Sihao He, Luiz Fernando Venturelli, Sydney Lee, and Haddon Kay, cellists

Merkin Hall, The Kaufmann Center, New York, NY

October 20, 2023

Some reviews are a joy to write, and this is one of them. Some ensembles “have it all” and the Galvin Cello Quartet is one of those, based on their New York Debut on October 20 at Merkin Hall. Despite the seeming sameness of four cellists as an ensemble, these four highly individual musicians, Sihao He, Haddon Kay, Luiz Fernando Venturelli, and Sydney Lee (the only female), showed what a surprising range of sound and repertoire is possible for this combination, especially when each member is also an experienced soloist boasting an impressive array of prizes and distinctions, as is the case here. Their vibrancy is enriched by their diverse cultural backgrounds (China, Brazil, South Korea, and the United States), and at the same time, they exude the warmth of their common bond as students of Hans Jørgen Jensen at the Bienen School of Music, Northwestern University. In fact, their name “Galvin” is from the Mary B. Galvin Recital Hall at that school.

Presented as part of a series called “Musicians on the Rise” by the Kaufman Center and Concert Artists Guild, whose competition they won in 2022, the Galvin Quartet members are most definitely on the rise, though one senses that if they stayed exactly where there are right now, they would be just fine with that – such is their infectious positive energy. Their mission to share the love of music is palpable and irresistible, a quality the classical music world needs sorely. Though this reviewer has come away from the finest recitals thinking, “I wish there were a larger audience to hear them,” the Galvin Quartet recital has gone a step further leaving one thinking, “They’re going to create that larger audience.” Attractive, personable, and passionate, they are a manager’s dream.

The evening opened with a short video about the quartet, not something true music lovers expect or need, but perhaps a sign of things to come in this social media world. The quartet was shown preparing for a recording session, posing for photos, making dinner together, and generally enjoying their obvious camaraderie. (For full disclosure, I was unable to attend this recital in person, so was given unedited footage of the entire event).

Directly after that video, the quartet launched into the final Presto of Vivaldi’s “Summer” from The Four Seasons. It was a fresh, riveting arrangement in which one never missed the original instrumentation. The cellists exchanged furioso passages with crisp precision and an edge-of-the-seat excitement. Though the Vivaldi is quite familiar, it is certainly not familiar in this cello quartet arrangement, as Sihao He noted. Joking about the rarity and quirks of cello quartets (including the unusual need for eight flight tickets to travel), Mr. He was determined to put the audience at ease, saying “Be comfortable and please don’t behave” – and “Let’s have some fun tonight.” In explaining why the group plays mostly without music stands (unusual for a quartet of strings), he stated that the group likes for there to be no barriers between them and the audience, opting for closeness, a preference we could already sense.

If all of this “fun” had one wondering whether these players might be all levity with little substance, the next work set that record straight. Wagner’s Feierliches Stück (ending with strains of the famous Wedding March) was given an intensely stirring performance. Each cellist played with refined lyricism, and the group blended magnificently.

Rotating roles and microphones, Sydney Lee spoke next, to introduce Rossini’s piece Une Larme (“A Tear”), originally for cello and piano, but heard here in an arrangement that divvied up the melodies. She asked Haddon Kay to play the descending “tear” motif so the audience could look out for it – a helpful suggestion that bodes well for the group’s work in schools and outreach. Despite this sad motif, the piece built to quite a lather, with bouncing bows and cadenzas abounding in pyrotechnics.

Mr. Venturelli, Ms. Lee, and Mr. He shared in the announcement of the next work, the world premiere of a piece called Cadence by Zhou Tian. Commissioned in partnership with Concert Artists Guild, it represents part of the quartet’s effort to expand the repertoire for this particular instrumentation while exploring diverse cultural backgrounds that connect with theirs. Exciting and colorful, it brought out the oneness of sound that this quartet can achieve, whether playing in harmony or in rapid alternation, while also exploring a wide range of sonorities. From lyrical moments to more dazzling perpetual motion sections, the piece and the performers were captivating.

Haddon Kay introduced the next work, Leyendas: An Andean Walkabout, by Gabriela Lena Frank. He spoke about cultural connections shared with the composer’s heritage (Chinese, American, and South American) and gave eloquent descriptions of each of its six movements, Toyos, Tarqueda, Hymno de Zampoñas, Chasqui, Canto de Velorio, and Coqueteos. All that he described sprang to life in the group’s playing – the evocations of panpipes, “smoky” landscapes, guitars, and more.

Mr. Venturelli then announced the ensemble’s arrangement of Three Preludes by Gershwin. We’ve all heard countless arrangements of these gems, and for good reason. This one, very free in the playing and in the arrangement itself, can certainly hold its head up among the rest. The program was capped off with Piazzolla’s La Muerte Del Angel, given a driving energy that galvanized (or shall we say “Galvin-ized”) the audience into a rousing standing ovation. Some very gracious thanks from Ms. Lee to all those involved in the concert followed, capped off with an encore of David Popper’s Elfentanz, at near record-breaking speed.

Congratulations go out to all involved in this quartet’s exciting debut, not least of all to Concert Artists Guild for choosing them!

Regina Shenderovich, piano

The National Opera Center – OPERA America, New York, NY

November 3, 2023

In one of those miracles to which New Yorkers are privy if they pay attention, gifted Russian-American pianist Regina Shenderovich came to the National Opera Center this Friday to play the complete Book II of J. S. Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier – in other words, the last 24 of the Bach 48 Preludes and Fugues. It was extraordinary. This reviewer had heard Ms. Shenderovich last in 2018 in a live performance of Bach’s Art of the Fugue, another unusual undertaking (reviewed here: Regina Shenderovich), and it was a pleasure to be present for this continued traversal of the great master’s work. 

For those wishing to know the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, arguably the greatest composer who ever lived, one could hardly do better than Books I and II of his Well-Tempered Clavier (48 Preludes and Fugues, two in each key, major and minor). It is a feast for the ears, mind, and heart. Complete sets of recordings have been made by some of the greatest musicians (including pianists Gould, Richter, Tureck, Gulda, Demus, Schiff, Nikolayeva, Hewitt, and Barenboim, and harpsichordists Leonhardt, Kirkpatrick, Landowska, and Gilbert, for a start), but there is perennially room for more. Despite the greatness of these works, not many pianists (or harpsichordists) take on even a single complete book of them in live concert. Undoubtedly this rarity is largely because of the demands on the performer for what approaches a 130-minute marathon (not including intermission), but it also may be out of concern for today’s audiences. Even the staunchest concertgoers (let alone the hyper-stimulated Auto-Tune crowd) may prefer to savor a couple of Preludes and Fugues at a time from a favorite recording at home, rather than sitting bolt upright in a concert hall through hours of cerebrally taxing music, no matter how magnificent. That said, it is an unforgettable experience to witness the performance of an entire volume in an evening, and Ms. Shenderovich gave us that rare opportunity to hear the set played exceptionally well. 

Technically, she displayed superb control. There was hardly a finger slip in the entire evening, and those that occurred were negligible, like the rare absent tone tending to coincide with a rough page turn. (Ideally, if one is performing these with a score, today’s technology could make that page-turning aspect seamless.)

In matters of tempo and dynamics, Ms. Shenderovich showed an uncanny sense of what works best for nearly every piece and was able to highlight each individual voice throughout, through the most challenging stretti and dense counterpoint. For this listener, fortunate enough to have a score on hand, everything on the page was matched aurally with a lucidity that brought back inspirational graduate seminars in Bach. 

From the very first notes of the opening Prelude and Fugue in C Major (No. 1), we knew we were in good hands. From the regal feeling in the Prelude to the crisp mordents in the Fugue, all felt just right. Repeats were never “rubber-stamped” but were refreshed, in the C-minor Prelude (No. 2) through varied voicing, in the heraldic D-major Prelude (No. 5) through phrasing, and in the D-sharp minor Prelude (No. 8) through altered articulation, including some skillful overholding to bring out a previously underplayed alto line. 

Other particularly good articulations were in the D-minor Fugue (No. 6, with a delightful lift before subsequent tied notes) and the G-minor Prelude (No. 15) with its nearly double-dotted crispness à la French Overture and masterfully fleet four-voice fugue to follow. The D-sharp minor Fugue (No. 8) stood out for the dynamic shaping of its subject, which can easily sound obnoxious if played as equal hammer blows (as sometimes happens). The time taken at the end of this one also felt appropriate. 

There seemed no formula for ritardandi (or anything else) in this set, with a number of pieces ending somewhat abruptly and others winding down gently, but clearly much thought went into each one. (Occasionally this listener wanted more winding down.)

In terms of flow, Ms. Shenderovich showed remarkable ability overall. In the Prelude in E Major (No. 9), she managed to mark phrases with artful breathing, while keeping a sense of pulse, a virtue not as common as one might hope. This pulse felt slightly less regular in the G-major Prelude (No. 15, in which the left hand seemed a tad slower on entry than the right hand), and also at times in the B-major Fugue (No. 23), but in general, it felt just right. One marveled in the F-sharp minor (No. 14) which managed to be slow enough to let us assimilate all the harmonic implications but never so slow that it dragged – perfect. 

The C-sharp major Prelude (No. 3) was special for its transparency under its beautifully held top notes, and its staccatissimo Fugue subject was a joy to follow. One was reminded that when Bach compiled the first book of the Well-Tempered Clavier in 1722 (with the second to be compiled in 1742) he wrote that the set was “for the profit and use of musical youth desirous of learning, and especially for the pastime of those already skilled in this study.” Those who perform these pieces are in a sense teachers, who must strike the balance between revealing Bach’s imagination and exercising their own. Ms. Shenderovich proved herself to be just such a teacher. 

In terms of emotional projection, favorites were the Preludes in F major (No. 11), which felt peacefully improvisatory, the F-sharp major (No. 13), given a wonderfully light touch, and the freely expressive F-sharp minor (No. 14). 

Sections that reflected less distinction were in the C-sharp minor pair (No. 4) and E-major Fugue (No. 9), which seemed just a bit less engaging. Beyond those, I had interpretive reservations about the E-flat Prelude and Fugue (No. 7). Though the Prelude had a gracious feeling about it, there could have been more sensitivity at times (such as at its meaningful return to the opening), and its corresponding Fugue seemed to ask for more tenderness as well. This Fugue was a favorite of Mozart’s, one guesses for its lyricism – so much so that he chose to arrange it for string quartet. Once one has heard that, one can hardly help feeling inclined towards a less crisp, less detached approach to its inherent lyricism. There also might have been more tender expansiveness in the G-sharp minor Fugue (No. 18 – a double fugue), where one sensed a harder edge and the drive to move things along, as well as in the F-minor Prelude and Fugue (No. 12) which closed the first half; any reservations, however, should be taken in light of the enormous admiration that this undertaking inspired. Some of these pieces are massively complex – such as the F sharp-minor (No. 14), with its triple fugue. Such feats were handled with awe-inspiring ease. 

Ms. Shenderovich has much to say in these works, and people should have been lined up for a block to hear her play them at this free concert. The small audience was certainly no reflection on her, but merely a shame for those absent. Her late grandmother, Olga Tsfasman, to whom the concert was dedicated, would surely have been proud. 

I strongly recommend that Ms. Shenderovich record all of these, one by one, at her leisure – and with Book I – to reach an ever wider audience.

Junwen Liang, piano

Saint Thomas Church, New York, NY

October 22, 2023

This Sunday afternoon at Saint Thomas Church, this reviewer had the pleasure to hear, as part of their Sunday Recital Series, young pianist Junwen Liang. It was a brief recital, around forty-five minutes, but it communicated a lot in a very short time and had enough substance and variety – technically, emotionally, and stylistically – to confirm that this is an extremely gifted and promising young artist.

Mr. Liang opened with Mozart’s Sonata in C Major, K. 330, one of this reviewer’s favorites. It is not always easy to start with Mozart, especially in a highly reverberant church, so when one opens by playing Mozart as beautifully as what we heard, it speaks volumes. Mr. Liang’s playing had clarity, technical polish, and thoughtful attention to phrasing and articulation. It is easy to rush in one’s opening work but Mr. Liang’s approach was refreshingly calm and unhurried. There was one point in the last movement where there may have been a bit too much of a dramatic pause (before the return of the main theme), but all in all, with so much rushing in performances today such savoring is welcome.

This reviewer’s belief, after decades of playing and hearing concerts, is that when the music truly comes first, nerves are much more easily mastered. Mr. Liang puts the music first. Part of how he plunged so immediately into the music and brought it to life so well seemed to be related to his grasp of the operatic elements that lay within it, and these lie within all of Mozart’s Sonatas, in this listener’s opinion. The drama must be so completely engrossing that there is no room to think of oneself or any other distraction. One could hear in Mr. Liang’s interpretation the questions, answers, dialogues, and characters of an opera, all fitting together with beautiful logic. Phrases were allowed to breathe where they needed to – another vocal element – and, as with speech and song, there was always shape and inflection. Critics occasionally will mistake such expressive playing for “Romanticizing” (and this reviewer’s own concerts have received that allegation), but there is really nothing specifically Romantic about shaping phrases and projecting drama, especially when it all adheres so faithfully to the beat, as it did here. It was over in a flash (to the point where there was some regret that not all repeats were taken).

It is tempting to put some of this Mozartean finesse at the doorstep of Mr. Liang’s current teacher, the masterful Richard Goode, the only teacher listed in his printed bio; seeing his slew of degrees, however, this reviewer was curious to learn more and discovered that Mr. Liang has had a wide array of teachers, including also the extraordinary Edward Auer who has been reviewed by New York Concert Review as well. Beyond this, Mr. Liang clearly has his own natural artistry.

It must have been some relief when after Mozart the program moved to Debussy’s Images, Book II. As beautiful as the Steinway is in this church, its big sound along with the reverberant acoustics must have required extreme effort to tame for the Mozart. The reverberation if anything seemed to enhance the musical textures of Debussy. Cloches à travers les feuilles was beautiful and full of shimmering colors. At one point, this listener thought it could have been even more magical, and that was where the piece seems to “open up” (where the meter and key change), and one becomes aware not so much of bells and leaves but of the human spirit’s reaction to them. One wants more reveling here. All in all, though, this was an admirable performance. Et la Lune descend sur le temple qui fut was similarly successful – evocative and ponderous. Occasionally it seemed there might have been still more patience in holding long notes fully, but that can relate to one’s pulse and conception. Poissons d’or was full of silky pianism and sparkle. This listener only wanted a bit more of a sense of play in some parts. Where marked capricieux et souple, for example, Debussy so incredibly evokes the swish and splash of a tail in the water – some goldfish have personality! Anyway, with time and repeat performances, this sense of play will probably increase – and such matters are quite personal.

The program hit its high point with Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12. Mr. Liang seems simply made for this work, and it could become a “signature” piece. He knew just where to get the right declamatory feeling at the opening and elsewhere, and he moved on to brilliant fingerwork with not so much as a smudge or flub anywhere. Where there are cimbalom effects, he achieved dazzling speed with perfect clarity, and where there are quasi campanelle effects he created sonic magic. What was striking too was that there was never the showboating one sometimes finds with this repertoire, but exclusive focus on the myriad sounds. Bravo! As a postscript, speaking of not showboating, there actually could have been a bit more time in the Adagio breather a few bars before the close – mere mortals take advantage of it as a respite after herculean effort, so it feels somehow raced if not a bit broadened. Wow, if these are the biggest criticisms one can produce, Mr. Liang is in good shape.

The last work on the program was a delightful jazzy discovery, the Rondo for Piano (2001) by Catherine Likhuta (b.1981), serving almost a built-in encore. Based on an ostinato vaguely reminiscent of the Vince Guaraldi “Peanuts” theme – though more brilliant – it was lots of fun.

 Ian Hobson, piano

The Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

October 20, 2023

It is always a privilege to hear the great pianist Ian Hobson, whose repertoire in concerts and discographies could be that of ten pianists, and his complete Schumann cycle at the Tenri Institute has only reinforced one’s admiration. Avoiding mere chronological box-checking, his traversal was organized into themed programs, lending focus and insight to aspects of Schumann’s output. Mr. Hobson’s April program, for example, was called “Love and Nature” (Humoreske, Op. 20, Nachtstücke, Op. 23, and the Drei Romanzen, Op. 28 – to see that review, click here: Love and Nature), and his September program just three weeks ago was called “Variations” (reviewed by Jeffrey Williams here: Variations). This Friday, October 20th, we saw the continuation of the series with a concert entitled “Marches and Etudes” and there were revelatory moments.

This week’s “Marches and Etudes” program consisted of Schumann’s Vier Märsche, Op. 76, Six Etudes after Paganini, Op. 3, Six Concert Etudes after Paganini, Op. 10, and the Toccata Op. 7. Incidentally, when one hears of a Schumann program with etudes, the Etudes Symphoniques, Op. 13 probably will spring to mind, but those had already been included in September under the heading of “Variations” where they fit as well. So, except for the very famous Toccata and the more mature Op. 76 that opened the program, this program was left with some of the least performed works of Schumann’s output, twelve etudes based on Paganini Caprices, with half of them arguably not intended for performance. It takes a brave pianist to take on such a program, but who better than Ian Hobson?

Mr. Hobson strolled out calmly to greet his ample audience at Tenri and the tone felt immediately casual, like that of a university seminar. One could easily forget the huge renown that has surrounded him ever since his young prizewinning days. One could also forget the mammoth task ahead.

He described the opening work, the Vier Märsche, Op. 76, as coming after roughly a decade of little solo piano writing for Schumann (the 1840s being filled with songs, chamber music, and orchestral works). Dating from 1849, the Op. 76 was Schumann’s response to the May Uprising of Dresden that year. As Mr. Hobson lit into the very first Märsche, one could feel the stirrings of that uprising as well as the exuberance of Schumann’s return to piano writing in a “white heat of passion” (Schumann’s own words). The boldness and heroism of Florestan were present, along with a remarkable elegance in this pianist’s hands. The second Märsch in G minor followed with power and urgency, as well as sensitivity in its gentle E-flat middle section.

The third Märsche, subtitled Lager-Scene (“Camp Scene”) possesses many of Schumann’s mercurial qualities in harmony and phrasing, and it could easily give way to self-indulgence, but the cohesion here was solid. The playing reflected what one might call an orchestral overview – and that is not surprising, given Mr. Hobson’s very busy second career as a conductor. The fourth Märsch closed the set with a grandeur that underscored its noticeable references to La Marseillaise.

Moving on to the Six Etudes after Paganini, Op. 3 (1832), this listener felt ambivalent at first. As the program notes by Richard Dyer state, Schumann “evidently intended Op. 3 for study and educational purposes only.” They could conveniently have been excised from the cycle on that basis. Furthermore, technically, we want perfection from such pianistic hurdling, though there is little that any performer in a live concert can do to match the several flawless renditions available on recordings, most likely from studios with unlimited editing capacity. What’s more, musically, they are not truly representative of Schumann, for as the composer writes, “I copied the original more or less note for note, perhaps to its disadvantage, only expanding its harmonic scope.” That said, Mr. Hobson had them well in hand, and completeness won the day. Did one occasionally wish all had not been straitjacketed into the cycle plan, and that we could hear only some artfully chosen favorites of the pianist to let his gifts shine at their best? Yes.

Highlights of Op. 3 included the first two etudes with well-known Liszt counterparts. In the first by Schumann, we heard the opening A minor scales and arpeggios of Paganini’s A minor Caprice (No. 5) actually proceeding to the rest of that same Paganini Caprice; oddly, this fidelity was a jolt, because pianists are used to the Liszt-Paganini Etude, No. 1 (composed a good six years later) with the very same opening (transposed to G minor) introducing a tacked-on version of Paganini’s Caprice, No. 6. This “un-hearing” of Liszt took us back in time, bringing us closer to Schumann’s world shortly after hearing Paganini himself in concert.

A less dramatic surprise was felt hearing Op. 3’s second Etude (after Paganini’s Caprice No. 9 – La Chasse, or “The Hunt”), after being accustomed to Liszt’s Paganini Etude No. 5 based on the same Caprice. Here, it was a special joy to hear Schumann’s version, with help from Mr. Hobson’s gentle and graceful interpretation. Equally lyrical was the third (Andante), which Mr. Hobson played with a singing tone and inevitability of phrasing. The fourth was played with all the rhythmic mischief it invites, and the fifth was a romp. The sixth and final Etude of Op. 3 was played with stormy brilliance, reminding one of the Op. 13, then yet to be written. All in all, Mr. Hobson made a case for these neglected pieces.

The Etudes, Op. 10 (1833) followed intermission. One was starting to wonder how anyone could undertake this program, but there were no signs of flagging. Using music for much of it may have removed the stress on one’s memory, but it is nevertheless unwieldy music to tackle. The first of Op. 10 was artfully shaped, such that one almost forgot about its technical difficulties. The second brought to mind again the contrast with Liszt’s eerie G-minor tremolos (from Paganini’s Caprice No. 6), here replaced partly with repeated chords over an inspired, independent left-hand part. Surprisingly, just a year after his Op. 3, Schumann was growing in some ways freer with Paganini than Liszt would be. There is little question about which composer’s Paganini Etudes were  – and are – more popular, but Mr. Hobson made it apparent that even transcribing somewhat laborious exercises, Schumann was a poet.

Mr. Hobson proceeded to No. 3 making it sound easy overall. Despite rapid alternation of octaves and trills – requiring lumberjack and ballet dancer – Mr. Hobson was up to it all. Aside from tiny glitches here and there, it was an epic undertaking, amazingly handled – all “chased down” with Schumann’s diabolically difficult Toccata Op. 7 (1829-32). Few pianists can play the latter well, but it says a lot that its heroic themes echoed in this listener’s mind long after the concert.

It takes a special kind of heroism to rummage through neglected corners of a composer’s output. First, the pianist must devote increased effort to “selling” or beautifying what has been neglected (sometimes for good reason). After that, such a performer is very seldom lauded or thanked as champions of “new music” are. Why? Well, because it is Schumann, and we all know Schumann – or do we? Surely Ian Hobson is content to explore without looking for accolades, but let me at least offer mine, with gratitude.

Music of Elliott Carter, Louis Karchin, and Tyson David

Da Capo Chamber Players: Curtis Macomber, violin; 

Chris Gross, cello: Marianne Gythfeldt clarinet   Steven Beck piano

Guest artists: Catherine Boyack, flute (Patricia Spencer is on leave 2023-24); 

John Ferrari, percussion; James Baker, conductor

The Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

October 15, 2023

In a Tenri Cultural Institute concert billed as celebrating “innovation by three generations of American composers,” the Da Capo Chamber Players continued what they have done exceptionally well for decades: the thoughtful curation and expert performance of new music. Here they featured just one composer from each of the three generations, and the three were Elliott Carter (1908-2012), Louis Karchin (b. 1951), and Tyson Davis (b. 2000). 

The first half of the concert offered a sampling of all three composers, starting with Between Light and Shadow by Tyson Davis, now in his first year of the M.M. program at the Juilliard School (but who was just seventeen when the piece was written in 2018). Between Light and Shadow was scored for Pierrot ensemble (exactly what the Da Capo nucleus is) plus percussion – handled expertly here by John Ferrari. The work was inspired by The Twilight Zone television series and consists of four movements named from individual episodes (Third from the Sun, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet, Mirror Image, and The Arrival). The absence of pretense in basing a substantial work on a television program “had me at hello” as the saying goes, but it was the skillful and evocative writing that sealed the deal. The music was powerful, direct, and individual. Mr. Davis is no mere “star of the moment” (despite being booked with commissions through 2025) but is a genuine voice of great promise in the composition world. As Mr. Davis mentioned later in the panel discussion, he is not a synesthete, but he feels strong links between the visual and tonal worlds; in retrospect, it may have been this quality, plus his technique for projecting it, that gave this work such immediate appeal. 

In strong contrast came the program’s second work, Con leggerezza pensosa (1990), by Elliott Carter, who combined a long and productive composing life with the teaching of several generations of composers at Juilliard and elsewhere. 

Con leggerezza pensosa was commissioned by Dr. Rafaelle Pozzi in homage to the Italian author Italo Calvino, and its title suggests Calvino’s notion of “thoughtful lightness” as distinct from the “lightness of frivolity” (“In fact,” Calvino continues, “thoughtful lightness can make frivolity seem dull and heavy.”)  With thoughts of this elusive distinction never far, the work was given an engrossing performance by Marianne Gythfeldt (clarinet), Curtis Macomber (violin), and Chris Gross (cello) – with the author’s case resting most pithily in the final disappearing clarinet gesture, with faint pizzicati.

The third and last piece of the half was a work composed for the Da Capo Chamber Players, Incantations and Dances (2023) by Louis Karchin, currently a Professor of Music at New York University, among his many distinctions. It was a joy, after the cryptic complexity of the Carter piece, to hear a work that, for all its brilliance and sophistication, was immediately accessible, with clearly discernible dance references (the characteristics of a minuet, a hoedown, and pavane, for example). There was not a dull moment, and the Da Capo ensemble with percussionist John Ferrari achieved split-second timing under the leadership of conductor James Baker. Pianist Steven Beck was remarkable here and throughout the evening for his almost surgical precision. One could hardly imagine finding a better performance of this work. It was another feather in the cap of Da Capo to feature this very worthy, though perhaps underrepresented, composer.

After intermission, Mr. Karchin and Mr. Davis were joined by Elliott Carter scholar John Link and conductor James Baker in a panel discussion, and the rest of the program was music by Elliott Carter, with performances of his Enchanted Preludes (1988), and Triple Duo (1982-3). Not surprisingly the panel discussion touched on the influence on the two composers present of Elliott Carter, the senior member of the evening’s triumvirate – and there would have been enough material there to justify calling the entire evening a Carter-fest if Mr. Karchin and Mr. Davis had not offered such engagingly individual works of their own. There were recollections about Carter’s personality, about the composers’ first exposures to his music, and about his overall influence (regardless of whether it affected this evening’s works specifically). There seemed some consensus about Carter’s de-emphasis of downbeats, his music’s overall fluidity (which Mr. Davis noted especially), and the interest in metric modulation. There was in addition the mention of his every note possessing character, a quality which the superb Da Capo players brought out extremely well. The discussion became particularly fascinating in response to the question of how each composer composes – whether from an initial extra-musical idea, from small to large, large to small, from a desired proportion, or creating a figurative “scaffolding” – but sadly a report of these details goes beyond the scope of this review. The interested reader must simply attend the next Da Capo event. 

Carter’s Enchanted Preludes (1988) found flutist Catherine Boyack and cellist Chris Gross in an outstanding pairing, colored with wonderful flutter-tongue sounds from Ms. Boyack and compelling colors from Mr. Gross. 

The only work that was difficult to enjoy, despite its virtuosic performance, was Carter’s Triple Duple, which closed the program. Once again the acoustics of the Tenri Institute made the volume and tone quality in higher registers actually painful. Certainly there were all the tonal colors and individual articulations that give Carter’s music its “flavors” – but in this case (extending a food-music comparison started in the panel discussion) one’s musical “taste buds” had been obliterated by the musical equivalent of a pepper topping the Scoville scale. One kept trying to savor it, thinking “If only I could really taste this.” There were of course many moments for savoring between these strident sounds, but it was hard to unclench after them.

This listener will still eagerly await the next Da Capo concerts, and for more information, the reader can visit: Da Capo Chamber Players

Kariné Poghosyan, pianist; Jason Tramm, conductor; 

The MidAtlantic Philharmonic Orchestra

St. Vartan Armenian Cathedral, New York, NY

September 20, 2023

It was a joy this week to accept an assignment to review an evening of concerti for several reasons – one being the piano soloist Kariné Poghosyan, whom I had reviewed favorably for New York Concert Review in 2009 (at the much-missed Steinway Hall on 57th Street) and whose passionate playing has since attracted admirers globally. Another enticement was the program itself, honoring composer anniversaries of Sergei Rachmaninoff (150th) and Aram Khachaturian (120th). The conductor Jason Tramm was yet another draw, having impressed on several occasions as an orchestral Pied Piper – and this would be your reviewer’s first time hearing him lead a group called the MidAtlantic Philharmonic Orchestra. Not least of all, this concert offered the chance to explore a magnificent building, the St. Vartan Armenian Cathedral, which dominates an entire block of Second Avenue at 34th Street.

It is important to state right away that this occasion was no ordinary concert. Not only was the event marking the 32nd Anniversary of Armenian Independence, but it happened to take place the day after particularly severe losses to the Armenian community from attacks on the disputed Artsakh region, a tragedy so devastating that the organizers had considered canceling the concert in the wake of it all, according to the Very Rev. Fr. Mesrop Parsamyan in his introductory words; music won, however, as the unifying and healing force that it is, and we learned later that all concert proceeds would go to affected families in Artsakh.

Even the most curmudgeonly critic would want to avoid the usual dissection of performances under these circumstances, as the collective grief of the Armenian community seems to overshadow all else. What becomes paramount at such times is the spirit, and there was plenty of that. 

Especially spirited was the Khachaturian Piano Concerto in D-flat major, given a fiery and athletic ride by Ms. Poghosyan. This was the part of the program that one would stash away in one’s memory. Though the work has an impressive discography of champions including Moura Lympany, William Kapell, Alicia de Larrocha, Marc-André Hamelin, and a few dozen others, Ms. Poghosyan’s performance here had a unique vibrancy – partly of course because it was live and partly because of the occasion. Her own Armenian heritage embraced Khachaturian’s in a performance of fierce energy, pride, and affirmation. She has a strong bond with this composer, as also evidenced in her important recording of his work for Naxos, and here she brought his music to life with confident pianism and strong projection of its phrases and moods. 

On a largely visual note, Ms. Poghosyan has become known for her demonstrativeness in physical movements at the keyboard, a quality that is controversial among pianists, with this reviewer finding both pros and cons depending on what naturally supports the music. Though some of her movements could be thought to be unnecessary or distracting, it seems that through them she helped illustrate the emotional journey of the music better than captions ever could have for some of her less experienced listeners – an advantage here especially, given the rather indistinct sound in this reverberant space.  Beyond that, some of the full-body thrusts seemed designed to help the Khachaturian’s percussive attacks overcome the rather dull sound of the church piano – though it seemed overall that there was little one could do to change that. The challenge was to pierce through the orchestra’s overwhelming power as well as the church’s reverberant wash – and though that was a tall order, her gestures might have at least helped the synchronizing, had everyone been attentive.

The Khachaturian’s deeply soulful central movement was a highlight, with the welcome appearance of that rarely heard instrument, the flexatone (often replaced in concert by similar but more readily available instruments). A very young Mason Tramm contributed his efforts here admirably, supported by the strings. For those unfamiliar with the flexatone, it is akin to the musical saw in its eerie bending of pitch, and it has a percussive element as well. Its sound is perfect for this composer’s slower doleful lines, and alongside Ms. Poghosyan’s clear and expressive playing, there was some memorable music-making.

Also notable throughout the work were the bass clarinet lines, ennobled by the strong, pure sound of Timothy Hanley.  The orchestra seemed to gain confidence and polish along the way, and Ms. Poghosyan shone especially brightly in the impassioned finale. The audience roared its approval as the beaming pianist and conductor shared bows and fist pumps – Ms. Poghosyan with noticeable Armenian flag colors on her right wrist. That was the “takeaway image” for this concert.

Among elements one may choose not to take away, but which need to be mentioned as a matter of course would be the rest of the program preceding the Khachaturian. Close to twenty minutes past the designated start time of 8 pm, we finally heard the opening piano harmonies of Rachmaninoff’s glorious and ever-popular Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor. It is a piece that would be more than enough for one evening for most pianists (Yuja Wang’s marathons notwithstanding), but unfortunately on this occasion it felt more like a mere appetizer for the Khachaturian. 

Despite Ms. Poghosyan’s physical exertions, including mini-launches off the bench with several of the opening chords, the muffled piano and garbled acoustics got the better of everyone. One also couldn’t help getting the sense – perhaps through some rubati that felt unsettled rather than natural – that this was not where the pianist’s heart truly dwelt. As the orchestra entered, they revealed a similar ambivalence. Rough patches seemed to suggest insufficient rehearsal time, and tempo discrepancies threatened to send the piece off the rails. These moments may be what led the pianist to be even more physically demonstrative in the attempt to corral some rogue orchestral personnel, but unfortunately, without a sufficiently compelling sound to match the visual, there were sections of chaos, scrambling, and blurring. Efforts to shoehorn cues into rapid fingerwork or wait midflight should rarely be necessary, but some of those were oddly impressive to anyone knowing the work’s challenges.

Why these issues beset the Rachmaninoff so much more than the Khachaturian is something of a mystery, but it is possible that the latter, being less well-known, had elicited more careful rehearsal. One might assume that orchestra players would know the Rachmaninoff almost well enough to play it without a conductor – after all, my pew neighbor was singing along with it (audiences, please do not do this!); alas, however, the piece still demands and deserves maximum effort.

After such stressful moments in the Rachmaninoff, many pianists would want to collapse, but – make no mistake – Kariné Poghosyan is a force.  She had stood out fourteen years ago as having “a passionate musicality that transcends repertoire issues, ‘off’ nights, and a host of other challenges…” (New York Concert Review, vol. 16, no. 3, 2009), and in some ways, this concert validated that comment. Given the rather “off” start to the evening, her rebound into the Khachaturian (after barely a two-minute break) was mind-boggling. Her finish was triumphant. Brava!

Thomas Nickell, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute New York, NY

September 17, 2023

It is always interesting, after one has reviewed a young student, to review that same performer some years later. Five years ago, I reviewed a very young Thomas Nickell in a program at Zankel Hall that included Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 2, Liszt’s Totentanz, and a composition by Mr. Nickell himself. He was on a dual path as a double major in piano and composition at The New School, Mannes College of Music (from which he now holds double B.M. degrees), but he had struck this listener at the time as being primarily a pianist who happened also to compose. Five years later (though still young!), with some more compositions, premieres, albums, and ballet company collaborations under his belt (including with the illustrious Pacific Northwest and Joffrey Ballet companies), he projects the opposite impression – that of a composer who also plays the piano, but much better than composers typically do. This is not to say that one needs to choose, because there is a synergy that happens by combining performing and composing – but each art can be “a jealous mistress” as the saying goes, so prioritizing can be helpful in building programs and ultimately in following one’s heart.

One had a sense that Mr. Nickell was following his heart and in complete comfort with his choice of the Satie Sarabande No. 1. It was a wonderful piece to precede Mr. Nickell’s own Sonata, as it readied the listeners’ ears for something fresh, new, and highly individual. It is funny that one can barely enter certain coffee shops without hearing Satie’s Gymnopedies, but the three Sarabandes have been relatively underplayed, so it was good to hear Mr. Nickell’s probing and sensitive rendition. 

It was also a joy seeing on the program the solo version of Poulenc’s Aubade, Concerto Chorégraphique (1929), which closed the evening. Though created by Poulenc himself from a ballet he had conceived, it has yet to gain currency as a piano work. Especially effective was Mr. Nickell’s fiery and fleet fingerwork in both the Toccata and the Allegro Féroce movements. The Andante – Variation de Diane, a meltingly lyrical movement, was given the sensitive devotion it needs and deserves. Bravo! Oddly, this movement wasn’t listed as the Variation de Diane, nor was there any mention of the story of the goddess Diana – the inspiration behind the work. Without a ballet to project the story, some brief program notes could have certainly helped guide listeners. Especially curious was their absence in view of the fact that there were notes for the four very famous Chopin works on the program. 

Newer still than Poulenc or Satie was Mr. Nickell’s own Sonata, which was given its world premiere during the first half, to a reception of the pianist’s cheering fans. Though this listener could have used more illumination to help knit together its chromaticism and thorny beginning with other sections, plus the brief appearance of a nostalgic waltz later on in the piece (is there a story there?), it contained many ideas one could find engaging (even if the composer himself, reading from an electronic score, needed a degree more of engagement at times). Also engaging was a movement called Silver Lake from the composition Scenes from My Childhood by Cameron Smith, about whom there were no biographical notes. Ms. Smith’s piece employs extended techniques (plucked lower strings inside the piano), to evoke the depths of the remote lake for which her piece is named. Mr. Nickell played it with a persuasive dreamlike quality.

Last of all to discuss, yet spread throughout the program and dominating it timewise – were four of Chopin’s most revered and frequently performed works, including two Ballades (No. 1 in G minor and No. 4 in F minor) and two Scherzi (No. 1 in B minor and No. 2 in B-flat minor). In these, Mr. Nickell acquitted himself well overall, but, given the immense stature of these pieces in the piano world and their very rich performing histories, it seems that programming these was not the best representation of Mr. Nickell’s considerable gifts. Though there were glimmers of magic where Mr. Nickell took more time than many pianists do to highlight certain inner voices and progressions, there were also a few too many details obscured or glossed over (a quibble mentioned also in my 2018 review) – and one hesitates even to use such a potentially dismissive term as “detail” in discussing the finely wrought creations of Chopin. 

Aside from some overlooked articulations, pedal blurring where clarity was needed, and lost textures (generally in the left hand), there was the occasional need for more attention to cantabile treble lines, which need to soar and ring out at phrase peaks. Pianists tend to live for such lines in Chopin, but perhaps Mr. Nickell was pre-emptively overcompensating for the notoriously harsh sound of the piano and acoustics of this venue, the Tenri Cultural Institute (and Tenri has been cited repeatedly for the harsh sound by reviewers from New York Concert Review). To Mr. Nickell’s credit, there was not a single harsh sound, neither in the bracing opening chords of the Scherzo in B minor (nor their return after the B major section), nor in the climaxes of the other pieces. Oddly, one might have willingly endured just a touch of harshness here and there, in pursuit of unleashing the big spirit in these great works – though it is of course hard addressing so many issues at once and finding the right balance. 

Projection, and the practice of thinking outwardly as a performer, may not be easy to combine with the introspection involved in composing, so it is undoubtedly a challenge to straddle two such demanding artistic pursuits; it is clear, however, that Mr. Nickell has the talent and potential to take on enormous challenges, so we’ll look forward to his next chapter.

Andrew Harrison, saxophone; Jason Lo, piano

Bargemusic, Brooklyn, NY

September 15, 2023

Friday, September 15, saxophonist Andrew Harrison played a program of new music with pianist Jason Lo at Bargemusic in Brooklyn, as the opening concert for a set of similarly tantalizing programs entitled “Eclectic Series.” I am happy to report that this concert lived up fully to the name of the series, boding well for the others (listed partially at the Bargemusic website: Bargemusic). This particular program was entitled “Imaginary Folksongs” for Saxophone and Piano, deriving its name from a featured composition of that name by Stephen Lias.

What first struck this reviewer was the personable style of the duo, joking about their flights to New York (presumably from California where they both teach) and about the airline losing some luggage. For outreach concerts, this duo would be a presenter’s dream with their approachable style and low-key ad-libbing. Though there were just biographies of the performers on the program, no notes on the program itself (something that might have been easily handled by these two performers, both with doctorates), Dr. Harrison mostly made up for that with some brief spoken introductions; printed notes, however, would still have been welcome!

Though their stage presence was “low-key” their playing was high voltage. Their first three selections from Imaginary Folksongs (2014) by Stephen Lias opened the concert with energy and brilliance. In Titania’s Bower, High in the Andes, and Bonnie-Bye, there are no actual folksongs referenced, but that is where the word “Imaginary” comes to the fore. The modally-inflected Titania’s Bower evokes a sense of the fairy queen of Ovid and Shakespeare dancing her way into a technicolor dreamscape, one foot in reassuringly traditional meters and tonality, while also exploring more adventurous musical territory. It was given a marvelous performance by Dr. Harrison on soprano sax, the instrument for all of the first three Lias pieces performed here. Pianist Jason Lo shone especially in the second piece, High in the Andes, with tonal colors that conveyed its melancholy well. (One had already had a hint of Dr. Lo’s coloristic bent from strains of his Ravel Ondine as he warmed up in the hall shortly before starting, but here he confirmed his fine collaborative sensitivity). The third piece, Bonnie Bye, was pure fun in its jaunty suggestion of highland dance, though, if there were any actual Scottish tunes in there, they seemed highly flavored by Poulenc and those of his milieu. This whole set has been embraced by a fair number of saxophonists – and it is no wonder, as it has immediate appeal and is brimming with lyricism – but one can hardly imagine the set being played better than it was by this duo.

Next on the program were Three Negro Spirituals (originally for violin) by Florence Price, recast for saxophone by Andrew Harrison. There has been something of a resurgence in programs of the music of Florence Price (1887-1953), and in all kinds of arrangements, but these were the first I’d heard for saxophone and piano. Arrangements of O Holy Lord, Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child, and Lord I Want to be a Christian were given respectfully minimal treatment and played with tenderness.

Returning to Imaginary Folksongs by Stephen Lias, the duo played Magic Island, Song of Light, and The Three Jolly

Pigeons – now with alto saxophone. In contrast to the earlier three pieces, these employ some extended techniques – including percussive effects, pitch bending, and air sounds – all carried out expressively by Dr. Harrison. The exotic atmosphere of Magic Island was especially enhanced by these effects. Dr. Lo achieved more of his sensitive shading in the Song of Light, with his gentle whole-tone patterns setting the perfect backdrop for Dr. Harrison’s long-breathed lines. The Three Jolly Pigeons concluded the set with zest and humor.

More lyricism of a meditative sort came next in the piece Journey (2008) by Lori Laitman. Lori Laitman is best known for her vocal music, but the story goes that she had written Journey as a song before the poet withdrew the poem – at which point she arranged it for saxophone and piano. Interestingly, there is a growing body of music that has been recast after being set to particular poems that became no longer available – one notable example being an Eric Whitacre setting of Robert Frost. The moral to composers seems to be, “inspiration first, details later.” In any case, the vocal world’s loss is the saxophone world’s gain in this moving work, which the duo played with devotion.

The program’s biggest virtuoso showpiece Rhapsody on Japanese Folksongs by Ryota Ishikawa, followed. Sailing through a panoramic range of moods and an encyclopedic array of trills and slides and tricks, the duo relished each one of these with ease. It was what could have been a perfect bravura close, but was capped off gently by what amounted to a programmed encore in the lovely miniature Lilac Tears (2022) composed by Jennifer Jolley. Ms. Jolley was present to acknowledge the receptive audience. The piece was, we are told, inspired by a Prince performance in 2004 of George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” at Harrison’s posthumous induction to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was a dreamy close, after which Dr. Harrison invited the audience to “hang out” and ask questions. Of course, inquiring minds being the way they are, the first question was about what happened to the duo’s luggage. If the readers wish to know, they’ll simply have to be in the audience at the duo’s next performance!

Speaking of audience, the sparse attendance at this high-level performance struck one as almost criminal. Though Bargemusic is a bit off the beaten path, it has established a fine track record since its founding in 1977. If the hindrance for some is cost, they even have an admission-free series called “Music in Motion.” It is definitely worth exploring!

Da Capo Chamber Players

Curtis Macomber, violin; Marianne Gythfeldt. Clarinet; Christopher Gross, cello

Guest Artists: Roberta Michel, flute; Lois Martin, viola; Molly Morkoski, piano

Tenri Institute, New York, NY

June 11, 2023

It is a special pleasure to review an ensemble that was just creating a name for itself 51 years ago when this reviewer was a young child. Anyone in New York interested in new music over the past half a century has most likely known of the Da Capo Chamber Players for their many concerts and distinctions, starting with their Naumburg Chamber Music Award in 1973. They’ve given premieres of works by Elliott Carter, Joan Tower, George Perle, Shulamit Ran, and countless noted composers, many of whom have composed works just for them (totaling over 150). Though the only original member of the ensemble is now flutist Patricia Spencer, and she was not performing in this weekend’s concert at Tenri, Da Capo did present three of its stellar regular members, including violinist Curtis Macomber, clarinetist Marianne Gythfeldt, and cellist Christopher Gross. Their usual pianist, the uniquely gifted Steven Beck, was also absent from this concert, but guest pianist Molly Morkoski gave performances all evening that would be hard to surpass, if not impossible. To expand the forces for this concert – a celebration of young composers – the ensemble brought in excellent guest artists Roberta Michel (flutist) and Lois Martin (violist).

The program started with Look Again (2013, also listed in the program as 2014) by Jessica Mays (b. 1986). It turned out to be one of my favorite works on the program. Composed for flute, clarinet, cello, piano, and violin, it centers on the experience of grief and (in the composer’s words) “that experience of shock while facing the unknown and repetitive rumination that accompanies the grief cycle.” It was a refreshing – and surprisingly rare – experience to hear music that corresponded so perfectly with the composer’s written description and stated intent, though the music itself evoked more than those words ever could. Bursts of sound and large gestures conveyed shock, alternating with doleful repeated tones (especially from the piano) suggesting the relentless revisiting of thoughts in a mind that is simply trapped by grief. The players were united in their dedication to communicating the work’s essence, and they succeeded. It was both stimulating to the imagination and stirring to the emotions, the work of a fresh and sincere voice in the composition world.

The second of the five works we heard was a 2014 one by Durban-born Andile Khumalo (b. 1978) who currently teaches in South Africa and whose US connections include a Doctor of Musical Arts degree from Columbia University with George Lewis. His work on this program was Schaufe[r]inster II for solo piano- and yes, you read that correctly as a title and not an editor’s marking. As the composer writes, “The title of this piano series comes from a combination of two German words ‘Schaufenster’ (display window) and ‘schau fern’ (look farther away) … The two words triggered the idea of detailed observation or enhanced sensitivity towards observation or listening.” With wordplay already involving some brain-teasing, the composer continues with references to spectralism, the interlocking techniques of African xylophones, and research into the approach to the timbre of the ama Xhosa, some of which this listener imagines she may have heard in it – some not. Frankly, given the live acoustics at Tenri, the harshness of parts (especially in its second section) impeded truly receptive listening. With persistent focus, though, one could hear the glimmers of its many intriguing ideas. This listener was doing more searching than finding, but that may have been the composer’s aim. The pianist did a commendable job navigating the work’s myriad challenges and complexities, from fleet finger work and rapid leaps to handling disjunct material.

The third work on the program was Prelude (2019), a duo for cello and piano, composed by Katherine Balch (b. 1991).  Composed for Zlatomir Fung and Tengku Irfan, it was (in the composer’s words) “written to precede attacca into” the Brahms E minor Cello Sonata without pause, though she adds that “it may also be performed alone” – which of course it was here, given the program’s focus on new young composers. Aside from its ending on the dominant (B) of the E minor key of the sonata, one was hard-pressed to connect this work with Brahms, though undoubtedly such a new piece requires more listening and study. It was certainly full of great tonal and timbral variety, from the bell-like prepared piano effects to a variety of bowing techniques and the highest cello range imaginable, where sighing motives resembled seagull cries. Once again, percussive treble attacks were painful to hear in this space, but apart from those, it was a compelling performance. One could hardly ask for a more committed duo than that of Gross and Morkoski.

On a side note, one drawback of such a contemporary music series is what amounts to the segregation of new music from old. A composition designed to precede a specific Brahms work left this listener pining to re-hear the Brahms itself, as originally planned by the composer, and surely the newness and Romanticism would have complemented each other while making connections between them more apparent. Though the Brahms would have made this program twenty-five minutes too long, perhaps down the road Da Capo can experiment a bit more with diachronically themed programs, even on a small scale. Just as toddlers and seniors are now found to be mutually beneficial in intergenerational living experiments (ha! – after many societies already knew it), the same concept can enhance a musical experience. There could still be an emphasis on the new.

After intermission, we heard a piece called Trinket (2013), composed by Wang Lu (b. 1982). With paper clips on the piano strings and numerous effects for the cello, violin, and flute (plus piccolo), it tickled the ears as one might have imagined from its title. Ms. Lu writes (after stating that her piece had “no program note”) that the title indicates “a tiny box. It is shiny and sharp on the edges. Who knows what’s inside but we can hear sounds from the outside. We want to open it, we turn it around and around in our hands. But maybe it’s better not to open it, and only listen to it from the outside.” For “no program note” that was one of the most helpful notes imaginable for what we then heard. With the long rests between opening tones conveying the box’s mystery, its sharpness conveyed in its clear-cut phrases and percussiveness, and its sheen heard especially in the flute part, one could absolutely imagine this box, dream of some humorous possibilities inside it – and also have a healthy fear of it. It could have been called “Pandora” with its later recurring Dies Irae snippets (just four notes here which, then circled back up), but the word “Trinket” was a far more colorful (and somewhat onomatopoeic) choice. The ensemble was, as expected, superb.

The final work on the program was Enclosed Position (2014) by Matthew Ricketts (b. 1986). Composed for alto flute, clarinet, string trio, and piano, it is a stunning piece, built from (as the composer describes it) “a harmonic vocabulary which traces a zagged path through the chords of Ravel and Massenet, which start rather similarly but then modulate in different directions.” The program notes are too long to quote sufficiently here, but suffice it to say that they confirmed much of what a listener could hear and feel.  One heard in it both the sadness and sensuality of the musicians who inspired it, and at its very quiet end, one could hear that often-mentioned pin drop. It seemed not the typical silence of an audience wondering whether an unfamiliar piece was over – but more the silence of an audience hoping it was not over.

Bravo to Da Capo for so many great performances and compositions – and cheers to their upcoming 52nd season!

Magdalena Filipczak, violin; Jessica Xylina Osborne, Piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

May 30, 2023

A large crowd came out to Weill Hall this Tuesday for the debut recital of violinist Magdalena Filipczak with pianist collaborator Dr.Jessica Xylina Osborne, and it was a concert not to be forgotten. The program was beyond bountiful, including fiercely demanding 20th-century works (by Arnold Schoenberg, Witold Lutoslawski, Benjamin Britten, and Stephen Coxe), alongside virtuoso showpieces (Eugène Ysaÿe and Henryk Wieniawski), all flanking the centerpiece of the evening, Franz Schubert’s monumental Fantasy in C major, D. 934. Of these works, almost any by itself might be the high point of a typical violin program, but here were seven such pieces together. The duo of Filipczak and Osborne was certainly a match for it all, as one might have been led to expect from their excellent credentials, but they surpassed expectations, adding memorable surprises along the way.

Incidentally, this recital was supposed to have occurred in 2020 but was among those canceled because of the pandemic. Three extra years can make a program feel stale, but in this case time seems to have ripened it perfectly. With only one change from the original 2020 program (still posted on the Carnegie website) – Wieniawski’s Fantasie Brillante on motifs from Gounod’s Faust in place of Ravel’s Sonata No. 2 –   the substitution simply expanded on a “Fantasy” theme that was already emerging with the Schubert, Wieniawski, and Schoenberg (all heard in Ms. Filipczak’s debut CD album, Essence of Violin).

Back to 2023, the recital burst into action with a work aptly named Subito, Lutosławski’s dazzlingly craggy and chromatic test piece commissioned by Joseph Gingold for the 1994 International Violin Competition in Indianapolis. Ms. Filipczak exploited it as the vehicle of violin wizardry it was meant to be, showing a huge emotional range from violent outbursts to lyrical lines. The split-second timing of the duo was exceptional.

As if the Lutoslawski had not been edgy and dissonant enough, Schoenberg’s Phantasy, Op. 47, the composer’s last strictly instrumental work, followed. In lieu of program notes, Ms. Filipczak made some prefatory comments (also announcing a change from the program which had listed the Britten next), but sadly a very noisy late seating drowned her out. This was a lot of challenging music for a lay audience to process, but the duo did pull it off with conviction.

Anticipation was building (in this listener anyway) for the Schubert Fantasy in C Major (1827) as Ms. Filipczak explained the connection between this great work and one of the lieder Schubert had composed in 1822, Sei mir gegrüßt, or “I greet you” (the Fantasy‘s Andantino movement being a set of variations on that song, reworked). Little did we know what was up this pair’s sleeves, but just as the pianist started what sounded like the introduction of the Andantino movement (which would have been skipping ahead in the Fantasy), it turned out to be the similar piano introduction to the original song Sei mir gegrüßt – sung by none other than Ms. Filipczak herself! To be clear, that is not to say that Ms. Filipczak played a transcription of the song (something violinists have done in conjunction with this work), but that she sang it, and with a lovely and well-trained voice!  At this point, one recalled that along with her violin studies there were mentions in her biography of voice studies – but those had been nothing to prepare one for her singing at her own violin debut. What a wonderfully bold touch! It became clearer and clearer that Ms. Filipczak, along with being an immensely gifted violinist, is first and foremost a musician. She aims to communicate all she can by whatever means necessary, going the extra mile and taking risks. Based on what we heard, she is succeeding!

Overriding any urge for disruptive applause, her pianist and “partner in crime” led smoothly from the song to the tremolando piano opening of the Fantasy, as if in a dream sequence.  It was a breathtaking segue, and it enhanced the experience of this magnificent piece. Aside from what seemed slightly differing conceptions of tempi in the earlier of the Andantino‘s variations, the Fantasy benefitted from still more superb playing from this duo. Dr. Osborne handled with polish the torrents of passagework, octaves, and other difficulties, while always listening and intuiting keenly as a chamber musician. The piano lid was up, but her piano sound rarely overpowered – it was just robust, as most of this duo program demanded.

After intermission, we heard Britten’s Reveille: A Concert Study for Violin and Piano, moved from the first half. A dreamy evocation of the difficulty Britten’s young violinist friend had with early mornings, it enjoyed sleepy slides from the violinist over a hypnotic piano part, blooming gradually into the day’s etudes before a comically perfunctory close from both – it was done to a tee.The audience then lapped up Wieniawski’s Fantasia on Themes from Gounod’s Faust, a piece that piles so many different facets of violin technique on top of one another that it verges on hilarity. It was great to hear a duo good enough to have fun with it – one didn’t know whether to laugh or gasp in awe.

Cherchant, a 2019 work (World Premiere) by Stephen Coxe came as a sobering interlude with notes of Ravel, Berg, and Szymanowski, and it lived up to its title well with its sincere feeling of searching. Around this point in the long evening, it struck one that this duo may want to opt eventually for slightly shorter programs. Sometimes less is more (and it is a lot to ask an audience – including a reviewer – to leave after 10 pm for a concert starting at 8 pm). Allowing time for talking (and singing!), the Coxe work could have perhaps replaced the Schoenberg (fantasy themes notwithstanding), leaving the second half lighter and with more momentum.   Alternatively, perhaps just one of the showier pieces was enough. Ysaÿe’s Caprice d’après l’étude en forme de Valse de Saint-Saëns closed the program with still more over-the-top brilliance, and one approached what could be called the “virtuosity saturation point.”

Minor reservations aside, the Ysaÿe found Ms. Filipczak in incredible form yet again, and Dr. Osborne masterful, never becoming the bland background even with the violin in the fore, but always adding flavor to each gesture and phrase. Their rapport was felt in musical exchange that resembled witty conversation – wonderful fun, expertly projected.

A cheering crowd received two encores, Paderewski’s gentle Melodie Op. 16, No 2 (arr. Stanislaw Barcewicz) and Szymanowski’s haunting Prelude Op. 1, No. 1 (arr. Grażyna Bacewicz), both played with sensitivity. Hearty congratulations to both musicians!