Alexander & Buono International present Thomas Nickell: “Impromptus and Meditations” in Review

Alexander & Buono International present Thomas Nickell: “Impromptus and Meditations” in Review

Barry Alexander and Cosmo Buono, in association with Alexander & Buono International
Thomas Nickell, piano
SubCulture, New York, NY
November 15, 2018

 

Acclaimed twenty-year old pianist/composer Thomas Nickell programmed an intriguing recital at SubCulture on Thursday night. An ill-timed winter storm didn’t deter his ardent followers. I had high hopes for the theme “Impromptus and Meditations,” some of which were fulfilled quite nicely; elsewhere I shall try to explain my impressions.

Mr. Nickell began with early Scriabin (Five Preludes, Op. 16), the composer still in his “Chopin” phase, but already one displaying the increased fluidity, stretchiness, and longing for mystical union that will be taken to extremes in his later works. Mr. Nickell was perfectly aligned with the material, his delicacy was most welcome, and the subtle poetry of each miniature was allowed to speak for itself.

After this, the Four Impromptus of Schubert ,commonly known as “Op. 90,” actually (Deutsch) 899, were played. Although I expect some impetuousness from a twenty-year-old, I really felt that the combination of songfulness and spiritual gravitas encased in each one was somewhat lacking. I definitely heard Mr. Nickell’s intense commitment to the music, but a deeper degree of profundity makes for a truly memorable rendition. Another factor in my opinion was that they weren’t entirely reliable technically. Liberties were taken with phrasing, articulation, and ritards (e.g.: measure 85 in the second Impromptu is marked legato in the right hand, yet he chopped each note). I must part company with Mr. Nickell, who says you can hear how “improvisatory” they are, from the title on down. He has fallen for an old misconception: Ever since Schubert, if we examine the great Impromptu composers (Chopin, Fauré to name but two), we see easily that these are some of the most tightly controlled works, leaving nothing to chance. I sincerely hope Mr. Nickell will continue to explore these works, leading him into a “listening stillness” so that his performance of these touchstones will grow.

Turning now to Messiaen, a piano transcription by Mr. Nickell of one of his works, Oraison (Prayer), for the electronic instrument known as the Ondes Martenot, was, for me, another surprising success of this evening. I worried that the sustaining powers of the original instrument would not happen at the piano (Messiaen later reworked this piece a few years later as the cello/piano Louange à l’éternité de Jésus in his Quatuor pour la fin du temps). Mr. Nickell used his composer’s perspective to delve deeply into the material and really do it justice. Well done!

He then treated us to two of his own Impromptus, which showed off his many strengths with a lot of flash, some bluster, but intricate textures and definitely worthwhile. I’ll bet they would be hell for any other pianist to learn.

The concert closed with Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann, extracted from Années de pèlerinage, I: Suisse. The hero of Sénancourt’s archetypal Romantic novel is disillusioned with life and questions himself: “Que veux-je? Que suis-je?” (What do I want? Who am I?) The three syllables of each phrase are turned by Liszt into the unifying motive of the piece, three descending tones, a minor third that is later transfigured into a major third. Everyone traveling through the Alps in the early nineteenth century had such responses of ineffable wonder, each in his/her own way. Recall how difficult such travel must have been, with balky horses, coaches with rough wheels, rutted paths or none at all, and severe weather that could spring out of nowhere. In Liszt’s more extrovert sections you really can “hear the weather.” But as with all good program music, as Liszt himself said, he sought to portray interior states of mind, rather than depict actual scenes. Here, Mr. Nickell’s penchant for exaggeration did get the best of him, causing this listener to lose the metaphysical aspect of the piece amid the rambunctious sections. The work needs to progress from spiritual dejection to triumph without sounding hectic. Again, his technique needs to be honed, though I am forgiving when I hear momentary lapses in the pursuit of something greater. Mr. Nickell obviously identifies with the material greatly, and portions of it were quite thoughtful; it just needs some time to mature, to integrate all the aspects of this epic into one organic whole.

Don’t get me wrong: this is a big, big talent. I so admire his intellectual curiosity and his innovative programming.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Wa Concerts Series presents Virtuosity and Beyond in Review

Wa Concerts Series presents Virtuosity and Beyond in Review

Charles Neidich, Ayako Oshima, clarinet
Mariko Furukawa, piano
Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY
November 10, 2018

 

For a truly civilized evening in New York, you just can’t beat the Wa concert series, held in the intimate gallery space of the Tenri Cultural Institute in Greenwich Village, with Leschetizky’s Steinway, no less. For this outing, “Virtuosity and Beyond,” our host, the superlative clarinetist Charles Neidich, decried what he calls “empty virtuosity.” What he possesses is certainly not “empty”! He was joined for this concert by his wife, Ayako Oshima ,who also caters the thoughtful hors d’oeuvres, wine, and dinner that are served at each event, and the superb (and busy) collaborative pianist Mariko Furukawa.

It is a rare event when every single piece has not been heard “live” by a reviewer. I previously had known only the John Ireland Fantasy Sonata from a recording.

The concert opened with an early Penderecki work, the 3 Miniatures for clarinet and piano. If you are used to post-apocalyptic Penderecki, with foreboding and giant tragedy, these brief (but well-crafted) utterances will surprise you. They were perfectly captured by Mr. Neidich and Ms. Furukawa.

Mr. Neidich then turned his attention to a solo work by Shulamit Ran: Spirit, composed last year, in its New York premiere. His breath control is prodigious, so much so, that one forgets “body” and thinks only “spirit.”

Then came the Ireland, a gorgeous late-Romantic extended work in which songfulness (Ireland has five large volumes of art songs) predominates. Ms. Furukawa clarified the often thick textures beautifully, and Mr. Neidich provided what we now take for granted with him: perfection.

After intermission, Ms. Oshima played a work that was written for her, Le Maschere (another New York premiere) based on stock characters from the Italian commedia dell’arte, by Larry Alan Smith (who was present, explaining that he is Italian too, on his mother’s side). One heard the Zanni, Vecchi, Innamorati, and Capitani in brief vignettes full of character. Ms. Oshima’s breath control and her ability to taper even the highest notes to nothingness were awe-inspiring.

Then Mr. Neidich showed another facet of himself- that of composer, in presenting two of his own solo works in premieres: Firefly, and Icarus reborn (a world premiere), which depicts the over-confident rise and ultimate fall of the Greek legendary son.

The evening closed with Arthur Benjamin’s Le Tombeau de Ravel. This reminded me of the Parisian critic who, after the premiere of Ravel’s Le Tombeau de Couperin stated acidly: “Yes, the Tombeau de Couperin by Ravel is beautiful, but how much more beautiful would be a Tombeau de Ravel by Couperin!” The Benjamin work, composed a dozen years after Ravel’s death, is a gentle pastiche of many gestures typically seen in Ravel, notably waltz rhythms. It was a delicious close to a wonderful, thoughtful program.

Mr. Neidich offered two encores: Ravel’s Pièce en forme de habanera (which began life as a vocalise), and a wild, fast rondo that I did not know, that left him and the audience breathless, which he announced by saying that the concert indeed needed some “empty virtuosity.”

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Golden Classical Music Awards presents Winners Concert in Review

Golden Classical Music Awards presents Winners Concert in Review

Hyejin Lee, violin
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York
November 2, 2018

 

Violinist Hyejin Lee appeared on a marathon concert of competition winners. Ms. Lee was born in South Korea where she began her musical studies at age 10. She received her bachelor’s degree from Chungang University , her master’s degree at the University of Cincinnati, and her doctoral degree in violin performance at the University of North Texas. She chose the first movement of Prokofiev’s little-known Sonata for solo violin in D major, Op. 115. Few know that it was originally intended for an entire class of violinists, as many as twenty, playing in unison (traditional in Russian pedagogy of the time), and what a ruckus that would have made.

It would be rash as well as impossible to assess someone’s talent on the basis of only four minutes of playing. However, I can report that Ms. Lee gave a confident reading of the work, strong in rhythm, though lacking sufficient dynamic contrast. The sharpness of accentuation that gives Prokofiev’s music its sardonic bite was also downplayed. The movement has two contrasting theme areas: the first, a sort of rough village dance, the second, a lyrical song. These two could have been delineated with greater character, nevertheless her poise was admirable, after waiting nearly two hours backstage.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
New York Public Library for the Performing Arts presents Joanne Chang in Review

New York Public Library for the Performing Arts presents Joanne Chang in Review

When East Meets West in New York City: 20th Century Western and 21st Century American Eastern Music
Joanne Chang, piano
Bruno Walter Auditorium, New York, NY
Thursday, November 1, 2018, 6 PM

 

You know you’re at an original recital when a Schubert/Liszt transcription and Debussy’s Suite bergamasque are the outliers. Joanne Chang had the inspired idea of presenting works from a variety of contemporary and/or less-often heard sources, with two of them composed specially for her. The range of nationalities in the unusual repertoire was vast: Syrian/American, Chinese/American, Taiwanese/American, Cuban/Spanish, Afro/Cuban, and African/American. It was in the contemporary works that Ms. Chang was most successful.

The center and heart of her program was a beautiful performance of three of Kareem Roustom’s five Aleppo Songs (How Beautiful the Light of the Rising Sun, Antiochian Hymn, Oh People, Leave me to my Sorrows ), a memorial to a once-vibrant city now nearly completely destroyed by civil war (It was not, as announced, a New York premiere, which was on Nov. 8, 2017). Ms. Chang’s sonorities were crystalline and perfectly gauged, and her expressive involvement with the music was obvious and deep. The first song, How Beautiful the Light of the Rising Sun was stunning.

This was followed by two works written for Ms. Chang, in their NY premieres. Man Fang’s Drunk in the shade of blossoms, inspired by a twelfth century Chinese female poet, set as a piano solo by a female composer. We need more representations like this to equalize the rather dominant male sector in classical music. This work had a beautiful central contrapuntal section that started with one voice, adding imitative voices to reach a quasi-fugal texture that was as austerely expressive as any by Bach. Ms. Chang was in her element, with the widest possible range of piano sonorities.

Ms. Chang then turned to Hsin-Jung Tsai’s Sutra of Emptiness, based on the composer’s (again female) practice of Buddhism. The work requires many types of technique, including “nontraditional” inside-the-piano playing, working with resonances of silently held notes, and “traditional” in the form of repeated notes, which Ms. Chang dispatched with complete confidence, never losing expression in the process. The work is cyclic, that is, material heard at the beginning recurs at the end, a formal procedure that greatly assists any listener who may feel “lost” in contemporary music. This work stood out from the rest in my mind.

The recital had opened with the Schubert/Liszt Gretchen am Spinnrade transcription, which seemed a strange choice to me, but was well-played. Debussy’s Suite bergamasque abounded in all manner of un-French rubato and draggy tempos that robbed the music of its eloquence (yes, even in early Debussy restraint is preferable). The pianissimi were not soft enough, and I wondered why Ms. Chang was not using the una corda pedal more. If there was any quibble about Ms. Chang’s playing, it was that she misjudged her forte dynamics in the extremely small hall that is Bruno Walter on a nine-foot concert grand. However, she played gorgeously soft passages in the contemporary works.

The recital closed with two groups. First, three of Ernesto Lecuona’s Spanish or Afro-Cuban inspired dances: Malagueña, Y la negra bailaba!, and Danza Lucumi. Once relegated to the salon, Lecuona’s music is taken much more seriously these days, with pioneering sets of his piano music on record. Ms. Chang played Y la negra bailaba! with nice lilt, but the other two pieces were stentorian. Malagueña, though it has many fff indications, also has many piano dynamics, and slurs, which Ms. Chang ignored for the most part. I didn’t detect much of the Lucumi (an Afro-Cuban ethnicity descended from the Yoruba who practice the Santeria religion) in the dance named for them.

Ms. Chang then finished the satisfying evening with a true rarity, two rags, The Thriller and Dusty, by a female ragtime composer, May Aufderheide. They were performed with enthusiasm, but too fast, ignoring Scott Joplin’s advice “Never play ragtime too fast.” Aufderheide herself made piano rolls of her own works, which are elegant.

I salute Ms. Chang for her adventurous programming, and hope that she continues in this way.

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Key Pianists presents Norman Krieger in Review

Key Pianists presents Norman Krieger in Review

Norman Krieger, piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
Wednesday, October 17, 2018, 8PM

 

The fourth season of the wonderful Key Pianists series opened on Wednesday, October 17th with a majestic recital by the American pianist Norman Krieger. Key Pianists has a mission of presenting lesser-known pianists, often stellar in quality, who may not “fit” into the established “star” system.

Mr. Krieger has everything: technique (of course, one assumes), but one that never calls attention to itself, only to the musical ideas- a truly admirable virtue. He has the thundering fortes (but never harsh, surely the inheritance of his former teacher Adele Marcus) and the breathtaking, whispering piano dynamics, along with everything in between. He has the intellectual probity of another of his mentors, Alfred Brendel. His phrasing is generous, and his elasticity always in proportion. He presents the ideal combination of respect for the score, along with a fusion of the composers’ emotional message without sacrificing the performer’s own passion and point of view.

I can always tell by the first two or three notes if I am going to be comfortable in a recital and really enjoy the pianist. Thus, when the opening arpeggio of the first work of the evening, Beethoven’s Sonata Op. 31, No. 2, often referred to as “The Tempest,” was played with absolute perfection, followed by meticulous portamenti, ascending the triad, I was set at ease. The alternation of stormy fast outbursts with the mysteries of the way the arpeggiation is developed were balanced and exciting. I have never heard a more thrilling rendition of the pedaled recitativo sections, which caused me to hold my breath until they were over. The middle movement, Adagio, sang and consoled with evocations of muffled timpani and horns, and the final Allegretto was not rushed, without losing any propulsion or demonic subtext.

Mr. Krieger then had the inspired idea of presenting two sets of preludes by relatively unknown composers. I had never heard a note of Henri Lazarof performed live, only on recordings, and Michael Fine was new to me. The prelude as a free-standing genre piece (not the introduction to something else) has benefited many composers for its concise expression: Chopin, Debussy, Fauré, Rachmaninoff, to name but a few. Mr. Krieger prefaced the performances with well-chosen verbal commentary. In the case of Lazarof, a Bulgarian-born composer who finished his life in the United States, he mentioned correspondences between modern visual art and the late-Romantic and even sometimes twelve-tone language of Lazarof. The three preludes (from a larger set of twelve) were redolent with finely gauged attention to color. Fine, an American-born composer who now resides in Europe, created preludes that are more aphoristic, containing more than a bit of Copland-esque typically “American” atmosphere, something Mr. Krieger said we needed now “more than ever.” His delicacy and wit in these miniatures was delightful.

Mr. Krieger finished the first half with three brief but difficult works by Chopin. First, Chopin’s very first nocturne, the B- flat minor, Op. 9, No. 1, whose debt to Bellini-style cantabile is apparent from the first measure. Once again, Krieger rose to the poetic demands with wonderful variation of the many repeated passages. He followed with two of the etudes, Op. 25, No. 1 in A-flat major and Op. 10, No. 12 in C minor. I have heard the A-flat (sometimes called the “Aeolian Harp”) played with greater delicacy, but rarely greater evenness. Then he gave a truly masterful “no-nonsense” reading of the great C minor (“Revolutionary”) that masked just how difficult it is, so great was his command.

After intermission, just one work dominated: the enormous four-movement Brahms Sonata No. 1 in C major, his Opus 1. This work strains against the boundaries of what a solo piano can do, often sounding like an orchestra. It also contains a nightmarish compendium of technical, musical, and balance problems for the interpreter—we were in good hands however. What amazed me most was Mr. Krieger’s ability within a fast, loud, and propulsive movement (of which there are three in this work) to find oases of great calm and yearning. This allowed me to appreciate how, for a work in a major key, Brahms loves to stray and dwell in the minor mode, typical of his Romantic-era unfulfilled longing. In the second movement, Mr. Krieger captured the sound of the German Männerchor, with its solo call and choral response, through atmospheric pedaling. The exacting leaps of the final two movements posed no apparent problems for Mr. Krieger, as he accelerated to the thrilling conclusion, and rose from the bench with one last release of all that energy.

The audience rose too, as one, and was favored with one encore: Gershwin’s Prelude No. 2, a masterclass on the “art of artlessness” by Mr. Krieger.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Carnegie Hall presents Sphinx Virtuosi “Music Without Borders” in Review

Carnegie Hall presents Sphinx Virtuosi “Music Without Borders” in Review

Sphinx Virtuosi: Alex Laing, clarinet; Annelle K. Gregory, violin; Sterling Elliott,Thomas Mesa, cello; Damien Sneed, John Boonenberg, piano; Olman Piedra, Andre Dowell, percussion
EXIGENCE (vocal ensemble), Eugene Rogers, Conductor
Carnegie Hall, Stern Auditorium, New York, NY
October 11, 2018

 

One of the most satisfying evenings of music of the season thus far was provided by the Detroit-based Sphinx Virtuosi, a conductorless string orchestra formed of the finest Black and Latinx musicians selected through nationwide competition. I have reviewed Sphinx previously in these pages (2016) and have always been impressed not only by the mission statement of excellence in the arts through diversity, but by the sheer passion and quality of the players.

The concert began with Syrian-American composer Kareem Roustom’s Dabke, the third movement of A Voice Exclaiming. The dabke is a folk dance common to Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, usually done at celebrations like weddings, though it may have even earlier origins as a work-dance. Despite the celebratory origin, did I detect a subtext having more to do with sorrow in this work?

Shostakovich’s Chamber Symphony (Op. 110a) was next, a transcription by Rudolph Barshai of Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8 (1960). It begins with the D-S-C-H name motto, which is obsessively developed throughout the work. There is a lot of foreboding to choose from in Shostakovich’s output, but this piece is truly harrowing, as well as autobiographical. It contains the Jewish folk tune he used in the last movement of his mature Piano Trio (dedicated to his dead friend, musicologist I. I. Sollertinsky), sung by prisoners as they waited to be gunned down row by row, then bulldozed into a mass grave during WWII. The work also contains typically sarcastic versions of skittish dance music, the terrifying knocks on the door by the secret police, and numerous quotations from his previous works, including the opera that got him in so much trouble in 1936, Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. Shostakovich himself stated that he wanted to dedicate the work (the Quartet, that is) as a requiem to himself, since no one else would dedicate one after his death. His shame at buckling and accepting membership in the Communist party was partly responsible. This may be the finest rendition of the work that I have ever heard, including both quartet and string orchestra versions. It brooded, simmered, and raged with staggering intensity. My head is still reeling.

The very fine young cellist Sterling Elliott then played two movements from Cassadó’s Suite for Solo Cello with perfect intonation, style, and total involvement.

Terence Blanchard, American jazz trumpeter and composer, wrote his Dance for a New Day, a co-commission with Carnegie Hall, in view of the chaotic state of current events. It is really a small concerto for violin and cello, with intricate rhythmic writing for both soloists, passionately played by Annelle K. Gregory, violin, and Thomas Mesa, cello. Despite the chaos, the work itself seems more optimistic, a message that was shared by most of the contemporary works on the program.

Then came the unveiling of a new element of the Sphinx family: EXIGENCE, a vocal ensemble founded and conducted by Eugene Rogers. They premiered (NY premiere) a vision unfolding by Derrick Spiva, Jr. its text, also by Mr. Spiva, is about never giving up no matter how strongly one is oppressed. The choral effects were managed beautifully, with excellent solo contributions from choir members.

They followed this with Joel Thompson’s Caged Bird, a reference to Maya Angelou, another plea for freedom, with an effective clarinet solo part that was almost inaudible when the choir was singing full throttle. Ndikhokhele Bawo (Lead me, oh Father), a South African traditional anthem with words very similar to Psalm 23, was gorgeous. The built-in encore was Glory, from the movie Selma, composed by John Legend with words by Common and Rhymefest. It spoke for itself, and also for the triumph that is Sphinx: “The glory is us.”

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Korean American National Coordinating Council presents Ureuk Symphony Orchestra

Korean American National Coordinating Council presents Ureuk Symphony Orchestra

Ureuk Symphony Orchestra
Christopher Joonmoo Lee (Ri Jun Mu), conductor
Anna Takeda, violin
Merkin Hall at Kaufmann Music Center, New York, NY
October 6, 2018

 

Ureuk was a legendary musician of Korean antiquity (sixth century) who invented the kayakum (transliterations vary widely, including kayagum, kayakeum, kayago, gayakum and gayageum), a kind of zither with twelve silk strings, a cousin of the Japanese koto and Chinese guzhen, which made a brief appearance in this concert. I was assigned to review only one concerto—the concert also included Beethoven’s Egmont overture, Op. 84, and Bizet’s Symphony in C, and a concerto for kayakum titled Ong Hye-ya by Han Choi.

The Ureuk Symphony is not a fixed body of musicians, but a collection of students from the three leading New York conservatories, plus a handful of area freelancers. Perhaps this accounted for the balance problems that occurred every time the brass and tympani played, nearly drowning out everything else. I will concede that Merkin Hall is truly not an ideal space for an orchestra anyway.

The concerto was Mendelssohn’s “evergreen” violin concerto in E minor, Op. 64, with Anna Takeda as soloist. This work is so ubiquitous that it becomes easy to overlook its radical features: no opening orchestral tutti exposition before the solo entry, the cadenza at the end of the development section serving as a lead-in to the recapitulation, and all three movements played attaca. A great number of interpretive styles are possible, and Ms. Takeda gave a sweet-toned, elegant, always polished rendition that worked well. I could have wished for more fire at times, but she was always convincing, and in fact, did begin to open up in the fiendishly busy final movement. Her intonation and virtuosity were immaculate in what was an excellent performance.

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) Artist Series presents The Music of Dinos Constantinides in Review

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) Artist Series presents The Music of Dinos Constantinides in Review

Froso Ktistaki, Louis Wendt, piano; Athanasios Zervas, soprano and alto saxophone; Dionisios Roussos, alto saxophone; Leo Saguiguit, tenor saxophone; Eric Honour, baritone saxophone; McKenzie Miller, soprano; Leanne Clement, mezzo-soprano; André Chaing, baritone
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 8, 2018

 

I have reviewed Mr. Constantinides twice previously in these pages (2015 and 2016), and I am inclined favorably to his music, which displays a truly original point of view and lots of personality, with rewarding stretches of yearning neo-Romantic melody, and helpings of Greek folksong and other monophonic melodies, such as Gregorian chant fragments and/or even ancient Greek fragments of notated music (such as they are understood). It is rhythmically interesting and, at least for the piano, the sonorities are pleasing to the ear.

A forty-minute selection of solo piano works opened the concert, played by the wonderful Froso Ktistaki, who has a great ear for piano sound, a large imagination, and an obvious commitment to and involvement with this composer and his language. Her playing was lovely, particularly in the Reflections IX, a mournful remembrance of a departed rescue cat, Tiger, who belonged to the composer. Theme and Variations, based on a Greek folk tune, was a collection of brief responses or “ruminations” on the original tune. The Heavens Are Telling, a transcription of an organ and voice work, would never be mistaken for Haydn’s joyful paean in The Creation, but Mr. Constantinides’ has its place too, with the second repeat of the “B” section ravishing in Ms. Ktistaki’s hands. The Suite for a Young Man was an often-humorous “musical biography” of coming-of-age, including the longed-for yet dreaded and awkward first kiss. The work reminded me in a strange way of a smaller version of the huge Grande sonate: Les quatre âges by Alkan that depicts a man at the ages of 20, 30, 40, and 50.

Alto Saxophonist Athanasios Zervas brought his wonderful control into play with the Midnight Fantasy II, redolent with clusters adorning the skeleton of a Nat King Cole song, not quoted literally of course, rather stylistically evoked. Ms. Ktistaki was the perfect partner in this work.

After intermission, the Athens Saxophone Quartet (Athanasios Zervas, Dionisios Roussos, Leo Saguiguit, and Eric Honour) took the stage to “speak to each other,” one, two, three, and four at a time in the aphoristic “-logues” (pro-, tetra-, mono-, and epi-). Their massed sound was very orchestral, their virtuosic coordination impeccable.

Unfortunately, for me, the weakest work of the evening came last: Rosanna (and Angelina, in David Madden’s original 1989 libretto), a “one-act opera,” which is an inaccurate billing indeed. It seems more like a sketch for something that could be an opera someday. The subject matter certainly has verismo “cred”: two friends, two dead children, love gone wrong, jealousy, and gossip. Mr. Constantinides, however, has allotted most of the true action to a village priest narrator who sings (and speaks)that action in a great clump right at the beginning, leaving not much room for anything to happen. This was a piano-accompanied concert version, with the singers (McKenzie Miller, soprano, Leanne Clement, mezzo-soprano, André Chaing, baritone) inexplicably arrayed behind the piano, which made their sound less immediate and their language often unintelligible. Mr. Constantinides conducted the able pianist, Louis Wendt, who could have just as easily played his interesting music without a conductor. The strongest of the three soloists was Mr. Chiang, whose diction was clear and whose sonority was appropriate. Ms. Miller and Ms. Clement suffered from the aforementioned lack of clear language, which was interesting to me because when the soprano/mezzo-soprano had a few lines to speak instead of sing, everything was crystal clear. Singers: you can make a beautiful, focused sonority that will not overwhelm your consonants if you remember to place the voice forward and hang the consonants on the front of the tone. The composer’s soaring lines for the soprano and mezzo-soprano did not help this issue, nor did the vocal range, which was all over the map for both, creating either pronounced wobble or shrill tones. They were, however, obviously emotionally committed to what they were singing. There were also two uncredited “assistants” seated on the stage, who delivered only spoken commentary. The music itself contained many good moments of interesting harmony, reflecting the emotions of the story, but it meandered too much, it lacked contrast, and the pacing was “off.” None of this deterred the enthusiastic supporters of Mr. Constantinides, who stood unanimously at the end.

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Wa Concerts presents John Harbison and Joan Tower Birthday Celebration: The enchantment of folklore in Review

Wa Concerts presents John Harbison and Joan Tower Birthday Celebration: The enchantment of folklore in Review

Charles Neidich and Ayako Oshima, clarinet; Sally Chisholm, viola; Mohamed Shams, piano
Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY
September 29, 2018

 

The third series of “Wa” concerts opened on Saturday with customary excellence from the superb curator, clarinetist Charles Neidich and his collaborators Ayako Oshima (clarinet), Sally Chisholm (viola), and Mohamed Shams (piano). The intimacy of the Tenri space is really part of the success of these concerts, bringing chamber music back to “the chamber” as it were, surrounded by visual art as well. Besides the double birthday celebration, a sub-theme was the influence of folk music on classical “art” music, whether be from itinerant outdoor players, indigenous/religious cultures, or popular song.

 

On this occasion we were treated not only to the delicious symphony of food and drink prepared lovingly by his wife Ayako Oshima, but also to her deliciously elegant and appropriately humorous clarinet playing in the opening trios (six of the thirteen, Op. 47) by Franz Krommer, a Bohemian composer born three years after Mozart, whose lifespan outlasted those of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert. No one is going to mistake Krommer for one of those immortals, but in the hands of such stylish virtuosi (along with energetic viola playing by Sally Chisholm), the best possible case was made for these pieces, described by Mr. Neidich as “street music” transformed and sublimated into Austro-Hungarian elegance.

 

Joan Tower and John Harbison both turn 80 this year. Ms. Tower was seated one chair away from me, and she does NOT seem 80, whatever that is supposed to be. She is gregarious, humorous, and of course whip-smart and talented. She introduced her fiendishly difficult clarinet solo Wings (originally titled Panthers, then Falcons, and finally Wings) by acknowledging how important the instrument has been to her for her entire career—that it “can do anything.” And boy did it do everything, in Mr. Neidich’s stunning portrayal. His ascents into the stratospheric regions of the instrument were all the more exciting preceded by the mellow low registers, every note true and melodious, somehow amid the encyclopedia of treacherous pitfalls for the player.

 

After this workout, no ambulance had to be summoned. Instead Mr. Neidich plunged right into Harbison’s The 9 Rasas, for clarinet, viola, and piano, a 2016 work in its New York premiere. Harbison could not be present due to work on a viola sonata for this evening’s violist, Ms. Chisholm. Harbison relates: “It interested me especially that the Rasas were conceived as juices, essences, tastes . . . In my quest to write music of diverse musical characters, and as part of a continuing wayward interest in Hindu culture, I knew even before studying the concept of the Nine Rasas that I would write a piece with that title. I approach such a piece with no intention of a touristic borrowing from the musical speech of that culture, but rather with the pleasure of seizing a musical opportunity. . . According to the Rasa theory of the Natya Shastra, entertainment is a desired effect of performance arts but not the primary goal. The primary goal is to transport the individual in the audience into another parallel reality, full of wonder and bliss, where he experiences the essence of his own consciousness, and reflects on spiritual and moral questions.” And that’s exactly what happened, with faultless unisons between clarinet and viola (always difficult to tune) and perfect ensemble with piano. And may I say, Mr. Shams is fast becoming one of my favorite collaborative chamber pianists in the New York area. His energy, sonority, and humor are seemingly infinite.

 

After intermission, Joan Tower’s music was again heard, this time the 1983 Fantasy (. . . those harbor lights), which contains an un-obvious programmatic reference to a difficult farewell to a romantic partner when she was sixteen, and the popular song that was playing at the time (originally written in 1937, published in 1950, and covered by such notables as Elvis Presley and The Platters). How indelible the sense of hearing can be! The work, for clarinet and piano, depicts (but not slavishly) the twinkling of lights over water, the rocking back and forth of ships, and of course the emotional intensity of the two lovers. It was a highlight of the evening for me, and the performance was preceded by just a few bars of the original song played by Mr. Shams alone. As Mr. Neidich noted, if you were counting on hearing a snippet of the song quoted literally, you were out of luck—transformation of materials at its most rigorous, yet enjoyable.

 

Mr. Shams then played the brief, claveciniste-inspired Minuet (for Joan Tower) by Harbison, the perfect inter-composer tribute, with clarity amid the trills and the modern tonal vocabulary, a sort of “Couperin seen through a fun-house mirror.”

 

The concert concluded with real Gallic “impudence” in the form of Jean Françaix’ antic Trio for clarinet, viola, and piano, brilliantly rendered by these top-of-the-line players. It roared and danced and still had time for crystalline, typically “French” sound. Bravi to all!

 

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by Frank Daykin  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Fryderyk Chopin Society of Texas presents Konrad Binienda in Review

Fryderyk Chopin Society of Texas presents Konrad Binienda in Review

Winners of the 25th (2017) International Chopin Piano Competition
Konrad Binienda, piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall. New York, NY
September 17, 2018

 

The Fryderyk Chopin Society of Texas, based in Corpus Christi, serves as a valuable reminder that not all the piano action in that state is at the Cliburn competition in Fort Worth. The September 17th jumbo double-recital was so generous that two reviewers from this publication were assigned, one to each principal pianist. I will write about Konrad Binienda -my colleague Rorianne Schrade will write about Dzmitry Ulasiuk. Plus, there was an “appetizer” of sorts, the young Jan Godek, who, at the outset, played two mazurkas by contemporary Polish composer Wojciech Klar.

Mr. Binienda has the qualities I value in a pianist: a beautiful sound, a thoughtful approach (meaning every note, phrase, and movement are thought through) which also has plenty of room for feeling, original interpretive ideas, good rhythm, a personal, poetic lyrical sense, and what I like to call emotion “in the tone” itself. He is willing to take risks when the emotional heat rises, sometimes resulting in a performance which is (thank goodness!) not note-perfect, but always convincing, and very moving. His rubato, that “secret” of the early romantics, is perfection itself.

Mr. Binienda began with two preludes by the Akron (OH) pianist/composer, Pat Pace (1931-2006). He went to Juilliard on a full scholarship, but gravitated to the world of jazz and big band. His personal life was full of drama and misfortune, but he recovered and lived a long productive life. The two preludes (Improvisations and Samba) were rendered with beautiful tone and sensitivity to the idiom.

Mr. Binienda then followed with Beethoven’s Sonata No. 17 in D Minor, Op. 31, No. 2, nicknamed “Tempest.” This was a romanticist’s Beethoven, not a classicist’s, but full of feeling. It led to my only negative observation about Mr. Binienda’s entire evening: the third movement, Allegretto, was too fast for my taste, leading to a panicked affect. When reined in just a bit, it gains an obsessive quality that can be equally convincing.

Mr. Binienda then played one of his specialties, Chopin’s rarely performed “concerto without orchestra,” the Allegro de Concert, Op. 46, a genre in vogue in the nineteenth century—Schumann and Alkan also contributed mighty examples. After all, logistically for the performer, it is a lot easier to secure just one instrument, the piano, than an entire orchestra. The main challenge is to differentiate between the massed sounds of the parts imitating an orchestra, and the glittery, more conventional solo-piano passages, and then to be able to combine the two. Mr. Binienda rose to these challenges. When necessary, Mr. Binienda gave the illusion of a full orchestra, yet his filigree work in the difficult piano solo sections was full of charm and the requisite fleet virtuosity, always transparent, with great natural breathing. Mr. Binienda has, I believe, written a thesis on orchestrating the work, though I think that would be a shame (it has been attempted by a few others). It’s supposed to be the piano all by itself, although a comment by Schumann and a letter from Chopin to his publisher in 1841 (the year of the Allegro) have led many to think that it might have been the first movement of a projected third piano concerto.

Mr. Binienda followed that with Chopin’s Sonata No. 3 in B Minor, Op. 58, the first movement of which held together very well. It is often tempting to succumb to “local charms” and make it too fussy, but he did not. In fact, I dare say Konrad Binienda speaks the language of Chopin’s music without any foreign accent—what a pleasure to hear. The middle section of the gossamer scherzo was breathtaking in its poignancy. Mr. Binienda has a way with the little “farewell” moments near the end of movements (not even codas really), and the third movement showed that gorgeously. The finale was properly played presto non tanto, as indicated, and gained in majesty and power from it. Cortot used to say contemptuously that that movement was “the parade ground of the virtuoso,” but how proud he would have been of Mr. Binienda, whose combination of technical ability and poetic sensitivity is ideal.

He favored the enthusiastic (actually sold-out) crowd with an “orchestral” reading of Chopin’s famous A-flat Polonaise, Op. 53, which in his hands regained its heroic national feeling (and also had killer octaves!).

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