Jonathan Griffith, DCINY Artistic Director and Principal Conductor

Sir Karl Jenkins, CBE, DCINY Composer-in-Residence

Distinguished Concerts Orchestra; Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 16, 2023

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) kicked off its 2023 season with a concert featuring music by its initial composer-in-residence, Sir Karl Jenkins, who has appeared with DCINY sixteen times since its beginning in 2008 (even taking into account the ‘pandemic pause’). DCINY owes a measure of its continuing success to the patronage not only of Jenkins, but also his wife Lady Carol Barratt, who were thanked in the program. Jenkins is one of the most frequently performed composers in the world, and it’s easy to understand why when one engages with his logical, tonal, non-threatening musical language.

The (uncredited) string orchestra began with a curtain raiser: Jenkins’s “concerto grosso” titled Palladio, in honor of the Renaissance architect whose villas remain paragons of proportion, and linear and spatial harmony- all qualities that adhere to music as well. Jorge Ávila, the always excellent concertmaster, was kept busy, as were other string individuals, with the back-and-forth answering typical of the form. (I only know Mr. Ávila’s name through personal acquaintance and repeated sightings at these concerts.) Even the most untutored audience member would recognize the first movement from the old De Beers TV commercial “A Diamond Is Forever,” which was ubiquitous for quite some time. Some have referred to Jenkins as a minimalist, but in this work, I was thinking something more neo-Baroque, along the lines of “Vivaldi 3.0,” to use software update lingo. The proportions of its three movements were indeed graceful, and they did not overstay their welcome, a quality sorely needed in the main work that followed.

Instead of an intermission, while the massed choir was taking to the risers and the orchestra was growing in size, a question-and-answer with Jenkins, hosted by NYC radio personality Elliott Forrest was held, which turned out to be essentially a promotion for Jenkins’s upcoming CD release (June 2023) One World.

Jenkins’s Requiem (2005) is dedicated to his father. A solemn tribute it is. All the sections of the Latin Mass for the Dead are present, as well as five Japanese haiku (two of them are combined with the Latin sections Benedictus and Agnus Dei). Those sections have the addition of a shakuhachi (the ancient Japanese end-blown wooden flute), played with style by James Nyoraku Schlefer, the only credited musician other than the ever-reliable Jonathan Griffith. Mr. Schlefer did not wear the traditional straw hat but did wear the long skirt-pant associated with the Buddhist monks and their Zen meditation. Crossing cultures is something of a personal mission for Jenkins. Also added to the strings were French horns, a harp, and an array of percussion that included various ethnic drums.

This is a Requiem that accentuates the consoling and/or sad tones of the mass until the In Paradisum, with a short detour for some of the requisite terror of the Dies Irae (Day of Wrath). A choir of 194 voices, on this occasion truly international (Australia, Canada, Germany, Switzerland, United Kingdom, United States [Iowa, Pennsylvania]) sang with obvious enthusiasm and involvement, though I was underwhelmed by their forte dynamics in the needed panic of the Dies Irae and the few other extroverted places. However, their soft shades and nuances were lovely, a tribute to Maestro Griffith’s ability to make unum from pluribus in a short period of time.

Generally speaking, the main interest in Jenkins’s music is harmonic, though matters become more interesting when he introduces imitative counterpoint. His chord progressions “telegraph” mourning. For me, the only issue was that once the affect is established, each movement goes on far too long, and too many of them have the same doleful quality. Jenkins’s time-honored re-use of themes and progressions (cyclical) also adds to the sense of stasis.

Jenkins’s claim in the program note that he used a “hip-hop” rhythm in the Dies Irae was off base. As a New Yorker, one hears hip-hop almost as an ambient accompaniment to daily life, and it wasn’t discernable here.

The haiku sections were some of the most imaginative and beautiful, in their combinations of Gregorian chant-like fragments with Jenkins’ customary procedures. There were some lovely stratospheric soprano descants floating above the crowd.

I’m not sure where the tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr. was aside from the date of performance, on the federal holiday, but “the snow of yesterday” (which we haven’t had) flowed like “water once again” in this refined performance of a work that is sure to travel far and age well.

Ian Hobson, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

December 16, 2022

Strength and tenderness. Ian Hobson and Robert Schumann. As someone who uses words to describe music, I find myself at something of a loss how adequately to respond to Ian Hobson’s superb Schumann recital last night. Another installment in his “almost complete” presentation of the composer’s piano works, this one focused on the pieces that Schumann titled “Sonata” (except for No. 1) or movements that were originally conceived for a sonata and not used.

Mr. Hobson began with the single-movement Allegro in B minor, Op. 8, an early work (1831) dedicated to Baroness Ernestine von Fricken (also a student of Friedrich Wieck, she and Schumann were briefly engaged in 1834). Intended to serve as the first movement of a sonata, we know the other movements were at least sketched but forever lost, as the excellent program notes by the legendary Richard Dyer remind us. Its showy brilliance is reminiscent of Hummel, one of Schumann’s influences, as well as Paganini, who had just appeared with his devilish act in Leipzig. But the seriousness of the announcement of the “motto” theme B-C#-F#, is the real matter at hand. It unites the entire movement, appearing in the bass, or the top line melody, or middle-voice accompanimental figures, a token of Schumann’s obsessive study of counterpoint as well as scores by Beethoven, Schubert, and others. Mr. Hobson made this movement make musical sense. All of his virtues were present: a fearless virtuosity, but one that made ample room for the tender lyrical moments. Indeed one wonders why it isn’t performed more often, but it takes insight as well as fingers.

The rest of the first half was occupied with the multi-titled Sonata No. 3 in F minor, Op. 14 (1836). It underwent revisions and contortions (1853, by Schumann, and posthumously by Brahms), being known as Concert(o) sans orchestre, and Grosse Sonate at different times. Mr. Hobson restored one of the cut Scherzo movements, and two variations in the middle movement. With hindsight and biographies, we know of the tortured romance between Schumann and Clara Wieck, a virtuoso pianist who was the daughter of Schumann’s piano and composition teacher. Since the father strenuously disapproved of the suitor, the lovers resorted to all sorts of clandestine messaging—for us, the most interesting are the musical “ciphers” or encoding of Clara’s name by Schumann. Usually a descending five- or six-note motto, it is a unifying device used often by the composer. The first movement boldly states it outright at the beginning, and it is in every movement. Mr. Hobson’s playing was so organized (I mean that as a compliment!) that I had time to think that perhaps Schumann’s obsessive study of counterpoint was his way of staving off the chaos in his mind. And of course, that lovely variation movement- no cipher needed here, the theme is by Clara (of course her melody also descends, through a fifth). The sonata was premiered in a salon, that of Henriette Voigt (the dedicatee of Sonata No. “2” see below), in September 1836, and is dedicated to Moscheles.

After intermission, Mr. Hobson presented the best-known work of the four on this program: the Sonata No. 2 in G minor, Op. 22 (1833-1835/1838). (Never mind the incoherent numbering of these sonatas.) Clara wrote to her future husband: “I love it just as I love you; it expresses your whole being with such clarity, and at the same time it’s not too incomprehensible.” However, she asked him to simplify the “far too difficult” last movement, for “even though I already understand it and will play it if need be, other people, the public, even professional musicians—those for whom one composes—won’t understand it at all.” Once again, Mr. Hobson handled the G minor frenzy in Schumann’s quick movements with absolute confidence. The late Schumann biographer John Daverio once contacted me: What did I think when Schumann’s tempo was So rasch wie möglich (as fast as possible) and then later the composer adds Noch rascher (faster still)? I replied that for me it represents striving for the unattainable. Whenever I attend a concert with some Schumann, I listen for this quality. Tonight, I heard it, the “almost” falling-off-the-edge rush. There was plenty of Eusebian dreaminess in the slow movement, a solo piano reworking of an 1828 song Im Herbste (In Autumn): “Be off with you, O sun,/Hurry away from here!/So that she might be warmed/By me alone!”

As a sort of built-in encore, Mr. Hobson offered the original finale conceived for the above G minor sonata: Presto passionato (1835), and wow, this is where I can’t possibly do justice to the powerful abandon he conveyed. It is probably a good thing that Schumann excised it from the sonata and replaced it—its symmetry is a bit square, barely masked by the extreme tempo, though it contains many metric ambiguities (probably what inspired Clara’s comments above).

There are two more Schumann/Hobson events this season in February and April. A word to the wise: Don’t miss them.

Da Capo Ensemble: Steven Beck, piano; Marianne Glythfeldt, clarinet/bass clarinet; Curtis Macomber, violin; (Chris Gross, cello); Patricia Spencer, flute

Guest artists: James Baker, conductor; Lois Martin, viola; Michael Nicolas, cello; Yoshi Weinberg, flute/bass flute

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

December 11, 2022

For more than 50 years, the Da Capo Chamber Players have stood for excellence in performance, commissioning, and dissemination of contemporary chamber music. They show no signs of stopping any time soon. At its helm, the only original member of the group, flutist Patricia Spencer, whose playing would be the envy of many younger artists. And if you’ve ever entered the labyrinth of grant writing… well, then you know the value of her persistence and contribution.

It was fitting that the opening work on their excellent, challenging program was Charles Wuorinen’s Trio for Violin, Cello, and Piano (1983). Wuorinen resisted writing program notes, asking the listener to take the work on its own terms. He once said in an interview that all he wanted was for “people to pay attention” to his (or anyone’s) music, but that apparently contemporary audiences haven’t been taught to do so. That is definitely not an issue with Da Capo’s devoted following, in the intimate gallery space of the Tenri Cultural Institute.

The one-movement piece is roughly ten minutes long. The trio tosses ideas and statements back and forth, at times talking over each other, but no voice is lost in the conversation. Curtis Macomber, Michael Nicolas, and Steven Beck were superb. By the way, cellist Michael Nicolas was a last-minute substitute for the ensemble’s regular cellist Chris Gross. Mr. Nicolas had a huge responsibility in learning this complex program, but we must remember that he is a member of the famed Brooklyn Rider and the International Contemporary Ensemble.

Amy Williams’s First Lines (2006) is a collection of eleven miniatures, each influenced by the first line(s) of a different poem, which require both the flutist and pianist to perform extended techniques. The poets are Marilyn Chin, Toi Derricotte, Patricia Goedicke, Colleen McElroy, and Olga Sedakova. Yoshi Weinberg and Steven Beck created haunting, specific atmospheres, and a stunning variety of sounds. I certainly appreciate program music, but I guess I have an issue with pieces for which it takes longer to read the program note than to hear the actual piece. If this work had no title(s), would it have been any less appreciable? (See Wuorinen, above.) After all, the poetry served to activate feelings within Ms. Williams, which were then turned into music. Just a lingering question I pose from time to time.

The first half concluded with Mario Davidovsky’s Quartetto No. 4 (2005), for string trio plus clarinet (Marianne Glythfeldt, Curtis Macomber, Lois Martin, Michael Nicolas). Davidovsky earned much renown for his use of electronics, so it was refreshing to hear an “acoustic” work, though of course all music is acoustic by definition. Motivic unity was easy to follow, largely because of the expert playing. The work doesn’t shout, rather it shines. Strings begin somewhat mysteriously, then the clarinet enters, more melodically, and the ensemble tries various strategies to coalesce, but the essential differences between strings and clarinet can only be appreciated, not overcome.

After intermission, the five core members of Da Capo (Ms. Glythfeldt, Ms. Spencer, Mr. Macomber, Mr. Beck, with substitute Mr. Nicolas) took the stage for Robert Martin’s Nighttime, the “senior” work on the program, from 1979. It seems like a long time ago but sounds as fresh as if it had been created last year. A one-movement nocturne, it appears to evoke shadows created (perhaps) by firelight. Sonorities were perfectly melded between clarinet, flute, and strings. Martin’s aims were to find a musical transposition of the art of Arshile Gorky and respond to the Armenian holocaust. It is not up to me to determine Martin’s worth. That speaks for itself. I do believe he achieved his aim of “wholeness and presence” in this work.

Lei Liang’s Gobi Canticle (2004) is part of a series of compositions that grew out the composer’s admiration for Mongolian music. Its melodic material is based on another work, Gobi Polyphony. The melody is played against its own inversion and alludes to various genres of Mongolian music. Here, the violin/cello duo of Mr. Macomber and Mr. Nicolas was ravishing, creating what I believe was my favorite work of the evening. The moods were meditative and evocative.

Finally, After Serra (2000), by Jason Eckardt, employed the full sextet, and conductor James Baker. This work seeks an equivalent in music for another art form, in this case the monumental metal sculpture shapes of Richard Serra. If you live in New York, you may recall how much trouble Serra’s Tilted Arc caused when it was installed in lower Manhattan. (Eventually, it was removed, cut into three sections, and placed in a warehouse.) Mr. Eckardt senses an imminent, potential danger in Serra and desires to create a similar instability with his music, and I daresay he succeeds. I’m not even sure that with this excellent ensemble, it needed to be conducted. The music surged and receded, then crashed, and relaxed, but not in a way that invited stability. The composer, in attendance, received his generous, well-deserved ovation.

There are two more concerts in the Da Capo season: Women and Jazz in February; and Young Composers Abound III in June. Don’t miss them!

Pepper Choplin, Mary McDonald, composers/conductors

Catherine Hamner, Vicki Hancock Wright, pianists; Heather Lake Bays, vocal soloist

Distinguished Concerts Orchestra; Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Carnegie Hall, Stern Auditorium, New York, NY

November 28, 2022             

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY), the reliable presenter of multi-choir extravaganzas, is now in full holiday swing with its most recent offerings by two of America’s most popular composers of faith-based choral music- Pepper Choplin and Mary McDonald. On this occasion, the choirs appeared to be entirely domestic, ranging from Connecticut to Texas, by way of Georgia, Pennsylvania, Florida, Virginia, North Carolina, Illinois, and Indiana.

Mr. Choplin opened the program with a bracing, transparent account of And the glory of the Lord from Handel’s Messiah. Accompanied only by the “DCINY String Quartet” and three woodwinds, the sound, both choral and instrumental, would have satisfied any hardcore historically informed performance enthusiast. Every point of imitation in the choral parts was clearly audible. It was erroneously listed in the program as following Mr. Choplin’s work, and I would have loved to do some sort of straw poll to find out what percentage of the audience was aware of that.

I, for one, would not wish my music to follow Handel’s, but Mr. Choplin did just that, with his choral Christmas worship service titled The Seven Noels (Songs to Light the World). He states that it was developed for use in church “to help people connect to the story and the characters of Christmas.” That it does, through crafty melding of old familiar tunes and new material by Mr. Choplin in what he calls a cantata. The First Nowell is the framing device used to introduce each section. O come, O come, Emmanuel, Silent Night (with audience participation),  and Adeste fidelis (O come all ye faithful) are but a few of the themes commingling. I don’t know if Mr. Choplin writes his own texts, but the line “Life is beautiful, life is sad” seemed a bit simplistic to me, as did the musical arrangements, which are lacking in complexity. One thing Mr. Choplin achieved on this occasion was an avoidance of the gigantism that has overwhelmed some of his previous appearances with DCINY. I really appreciated the sharp diction achieved by the choir, no small feat when one has limited rehearsal time in which to coordinate many disparate ensembles into a whole. They were accompanied by the same small ensemble, helmed by violinist Jorge Ávila, the only one whose name I knew—it really is a shame to omit the instrumentalist’s names from the program—I seem to say this every year. They were joined by Catherine Hamner on piano.

The intermissionless concert (just some quick stage rearranging) then progressed to Mary McDonald’s music, very similar in style to Choplin, with the Carnegie Hall premiere of her Festival of Christmas, another merging of traditional tunes with original material. Postponed for two years due to the pandemic, it finally was able to shed its light on the season. Ms. McDonald performed with what looked like the full Distinguished Concerts Orchestra (again uncredited), piano played by Vicki Hancock Wright, and vocal soloist Heather Lake Bays. Ms. McDonald’s work is ambitious—a true overture preceded the choral parts, announcing the medley aspect of the piece with a flurry of carols, sometimes just a phrase, but enough to suggest the whole. The larger choral and instrumental forces did result in a less precise choral diction than was present in the Choplin part of the program, although the choral tone itself was energetic and joyous at its best.

Once again, O Come Emmanuel made its appearance- it seems composers can’t get enough of its modal minor flavor. The French carol Patapan, the Sussex carol, I Saw Three Ships, the words to The Midnight Clear, but set to a new tune, and even Adolphe Adam’s chestnut O Holy Night appeared. Like with Mr. Choplin, The First Noel made its statement; one novel touch was a rhythmic setting of Go Tell It on the Mountain!, an African-American spiritual. Beethoven even managed to sneak in (why?), with a variation on his 9th Symphony finale: An die Freude. Vocal soloist Heather Lake Bays contributed beautifully to O Come Emmanuel and O Holy Night, with a clear bright soprano that sounded a little bit more pop than classical, and that was fine with me.

This evening, which did not overstay its welcome, brought pleasure to all-participants, audience, and yes, even this reviewer.

Long Island Concert Orchestra

Gianluca Marciano, Conductor

Ginevra Petrucci, Flute

Good Shepherd-Faith Presbyterian Church, New York, NY

November 30, 2022

Let us not be mistaken about two things: 1) All musical activity in the world does not take place on a small strip of land called Manhattan. 2) The amount of talent, dedication, fund raising, and hard work it takes to keep an endeavor such as the Long Island Concert Orchestra afloat is enormous. A relatively new ensemble (founded 2016), it has the advantage of being small, but has already begun carving out its own unique place in the area’s cultural scene. I could not see all the players from where I was sitting, but the instrumentation looked like six first violins, six-second violins, four violas, three cellos, and a double bass—or “three string quartets” with an extra cello and the bass.

Under the efficient but sensitive guidance of conductor Gianluca Marciano, they gave us a program of beautiful string works and a concerto. The historical time range for all four works was 1780-1960, yet a wide range of styles and colors was included. A subtitle for this concert might have been- works adapted from other works by the same composer (three out of four).

Samuel Barber was one of the composers who was not resentful of the phenomenal success of his Adagio for Strings (expanded with the addition of a fifth part for double bass), drawn from the String Quartet, Op. 11 (1936). It seems Barber knew its destiny, for he began the adaptation right away, while he toiled mightily revising and re-revising the Quartet for two years. As Barber declared, with gastrointestinal metaphor, to his cellist friend Orlando Cole: “I have vague quartettish rumblings in my innards…” (The letter continues in this vein, getting more explicit until Barber realizes and cuts it off.) Despite his self-conscious work ethic, he did not lack confidence: “I have just finished the slow movement of my quartet today—it is a knockout!” How right he was! The Adagio took on a life of its own—the orchestral version premiered on the radio in 1938, conducted by none other than Toscanini, and received a rave review from Olin Downes. It was recorded by Toscanini in 1942; the first work by an American composer that he conducted, broadcast, recorded, and took on tour to Latin America. Many filmgoers have heard the Adagio without being aware of who the composer is, and it has come to be “the choice” for occasions of great national mourning, such as FDR’s, Einstein’s, and JFK’s funerals. During WWII, scores of Barber’s music were even flown to Shostakovich (who also appears on this program) in Russia.

The Adagio worked its ineffable magic, speaking in a very personal way, directly to the heart, though it is a difficult (risky) way to open a program. My only wish was for there to have been a greater sense of “pull” between the notes, a reluctance to leave the previous note before going to the next—this isn’t a matter of tempo, but tension. That being said, large orchestras can go slower than small ones—this performance didn’t seem as far removed from its quartet original.

Next came a spirited rendition of C.P.E. Bach’s Flute Concerto in D minor. The work, a reconfiguration of a previous harpsichord concerto, seems to inhabit two worlds, as did the composer, the very Baroque texture and sound of the Allegro first movement, a sensitive Andante, and finally the Sturm und Drang (storm and stress, a term from literature) of the final Allegro molto. One might imagine Frederick the Great, C.P.E.’s employer and a virtuoso flutist in his own right, having heard the harpsichord concerto, saying “Here, here, Carl Philippchen, make something for me out of this, won’t you?” Ah yes, if only we had such “cultured tyrants” in our modern world, hobnobbing with the likes of Voltaire and the Bachs.

Ginevra Petrucci was the flute soloist. She played with great musicality, and lots of fire in the third movement. Maestro Marciano drew vivid, stylish contrasts from the group. I noticed a few things, none of which derailed her fine achievement: 1) The flute used in 1780 would have been transverse (held crosswise), but not a Boehm-system modern flute like the one she played, which was not developed until 1847. 2) I did miss the rustle of the harpsichord continuo underneath the string sound. 3) The orchestra and the soloist played certain appoggiaturas in the first movement’s main theme differently—perhaps this was a deliberate choice, but possibly it could have been worked out.

Here I would like to advise the group on two (not-so) small points: With such a reduced number of personnel, it would be very pleasing to have everyone’s names listed. And, as my regular readers know, I am obsessed with program notes. Even if it takes another sheet of paper folded in half inserted into your program, it is not “cool” not to have them. If you or one someone you know can’t confidently do them, hire someone. Please.

After a brief pause (the post-pandemic concert world loves these intermission-less concerts, as do I) the upper strings played the rest of the concert standing up, as do some string quartets these days. It is a shame for the cellists though, for they can’t do that. (Of course, the bass is normally played standing up.)

The work: an arrangement of Shostakovich’s searing Eighth String Quartet, Op. 110, made by his friend and colleague Rudolf Barshai, violist of the Borodin String Quartet that premiered so many of Shostakovich’s works. This expansion has come to be known as the Chamber Symphony, Op. 110a (as with the Barber, adding the double bass to the four-part writing). The music is one of his most explicit uses of ciphers, the first letter of his first name and the first three of his last spelled musically: D-S (Es, E Flat)-C-H (B), to form the obsessively recurring theme. The composer referred to it as the “secret sign, the impenetrable wall.” Also present: the melody that Jews were made to sing as they were forced to dig their own graves before being shot and bulldozed into them during WWII (previously used in his own Piano Trio No. 2), and the famous “three knocks” on the door at 3 AM by the KGB.

All this was really well done by the group. Perhaps the church acoustics softened a bit of the “bite” in the more pointed material, but the “three knocks” emerged with disquieting clarity. The entire mood was captured convincingly, and when it was over, the hallmark of a truly great performance, people were hesitant to break the spell with applause.

The final work was a gem that I had never heard live before, only on recordings: Janáček’s Idyll: Suite for String Orchestra. Here, the Slavonic mode emerged, with many gestures reminiscent of Dvořák’s works, without undue copying. Moods alternate in the six brief sections from elegiac (“dumky”) to folkloric. The concert truly built to this moment, and the ensemble work was beautiful. Interplay among violin, viola, and cello was gently but specifically brought out. The bassist held his own, though one could have wished for more of the lower sonorities—the original calls for five basses (and eight first and second violins, and five cellos). Bravi!

So please folks, explore the culture in your own communities, and, in this season of giving, here is a worthy cause.

James Greening-Valenzuela, manager

Gretchen Greenfield, artistic consultant

Eric Malson, pianist

Scorca Recital Hall, Opera America National Opera Center, New York, NY

October 20, 2022

Opera is the only classical music genre that is a growing business in America. Therefore, there will always be a need for young singers trained in its demands both vocal and dramatic. James Greening-Valenzuela, a noted concert violinist with extensive vocal coaching experience, has turned his attention to maintaining a stable of such artists, at all skill levels from “emerging” to “professional,” as the manager of Vocal Artists Management Service (VAMS).

To celebrate the fourteenth anniversary of VAMS, a generous showcase concert was given at the National Opera Center. Once upon a time, such showcases served to show off one’s roster to a cohort of visiting opera and other vocal presenters. I’m not sure that was the case on Thursday, since I didn’t see any personnel fitting the bill in the small audience. Nevertheless, there were many small, and a few large, standout moments in the long program.

Remember, there is nothing quite so subjective as the way a human voice is received by other human beings. The following report is based solely on my response to this particular moment in time. Also remember, no instrument is quite so fickle as the voice, which resides within the body, and is subject to all its whims.

(Full disclosure: Mr. Greening-Valenzuela and I shared the same artist-manager for a period of years, some years ago. My review is objective, as far as a matter of opinion can be.)

The evening was partitioned into “Early Music,” “Opera Arias,” and “Verdi and Puccini Opera Scenes,” with the interesting additional “Original Songs” (a pop category featuring a classically trained singer/songwriter) fitted in just before intermission.

To say that “war horses” dominated the concert would be putting it mildly, with the exception of the aria New York Lights from William Bolcom’s A View from the Bridge (not by Samuel Barber, as erroneously printed in the program). This was given a poignant rendition, one of the evening’s best, by tenor Michael González, one of the emerging artists. He was less successful, though passionate, in Donizetti’s Una furtiva lagrima (L’Elisir d’amore). I predict he will go far, as there is always a shortage of good tenors.

Another very good tenor, with more professional experience, was Pedro Carreras, Jr., whose Dein ist mein ganzes Herz (Lehár, Das Land des lächelns) was spun out with ease and idiomatic style. However, he seemed overtaxed in the verismo style required for the famous Vesti la giubba (Leoncavallo, Pagliacci). True, the tenor voice is the one that takes the longest to mature in the performer’s body, sometimes as late as age thirty-five. Knowing how to select repertoire that is suitable to one’s voice type and ability is absolutely crucial to vocal success and longevity.

During the opera scenes portion, Kate Kyunghee Kim, soprano, and Sang Bum Cho, tenor, were beautifully trained as to their voices in their Brindisi and Parigi, o cara (Verdi, La Traviata), but lacking as to appropriate dramatic content, at least to this listener. Mr. Cho lacked the articulative “snap” that makes the phrases of the drinking song dance. May I remind the reader how very difficult it is to extract material like this from its context and present it in recital/concert form. However, one needs to be able to make a complete impression in auditions—and opera stars used to do it successfully on talk shows (now there’s a memory!). Ms. Kim has a very successful oratorio career, and Mr. Cho sings oratorio and opera.

The famous Act II duet between Violetta and Germont (also La Traviata) received a thoroughly masterful characterization from baritone Tom Sitzler, who sang this unlikeable character with mature and beautiful sonority. His partner, soprano Virginie Besson (emerging artist), had a wonderful dramatic feeling, but hers was the wrong voice type for the role. Mr. Sitzler has extensive opera experience—I think I would enjoy his Golaud (Debussy, Pelléas et Mélisande).

The duet from Puccini’s Suor Angelica, sung by Alexandria Crichlow, soprano and Caroline Tye, mezzo-soprano, was sizzling hot. Both voices were very nice, and the dramatic portrayal was successful. Ms. Crichlow, very affecting as the betrayed out-of-wedlock mother, had only one flaw- mushy diction. Clear diction is possible in opera! This concert was in a tiny recital hall, and more forward vocal placement and pronunciation would help her go even farther. Caroline Tye was fierce as the lying aunt, but I found her sonority overly-darkened, in a somewhat forced, artificial way. The extensive experience of these two artists was truly evident.

The evening’s finale, a duet excerpt, the jail visit, from Act III of Puccini’s Tosca, had good characterization from both Stacey Stofferahn, soprano, and Steven Andrew Murray, tenor. This material can easily tip over into shouting, but each artist produced detailed shadings and lyrical nuances, without forgetting to rise to the heroic heights required.

In the early-music section, the impressive countertenor Andrew Egbuchiem had a lovely voice, he was paired with emerging artist Katie Surine, soprano. Though each of them has experience in the older repertoire, they managed to seem somewhat bland in arias from Vivaldi’s Gloria, Handel’s Rodelinda, and Purcell’s Pausanias. I realize they were being accompanied by a piano, but I didn’t hear any of the vocal practices common to specialists in this repertoire, especially awareness of and enjoyment of chains of dissonances. Countertenors are a growth industry, so to speak, even though they didn’t exist in the Baroque era. Fortunately, we no longer sanction a certain mutilation, so there are no more castrati. The countertenor is a compromise, one which is accepted when the voice is as subtle as Mr. Egbuchiem’s.

Allow me to pause here and praise the evening’s tireless and excellent collaborative pianist, Eric Malson. Orchestral reductions are a thankless job- they are so unidiomatic. Mr. Malson was unflappable and completely supportive.

Two more artists sang on the arias section: mezzo-soprano Roselin Osser, in arias from Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots and Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. The adolescent angst of Cherubino was not fully characterized, though I enjoyed her flair in the Meyerbeer. Soprano Lisa Bryce sang the treacherous Ave Maria from Verdi’s Otello, with very dark vowels. What is going on with voice teaching nowadays? It seems so many young singers are over-darkening, trying to produce something rather than allowing their voices to be revealed through patient cultivation.

Also included was one artist who has switched genres, from classical to popular. The one-named Mahaley (formerly known as Rachel Eve Holmes) sang portions of four of her own original songs. Her microphone technique was shaky; she often turned back to the piano and the sound would become very soft. I suggest she work with experienced songwriters/producers to shape some of her material, which shows promise, into more “hit-ready” songs.  Good luck!

Overall, it was a very fulfilling evening. These young artists are fortunate to have a nurturing artist-management team like VAMS.

Irina Moreland, Piano

Guest Artist Halida Dinova, Piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 16, 2022

I often wonder why more pianists (and perhaps audiences) don’t gravitate to French piano music. It does require some specialized equipment: knowledge of how to produce infinite gradations and blends of tonal colors, often at the softest dynamic levels, precision in score-reading, and a certain temperament, one that doesn’t intrude upon the music, but allows it to speak for itself. Portions of these two qualities were found in abundance in this brief matinee on Sunday.

Pianist Irina Moreland, a double-doctorate and professor of piano in Colorado, decided to reunite with her advanced-student days friend, the equally accomplished Cleveland-based Halida Dinova for an afternoon of mainly French music, mostly Debussy with one Ravel showpiece. The pairing proved a vivid study in contrasts: Ms. Moreland being more the “wild” and Ms. Dinova the “controlled.”

Although Ms. Moreland seemed to be battling nerves, with numerous crucial memory lapses and imprecision (or misreading?), she gave a veritable master class in how to continue despite these things, and – what I was delighted to note – the essential character of each of her pieces emerged vividly.

Ms. Moreland began with four of the five scheduled Debussy Preludes from Book Two. The first three were the misty and surprisingly polytonal Brouillards (Mists), La Puerta de Vino (that evocation of the gate through which wine deliveries were made to the Alhambra), which suited her personality very well, and Les Fées sont d’exquises danseuses (Fairies are exquisite dancers), inspired by a bookplate by Arthur Rackham. Ms. Moreland really made those fairies seem airborne! The last was Feux d’Artifice (Fireworks), a Bastille Day reverie. Numerous dynamics were either reversed or ignored, nevertheless each atmosphere succeeded. The fifth Prelude would have been General Lavine-eccentric, which I thought would have also suited her temperament.

Halida Dinova then took the stage for two Debussy Preludes from Book One: La Cathédrale engloutie (The Engulfed Cathedral), from the Breton legend of the sunken city of Ys that rises only once every one hundred years then sinks back—she understood this piece totally, though I wished for more genuine pp dynamics (from both pianists, actually). Then she “tarantella-ed” her way through Les Collines d’Anacapri, an Italy replete with sun and folksong.

Ms. Moreland returned with what I found to be the only miscalculation of the afternoon: Ravel’s sarcastic, biting showpiece Alborada del gracioso. The alborada (French: aubade; English “morning song”) was traditionally sung outside the window of the illicit lovers’ bedroom just before the break of day, so the man could “self-defenestrate” and avoid being caught. Of course, Ravel has to make the whole scenario a satire, the warning sung by a clown. The musical text, as played by Ms. Moreland, simply had too many errors to be adjudicated fairly, although I will say, her flair for character redeemed it, and I’m sure many in the audience had no idea. Great glissandi, by the way!—they’re murder.

Then it was Ms. Dinova’s turn, with the gorgeous Reflets dans l’eau from the first series of Images. Despite a few odd (original) pedaling choices, she found beautiful blends suggestive of the Nymphéas (Water-lilies) by Monet in Paris’ Musée de l’Orangerie.

Ms. Moreland then returned with what I found to be a jarring shift in tone: a concert jota titled ¡Viva Navarra! by Joaquín Larregla (1865-1945). I don’t know if nerves got the better of her, but she never lost the thread of fiery passion that such a piece needs, and there were many sparkling moments of rapid treble filigree.

The two then joined forces to conclude the recital with a four-hand transcription of Khachaturian’s ubiquitous war-horse, the Sabre Dance from his ballet Gayane. It was a riot of explosive energy, as it should be, and the two of them did something I really like: a true encore, that is, after the ovation they played it again, with even more energy.

Perhaps, rather than the last two pieces, I might have liked a four-hand French selection by either Debussy or Ravel, there are plenty available and it would have preserved the theme. However, an afternoon of sharing music with each other, and with their many friends and fans, ultimately succeeded in conveying the joy of music.

Jaeden Izik-Dzurko, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 14, 2022

I must reveal a terrible secret that I imagine is not unique to this reviewer: I can tell within one or two seconds of playing (on occasion, even as the performer takes the stage!) whether a piano recital will be transcendent, very good, good, or (I always hope not) not so good. Jaeden Izik-Dzurko captivated me, with the first category, in the requisite two seconds, the first “ppp, una corda, very faded, nonchalant, uniform, and melancholy” measure of Albéniz’s El Albaicín, that pianistic impression (Albéniz’s own word) of Granada’s Gypsy quarter, revealed in all its splendor.

In doing so, he also confirmed that Hilton Head’s reputation for finding the best young piano talent is rivaled only by its beauty as a South Carolina “low country” destination.

But let us return to Mr. Izik-Dzurko: What he revealed in those two seconds, and continued to display for the next hour and a half, is one the most refined tonal palettes I have ever heard, combined with a polished close-to-the-keys technique, and a certain basic humility in the service of the music. There was not one moment of showing off, yet the wildly enthusiastic audience probably had no idea of the difficulty of what he was achieving. He even seemed shy in accepting his bows. Absolutely everything was put into the music.

He followed the Albéniz with one of his personal favorites, Scriabin’s Tenth Piano Sonata, Op. 70, in whose single movement sonata form is detectable, even rather strict, amid the welter of “powerful, radiant, luminous” trill outbursts. Mr. Izik-Dzurko guided us through the labyrinth with perfect voicing, gorgeous dynamic range, seemingly limitless colors, and let me just gush a little about those trills… Although I’ve known the piece for some decades now, it finally made sense to me!

Mr. Izik-Dzurko then turned his attention to the Classical period with a seldom played Beethoven gem, the Andante in F Major, WoO 57, known as “Favori,” originally conceived as the slow movement to the “Waldstein” sonata (thank goodness he removed it from that). Here, he showed a delightfully subtle feeling for each harmonic change, a delicious “Viennese upbeat” at the beginning of the B-flat episode (done only once, thank you), and phenomenally light octaves in both hands.

He closed the first half of the recital with two of the fiendishly difficult 12 Etudes in the Minor Keys by his fellow Canadian, Marc-André Hamelin. The first of them, No. 7, is for the left hand alone, based on the Tchaikovsky Lullaby, Op. 16 No. 1, originally for voice and piano. With a fluid, relaxed left hand he rendered every textural complexity with crystal clarity, and emotional poignancy. The second of the two Etudes played, No. 12, is titled Prelude and Fugue, and it contains a jazzy element in the prelude leading to a wild tarantella-like fugue. Apparently Hamelin apologized, in some commentary, for creating such an “agglomeration of technical nightmares,” but they held no terrors for Mr. Izik-Dzurko, or if they did, he disguised them to perfection. I will quote Mr. Hamelin, for the sentences apply perfectly to Mr. Izik-Dzurko: “I think it [virtuosity] is a heightened ability, a sort of super-ability to marshal your resources, either emotional or corporal, in order to bring music to life. I think that something like that is inborn, for the most part, but of course this sort of super-ability needs to be cultivated, sharpened, and maintained.”

After intermission, the entire second half was devoted to Rachmaninoff’s First Piano Sonata in D minor, Op. 28, the one that began life as a sort of programmatic rumination “après une lecture de Faust.” What an opportunity, I’m not sure how the universe decides these things, but my second time in two days hearing this seldom-played work! All of Mr. Izik-Dzurko’s virtues were again channeled into this demanding score. Here he appeared to apply an even hotter emotional temperature and involvement, while never once losing clarity. The fortissimo passages were lava escaping from some subterranean fissure. The trills near the close of the slow movement seemed to point the way to the Scriabin we had heard earlier. Amid all the grandeur, Mr. Izik-Dzurko made the piece seem two things: 1) “better” than it is, and 2) “shorter” than it is! An amazing accomplishment in an evening filled with them.

The ovation was long, loud, and of course, well-deserved. Mr. Izik-Dzurko favored us with two encores. First, the delicate tracery of Scriabin’s Etude Op. 42, No. 4. Then he was called back and blazed his way through the brief but rambunctious Medtner Fairy Tale, Op. 26, No. 2.

Is there something in the water in Canada that develops virtuoso pianists? Mr. Izik-Dzurko was born in the quaintly named Salmon Arm, British Columbia, and is continuing his Master’s degree studies with Corey Hamm in Vancouver, following his Bachelor’s degree from Juilliard. He certainly seems on his way to a major career if he wants one. After his victory in Hilton Head, he went on to snag three more first prizes at major competitions within a six-month period. I’m sure he would be the first to tell us that technique is but a means to an end, but without it, you can’t give free reign to your expression.

Oh, and Jaeden (pardon the familiarity), would you do me a favor? Please return to New York every year with the following: a complete Ravel cycle, a complete Debussy cycle, and anything else you would like to program.

As I was leaving the hall, I became aware of a complete stranger on the sidewalk approaching me. Naturally, as a New Yorker, I was a bit cautious, but he began to spontaneously gush about that piano recital he had just heard, and I realized we had heard the same one. We talked for a few minutes and I asked him if he knew the performer, or was from South Carolina perhaps, or Canada. No, he said, I’m just a fan of piano recitals and I saw this on the calendar. Good job, Jaeden!

Martín García García, piano

Mixon First Prize Winner of the 2022 Cleveland International Piano Competition

Judy and Arthur Zankel Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 12, 2022

Competitions can be fraught affairs- for the entrants, jury, parents, audiences, and future audiences. Expectations are high and fear of the “wrong note” can encourage pianists to make safe choices. Happily, I can report that this seems to be changing, especially in the case of the Cleveland International (formerly Robert Casadesus) Competition and its current award winner, Martín García García.

There wasn’t a “safe” choice anywhere near his program of three gigantic showpieces (two well-known and often played, one less so) and a group of his own compositions. I so admire pianists who are also composers—let us not forget that prior to the twentieth century, most of them were—it was expected.

This is a pianist of giant technical ability (we assume that) in the service of what I call “seeking.” His immense musicality leads him constantly to search for one interpretive choice or other, and I believe that he “finds” them, to his satisfaction. Although I’ve only heard him once, I can believe that the same program played in two days’ time would have different textures and details, while remaining recognizable.

García plunged right in with an uncommonly poetic rendition of the gigantic Fantasie in C major by Schubert that has become known as the Wanderer, D. 760, after the lied Der Wanderer, D. 489, that provides its thematic motive and second section’s theme and variations. One of Schubert’s most assertive and consistently brilliant piano works, it is all the more unusual since he was not known to be a great virtuoso— Schubert himself said, “the devil may play it,” in reference to his own inability to do so properly. The work strains at the outer limits of what pianos of Schubert’s time were capable of, with symphonic textures and gossamer piano embroideries.

At times, Mr. García was so musical that I sensed him pulling back from many of the more massive moments, a pacing strategy that I can appreciate, but which made the piece seem smaller than I think it should. Some of the large chords seemed too dry. This was not a Wanderer for those who prefer a weightier, tragic statement, but it is a piece that allows for multiple interpretations, and Mr. García’s certainly had integrity. The entire Romantic age is summed up in the last line of the song’s poem, in which ghostly voices say to the tired wanderer: “Wherever you aren’t, there is happiness!”

Have you noticed a certain mania for audience participation? Choose your own ending for a Netflix series? Does anyone remember The Mystery of Edwin Drood on Broadway, in which the audience could choose the ending? I will let my readers choose their own ending to this sentence: Too often, Mr. García made articulative, textural, and phrasing choices that were 1) original, 2) eccentric, or 3) both. At any rate, I would much rather be stimulated by new music-making choices than bored to death. On a side note: Mr. García was battling two things: his tendency to hum loudly when playing the most lyrical material. I understand where this comes from, mainly a desire to overcome the decaying nature of piano sound, but (for me) it is a bad habit and ought to be overcome- all that energy should be going into the keys; and a recalcitrant piano that seemed to be going out of tune more than once during the recital, despite being adjusted during intermission.

Mr. García followed the Schubert with another giant, Chopin’s final sonata, the B minor, Op. 58. His poetic sense had free reign here, and he created in the moment with great originality. The Scherzo was taken at an unbelievably rapid, feather-light tempo, with perfect clarity. Gone are the days when the sanctimonius James Gibbons Huneker could refer to the Finale as “the parade ground of the virtuoso,” especially when Mr. García’s textural strategies and refinement are applied to it.

After intermission, it seemed as though a different pianist took the stage, different though recognizable. Mr. García began with nearly one-third of his pandemic-inspired cycle Abstractos— Abstracto XII: Silent Postlude (dedicated to Tamana Tanaka); Abstracto VII: Mal du Pays Bleu (dedicated to Margarita Anthoine); Abstracto VI: Mal du Pays Gris” (dedicated to José María García Marina); Abstracto XI: Réminiscenses d’une Berceuse (dedicated to Sujatri Reisinger), in which he sought to channel the unbearable stillness of lockdown, the surreal quality that once-thronged big cites took on, and the equally unbearable losses people were experiencing as many of their loved ones died. Naturally, as I would expect, Mr. García “spoke” this music with total authority. The pieces themselves have delightful motivic unity, and they use the piano and its colors beautifully. Wisps of Medtner and Mompou seemed to hover over them.

Mr. García closed this monumental recital with Rachmaninoff’s first essay in the piano sonata, the D minor, Op. 28, less often played than its perhaps more glamorous sibling Op. 36. However, in the D minor (once projected as a programmatic Après une lecture de Faust), we have even more of the Rachmaninoff virtues: motivic unity among all movements, the aching lyricism, the striving, the massive concerto-like textures we will hear later in his Third Concerto (also notably in Mr. García’s repertoire). In this work, Mr. García’s command of voicing was miraculous and enjoyable. The piano fairly thundered, without there ever once being an ugly tone, then melted to express the lyrical moments. The audience went justly wild.

So wild that Mr. García favored us with two encores, both Chopin waltzes, first the C-sharp minor, Op. 64 No. 2, in which the García of the first half seemed to reappear—I wish he could have avoided repeating the same agogic on the “disappearing” final run every single time it appeared. Then, he played the A-Flat major, Op. 34 No. 1: here was perfection, flair, charm, virtuosity, the second half García.

This young man already has so much, and he has time to gather his musical philosophies into a coherent whole, for it is clear he possesses them. He has numerous concerto engagements coming, the result of his various competition wins, and I hope that the touring life will be kind to him, so that he may continue seeking, finding, and sharing with us.

Junior Division (ages 10-18): Julia LaGrand, violin, (USA), 1^st prize; Ryan Maxwell, piano, (USA), 2^nd prize; Sihu Hwang, piano (S. Korea) 3^rd prize; Laura P. Muñoz, piano, (Spain), encouragement award

Young Artist Division (ages 19-30): Jisun Kim violin, (S. Korea), 1^st prize; Mackenzie Jacquemin, voice, (USA), 2^nd prize; Guillem León, piano, (Spain), 3^rd prize; Fernando Apan, piano (Mexico), encouragement prize

National Opera Center, Marc A. Scorca Hall, New York, NY 10001

September 3, 2022

The Bella Music Foundation presented the winners of its 2020 competition in the intimate Marc A. Scorca hall at New York’s National Opera Center. Yes, they were delayed by “that” virus. Now imagine winning a competition two years ago and having to hold on to that piece and maintain its level for two more years.

Let me frame this another way: I often tell my students to close their eyes for fifteen minutes or a half-hour if they can stand it (no peeking!) to sharpen their spatial awareness at the keyboard. What if you could “never” open your eyes?

Bella’s mission statement is: “supporting musically talented individuals and schools for the blind by presenting opportunities for world-class education in classical music.” Judging from these talented performers, it is a resounding success.

In all, there were eight winners (see above for full list), but only five were able to make it to New York, despite six being listed on the program.

First to appear were the Division I (ages 10-18) winners. Pianist Laura P. Muñoz gave a rapturous, mature reading of Liszt’s Transcendental Etude No. 9, “La Ricordanza,” with beautifully lyrical melody and sparkling filigree, reminding me a bit of Arrau. She was followed by pianist Ryan Maxwell, who created a deep, meaty, appropriately Brahmsian tone in Brahms’s Rhapsody in G minor, Op. 79, No. 2, while also bringing out its essential mysterious quality. This portion of the recital concluded with violinist Julia LaGrand’s stunning rendition of Ravel’s treacherous showpiece Tzigane. Every firework was perfectly carried out with wit and poise, and the whole built beautifully to its final frenzy. She was more than ably accompanied by the evening’s collaborative pianist, the excellent Hyunjin Cho.

Two of the Division II winners (ages 19-30) then took the stage. First, soprano Mackenzie Jacquemin, who showed off a bright, clear lyric soprano in Pamina’s aria from Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte, “Ach, ich fühl’s,” sung with gentle sorrow. Ms. Jacquemin had some lovely soft high notes too. The concert was brought to a stunning close by violinist Jisun Kim, (with Hyunjin Cho again, wonderful), who tossed off Sarasate’s blistering Carmen Fantasy, Op. 25, as though she had been born playing it. Every dazzling special effect was spot on, and, by the way, her intonation was perfect.

All took the stage for the official presentation of the prizes. The audience, naturally, was wild with ovation for everyone.

Bella’s motto is: “In every note there is hope.” I’d venture to add, even more than hope: realization, the ultimate achievement.