virtuosi are composed of eighteen string players, all laureates of the Sphinx Competition, yet another part of the organization’s total outreach. The Virtuosi play as a conductorless chamber string orchestra. The sum total of all Sphinx Organization activities is much more important than any one concert given: may their efforts not only thrive but increase.

The program had a very single-minded focus on this occasion: Viajes Latinos (Latin Voyages). It sought also to redress an imbalance of programming that usually favors only standards, by presenting music of various South American composers (and one Spanish, one Mexican), though some of those are pretty much household names by now. In fact, my only wish would be that they had strayed farther afield into even more obscure music, even by the well-known names.

To attend a program of all-Latin music, one had best have made one’s peace with ostinati, since the lion’s share of the works possess this motoric drive. I could have wished for more meditative works, but I realize that generating excitement has a mission too.

The program began with Astor Piazzolla’s well-loved Libertango, played with rhythmic snap and great sound, although this arrangement robbed the tango of some of the bite that is usually present when bandoneon or piano are employed. Attraction and repulsion are the essence of the tango.

They followed this with the Mexican composer Javier Alvarez’ Metro Chabacana, named for and commissioned by (!) a subway station in Mexico City. (How about it MTA: Bryant Park Blues?) This was beautifully played, and one could hear the pulse of urban life both above and below ground.

The Last Round, for the unusual instrumentation of two “competing” string quartets and one “moderating” double bass, by Osvaldo Golijov followed. It was inspired partly by the death of Piazzolla, and the antagonism of the tango found its metaphor in the two quartets, who traded sultry moves between them, while the bass contributed rhythmic punctuation. Its concluding section, the mournful part, was absolutely haunting.

A phenomenal young violinist and recent prize winner, Hannah White, then took the stage to blaze her way through the only true novelty of the evening: César Espejo’s Prélude Ibérique, for unaccompanied violin. Espejo, from Spain, lived most of his life in France. His work carries figurations from Bach, with important mixtures of flamenco and even tzigane (gypsy) thrown in. White commanded every bit of the work, with perfect intonation, technique, flair, swing: in short, everything one could ask for from a violinist, of any age.

Heitor Villa-Lobos is also a name that really needs no introduction. In this section of the program, the “heart” of the Sphinx group, a quartet named Catalyst, performed the famous Aria from his Bachianas Brasileras No. 5. Despite perfect playing, I felt the piece was robbed of a bit of its humanity with the lack of the human voice soaring over its long lines. This led me to wonder about the inclusion of winds and voices to the Sphinx agenda. Is it possible, or have they already beat me to it?

The Catalyst group then segued directly into another Piazzolla “hit”: La Muerte del Angel, originally part of a movie score. Here the quartet was in stunning form, with elegiac sound, and great flexibility due to listening intently to each other (a property possessed by the entire Sphinx group: if I were to make a bad pun, I’d call them “Black Orpheus,” but that would short-change the Latinos.).

After a concise but moving video of the program’s influence and mission, some remarks were made, and an award was presented to a major patron, Robert F. Smith, the first African-American chairman of the board of Carnegie Hall.

The concert then concluded with a fiery account of Alberto Ginastera’s Finale furioso from his Concerto per corde, Op. 33 (an arrangement of a previous string quartet). The energy was almost unbearable, in a good way! The audience, refreshingly composed of many younger faces of color, leapt to its collective feet.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) Artist Series presents Melissa Wimbish in Review

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) Artist Series presents Melissa Wimbish in Review

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) Artist Series presents Melissa Wimbish
Melissa Wimbish, soprano
Ta-Wei Tsai, piano
Jessica Meyer, viola
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 10, 2016

 

It has become politically correct to bash Columbus and his day; he didn’t even “discover America” anyway. Nevertheless, it seemed an appropriate choice for an all-American art song recital, all the music of which was by contemporary living composers. This marks the New York solo recital debut of Melissa Wimbish, the NATS 2014 competition winner. It was an ambitious program, and one that clearly showed her virtues, as well as a few minor flaws. Who doesn’t have flaws?

When she took the stage, I thought she bore a striking resemblance to Bernadette Peters. Then when she began singing, I thought: well, here is the “love-child” of Peters and Dawn Upshaw. Ms. Wimbish is a very stylish woman, svelte, with masses of curly red hair; she changed outfits three times, as befit the different repertoires. Her program also contained generous program notes (most of them by her) and the complete printed texts of everything performed. This is necessary, despite her exemplary diction, in a program where you have to sing words such as: transactional, chromosomes, flagella, and embezzled. She also gave concise spoken introductions from the stage prior to each group, just enough to enhance our appreciation of her feelings about the songs.

Ms. Wimbish is clearly very thoughtful about this repertoire, and she is a charming actor. The aforementioned diction was truly excellent—however, as the evening progressed, the diction flagged a little, revealing more vocal sumptuousness, which was welcome. In fact, my only slight reservation about the recital was the smallness of her softer singing, which often was covered by her otherwise expert collaborative pianist, Mr. Tsai, even though the piano lid was on the short-stick. He needs to support the voice he’s with, not the “theoretical” one we all carry around in our heads. I also disagree with his bowing from behind the piano bench, which he did every time until the final bows. When you’re as good as Mr. Tsai is, and you’ve worked that hard, equality is the way to go.

You know your voice is small when a single viola can drown you out. Ms. Wimbish projected the best she could, but her real “glamour” range was attained only when she went to high notes and above a mezzo-forte dynamic. Within her voice type, she displayed myriads of colors beautifully. Composers love voices like these that are pure and accurate, with flawless intonation, attached to inquisitive minds and hearts.

She began with the “feminist version” of Eve, in excerpts from Jake Heggie’s Eve-Song (poetry by Philip Littell). Mr. Heggie has attained major prominence as a vocal composer because he writes “for” rather than “against” the voice, in unabashedly neo-Romantic style, spiced with complex modern chords. Ms. Wimbish revealed the sassy update of this character perfectly; she is the master of the discreet “uh” following a consonant that prevents it from disappearing. I was immediately captured by her pronunciation of “Eeev[uh]” which gave so much emphasis and clarity. She bit into an actual apple during the performance, and it can not have been easy to sing around that lump of fruit while maintaining her diction, her sound, and gradually swallowing it!

This was followed by the Three Dickinson Songs by André Previn, more lushly tonal music, composed for Renée Fleming. It would be unfair to compare Ms. Wimbish directly to her role model, but one did long for more sensuous weight, particularly in the lower-middle ranges of the voice, which then would have informed the exposed final high notes with which the composer challenges his interpreters.

A world-premiere ensued; how many times do you encounter that at an art song recital? The composer Jessica Meyer was also the violist in her own work: Space, In Chains, a group of three songs to anguished poetry by Laura Kasischke, for viola and voice only (no piano). Ms. Meyer uses both extended and traditional techniques in her music, drawing on her years of experience as a professional violist. The most haunting of these, for me, was her gentle drumming on her instrument in the “Rain” song.

After intermission, six songs by the genial Tom Cipullo (another lyrical neo-Romantic composer) were rendered with sensitivity. There was less of the whimsy and humor I associate with his work (though some peeked through in “Fugitive”); these were more meditative and passionate. The poet of the sixth song, Something About Autumn, Robert Cole, was present along with Mr. Cipullo to acknowledge the applause. This was also the most effective song of the set, with a final held high note sung stunningly by Ms. Wimbish.

Ms. Wimbish closed the recital with a performance of the long scene for soprano and piano called At the Statue of Venus, by Jake Heggie. In it, a woman of unspecified age (though she does say “I’m too old for this”) is waiting in an art museum for a blind date with a man her friends have set up for her. During this wait, she agonizes over her choice of outfit (the word “slacks” received more inflections than I could have imagined); feels insecure about the whole idea; compares herself unfavorably to other female artists’ muses; then comforts herself with memories of how loved and protected she felt as a child. Finally, the man arrives (her obliging pianist supplied the final word: Rose, her name). The scene is not opera, but it certainly is operatic. Is it overwrought? Not for me to say—people adore Mr. Heggie’s music. It is grateful to sing, and after all, his operas: Dead Man Walking, and Moby Dick, notably, are performed worldwide. In the scene, Ms. Wimbish really opened her voice, producing the best singing of the night. The words became unclear but the sonority was worth waiting for. The audience leapt to its feet.

I salute this enterprising and versatile young artist, and hope she will return often with even more intriguing program ideas. If she hasn’t already, may I suggest she do an omnibus survey of Sondheim? She seems ideally suited for it.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Key Pianists presents Ann Schein in Review

Key Pianists presents Ann Schein in Review

Key Pianists presents Ann Schein, piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 5, 2016

 

I attended the most marvelous poetry reading last night. I’m sure you are thinking “Is he out of his mind?” Perhaps, from time to time, but in this case no: the poet was legendary pianist Ann Schein, and she read from the poetry of Beethoven, Schumann, and Chopin.

The hall was full and enthusiastically expectant, and they were not disappointed. From the outset, even in taking the stage, Ms. Schein radiates good-will, warmth, humility, and a sort of maternal embrace—these qualities were returned to her tenfold by the audience.

She began with an account of Beethoven’s programmatic sonata, Opus 81a, in E-flat major, nicknamed Les Adieux (The Farewells), that has three movements motivated by the subjects of Farewell, Absence, and Return, all of them linked by a descending posthorn motto. Immediately, in the Adagio introduction to the first movement, Schein made us aware of an interior stillness leading to sadness (and ultimately to a joyous reunion). This quality is not often audible in routine performances. The piano tone was sumptuous at all times. Beethoven’s sometimes awkward writing for the hands never sounded thus. The bleak, almost neurotic, “absence” movement was perfectly rendered, leading to the puppy-like dancing about the wheels of the carriage bearing the returning Archduke. Never have I seen or heard the extravagant leaps in the right hand dispatched with such appropriate happiness.

This brings me to an attempt to summarize the many virtues of Ms. Schein’s pianism: 1) she is able to “project intimacy”; 2) she understands and feels phrase grouping, harmonic motion, and the sense of arrival, such moments are generously breathed and punctuated; 3) her beautiful motions become e-motions; 4) she possesses uncanny sincerity; 5) meaning and feeling are at all times joined; and 6) simplicity and generosity are also at all times united.

The second work was, for me, the absolute pinnacle of an outstanding program: Schumann’s great Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6 (Dances of the League of David). This is a work with multiple sources and meanings—Schumann’s imaginary league of great creators vanquishing the Philistines of culture; the three sides of his own fervid personality: Florestan, the fiery impetuous one, Eusebius, the dreaming poet, and Master Raro, the mediator between the two; and Schumann’s often fraught relationship/courtship of the young girl who would eventually in fact become his wife, Clara Wieck. This piece gives pause to many seasoned professional pianists, who may not trust their ability to be poetic enough.

The work is a series of eighteen character pieces in the guise of dances, tightly linked with mottos (notably the descending “Clara” scale). In the first edition, each piece (save for three) is marked with initials “E” or “F” for its authorship by one of the aforementioned aspects of Schumann. Personally, I am drawn to the Eusebian sections, but I always have to realize that they wouldn’t emerge as beautifully without the contrasts around them. Full disclosure: many of Eusebius’ tears (mentioned in the program to the piece) stole silently down my own cheeks as this unforgettable rendition was happening. I had to hold my breath many times, so intense and revelatory was this performance. Each section was miraculous, with punctuations that I had never considered before. Particularly effective was Schein’s handling of the many coda or codetta sections, which put a metaphorical halo over what had come before. The final wistful waltz, with its mash-up of tonic and dominant at the beginning, was heartbreaking. One wanted this work (and possibly the entire recital) to be twice as long.

After intermission Ms. Schein gave us Chopin’s third and final piano sonata, Op. 58 in B minor. This is a massive work, with enlarged scope and heroism, and it led me to think what might have been if Chopin had not died at the untimely age of thirty-nine, but had lived to hear and see the Wagner operas. All of Ms. Schein’s tremendous virtues were present in this reading, including a feather-light Scherzo and the noble Bellini-like song of the third movement. As the finale arrived, Ms. Schein really seemed to let go and just tap into something primal, no caution, just abandon (but with all the fine shaping that we had come to expect.) Its triumphant ending inspired an instant standing ovation.

She favored us with two encores, of which the first was spellbinding, a new “definitive” performance in my opinion of a work that is often just “passed over”: Chopin’s second of the Trois Nouvelles Etudes, in A Flat. After that, Schein again just let loose and reveled in her ability with Rachmaninoff’s second Prelude from Op. 23, in B-flat major. I doubt this pianist has ever played an unmusical note in her life. Her mentor Mieczyslaw Munz predicted for her “a long life in music,” and he was so right. Thank you, Ann, for sharing this beauty with a world so in need of it.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
A Joseph Barry Production under patronage of the German UN Ambassador Harald Braun: Adrienne Haan sings Kurt Weill in Review

A Joseph Barry Production under patronage of the German UN Ambassador Harald Braun: Adrienne Haan sings Kurt Weill in Review

Adrienne Haan sings Kurt Weill
Adrienne Haan, chanteuse
Barry Kleinbort, director
Richard Danley, music director/piano
Novembergruppe Quintet: Dan Levinson, band leader/clarinet/alto saxophone; Jonathan David Russell, violin; Vinny Raniolo, guitar, banjo; Jared Engel, bass, tuba; Mike Campenni, drums
The Metropolitan Room, New York, NY
September 28, 2016

 

Late September, when “the days grow short” is indeed the best time for a survey of the songs of Kurt Weill—and Adrienne Haan has proved herself to be one of the finest living exponents of his varied repertoire. In the intimate, elegant Metropolitan Room in Chelsea (New York City), she commanded a musical sextet of excellent players, and illuminated Weill’s chameleonic nature as a composer, with anecdotes from both his life and her own.

Let me say right at the outset that this evening had only highlights. This is rare. All classically-trained singers of art song should be required to attend several cabaret performances a year to see how it is possible to emote fully and sing with a large voice and still make every word understandable, as Ms. Haan always does.

She plunges with apparent abandon right into the heart of every song, with a unique affinity for 1920s and 30s Weimar-era music that includes decadence and disillusionment—but she never descends into sour cynicism, as other well-known Weill interpreters sometimes do. Ms. Haan retains a sort of positive radiance. In fact, if I were to counsel her at all, it would be to develop yet another dimension, whether it is a kind of world-weariness, all-passion-spent, or a frankly angry persona. Perhaps she will as the years roll by, as she is still young.

She explained in concise patter how Weill shifted his style to match the various countries he resided in and the lyricists he was working with: Gershwin, Brecht, Fernay, Nash, Magré, Kaiser, and Botrel. Ms. Haan performed with authority in the three languages English, German, and French.

My Ship (from Lady in the Dark) opened with suitably convincing longing for the boat to be bringing her “own true love” to her. (Though Ms. Haan’s supportive husband was in the audience, and was introduced.) She then plunged into Die Seeräuber Jenny, the showstopper from Die Dreigroschenoper in which the scrubbing maid hectors her disbelieving listeners into a tale of capture and murder of which she is in charge. Then Ms. Haan turned to French Weill in the form of the Youkali tango/habanera (from Marie Galante) in which the land of infinite pleasure is first described and then negated as not existing anywhere.

Speak Low (from One Touch of Venus) was beautifully sung: “The curtain descends, everything ends too soon”- an apt description for this program. This was followed by Weill’s most famous number, the one everyone has heard even if they didn’t know it was by Weill: Die Moritat von Mackie Messer (from Die Dreigroschenoper) and its not-so-covert protest against the German regime which caused it to be banned. Ms. Haan deftly pointed out some possible relevance to current politics (without being heavy-handed about it.) The song’s sudden ending took the audience by surprise. She continued in intense-mode with Surabaya Johnny (from Happy End). This and the next lost-romance number (Je ne t’aime pas) I felt were the only tiny missteps in an otherwise perfect program. They came off as duly overwrought and desperate, but I felt they needed more anger and perhaps less “victimization.” Forgive me, Adrienne.

After a brief humorous explanation of how Brecht obtained his exotic geographical names (by sticking pins into atlases, in places he thought had funny sounding names), Ms. Haan delivered a stunning rendition of Alabama Song (from Aufstieg und Fall der Stadt Mahagonny) where her search for a “whiskey barrrrrrrr” was accompanied by the hurling of actual $100 bills into the audience, who were exhorted to join in the boozy chorus. Now that’s decadence! Cäsars Tod (from Der Silbersee) provided another censured bit of history, with its parallel of the ancient Roman dictator with the one rising in Germany at the time.

Nannas Lied states that “the love market becomes easier as you embrace them by the score,” with Brecht’s clever borrowing of the line from medieval French poet François Villon, “where are the snows of yesteryear.” Then Le Grand Lustucru (from Marie Galante) took the stage, a bogeyman from Provençal lullabies that devours little children who refuse to go to sleep. Bilbao Song (from Happy End), another whimsically chosen atlas-name, hymned the virtues of Bill’s Be-All Bar, where drink was unlimited, bar fights superseded any action on the dance floor, and the narrator can’t quite remember the lyrics to his song request, or whether the joy or pain was greater.

Regretfully, the evening had to end, and did so with The Saga of Jenny (from Lady in the Dark), quite a different gal from Die Seeräuber Jenny (or is she?), whose chief problem is that she sows tragedy quite effortlessly throughout her life simply by “always making up her mind.” Ms. Haan’s built-in (and well-deserved) encore was I’m a Stranger Here Myself (from One Touch of Venus), with perhaps more than a touch of nostalgia for her own experience as a transplant to the United States. Well, call me corny, but at an evening of Weill held on September 28, I would have liked to hear September Song. Maybe next time, and there will surely be many next times for this artist. (In fact, this concert was sold out, causing the Metropolitan Room to add another date for her in October.)

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Legato Arts presents Music of Dana Dimitri Richardson in Review

Legato Arts presents Music of Dana Dimitri Richardson in Review

Legato Arts presents Music of Dana Dimitri Richardson
Simon Mulligan and Craig Ketter, piano; Jacqueline Milena Thompson, soprano; Frank Picarazzi, vibraphone; Karen Lindquist, harp; Sunghae A. Lim, violin; Luih-Wen Ting, viola; Greg Hesselink, cello
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall; New York, NY
Sunday, September 25, 2016

 

A nearly-full hall greeted the Legato Arts presentation of the music of Dana Richardson, on a sun-filled, cool, early autumn afternoon. These enthusiastic souls were treated to an afternoon of his music, what he called a “summation” of his life’s work. He has created for many sonorous combinations: piano solo, violin and piano, vibraphone and other instruments, voice, and more traditional chamber groupings, always with a very fine ear for sonority. He has even created a syntonal rock-music album.

The ear for sonority serves him well, for his main preoccupation, since his early college years, has been as advocate for, defender of, and user of, a compositional system he calls syntonality (or biscalarity, they are not-quite synonymous). In syntonality, two different scale systems, separated by a tritone or a half-step, are fused together to create one seamless melodic/harmonic super-canvas. It is not the same as bitonality (think Milhaud). “The registral fusion of the two constituent key-streams creates a new and beautiful surface on which neither key is perceptible.” All this can be read in a lengthy thesis posted on the Web (http://dana-richardson.org/syntonality8.pdf )but really, none of this would matter if the music was either not high-quality, or didn’t communicate emotion successfully to its audience. Luckily, I can report that Mr. Richardson’s does satisfy on the latter two points.

In fact, I attended this concert, after my preparation, which involved reading the theory behind syntonality and listening to an example on YouTube, with one impression of what to expect, but I found to my grateful delight, that the actual sounds made were much nicer than all the theorizing would lead one to believe. Added to this, Mr. Richardson found a handful of excellent chamber players to perform his works, each one of them playing in the finest, most committed and persuasive style.

The afternoon began with Mr. Richardson’s Invocations for solo piano, played brilliantly by Simon Mulligan. They were prompted by the death of Mr. Richardson’s mother four years ago, and are based on four of Franz Liszt’s Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, adding syntonality to Liszt’s characteristic textures. Three of the four I thought were splendid re-imaginings, only the Bénédiction dans la solitude for me missed the mark a little, sounding more like pastiche than something transfigured. (And why did he leave “Dieu” out of the title?)

Next was the Theme and Variations for violin and piano, given a beautiful reading by Sunghae A. Lim and Craig Ketter. Mr. Ketter highlighted some wonderful counterpoint with his characteristic warmth and clarity.

Prior to intermission the Mysterium for the unusual combination of vibraphone, cello, and harp was performed, again with complete mastery of sonority and gesture. The vibraphone definitely imparts an otherworldly touch to the ensemble, but the piece itself raised a doubt that began to nag at me for the rest of the afternoon: Is syntonality in some way “limited”? Variety was lacking in many of the themes and gestures. I can imagine that it makes the composer have a much harder time finding a “sense of ending” or “inevitability” without ramping up the sensitivity to texture, speed, and volume, to compensate for the harmonic “blur” that often results.

For all Mr. Richardson’s intent to revitalize the language of classical music, and despite the extremely warm reception he was given, I have to say that much of the music sounded like early Alban Berg, or other late-Romantics, with a sort of “film” over it. Why doesn’t Mr. Richardson just call himself what I gathered he is from this concert—a good, sincere neo-Romantic?

Three Preludes for Sophia opened the second half, with Mr. Ketter again performing beautifully. Mr. Richardson’s program notes state that the outer two use textures from Chopin Preludes (again, like the Liszt), with syntonality added to them. These truly were pastiche, down to the octave leap that opens Chopin’s Op. 28, No. 4. The third piece was based on the middle section of Op. 28, No. 15 (the obsessive repeated G-sharp), with whiffs of the Second Scherzo and even the Etude Op. 10, No. 11. With all due respect, I felt he had “painted moustaches on the Mona Lisa” here. There wasn’t enough originality, and Chopin said it so much better, and briefer. Mr. Ketter’s pedal foot was extremely noisy during the rapid middle piece.

An ambitious group of songs followed, based on excerpts from William Blake’s Songs of Experience. Soprano Jacqueline Milena Thompson has a lovely sound, but ninety percent of her diction was lost, and I was only in the seventh row. The ten percent that was clear was when the music turned somewhat parlando, then it was perfectly clear, but when she started to “be a Singer” again, it was mushy. (Texts were provided, however.) Also, uncharacteristically, Mr. Ketter wildly overbalanced her in the climactic The Tyger, where her voice simply didn’t have enough fury or power to match his. (And his pedal foot again was annoyingly loud in the penultimate song.)

The program ended with Mr. Richardson’s Piano Quartet No. 2, conceived beautifully for the combination of instruments and played with great unanimity, though the cellist was apparently a substitution (perhaps not “last-minute”). The best movement of the three was the middle one: Theme and Variations, where the variety of textures was pleasing and the music sounded most transparent and original. Otherwise, the limitations that I alluded to earlier caused a feeling of meandering, and there were sextuplets traded among the instruments that sounded like demented Hanon exercises. Other sections sounded like good old-fashioned bitonality. The piece is cyclic, material from the beginning returns at the end, a time-honored practice used by many (think Franck). Richardson’s music is most successful when he is conjuring rapt moods of mystic contemplation or elegiac meditation—when he tries to get rambunctious, the textures often grow confused, hectic, and turgid.

Mr. Richardson’s many allusions to the past anchor him firmly in music history, despite (or alongside) his desire to innovate. I do hope that this “summation” will not be the last that is heard from him, for his emotional and musical sincerity is a rare quality in our age, or any age.

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
A Window, Not a Wall: A conversation with pianist Peter Takács

A Window, Not a Wall: A conversation with pianist Peter Takács

 

I wouldn’t dare program or perform Beethoven’s monumental final piano sonata, Opus 111 in C minor, and I have two “good” hands. Master-pianist Peter Takács recently did so (January 14, 2016; Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall) preceded by other “late-Beethoven” pieces, and he did it with a broken right hand.

Let’s let that sink in for a moment, shall we? At the time, he was in pain, but the exact nature of it was still undiagnosed. He had fallen while in New York City, the day after his previous “middle-Beethoven” recital in November 2015. The day of the fall was the same day as the massive terror attack in Paris—obviously a bad energy was at work that day.

Nevertheless, no trace of bad energy accompanied the two of us when we sat down for a French bistro lunch in midtown New York on Bach’s birthday, March 21, 2016. Call it a meeting of minds, if you will. I had been so transfixed by the intensely personal style of his playing in the three-concert Beethoven series that I just had to get to know more about the man and the musician.

PeterTakacs2014-088

Turns out we have a lot of points in common, even if separated by time and circumstance. I had almost attended Oberlin Conservatory, thinking to begin college one year early, but decided against it. My sophomore year would have been his first teaching year (of forty) there. Also, much earlier in his development, he attended the Paris Conservatoire, as did I years later. As the lunch progressed, we found many musical ideals and a lot of childhood peregrination in common, including emigration. His family (of Transylvanian Jewish descent) was persecuted in Romania for wishing to leave, eventually making their way to Vienna, Paris, then Milwaukee of all places.

Mr. Takács possessed obvious and prodigious gifts. As a four-year-old, he would observe the lessons and practice of his year-and-a-half older sister and learn everything she played, by ear, gleefully pointing out her mistakes all the while. His recital debut, in Bucharest, was at age seven, and some years of fruitful instruction (Russian tradition) were able to form him prior to the emigration. After his parents came out in the open about their desire to leave Romania, however, public performances by the young Peter were forbidden, and he was also kicked out of his school, having to take lessons clandestinely and attend a “secret” school for outsiders. What artists go through for their work! Post-graduate studies with legendary pianist Leon Fleisher probably were the most influential on Mr. Takács’ musical development—he speaks of his former mentor with reverence.

We spoke at length about the “heart” of the canonic Western tradition of piano (and chamber/orchestral) music, centering on the former Austro-Hungarian empire, and radiating outward to include some of eastern and north-central Europe. This is a broad over-simplification, of course, but upon examination, it seems to hold true with the exception of French repertoire—even there, after all, Louis XV married a daughter of the king of Poland, and Louis XVI the famous Marie Antoinette, an archduchess of Austria. Perhaps we would have had an “Archduchess” Trio if things had turned out differently.

Mr. Takács achieves two things (at least) simultaneously whenever he plays: 1) what I call “fidelity to the markings on the page,” and 2) a striking degree of personal feeling that makes it sound as if he himself were the creator, not just the re-creator. We agreed that he probably falls more in the C.P.E. Bach line (J.S. Bach’s best-known son), who said: “A musician cannot move others unless he too is moved. He must of necessity feel all of the effects that he hopes to arouse in his audience.”

Mr. Takács tells his students however, that they must be “generals, not soldiers,” taking the larger view of the area (music) instead of getting lost down in the details, which must all have been incorporated before, of course. His other analogy was to building a house. If you were merely laying bricks with no blueprint, things might get a bit messy or out of proportion. He suggests a zoom in/zoom out approach. And he added, there must be some level of technical control that won’t fall apart when one is giving way to the rapture of the moment.

We agreed that there really is no such thing as an urtext, that one must collect all the best editions and advice one can find and then make decisions based on taste, instinct, conviction, and knowledge. His (Mr. Takács) wonderful saying: “The score is a window, not a wall,” speaks precisely to the need to decipher what all those marks really mean, since notation is inherently a limitation on whatever the composer originally heard with his inner ear.

We both also agreed on sometimes teaching with programmatic imagery, especially for “absolute” music, pieces with abstract titles like “sonata,” etc. He often encounters some bewilderment among his younger students when he asks them: What is the affect of this piece? This led to a brief lamentation about the internet and its seductions toward superficiality: lots of information, but not so much knowledge, and even less wisdom.

Mr. Takács always tries to stimulate the students’ ears to pre-hear the sound they want to make, which must be different for every composer and period. His voice took on a very intense tone when saying that “Beethoven must never be played like Chopin.” That Beethoven’s sonority needs to be noble, singing, and serious at all times, never “perfumed.” Genre also must be considered: is the movement a dance form, song, chorale, imitation of orchestral texture? The inner conception of the tone must precede everything. One approach does not fit all at the piano.

Mr. Takács performed all the Beethoven sonatas over two seasons (1998/99 and 99/2000) at Oberlin. A small label specializing in historic piano reissues, contemporary pianists, and other good things (Cambria Music), heard about him, and offered to record the entire set. The box has done very well, and the sound is sumptuous, Mr. Takács having used the Boesendorfer Imperial concert grand, “the” modern Viennese piano par excellence. It also includes early works from the Bonn period (without opus) and Beethoven’s sole sonata for piano four-hands

When I asked him what was the most important thing that he had learned from his students, he opined that it was probably how to be more creative in approaches to each individual, finding the proper “key” to diagnose their issues and move them forward supportively, while accessing their creative sides and developing that.

We spoke of “desert island” composers, pieces, and movements. Of course, I told him I’d have to have a very well-equipped desert island: Hamburg Steinway concert grand and technician on hand and humidity control (so, I guess not so deserted!). His would be the second (final) movement “Arietta” of Beethoven’s Sonata No. 32 in C minor. If we were trapped there together, we agreed we could play the Schubert F Minor Fantasy (D. 940) forever.

Mr. Takács was presented in the three concert overview of Beethoven in 2015/16 by a novel series titled “Key Pianists” produced by Terry Eder, a pianist herself. He was the first virtuoso of what I hope will become a thriving annual series. The aim is to present wonderfully gifted pianists who might otherwise be overlooked by the “star system” that seems to decree who gets heard. The coming season heralds (so far) New York recitals by Ann Schein, Terry Eder herself, and Sara Davis Buechner.

An afternoon with a great humanist such as Mr. Takács is an irreproducible moment, as well as unforgettable. We agreed that the next lunch should be over some hearty mamaliga in one of the Romanian cafes in my neighborhood in Queens. I can’t wait.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
American Protégé presents Summer Gala Concert in Review

American Protégé presents Summer Gala Concert in Review

American Protégé presents Summer Gala Concert
Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
June 30, 2016

 

Pianist Blandine Waldmann was presented amid the large gathering of artists that took part in this celebration of AP’s nine years as a competition. She was the thirty-third of thirty-four performers, and perhaps waiting all that time backstage had an influence on her rendition of Rachmaninoff’s Etude-Tableau in C minor, Op. 39, No. 1. The work, composed on October 5, 1916, is turbulent, and Waldmann’s tempo was correct—she caught the agitato perfectly. However, she failed to clarify the singing lines and structure amid the welter of figural notes, and the dynamics weren’t varied enough, therefore the piece sounded a bit jumbled. Some people like their Rachmaninoff that way—mostly adrenaline. She appears to be in her mid-twenties, and her bio states that she is the laureate of many international competitions, but it doesn’t mention any truly major ones. At any rate, Ms. Waldmann can now claim to have made her “main stage” debut in Carnegie Hall, although a full recital would tell us much more about her as an artist.

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Rondo Young Artist 2016 presents Rondo FORMA Competition First Place Winners’ Recital in Review

Rondo Young Artist 2016 presents Rondo FORMA Competition First Place Winners’ Recital in Review

Rondo FORMA Competition First Place Winners’ Recital
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall

 

The non-profit Rondo organization is now in its fifth year, and has recently opened its competition to conservatory-age students. The four winners, all pianists, were presented in their award recital on Thursday. This concert was a mammoth program of about a “half” recital from each of the four pianists, the repertoire, with one exception, was standard.

Grace Han opened the evening with a lovely account of Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in E-flat minor/D sharp minor, BWV 853 (WTC I), with the fugue especially notable for its gentle movement and contrapuntal clarity. She then followed with the baroque viewed through the eyes of the romantic composer Brahms: his Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Handel, Op. 24. She performed it in a very tightly organized way, musical certainly, but often lacking in poetry, and at times way too muscular, brusque, and noisy. The first turn to B-flat minor in variation five should be arresting and heartbreaking; instead it was loud. However, the very next one, also in the minor, a canon at the octave was beautifully ghostly.

Ziang Xu followed, with another very poetic Bach Prelude and Fugue in B-flat minor, BWV 867 (WTC I), sensitive to every harmonic change and linear movement. He then played a riotous etude by Nikolai Kapustin (b. 1937) that was a jazzy staccato study, ferociously difficult, which Xu tossed off with great flair. Not quite as successful, however, was the main “dish” of his mini-recital: Chopin’s set of 12 Etudes, Op. 10. As Alfred Cortot always said, (the Chopin etudes are) “as inaccessible to the technician without poetry as they are to the poet without technique.” Mr. Xu occupies something of a middle-ground in my opinion. He certainly gave astonishing displays of dexterity, usually with tempi that were inhumanly rapid. But I questioned the true musical value of some of the achievement, for many, many opportunities for sensitivity were left in the dust. For me, the three that verged on “perfection” were Nos. 5, 9, and 11: in those he responded to every need. The “Black Key” etude was fleet but playful; the cruel stretches of the left hand in the F Minor were no obstacle to his rendering the right hand poetically; and the wide arpeggios in the E-Flat Major had a perfectly voiced melody floating on top. Mr. Xu needs to reconsider the material in what I call the “non-etude” hand (usually the left hand), so that it isn’t buried amid the difficult figurations. This will automatically increase his musical depth, of which he already possesses a great deal.

After intermission came the best playing of the night with the final two pianists. Sun Young Lee chose just one work, but an immense one, Schumann’s three-movement Fantasy in C Major, Op. 17. She brought out the impetuous, playful, “Florestan” qualities in the first movement beautifully. Her second-movement march had the requisite mercurial mood shifts and poetry in the middle section. Her bravura risk-taking was worth the (very few) missed notes in its treacherous coda. Finally, she brought deep color changes and consideration to the quiet concluding movement, each harmonic shift contained magic. She was the first pianist of the night to seem like she was actively listening, not only to herself, but to the composer and the music, making something “live” before our ears.

The concert concluded with what was, for me, the finest playing. Mintra Rungruengsorakam (I hope I never have to pronounce that in public) gave an absolutely radiant account of a rarely-played Haydn Piano Sonata in A-flat major, Hob. XVI:46. She was divinely in tune with the style, the instrument, and herself. I never wanted it to end, especially her breathtaking account of the Adagio. She then followed with two of the four movements of Prokofiev’s Second Piano Sonata (D minor, Op. 14): the way she played the first two notes of the first movement, a deceptively simple octave descent, signaled to me that she was going to deliver a beautiful rendition, and she did. No opportunity for lyrical playing was missed, which is so difficult in Prokofiev. Her no-nonsense, motoric Scherzo was absolutely appropriate. She concluded with Chopin’s brilliant Waltz in F major, Op. 34, No. 3, which was tossed off with humor, flirtatiousness, and every note considered. Beautiful work!

I heartily congratulate the achievements of all the Rondo winners, and I pray that they may always play to FULL houses.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Legato Arts presents Maria Prinz in Review

Legato Arts presents Maria Prinz in Review

Maria Prinz, Piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
May 13, 2016

 

A large audience greeted Bulgarian-born pianist Maria Prinz, who offered an ambitious program that never strayed from her stated strengths and love for the Austro-Hungarian core repertoire: mature Haydn, late Beethoven, late Schubert—even the contemporary work was Austrian.

The recital was full of paradoxes for me however: someone with such obvious affection and affinity for this music yet lacking the “world-class” fingers and memory to render it without many slips; a keen poetic, lyrical sense yet one that led to rhythmic distortion beyond the pale of emotion and/or spontaneity; a good understanding of the phrasing and grammar of the period yet often with an oddly wooden sound, and many notes in chords not sounding, imperfectly voiced; and some doubtful analytical connections made in her program notes. Perhaps I was just not on her wavelength, but I could not shake these thoughts while listening.

Haydn’s great E-Flat major sonata (Hob. XVI:52) opened promisingly, with wit and crisp articulation, even when the fingers were not cooperating fully. The loveliest movement, captured very well by Ms. Prinz, was the second movement Adagio in the remote key of E major. Here her sense of quasi-improvisation suited the music perfectly.

Beethoven’s quirky two-movement E minor sonata, Op. 90, suffered from a lack of liveliness in its first measures, coupled with a rhythm that never really got off the ground. Descending scales don’t always have to have the first note lengthened before precipitously rushing downward. The Schubertian rondo in E major was graceful, though not really well-sung by Ms. Prinz. The piano tone was dull, and she didn’t observe many of the subito pp indications that give it its charm. When the repeating melody finally appears in the left hand, it was insufficiently projected, drowned by the figures in the right hand. I’d like to suggest to her that the Schubert that this movement most resembles is his late Rondo in A major, D. 951, which Alfred Brendel states was “obviously” modeled on the Beethoven.

After intermission, she tackled the first of Schubert’s last three sonatas, the C minor, D. 958. This harrowing, death-haunted music still sounds as threatening, even with its few flashes of Viennese charm, as it must have in 1828. It is Schubert at his most Beethovenian, with its virtual quotation of the descending bass line of the 32 Variationen, WoO 80, perhaps prompted by the death of Beethoven the preceding year. Again, the 3/4 rhythm of the first movement was violated right away in the first measure. I can understand a “romantic” approach to Schubert, but not to this extent. There was insufficient contrast from the ppp to the ff requested by Schubert. The slow movement had a lovely interior quality that revealed the lonely prayer-like affect and the violent tremblings of the diseased composer. The Trio section of the Menuetto captured the Ländler spirit perfectly, with vaguely ominous shadows never far away. In the finale, the longest in Schubert’s music, the tempo was not as terrifying as befits a dance of death, although the episode in which the Erlkönig sweetly lures the protagonist was beautifully played.

Ms. Prinz then played the Moto bravouroso composed by her late husband, Alfred Prinz, a clarinetist with the Vienna Philharmonic for fifty years. If he began when his bio says he did, he would have been fifteen (!). This work was in a dissonant but conservative style, sounding at times like the Swiss composer Frank Martin. Ms. Prinz brought the authority and force only she could to this touching tribute.

Her first encore, Mozart’s D minor Fantasy, K. 397, contained the loveliest playing of the evening. Ms. Prinz’ unity with the music and the style were perfection. She followed that with another paradox: a clangy rendition of Schubert’s A-Flat major impromptu (D. 899, No. 4) that was short on genuine cantabile, and with the same left-hand melody issue that marred the Beethoven for me. I do appreciate Ms. Prinz’ devotion to this core repertoire, and hope she realizes that this is just one person’s opinion.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
The Musical Father Figures We All Need: In Conversation with Stecher and Horowitz

The Musical Father Figures We All Need: In Conversation with Stecher and Horowitz

The Musical Father Figures We All Need: In Conversation with Stecher and Horowitz

Language has become so debased in our time, words no longer seem to mean what they once did, but one thing I can guarantee; an hour spent with duo-pianists Melvin Stecher and Norman Horowitz reveal them to be gentlemen, in the truest sense of the word. These dapper men have more energy than most people one-quarter their age. Their manners are impeccable, and their nurturing musical philosophy has kept them and their students going for decades. Their transformation from one of the world’s leading piano duos (five decades) to educators (four decades) to philanthropists (two decades) is dazzling.

They never said “no” to anything, beginning back in their post-student days as a touring two-piano team. Whether it was an engagement in an unlikely and extremely remote area, hauling the two concert grand pianos in a succession of vans and custom-built trucks, the unloading of said pianos, each weighing close to 1000 pounds, nearly freezing to death in the unheated cab of their truck during winter, innumerable vehicle breakdowns, etc, they displayed an unbelievable work ethic. They attended every single scheduled social event pre- or post-concert, with the result being reengagement, the “gold standard” for any group, and they functioned during the heyday of the Community Concerts series of Columbia Artists Management. As duo-pianists they did not shun appearing in cocktail bars with popular repertoire, while the very same men commissioned and premiered the Walter Piston Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra, a landmark in the twentieth century American two-piano literature.

While on a groundbreaking tour of Central and South America with the Roger Wagner Chorale, a near-fatal medical emergency caused them to consider a new strategy. That, and memories of experiences at summer music camps for children inspired the opening of the Stecher and Horowitz School of the Arts in Cedarhurst, Long Island, which had 500 students and a faculty of 25. Their hands-on style resulted in yet another seemingly incredible nurturing environment where young musically talented children could pursue lessons with the confidence that they would be given the best lessons and extras available from a faculty that shared the values of the founders.

Then came the evolution of the New York International Piano Competition, first held in 2002 (biennial), which has become known as the “no-elimination” competition. If one is selected to participate as an accepted contestant, it is because he or she belongs there. Everyone receives a finalist cash award of $1000 (if not awarded one of the top seven prizes) and career guidance and mentoring. This has created such a fund of goodwill that past participants often come to New York just to attend the subsequent competitions and to see their “musical fathers” again.

This year’s competition is being held at the Manhattan School of Music from June 20 to 24; it is open to the public free of charge (with the slight exception of the closing ceremonies). I myself have witnessed the duo’s expertise with high-tech videos submitted and played back for judgment by Stecher and Horowitz and the Screening Jury. The contestants make four short videos, one for each required repertoire category: Bach, classical period, romantic period, and one Chopin etude. From over 150 received, Stecher and Horowitz reduce the number to 40, at which point a “screening jury” is called in: this year 22 finalists will be playing in person. They all submit a handwritten letter to Stecher and Horowitz about themselves, which reveals a great deal, even in those whose first language is not English, always the personal touch.

Each of the contestants gets to program two 25-minute recitals, during which they are not stopped with the traditional (and soul-killing) “Thank you very much,” etc. There is a concerto round (with second piano accompaniment). They also all must prepare two four-hand works, with a partner they don’t meet until they get there: this year’s repertoire is the delightful Gazebo Dances by John Corigliano and Mozart’s Sonata in C Major, K. 521, first movement. AND they all must play from memory (on one of the two recital programs) the newly commissioned work: Two Impromptus by Lowell Liebermann, which they receive only ten weeks prior to the competition (!). The score contains such delights as 11 against 5 in the same hand, but these challenges will undoubtedly be more than met.

The jury itself is composed of the highest quality pianists from all over the world not members of the “factory” conservatory approach to producing musicians; and none of them are allowed to have a student in the competition, so the integrity is unimpeachable. This year’s jury includes: Tong-Il Han, Ian Hobson, Orli Shaham, Jane Coop, Jeffrey Swann, and Erik T. Tawaststjerna.

In past seasons, even non “first” prize winners have gone on to give major concerto appearances and other recitals, as a direct result of the supportive climate (and realistic advice about careers and repertoire) created by the two gentlemen. One thing they noted fondly was that the more recent generations no longer sneer at advanced degrees in music education, which offers a more reliable career, and one in which their nurtured backgrounds may lead them to be even more effective stewards of future musicians.

You really need to share in the atmosphere of this endeavor, and support your favorite players. You won’t soon forget it!

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