Rorianne Schrade | New York Concert Review, Inc.

The International Violin Competition of Indianapolis Presents Jinjoo Cho, Violin, in Review

The International Violin Competition of Indianapolis Presents Jinjoo Cho

Jinjoo Cho, violin; Hyun Soo Kim, piano

Stern Auditorium/Perelman Stage at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

June 9, 2016

Violinist Jinjoo Cho is a discovery. Well, to be fair, she was discovered as 2014 Gold Medalist at the International Violin Competition of Indianapolis, one of the most prestigious violin competitions in the world – and before that, at the 2006 Montreal International Music Competition (winning at age 17), and at quite a few other venues worldwide. I had not heard her though, and despite being spoiled from decades of hearing great violin playing (from over a century if one counts recordings), I was completely won over. Ms. Cho has it all – brilliant technique, musicality, passion, intelligence, flair, and an engaging stage presence. It is always exciting to hear an important debut at Carnegie Hall, but when a young performer “knocks one out of the park” as they say, it is simply electrifying. Her excellent collaborator, Hyun Soo Kim, deserves high praise as well.

First off, the recital gets high marks for programming. Ms. Cho demonstrated her commitment to living composers by featuring (along with well-loved works by Robert Schumann, Clara Schumann, and Franz Waxman) solo works by Joan Tower (b. 1938) and Ellen Taaffe Zwilich (b. 1939) – both present to take a bow – as well as the formidable Sonata for Violin and Piano by John Corigliano (b. 1938). Mr. Corigliano may or may not have been present, but one hopes he will hear a recording of this duo’s sensational rendition of his work.

Fittingly, Ms. Cho opened her entire program with Joan Tower’s String Force, commissioned by the International Violin Competition of Indianapolis as the compulsory work for the sixteen semifinalists in their 2010 competition and dedicated to the contest’s director Jaime Laredo. It is an all-out exploration of the power of a single string instrument, sometimes reminiscent of Bach’s great D minor Chaconne in idiom but in an overall twentieth-century, sometimes Bartókian, language. It was a great introduction to this young violinist, who needs no accompaniment to keep her audience riveted – and needed no score either, a powerful statement of commitment that stands out from the usual.

Musicians often fall into niches, whether modern, “early”, neo-Romantic, etc., so somehow Ms. Cho’s program emphasis on contemporary composers did not prepare me for her exceptional Schumann performances that followed. One might peg her as a Romantic solely on the basis of them, if one had not just witnessed her mastery of much newer fare. First came the Three Romances for Violin and Piano, Op. 22 by Clara Schumann, played with devotion and beautifully sensitive phrasing. Next was Robert Schumann’s Sonata in D minor, Op. 121 (reviewed in another violinist’s recital less than two weeks ago), also superb. With the easy flow that is possible only when the technical elements have become effortless, the piece soared. Especially refreshing was Ms. Cho’s grasp of its sprawling shape and maintaining of momentum accordingly. The old saying, “If everything is important, nothing is important,” is key in interpreting this work, but Ms. Cho knew how to prioritize. One mishap with the violin (a peg slipping?) necessitated a complete halt to the first movement to retune, an unnerving occurrence at a debut, but both musicians appeared unfazed. Mr. Kim fared admirably, though one did want to feel more from him through much of the Schumann Sonata. For this listener there was occasionally too much the sound of “accompaniment” rather than full collaboration. This is not a matter of tonal balance, but more a matter of musical presence; that changed, however, as the evening progressed. Incidentally, the piano lid was up on the full stick – as I wish were more common occurrence – and it never overwhelmed the violin. Skillful pianists know how to cope with the full stick, and Mr. Kim is one of them.

Ellen Taaffe Zwilich’s Fantasy for Solo Violin opened the second half. Another tour de force for the soloist, this work presents the full gamut technical challenges (like the Tower work) but has more of an extroverted “Americana” feel to it, with a freewheeling, fiddler’s feel at times. It suited Ms. Cho to a tee. As a side note, if one were not paying attention to its date of composition (2014), one might think one was reading the program notes twice, because this, like the Tower piece, was commissioned by the International Violin Competition of Indianapolis as the compulsory work for the sixteen semifinalists, and was also dedicated to Jaime Laredo, with the same sponsor. As Ms. Cho studied with Jaime Laredo (among other teachers) it seemed fitting to showcase both pieces, although it was very generous considering the demands on the violinist’s stamina. It was also played from memory.

Speaking of stamina, Ms. Cho’s was mind-boggling. The Corigliano Sonata followed. This Sonata is an established part of the violin repertoire by now, having been composed in 1963, but Cho’s energetic performance made it brand new for this listener. For full disclosure, to say I love this piece would be an understatement – I am completely smitten by it – but Ms. Cho captured its fire and lyricism especially wonderfully. Special kudos here must go to the pianist, Hyun Soo Kim, who was the partner extraordinaire, handling fistfuls of notes at lightning speed and dovetailing perfectly even through some devilishly tricky ensemble challenges.

One could have easily ended the recital here, but the showy Waxman Carmen Fantasie finished things off with a flourish. Calls of “brava” (including my own) were met with two Gershwin-Heifetz encores, “Summertime” and “It Ain’t Necessarily So.” Frankly, these seemed a bit rushed – I’d rather hear one played deliciously than two crammed in – but to avoid that special place in purgatory for nitpicking reviewers, one can chalk it up to the impatience of youth.

As a postscript, anyone in the music world could not miss the debates over “fairness” in the Indianapolis jury’s 2014 decision (an issue endemic to music contests, but well-addressed by this contest’s administration). Speaking only about the debut, what I heard showed preternatural gifts, phenomenal stamina, and passionate commitment; to possess all of these may indeed be unfair (apart from the hard work), but evidently the disgruntled will need to take their complaints up with a higher power. Seriously, one is thankful that Ms. Cho has risen above it all to do great things – may she rise farther!

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Bargemusic Presents Masterworks Series: Vera Vaidman and Emanuel Krasovsky in Review

Vera Vaidman, Violin, and Emanuel Krasovsky, Piano

Bargemusic, Brooklyn, NY

May 29, 2016

Just one day after pianist Emanuel Krasovsky performed a demanding solo recital at Bargemusic, he performed again in collaboration with violinist Vera Vaidman in a program that might be called equally rigorous (if one could quantify artistic demands). One cannot measure such things, of course, but suffice it to say that the double-header weekend was a large undertaking for any musician.

As an explanatory note, there are those who might view the second program (the duo recital) as less demanding for the pianist compared to the solo piano program. Doesn’t the second recital become easier, one might ask, with the use of a printed score, and doesn’t another performer lighten one’s responsibility? Yes, regarding memory, but overall no. Each player gives ideally more than one hundred percent, so there is never any “break.” Furthermore, performing with a close associate can intensify one’s stress through sheer empathy. Lastly, in much of the repertoire performed in this particular recital, an enormous responsibility falls to the pianist, who takes on much of the harmonic, rhythmic, and dynamic foundation, the momentum, and frequently melodic roles as well. Therefore, despite showcasing the prodigious gifts of violinist Vera Vaidman, pupil of David Oistrakh and soloist of countless superb credentials, it was not “merely” a violin recital. Large works of Schumann and Fauré alternated with challenging ones of Mozart, and so playing them all on the heels of a large solo concert was indeed a formidable undertaking for Mr. Krasovsky.

The opening work on the Vaidman-Krasovsky program, Mozart’s Sonata in E-flat Major, K. 302, was a bright and brisk choice to open on and was well handled. Again, at the risk of sounding piano-centric, this listener has heard K. 302 (and other sonatas) played much too often by violinists completely enamored of their own tone during relative accompaniments, to the exclusion of everything in the piano part. This was thankfully not the case with the Vaidman-Krasovsky duo, but there were a few moments where it seemed the violin overwhelmed the piano in less than soloistic material. There was the right conversational fluency in tossing themes back and forth, but sometimes some tonal imbalances undercut the sense of a completely unified conception. Balance can be affected by anything from positioning onstage to venue, from the condition of respective instruments to how warmed up each player is. Mr. Krasovsky seemed rather comfortable from the outset – naturally enough, considering he had just finished his solo recital there hours earlier! – but he seemed to take a musical “back seat” a bit too often. Minor reservations aside, the duo gave a buoyant feeling overall to the Allegro opening movement, and the deeply moving Andante grazioso, one of this listener’s favorites, had a beautiful stately quality to it.

Schumann’s Sonata No. 2 in D Minor, Op. 121 occupied the rest of the first half. Possessing a soulfulness that belies its hasty composition in the sad late years of Schumann’s life, it is a tour de force for both players, and it found this duo in fine form. Ms. Vaidman came across as ideally suited to the impassioned repertoire of the Romantic period, and so it was good to hear her come into fuller and fuller bloom during this work and still more as the evening progressed. Incidentally in her biography it is mentioned that she recorded (and gave several premieres to) a violin version of Liszt’s Piano Sonata in B Minor, and so it is quite clear – regardless of what one thinks of such a transcription – that she is a fearless virtuosa!

The second half started with Mozart’s Variations in G minor on “Hélas, j’ai perdu mon amant” K. 360. It is a set of variations that David Oistrakh himself had performed, and it suited well Ms. Vaidman, who seems to share her late teacher’s virtues in matters of control and phrasing. There were momentary glitches ensemble-wise, but nothing that disrupted the worthy work that it is.

The bulk of the second half of the recital was devoted to Fauré’s Sonata No. 1 in A Major, Op. 13. An early work of the French composer, it is nonetheless a masterwork universally embraced (including by Fauré’s teacher Saint-Saëns), and it was in good hands on this occasion. Again, this listener wanted a bit more piano sound in the balance, as there seemed sometimes to be increasing intensity from the violin when one simply wanted more depths of texture; that said, Ms. Vaidman projected its long soaring lines well, with especially pure, sweet tones at peaks. The Allegro vivo was energetic and light, with exceptional staccato passagework from the pianist. A brilliant close from both players elicited hearty applause from a grateful audience, and a touching encore of Fauré’s Berceuse followed.

It was yet another rewarding concert at Bargemusic, an idyllic setting for such a concert on a Spring day. If the two concerts over the weekend were representative of the “Masterworks” series as a whole, then Bargemusic is offering cultural enrichment of great importance.

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Bargemusic Presents Masterworks Series: Emanuel Krasovsky in Review

Bargemusic Presents Masterworks Series: Emanuel Krasovsky

Emanuel Krasovsky, Piano

Bargemusic, Brooklyn, NY

May 28, 2016

Emanuel Krasovsky is a Lithuanian-born Israeli pianist whom one might call a musician’s musician. He has established a following of experienced music-lovers and musicians, and in some ways their high expectation for something beyond mere pianistic thrills can amount to a self-fulfilling prophecy. This is not to say that his audiences do the work for him (clearly not possible), but that the bated breath of those awaiting his magic does help welcome the music in, as it did this past Saturday at Bargemusic. Not a peep was heard from his audience during long stretches of calm pianissimos. In repertoire that can tax the untutored or impatient listener, Mr. Krasovsky’s deeply thoughtful interpretations held his avid listeners rapt through Schubert’s sprawling Sonata in B-flat (D. 960), the same composer’s Drei Klavierstücke (D. 946), and the first book of the somewhat elusive cycle On the Overgrown Path (Book I, JW VIII/17) by the Czech composer Leoš Janáček (1854-1928).

Mr. Krasovsky started with Janáček, whose musical gold has been increasingly mined in recent decades after relative neglect. Ten movements of On the Overgrown Path, an emotionally demanding group, established Mr. Krasovsky as an artist. He drew his listeners in gently with “Our Evenings” which was projected with an especially beautiful singing tone and flexibility of phrase. This listener found his style quite moving, as with the greats of the twentieth century as heard over a lifetime. All of the remaining nine movements measured up in terms of expressiveness, from the childlike innocence of “A Blown Away Leaf” and “Come with us!” to the mystical frissons of “The Madonna of Frydek” and frenetic energy of “They Chattered like Swallows.” Not even the occasional horn blast of boats could disrupt the spell (ah, the uniqueness of the floating concert hall!).

Janáček, as well as being a folklorist, was a colorist of a subtlety that still sometimes eludes pianists and listeners alike a century later. What impressed one especially about Mr. Krasovsky was his sensitivity to shading and his warmly balanced voicing, where there was always something new emerging from the musical textures. Some of Janáček’s folk-like (and hymn-like) writing can be treated in a two-dimensional way, but Mr. Krasovsky consistently plumbed the depths. Even in the cryptic closing piece, “The Barn Owl Has Not Flown Away,” he answered the tonal and emotional ambiguity with the inspired decision to follow directly into Schubert. The ensuing Drei Klavierstücke (D. 946), among the last compositions Schubert wrote (only published decades later by Brahms), were a perfect choice. Schubert’s overall symmetry and clarity made a perfect exit from the “overgrown path” and yet the kindred elements between Schubert and Janáček were also implicit. A program by pianist Jeremy Denk in recent years made a similar connection between Schubert and Janáček –– but this segue was striking in its own unique way.

If the title Drei Klavierstücke (not a title by Schubert himself) brings to mind some random miniatures, think again. Collectively longer than many of the same composer’s Sonatas (around twenty-five minutes), these three late pieces (written just months before the composer’s death) are large in scope, emotion, and pianistic challenges – sometimes akin to those of Schubert’s notoriously difficult Wanderer Fantasy. Mr. Krasovsky handled the challenges with expertise. Only occasionally did one notice a loss of tonal control as the technical demands mounted, but one headed to intermission musically fulfilled and with a sense of admiration for the pianist.

After intermission came Schubert’s great B-flat Sonata, again among the composer’s last works. This monumental first movement happened to coincide with the more active river tides, but despite some rocking of the barge the pianist kept things on an even keel (no pun intended). The divine slow movement had just the right tempo for this listener’s liking. Such slow pacing does invite some occasional glitches – but they are nearly negligible in such cases of inspired artistry. What was less negligible was some roughness in the third and fourth movements, not merely note-wise but in tone. As passages grow more challenging some sacrifices to tone quality may be inevitable – but one ideally wants as much care and attention to tone in rapid octave jumps as in tender sostenuto melodies. Mr. Krasovsky’s own playing sets a high bar, so this listener may be forgiven for wanting a level of polish that may be unrealistic in live performance!

As well as being a fine pianist with excellent credentials, Mr. Krasovsky has been a respected and beloved pedagogue for decades. Currently head of the piano department at Tel-Aviv University, he has also been a writer of articles on various musical subjects, a presenter of master classes, and a juror for many international competitions. It is not common, while wearing so many hats, to pull off such a hugely demanding solo recital, but the good news is that Mr. Krasovsky did just that with remarkable success. All in all, the evening was a musical revelation, and this listener will be back! Bravo!

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

The Consulate General of Argentina Presents Rosa Antonelli, Pianist in Review

Rosa Antonelli, Pianist: Alberto Ginastera Centennial Gala

The Consulate General of Argentina, New York, NY

May 18, 2016

The centennial of the birth of Argentine composer Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983) is no small occasion for the music world. It is fittingly capturing the attention of musicians and audiences worldwide in various ways, but in New York this past week, it was celebrated at the Consulate General of Argentina, in a recital by Argentine pianist Rosa Antonelli.

Ms. Antonelli’s performances, as listed in her biography, have taken her to distinguished venues across the globe, in many countries throughout Europe, Africa, Asia, Latin America, and North America, and frequently under sponsorship by government organizations. Her lovely, gracious demeanor and sense of commitment to her country’s music make her a natural for such a diplomatic venue.

Several dignitaries spoke addressing the occasion, but the most memorable speaker by far was the composer’s daughter, Georgina Ginastera, who spoke of her father’s note-by-note perfectionism, his sense of musical architecture, and the kinship between the Argentine landscape and the tonal evocations of the pampas, the desert, the oceans, the hot midday sun, and vibrant native malambo dancing. She also spoke of his free approach to teaching and how, when he was guiding Astor Piazzolla (1921-1992), also represented on the program, her father urged him to follow his natural inclinations, saying, “if you like tangos, write tangos.” We know from historic records that Nadia Boulanger had similar advice to Piazzolla, who grew restless with his native voice and sought more sophisticated genres, but a large debt of gratitude there clearly goes to Alberto Ginastera.

To start the music, Ms. Antonelli played Ginastera’s exquisite Idilio Crepuscular (“Romance at Twilight” from the ballet Estancia). With generous pedaling aiding the dreamy atmosphere, it started the evening with music of a love story – as Ms. Antonelli explained, “like Romeo and Juliet, but with a happy ending.” More of Ms. Antonelli’s gentle approach brought out the poignancy of the slow Triste and Vidala from the 12 Preludios Americanos. Homenaje a Roberto Garcia Morillo (also from the Preludios) kicked things up a notch, though with more restraint than one hears generally. The ending, notated as a ferocious fff, seemed a bit tame for this listener – whether this was out of concern for the stunning Steinway at hand or for the elegant milieu one could only guess, but it raised concern for the how the rest of the evening would go on with music by a composer of such uncompromising, sometimes savage, vibrancy and frankness.

Back to the lyricism, the program proceeded with Rondo Sobre Temas Infantiles, a nostalgic piece dedicated to Ginastera’s children and similar in language to some of the Villa-Lobos Prole do Bebê. It was played with sensitivity and charm. Three more selections from the Preludios Americanos followed, the gentle Pastoral, nicely shaded, the quiet tango-like Homenaje a Juan Jose Castro, also well rendered, and the rustic Danza Criolla, given an energetic reading.

Four Tangos by Astor Piazzolla followed and seemed a fitting tribute to Ginastera the teacher, who encouraged his composition students to follow their hearts. First came El Mundo de Los Dos, and it was preceded by a reading of melancholy lyrics written for it by Albino Gomez, writer, journalist, and Argentine diplomat. It was given a heartfelt musical interpretation by Ms. Antonelli, who brought out its desolation.

Three more famous tangos followed, including two from the Cuatro Estaciones Porteñas (“Four Seasons of Buenos Aires”), Verano Porteño (summer) and Invierno Porteño (winter), in addition to the effusive Libertango. All three of these have found their way into the concert hall in all manner of arrangements, some recapturing the original bandoneón ensemble and others branching out into cello duos, string quartets, orchestral versions, and more. Piano alone by comparison can seem lacking in color if one does not pull off some technical and tonal miracles, or at least vary the texture and dynamics in strategic ways. Stretches of repeating bass patterns under expansive melodies that in more sustaining instruments are atmospheric and seductive (as tangos invite), can sound arid and grey in solo piano versions. To Ms. Antonelli’s credit, the powerful undercurrent of tango rhythm was rarely sacrificed – a challenge in the Libertango where distribution of hands is awkward – yet one still longed for more of the focal melody. Verano Porteño experienced some rough spots, but overall the pianist acquitted herself well.

The program returned to music of Ginastera to close, the Danza del Trigo (“Wheat Dance” from Estancia) and Tres Danzas Argentinas. These were high points, showcasing Ms. Antonelli’s lyrical expressiveness at its best. Incidentally, the Danza del Trigo struck this listener for the first time as having a strong kinship melodically with the second of the Danzas Argentinas, the Danza de la Moza Donosa, a longtime favorite. The pairing of the two together offered a glimpse into the musical soul of Ginastera – for which Ms. Antonelli is to be thanked. Both were played with real tenderness and were worth the trip by themselves.

Danza del Viejo Boyero and the Danza del Gaucho Matrero, more typically motoric fare, offered a balance. One was surprised by the quantity of pedal in the Gaucho Matrero and also wanted a bit more “oomph” in sections (the subject being cowboys, after all), but these were just a few reservations in what was an effective close to the recital.

All in all, it was a successful evening of tribute. Happy Anniversary, Ginastera!

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Transcendental Taverner: Clarion at the Met in Review

Transcendental Taverner: Clarion at the Met

The Clarion Choir, Steven Fox, Artistic Director

Medieval Sculpture Hall, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York NY

April 29, 2016

As part of the MetLiveArts series of performances, a most amazing evening of music took place last Friday. Entitled “Transcendental Taverner,” it truly lived up to its name in what was one of the most mesmerizing a cappella concerts this reviewer has ever heard.

Founded ten years ago by the young but precociously well-credentialed conductor Steven Fox, the Clarion Choir began as a complement to the Clarion Orchestra, a period instrument ensemble also directed by Maestro Fox. The Clarion Choir, open to a wide range of musical eras beyond the Renaissance and Baroque periods, has performed works by Rachmaninoff and Mozart, as well as works from earlier periods; it seemed, however, ideally suited to the beautiful translucent counterpoint of English composer John Taverner (c. 1490-1545). Also ideal was the setting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Medieval Sculpture Hall, with stone and marble architecture that allowed the reverberating voices to soar magnificently.

Steven Fox , Photo credit: Kim Fox

The entire program (except for a finale of John Sheppard’s Communio: In Pace) was devoted to Taverner’s Missa Gloria Tibi Trinitas, a mass with central setting of the Latin Easter text, Dum Transisset describing the discovery of the empty sepulchre of Jesus Christ. It is a sublime work, with vocal writing that captures the spiritual transcendence of the subject matter through its movingly melismatic lines. The purity and balance of Clarion’s perfectly selected voices was simply breathtaking. If anyone could be unmoved by such a masterpiece, whatever one’s religious persuasion might be, he should have his pulse checked.

The driving force, of course, was Maestro Fox, who directed with visible passion and energy. One would be hard pressed to find a conductor with more commitment to his repertoire or connection to each note from his choir. The results spoke for themselves.

At times Maestro Fox’s extreme physicality contrasted with the serenity of the melodic lines – almost distractingly – but then again, one is always free to close one’s eyes and drift into the stratosphere with the vocal lines. The fact is that, without the constant and pulsating rhythmic underpinning that the conductor projected, the urge for each line to soar at its own self-indulgent rate could be overpowering to a group already swimming in reverberations, a potential threat to the togetherness of the ensemble. Maestro Fox held the counterpoint together masterfully, with the long-breathed lines still projecting gloriously. His awareness of the special acoustics was clear, and his pacing between movements was accordingly sensitive and generous.

The choir had clearly been prepared well in matters of intonation and balance. Several soloists also were simply phenomenal, but without individual attribution on the program one sadly cannot identify their respective highlights in order to credit them. We know that amid eighteen singers (who shifted places at times), the soloists were Sarah Brailey, Molly Netter, and Sherezade Pantheki, sopranos; Marc Day, Andrew Fuchs, and Timothy Hodges, Tenors; and bass, Craig Philips. All were excellent, with the sopranos standing out as particularly stellar.

One minor reservation arises, which is that, while the diction seemed fine among the choir as a whole, given the extremely reverberant acoustics (and the Latin text), the lay audience member may have not been able to follow exactly where he was in the mass without clearer listings in the program booklet (the Offertorium having been switched to be after the Benedictus, according to the notes but not in the program proper). It seems nitpicky, because one could simply enjoy, as did the ticketless museumgoers who drifted along the periphery of the hall to the ambient magic; the ticket price for the actual seated audience though, comes with a presumption of more than average interest in understanding or experiencing each moment to the fullest, rather than simply being steeped in the sounds, glorious though they were.

Minor program quibbles aside, the Clarion Choir’s performance was music-making by an ensemble of the highest echelon. Of special note will be their imminent release on the Naxos label of the recently discovered Passion Week by Maximilian Steinberg, a fascinating work, which they will surely perform to the hilt.

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Şahan Arzruni, Pianist in Review

The Fund for Armenian Relief Presents: Together for Armenia

A Benefit Concert for the Vanadzor Old Age Home

Şahan Arzruni, Piano, with Adam Rosenblatt, Percussion, and Simon Hagopian-Rogers, Violin

Merkin Concert Hall at the Kaufman Music Center, New York, NY

April 5, 2016

Those who say all piano recitals are alike these days have certainly not heard Şahan Arzruni, at least not his most recent New York recital to benefit a senior’s home in Armenia. One would be hard pressed to find duplication of such an evening anywhere – from the unusual Armenian repertoire to the scholarly, often humorous, commentary which made the evening almost more lecture-recital than recital.

Mr. Arzruni is a passionate Armenian pianist who has dedicated much of his extensive concertizing to promoting cultural awareness of Armenian music and benefitting Armenian charities. He is a persuasive advocate, and one left the hall marveling that this body of repertoire has remained still so largely untapped.

The concert opened with a short piece by Arno Babadjanian (1921-1983), the composer’s doleful Elegy (after Sayat Nova), inspired in 1978 by grief over the death of Armenian composer, Aram Khachaturian. It is an accessible, heart-on-sleeve piece, with some of its brooding harmonies reminiscent of Tango composer Astor Piazzolla (and if that seems a stretch from Armenia to Argentina, it isn’t – Babadjanian did actually compose a beautiful Tango himself and the two musical traditions have had interesting cross-pollination).

The next work was a set entitled Yenovk (in honor of the artist Yenovk der Hagopian) by Alan Hovhaness (1911-2000). Hovhaness was known as an eclectic American composer who delighted in many cultures, but he particularly treasured his Armenian heritage on his father’s side. He was extremely prolific, so maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that we still have not exhausted possible premieres of his works sixteen years after his death, but it was still exciting to hear Mr. Arzruni, who also performed the World Premiere of Yenovk in California in this complete version, now giving the set its New York Premiere. The six movements opened with a Fantasy, rather mesmerizing as a chant projected through repeated notes, and followed with Canzona I, Jhala, Canzona II, Ballata, and Fugue. The set combined folk elements of drone basses, stark unaccompanied solo lines, tremolando effects, and dervish-like frenzies that transported one to an exotic terrain far from Manhattan. Occasionally the journey was interrupted by what seemed some unevenness in the hall piano (which does become a distracting problem with all the balalaika-type repeated notes), but Mr. Arzruni held it all together with impressive command and passionate commitment.

Also by Hovhaness were the Five Invocations to Vahakn (New York Premiere) with Mr. Arzruni joined by percussionist Adam Rosenblatt, who played drums, gongs, cymbals, a thunder sheet, and a conch shell (a fittingly noisy assemblage for Vahakn, god of fire and war). Mr. Arzruni elicited laughter as he gestured to the instruments asking, “what is that?” – an assortment to wake up the most jaded audience – but all comedy aside, these were colorful and dramatic pieces.

Even more remarkable chronologically than the Hovhaness premieres was the World Premiere of music by Kristapor Kara-Mourza (1853-1902), his Potpourri on Armenian Songs (1872). Valuable from a musicological perspective perhaps more than musical, this work of Kara-Mourza was some of the first Armenian music notated for piano. True to a disclaimer by Mr. Arzruni that it is “a piece of kitsch,” it was replete with “urban folk” tunes of an adulterated sort. The medley was nonetheless fascinating in the context of the rest of the program, an important piece of the historic picture.

After Intermission came music by a far more famous Armenian composer, Aram Khachaturian (1903-1978). His Chant-Poème was given a beautiful performance by eleven-year-old violinist Simon Hagopian-Rogers, accompanied by Mr. Arzruni at the piano. One expects prodigies today to dazzle with technical facility, but what was impressive here was the young performer’s grasp of the rhapsodic feeling of the piece. Already performing internationally, this violinist will certainly be a young artist to watch.

With a child performer, exotic instruments, and some comedic touches thrown in, Mr. Arzruni was ready for even the most attention-deficit audience – and yet they were all just the right counterbalance to his serious and detailed scholarship. Exemplifying that scholarship, and of greatest weight on the program, were Khachaturian’s Recitatives and Fugues (World Premiere as a complete set). In 1968 Khachaturian added recitatives to seven fugues he had composed in his younger days and had rediscovered decades later. Similar in format to Preludes and Fugues by any number of composers, the resulting set is a valuable addition to Khatchaturian’s body of piano works. At twenty-five minutes in duration and rather cerebral listening at times, they demand much from an audience, but one couldn’t help observing that Mr. Arzruni had drawn a particularly attentive audience. The pieces reflected some influence of Shostakovich (especially in the giocoso sections, as in number 3), some of Bach (naturally), and even of Rachmaninoff (more in the Recitative sections, especially in number 2), but these works stand on their own and warrant further playing. Mr. Arzruni is to be congratulated for pulling off this very demanding achievement.

To cap off the program Mr. Arzruni fittingly presented Armenian Dances by Komitas (1869-1935), often regarded as the father of Armenian music. These are what Mr. Arzruni called “re-creations” (not compositions exactly, but not arrangements), and they included Yeranki (from Yerevan), Hed ou Arach (from Garin), and Shoror (from Moush). They closed the program with an affirmation of Armenian music’s roots, eliciting an encore of the Nocturne in E-flat, Op. 9, No. 2 by Chopin, an honorary Armenian for the evening. A grateful audience will surely return for more.

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

New York Concert Artists and Associates presents Pianist Gábor Farkas in Review

New York Concert Artists and Associates presents Pianist Gábor Farkas

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

March 10, 2016

NYCAA (New York Concert Artists and Associates), under the direction of Klara Min, has had a record of discovering some highly interesting musicians to present in debut, and Hungarian pianist Gábor Farkas is no exception, though he may have too many credentials already to be considered a “new discovery.” Born in 1981, and having earned an impressive list of appearances and accolades, as well as a doctorate from the Liszt Academy of Music in Budapest, Mr. Farkas is already enjoying an active career – but it may be that the best is yet to come.

His program included Scarlatti (two Sonatas – E Major, K. 531, and A Major, K. 533), Schubert (Impromptu in G-flat Major, D. 899, No. 3), and Schumann (the Symphonic Etudes, Op. 13). After intermission came an all-Liszt group. The bill of fare may not sound remarkable, but the interpretations were distinctive.

From the opening Scarlatti Sonatas, the mark of the pianist’s individuality was apparent in the treatment of texture. Seemingly free from performance practice constraints, some sections were handled with generous harmonic blending (with pedal) juxtaposed with a much drier sound elsewhere. Some say that any Scarlatti played on a modern piano is a transcription of sorts, so rules can be cast aside. Most pianists, though, strive for some consistency of texture, if not actually approximating the sounds of the harpsichord and clavichord. Mr. Farkas seemed unconcerned with any such conventions, bringing out the piano’s wide range of timbres and the compositional uniqueness of each disparate phrase as it appeared to suit him.

Throughout the first half of the program, one couldn’t quite decide whether to embrace this individuality, a rarity in a sea of generic pianists, or to challenge the rather freewheeling approach to architecture, tempo, and other musical considerations. Mr. Farkas’ phrasing was intriguing, particularly in some subito piano surprises and expressive changings of course. His interpretations overall were also always thought-provoking, even when the reasoning behind some of his decisions eluded one. On the other hand, there were some liberties that jolted, some unsettling tempo fluctuations, and some perplexing pedaling at times.

Schubert’s Impromptu in G-flat was compelling, with the appealing vocal qualities one wants in Schubert. Mr. Farkas was not at all afraid to stretch a phrase in poignant ways. With such a well-known piece, it was refreshing to hear it as if for the first time. Now and then the stretching became a tad fussy, but that was hardly a steep price to pay for the overall profusion of ideas and beautiful highlights. There were many inspired moments.

Where the alternate stretching and pushing became detrimental to the music for this listener was in the Schumann Symphonic Etudes, particularly the finale, where a unified march-tempo is the underpinning, despite the sequential episodes that break the fanfare. There is plenty of excitement without pushing the speed each time the march re-ascends – and in fact, rushing undercuts the excitement that mounts to the work’s grand finish. There are many such moments in this well wrought work, where the composer has all the drama “baked in the cake” – needing little help from the performer beyond patience, stamina, and an identification with the inherent drama and lyricism.

Mr. Farkas’ more mercurial approach to Schumann works ideally with that composer’s sets of smaller character pieces such as the Davidsbündlertänze or the Fantasiestücke, which I would be interested to hear him play. He is simply overflowing with his personal brand of interpretive energy – a quality some may find overwhelming or intrusive to the score, but others will find the best reason to go and hear him play.

Works of Franz Liszt filled the second half, two of which were transcriptions based on works by other composers, first the Waltz from Gounod’s Faust and then the Danse Macabre of Saint-Saëns, quite a bravura pairing. Mr. Farkas projected all the requisite drama and virtuosity, showing ample strength and pianism through both. Liszt’s own Ave Maria, S. 182, sensitively handled, gave a breather of sorts before (Liszt’s) Totentanz, the virtuosic closer.

Totentanz, or (“Dance of Death”) a tour de force of octaves and pyrotechnics, is a work one doesn’t see performed every day (thankfully, in this reviewer’s opinion), but it was given a rousing reading. Mr. Farkas’ sense of diabolic drama and color was in full play, alternating wicked impish staccato figures with menacing tritones, blistering octaves, and still more octaves (have I mentioned that there are octaves?). Even as a staunch defender of Liszt against the usual charges of excessive flash, I couldn’t help thinking afterward that there must be works worthier of a fine pianistic talent in his prime, as Mr. Farkas is.

The audience gave a very noisy standing ovation and was rewarded with a mellow rendition of the Schumann-Liszt Widmung as the encore.

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

DVD in Review: Pianist Gustavo Díaz-Jerez plays Iberia, by Isaac Albéniz

DVD: Isaac Albéniz Iberia, Pianist: Gustavo Díaz-Jerez

Label: ORPHEUS (2015) Region Code: 0 (Worldwide); TV format: PAL

Running Time: 88 minutes

Attention, those interested in “firsts” in the piano world: for the very first time, a full high definition video of Iberia is now available, and it is quite beautifully played by pianist Gustavo Díaz-Jerez ( www.gustavodiazjerez.com).

For those unfamiliar with Iberia, by Spanish composer Isaac Albéniz (1860-1909), it is one of the masterpieces of the piano literature, a set of twelve pieces devoted to the sounds and impressions of the composer’s native Spain, with the emphasis on Andalusia. Though of strong local flavor, the set was loved and admired by Debussy, Messiaen, Fauré, and countless other great musicians and is now admired worldwide as a creation of universal expressiveness.

Composed from 1905 through 1909, each book was given its separate premiere by French pianist Blanche Selva (1906, 1907, 1908, and 1909) and almost each piece has sunk roots singly into the piano repertoire over time. The set is still seldom heard in live recital in its entirety of twelve movements, possibly due to length (around 90 minutes), difficulty (large orchestral textures with awkward hand distribution), and pacing (a challenge to sustain, with prolonged meditative parts and nuanced pianissimo levels down to ppppp). Many musicians cite the history as reason – that Albéniz did not envision the twelve played at a stretch and that the pieces are not meant as a marathon but better played separately.

From the 1960’s through the 1980’s, pianistic legend, Alicia de Larrocha, gave life to the entire opus in repeated recordings and performances of the set. There followed various other excellent interpretations of the set on compact disc. Videos, though, were a different story. Of de Larrocha, one can find only some of her CBS studio videotapes, and they are of poor sound quality (some even with commentary heard over the playing). Of complete live readings, there have been concerts by outstanding virtuosi such as Marc-André Hamelin, with some selections from these viewable on the Internet, but one needs to flip from link to link to hear several in a row (akin to listening to the old 78-RPM recordings). For the first full video of the complete Iberia, one had to wait for Gustavo Díaz-Jerez, whose performance, recorded in 2015, is now available on DVD (www.iberiadvd.com).

One uses the word “performance” because Mr. Díaz-Jerez does give what appears to be an unbroken recital, despite its having involved four days of recording (July 20-24, 2015). The atmosphere also approaches that of a concert despite the fact that there is no apparent audience in the beautiful hall of Paraninfo de la Universidad de Las Palmas de Gran Canaria (the Canary Islands). The DVD opens with a dignified Mr. Díaz-Jerez, clad in black, walking with resolve towards an imposing Steinway D piano, his footsteps resonating on the large empty stage. It is seemingly a solitary event, but there is such formality and intensity in his demeanor that the occasional shift of camera focus to a hall of empty seats does not detract, but rather seems to suggest listeners past or future. There is a certain poetry in that.

From the first notes of Evocación, a feeling of spaciousness pervades, and it is clear from each expressive inflection that Mr. Díaz-Jerez is a sensitive artist with considerable dedication to this music. He soulfully projects the composer’s most heartrending melodies and lavishes each poignant turn of phrase with affection, somehow without seeming excessively self-indulgent – quite an artful balance! El Puerto follows Evocación with spirit, zest, and a perfect nostalgic lingering towards its close. Mr. Díaz-Jerez has a broad array of articulations at his disposal, and undoubtedly students will enjoy watching close-ups of his hands here and elsewhere – possibly even gaining some insight on distribution of hands in the score’s various tangles. El Corpus Christi En Sevilla brings the opening group to brilliant peaks before its quiet close, rounding out a highly successful Book I.

Book II is equally moving with an intoxicatingly sunny Rondeña and a dreamy Almeria. Mr. Díaz-Jerez has a special knack for transparent voicing in which a melody simply glows from amid other voices without badgering the listener or oversimplifying the texture. The famously challenging Triana ( Click here to view)closes this book well, expansive without being overtly showy. Here is one of the pieces that might benefit most from the synergy of a live audience, but its polish is admirable. The eternal discussion of live versus recorded is not for the current review.

A listener might want to give himself an “Intermission” at this juncture, because a saturation point can be reached. By the end of Book II, one can become so spoiled by the surfeit of sultry harmonies, nostalgic melodies, and florid ornaments, that they lose their distinctiveness. El Albaicín, El Polo, Lavapiés, Málaga, Jerez, and Eritaña all have uniquely beautiful qualities, but they do need some space after the first two books for their uniqueness to emerge. Hopefully, the listeners (viewers) will exercise some judgment in the pacing.

In summary, all the performances are excellent. Though one may have one’s favorite performances by other artists for isolated pieces, this full set makes for a fine reference collection and should be of interest for pianists negotiating the hand-overlappings and leaps for the first time. There are many close-ups. The technique in every piece is solid, there is nothing offensive, and there is much that is exemplary.

While one feels a bit incomplete not hearing the rush of applause upon the last notes of Eritaña, the silence underscores the dream element so present throughout the video. In fact, that aspect is so pervasive that one might simply decide to ignore each shot of hands and face and keyboard, and drift away. This would bring one full circle to the respective raisons d’être of DVD versus CD, visual versus aural, or in combination. As Debussy wrote of this set: “One closes one’s eyes and is bedazzled by the sheer wealth of invention in this music!” What Debussy said is true. Here, though, the listener has a choice.

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Violinist Daniel Röhn in Review

Daniel Röhn in Recital: The Kreisler Story

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, N.Y.

February 2, 2016

It is a rare recital that leaves one wanting to hear it all again the next day, but it is not an exaggeration to say that I wanted exactly that after hearing the recent New York recital of German violinist Daniel Röhn. In collaboration with pianist Rohan de Silva and in birthday tribute to the great Austrian composer-violinist Fritz Kreisler, Mr. Röhn combined technical wizardry, melting musicality, old-world style and panache, and a fair amount of historic edification in his comments, all woven seamlessly together into an utterly perfect evening.

Lest it appear that I have some bias towards this frothy fare, that is not the case, for many of these works I’ve heard quite often (or played as collaborator) without their holding nearly so much attraction; what was so captivating was Daniel Röhn’s easy and elegant mastery, always with beauty of sound, purity of intonation, and elasticity of phrase. It was a wonder to behold and reaffirmed the grandeur of the “Golden Age of the Violin” of the 1920’s and 1930’s.

Daniel Röhnm accompanied by pianist Rohan De Silva at Weill Recital Hall, 2/2/16. Photo by Chris Lee

Boldly and with a regal pacing Mr. Röhn opened with Kreisler’s oft-played Praeludium and Allegro, an assertive beginning. He followed it with the equally beloved Bach-Kreisler Gavotte from the E Major Partita BWV 1006, played with polish and sensitivity. Some offhand remarks put an awestruck audience at ease to enjoy the lyrical Paganini-Kreisler Caprice No. 20.

Many performers conquer these tricky works, but the labor announces itself – not so with Mr. Röhn, whose technical ease affords him a graciousness and charm so vital to this repertoire. His fluency suggest that music is his first language, and that may have been the case, for as his biographical notes tell us, he is son and grandson to two noted concertmasters. One finds, with a bit of poking around, that his grandfather, Erich Röhn, played with the Berlin Philharmonic under Fürtwangler, and his father, Andreas Röhn, with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. One also learns that his musical pedigree is distinguished on his pianist mother’s side, but perhaps that didn’t make as marketable a tale as the lineage of three dashing dons of the violin – and dashing this grandson is, with the tie, tails, and stage presence of a matinee idol. One expected him to dance off the stage like Astaire, which he pretty nearly did at the end of the first half, while concluding Sarasate’s Zapateado Op. 23, No. 2 (which he had likened to a Spanish relative of Riverdance – so make that Flatley, rather than Astaire).

Before this exuberant first finale came several other works. Claude Debussy’s Sonata for Violin and Piano added some heft to the program (despite its brevity). Mr. Röhn spoke eloquently about its wartime history and also the imagery one can sense in the work, though leaving such reactions open to the listeners’ imaginations. He shared as examples that “in rehearsal today we found hobbling dwarfs” and at another point vampires – inviting the uninitiated listener to dream through the piece’s darker moments. His playing matched his words in color and drama. If every performer communicated as well, as part virtuoso and part inspired educator, more concert halls would be packed – and his certainly was.

Following Debussy was the Prokofiev-Heifetz March from The Love of Three Oranges – a glimpse into the world of another titan of the violin, Jascha Heifetz. Incidentally, Heifetz’s birthday was also February 2 along with Kreisler’s, something parents of children born on this day might contemplate when choosing an instrument! The playing was once again riveting.

William Kroll’s popular Banjo and Fiddle and Josef Suk’s sentimental Song of Love Op. 7, No. 1, rounded out the smorgasbord before the show-stopping Zapateado. Throughout the program Rohan de Silva was a superb collaborator. Understandably sought after by many of the greatest violinists in the world today, Mr. de Silva plays with the kind of flexible support and hair-trigger responsiveness that it seems no cues are needed beyond sheer musical telepathy.

More works associated with Kreisler followed in the second half, including Jean-Marie Leclair’s Sonata No. 3 in D Major. Here was the only work that seemed to show a bit of flagging in energy, but the impression was short-lived. The ridiculously demanding Wieniawski-Kreisler Caprices in A Minor and E-flat Major followed with perfect brilliance. Equally engaging was the commentary describing the overtaxed students of Wieniawski, the great Polish violin master, as he piled challenge on top of challenge.

The Hungarian Dance No. 7 by Johannes Brahms added further to the playfulness, setting the scene for some humorous introductory remarks about Kreisler’s own mischievous streak. He had for several decades passed his own compositions off as penned by other composers (often 17^th or 18^th century ones), as it was not seemly for a performer to play an entire evening of his own works. Kreisler was in fact quite creative about it and his harmless trickery makes for fun retelling. Two of such falsely attributed works, the Tempo di Minuetto and Grave in the style of W. F. Bach, were played next, but emerged as such gems that one could almost approve of the hoax that enabled the composer to share them.

To cap off the evening was another rousing dance from Spain, Kreisler’s version of Manuel De Falla’s Danza espagnola from La vida breve. It was a dazzling finale, sending audience members to their feet. They were treated, after several curtain calls, to an encore of the very delicate “Zephyr” Op. 30, No. 5, by Jenő Hubay. Just as I was wondering how one follows an evening of so many “encores” with an encore, Mr. Röhn expressed basically the same sentiment from the stage. Meanwhile my wish for an encore of the whole evening promises to be fulfilled, as a recording of it all will be released in the summer of 2016 (unsure as to whether that is CD or DVD – hopefully the latter). Hopes are high!

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Pianist Ian Hobson in Review

Downtown/Uptown Series: Preludes –Etudes –Variations, Ian Hobson in Recital

With spoken introduction by Paul Griffiths

Merkin Concert Hall, Kaufmann Arts Center; New York, NY

January 19, 2016

A good musician tries not to be too dazzled by encyclopedic repertoires – after all, it is how music is played that matters – but this listener has to confess to being dumbstruck by the sheer quantity of challenges in Ian Hobson’s latest 6-recital series in New York. From last October through this coming April, within a mere six months, he will have performed both books of Debussy’s Preludes plus complete Etudes, both books of Chopin Etudes plus complete Preludes, Rachmaninoff’s complete Preludes and complete Etudes (are you dizzy yet?), plus major sets of variations by Chopin, Rachmaninoff, Schumann, Szymanowski and Fauré, and three world premieres by contemporary composers (Stephen Taylor, Robert Chumbley, and Yehudi Wyner). I’m sure I’m omitting something. What is more, the concerts all come on the heels of an enormous 2013-14 series, a 14-recital traversal of the complete solo and chamber music of Brahms. To have prepared such a large quantity of difficult repertoire in one’s career may not be unusual today, but to have it all performable on a high level in such short succession boggles the mind – and all is somehow managed on top of Mr. Hobson’s professorships and conducting appearances. One wonders what vitamins Mr. Hobson might be taking, and how one can get some immediately!

Of course, those who have followed Mr. Hobson’s career may already be aware of his penchant for pianistic feats. Since winning the First Prize at the Leeds International Piano Competition in 1981, plus several important silver medals, Mr. Hobson has amassed a discography of over 60 releases, including the complete piano sonatas of Beethoven and Schumann, plus a complete edition of Brahms variations for piano. He is currently recording a complete edition of Chopin, of which Volume 9 has already received critical praise for “noble artistry” (Gramophone, July 2012).

Having been somewhat familiar with Mr. Hobson’s playing since my student days (when his recordings were some of the “reference” releases available in libraries), I can say that his playing has always struck me as technically strong, musically sound, reasonably grounded in scholarly study, and without any distracting eccentricities. It was therefore good to learn all these years later that he is still going strong, extremely strong!

His program selection was beautiful for this recital, pairing, as its pillars, Chopin’s Twenty-four Preludes, Op. 28, with the Rachmaninoff Variations on a Theme of Chopin, Op. 22. It is a natural pairing (in fact so natural that, for the sake of full disclosure, this reviewer performed and recorded that very pairing some nine years ago). Mr. Hobson additionally included Chopin’s Prelude in A-flat and Prelude in C-sharp minor Op. 45 (two welcome rarities in concert), plus a premiere of “Three Etudes (by any other name…)” by Robert Chumbley (b. 1954). The cohesiveness of the program was ideal, and the Chumbley work added an interesting modern-day perspective on the genre (if one can call it that) of the concert etude. Incidentally, the introductory speaker, Paul Griffiths, was eloquent and informative describing the history and characteristics of Etudes, Preludes and Variations, and it was the kind of evening perfectly designed to welcome the layperson into the realm of some of the greatest piano music ever composed.

Mr. Hobson’s performances themselves were taut and muscular, seemingly geared towards sustaining momentum and projecting with a very full sound, more often than drawing the listener in with intimacy or nuance. There was not a trace of self-indulgence to the performances – some would say a good thing – but I actually tend to like it when a performer “loses himself” in these miniatures. Though the momentum was an asset in the D-flat Prelude, which drags with many pianists, I longed for more poignant dreaming in the F-sharp major one, and perhaps more subtle piano shadings (as one also wanted in the G major). Some more details could have emerged in the storms of the F-sharp minor and B-flat minor ones as well.

It is possible that concert cycles may put pressure on a performer to keep things moving for the sake of uninitiated listeners. My neighbor in the audience began the evening by saying, “I hope these Chopin Preludes are short, because there sure are a lot of them.” One hopes that a performer will rarely need to think this way, but, as Mr. Griffiths mentioned, even Rachmaninoff had a penchant for omitting variations when the audience coughed too restlessly. I still maintain that when a performer surrenders to his artistic imagination, a listener generally can be trusted to follow suit, flu season notwithstanding. Much of Mr. Hobson’s playing was superb, as expected, but one hopes that his profusion of offerings this season will not diminish his savoring of each one.

There were high points, of course. Mr. Hobson seemed especially to relish the grace of the A major Prelude and the delicate (though treacherous) E-flat one. He sank deeply into the A-flat basses towards the end of the 17^th Prelude, partly helped by the hall piano’s exceptional resonance, felt down to one’s toes. He engaged intensely in the drama of the Preludes in E-flat minor, F minor, and G minor, and the final Prelude in D minor was a wonderfully brilliant finale. The coruscating scales and thirds proved that Mr. Hobson is still very much a powerhouse.

The Rachmaninoff fared similarly well overall, but again flew by to the point where one missed some of its characteristic poetry and dreaming. Some opportunities for gentle lyricism were missed (and some messiness arose intermittently), though ultimately the work’s majesty did prevail. A large, appreciative audience was treated to an absolutely beautiful encore of the Kreisler-Rachmaninoff Liebesleid, played with winning charm and rubato worthy of the pianistic Golden Age. One eagerly awaits the next concert!

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY