Yixiang Hou, pianist

Joel Crawford, Recording, mixing, and mastering engineer

KNS Classical label: KNS A/139

The KNS Classical recording label (www.knsclassical.com) has just this spring released an album entitled Carnival featuring excellent performances by pianist Yixiang Hou in unusual selections from the late Renaissance to the twentieth century. Recorded December 18, 2022 on a Steinway at Robert J. Werner Recital Hall (University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, CCM), it includes composers as disparate as Orlando Gibbons, Robert Schumann, Charles-Valentin Alkan, Alexander Scriabin, and Arnold Schoenberg. Not too surprisingly this album includes Schumann’s epic Op. 9, Carnaval, but equally carnivalesque is Alkan’s Le Festin d’Ésope (The Feast of Aesop), Op. 39, No 12 (1857), an exciting and still relatively overlooked work. Mr. Hou, a winner of quite a few prizes, revels in this diverse musical menu, proving himself to be a gifted and adventurous young artist. 

One is a bit puzzled by the inclusion in a “Carnival” collection of several much more somber selections – the Schoenberg Op. 11, Scriabin’s “Black Mass” Sonata No. 9, and especially the  Gibbons Pavan in G minor which opens (the processional display aspect notwithstanding); perhaps these are to serve as foils for the Schumann and Alkan centerpieces, but if the title “Carnival” is simply to suggest great variety, these works do add to that.

Mr. Hou opens the album with solemnity, imbuing the Gibbons Pavan in G minor with a free, quasi-improvisatory expressiveness that suits it well. It is a joy to hear. Though performance practice specialists tend to prefer early instruments for such a piece, a modern piano works beautifully in its own ways (as Glenn Gould and others have agreed). Mr. Hou is a persuasive advocate here, exploiting the piano’s colors to project its mercurial changes and shaping its florid lines well.

Alkan’s Le Festin d’Ésope (the twelfth etude of Alkan’s Op. 39 from 1857) follows in complete contrast, starting with an impish theme in E minor followed by twenty-five virtuosic variations. Honoring Aesop with various animal evocations, this etude an orgy of pianistic display, chordal bombast, wild hand-crossing, rapid octaves, ridiculously fast sixty-fourth notes in one hand with simultaneous leaps in the other, and just enough rhythmic mischief and abbajante (“barking”) dissonance to keep a virtuoso from taking himself (or anything) too seriously. Mr. Hou handles the pyrotechnics easily, with a technique that allows him to unleash its maniacal outbursts with zest. Still a bit more measured than my “go-to” recording of this by  Marc-André Hamelin (who was noted for pioneering this and other pieces by Alkan), Mr. Hou maintains most of the overall tautness of tempo as requested by the composer (avoiding what pianists jokingly call the “emergency maestoso” even in the direst diabolical difficulties), but he takes extra time where the music invites breathing. He is always controlled, with careful metric placement. He also thankfully manages the bravura passages without stretches of “banging” or stridency.

The relative spareness of Schoenberg’s Drei Klavierstücke, Op. 11 (1909) feels just right after Alkan’s circus of excess, though the three pieces are challenging to pianist and listener alike. Mr. Hou gives them thoughtful interpretations, carrying the listener through their almost stream-of-consciousness journey. The slow second piece benefits from a particularly expressive and involved performance here, and the stormy third is full of passion.

Scriabin’s Piano Sonata No. 9, Op. 68 (“Black Mass”) is one of the more difficult of Scriabin’s piano sonatas to hold together, but Mr. Hou has the insight and technique to do just that. Going back to the album title “Carnival” (if this work were meant to relate to that title at all), this would surely be the carnival’s Tower of Terror or some such attraction. This pianist’s rendition comes closer than most in capturing its eerie otherworldliness and ineffable terror.

Placement is key in music, and almost anything following the “Black Mass” Sonata sounds joyous; Robert Schumann’s Carnaval thus brings an especially welcome spirit of triumph to close this album. Mr. Hou gives it all it requires in a fairly mainstream, unsurprising but thoroughly satisfying performance. One can only imagine that his various live performances of it in competitions must have wowed his juries with his technical strengths and reliable musicality.

Along with being a frequent prizewinner in competitions, Mr. Hou continues his studies as a doctoral candidate at the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music (CCM) under the tutelage of Ran Dank (whom this reviewer reviewed as a musician of “immense talent” in 2008 as the winner of the Hilton Head International Competition).  What a fruitful pairing of two adventurous musicians! In addition, Mr. Hou has studied at the Shanghai Conservatory with pianists Qi Zhang, Weiling Chen, Dachun You, and Ting Zhou, in Boston with Wha Kyung Byun at the New England Conservatory, and at the Aspen Music Festival with Arie Vardi.

To reach such a high level while still a student bodes well for Mr. Hou’s future, and he is certainly an artist to watch as he continues to explore. Meanwhile, one can find his album at most online music stores. It would be hard, if not impossible, to find this particular array of works played as well by a single artist.

Jonathan Mamora, pianist

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

May 4, 2023

A large audience turned up at Weill Hall on May 4th to hear the Carnegie Debut recital of Jonathan Mamora, the 2022 Solo and Concerto Winner of the Palm Springs International Piano Competition (formerly The Virginia Waring International Piano Competition), and they were well rewarded. From a brief introduction by the competition’s Artistic Director, Robert Koenig, we learned that around a dozen audience members had flown in for the occasion, and one could feel their excitement, along with that of others.

Jonathan Mamora is what one might call a “big” pianist, in the best sense of the term. Starting with his programming, he chose both of Rachmaninoff’s fiercely demanding Piano Sonatas (Opp. 28 and 36), the Sonata No. 3 (Op. 82) by Lowell Liebermann (b. 1961), Liszt’s Les Jeux d’eaux å la Villa d’Este from Années de pèlerinage (Troisième année), and to open the concert a work entitled Resolve (from the set of Five Intermezzi) by Australian composer Carl Vine (b. 1954). Though the Vine and Liszt works are relatively short, they are substantial, with wide-ranging challenges, and as for Rachmaninoff’s Sonatas, their considerable difficulty is paired with a need for mental and physical stamina, with No. 1 being over a half hour and No. 2 in the original 1913 version approaching that. The Liebermann 3rd Sonata in one movement is hardly short, but it started to feel short between two behemoths. Either of the Rachmaninoff Sonatas might normally be the single central attraction of a program surrounded by shorter works; it was thus a rare and overwhelming experience hearing both together.

Along with the programming, Mr. Mamora’s playing itself is larger than life. Perhaps it is unsurprising for a winner of several big competitions, but he possesses a technique so solid that it seemed at times that he couldn’t play a wrong note if he tried. On top of that solidity, he dazzles, with lightning-fast fingers and an encyclopedic array of dynamics and articulations.  

Carl Vine’s Resolve (2022) made a compelling opening. Commissioned by the Olga Kern Piano Competition, which Mr. Mamora also won, it has all the hallmarks of a test piece, revealing a full spectrum of moods, colors, articulations, and tempi, all turning on the proverbial dime and with a dramatic finish. Some of this pianist’s most expressive outpourings of the evening came through this work, as well as through the Liebermann Sonata (2002). He brought both to life with brilliant colors, imbuing their more elusive phrases with emotional richness and clarity and then knocking us out with pyrotechnics. Mr. Mamora demonstrated a marked ability to go to the heart of a work’s drama and to share it in a way that grips the audience. That gift is arguably the most important one for a soloist, and though it is often mistaken for showiness, it is quite distinct from it; it is communication in service to the composer, pure and simple. Though a glance at the program had one ready to characterize Mr. Mamora as a Romantic player, it may be newer music that will benefit from his gift the most. 

Interestingly, for several of his Romantic offerings, Mr. Mamora chose works that stood to benefit most from his expert restraint and control. The glistening fountains of fingerwork which verge on Impressionism in Liszt’s Jeux d’eaux were almost pointillistic and strikingly even like perfectly cut diamonds. The cascades and trills shimmered with what seemed lighter pedal than one usually hears. The extremely bright upper register of the Yamaha CFX concert grand heightened the glassiness in Liszt’s crystalline droplets. At times, frankly, the piano treble was painfully bright, but there are always surprises bringing such resonant instruments into intimate halls.

Incidentally, before playing the Liszt, Mr. Mamora spoke briefly to the audience, first with gracious thanks and then some brief notes about the program. He seemed amazingly calm, especially for one with both Rachmaninoff Sonatas yet to come. This mature serenity was surely what was behind the pacing of the next works, especially the Sonata No. 1. He casually mentioned (to paraphrase) that the Sonata No. 1 does not have melodies per se as much as motives, and (without getting into definitions of melody) this listener saw some truth in that;  what he might have added briefly, though, was that behind some of these repeated-tone motives are the unmistakeable church chants that were such a huge part of Rachmaninoff’s upbringing.  If not chants melodically, they were certainly rhythmic stand-ins for them, just as one finds in late Liszt. Long stretches of such minimal melodic motion have historically made this ponderous work less accessible than the Sonata No. 2 (and far less often performed). It is a profoundly beautiful piece, bringing to mind in many sections the composer’s Concerto No. 3 (composed just a few years later and in the same key), but it requires masterful pacing, which Mr. Mamora has to an impressive degree. He never wallowed in local detail but kept a grip on the overall journey. It would be hard to imagine it being played better, so perhaps he will help bring it increased favor.

After intermission, we heard Lowell Liebermann’s one-movement Piano Sonata No. 3, given a powerful performance abounding in all the virtues mentioned earlier. It has been speculated that this work, composed in 2002, may have been partly in reaction to the events of 9/11, but in any case, it reflects the compositional brilliance for which all of Lowell Liebermann’s works are known. Mr. Mamora captured its Inquieto, esitante opening, building from there, and he sensitively rendered the Dona Nobis Pacem and Lullabye at its center. He built to great ferocity at the end (what a left hand!). Some repeated percussive attacks were again almost too strident to bear, but assuming the possible 9/11 origins, those would seem justified.

To follow this acerbity came more familiar Romanticism – again well-placed – with Rachmaninoff’s Piano Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor, Op. 36, performed in its original (1913) version. There is a “Goldilocks” situation with this piece, whereby many feel (as it seems Rachmaninoff did) that the original version was too sprawling. Others find the revised (1931) version too terse, and still a third camp finds the Vladimir Horowitz hybrid of the two (or similar amalgams) “just right.” For full disclosure, this listener is devoted to Rachmaninoff’s more concise 1931 version. Hearing the original again after many years of embracing only the revision felt like having a troubling dream of a dear loved one who is suddenly meandering and disheveled. It was hard to hear, but all in all, Mr. Mamora managed to pull its unwieldy parts together, finishing the recital with virtuoso excitement.

A standing ovation with many shouts of “Bravo” from his fans elicited a highly free interpretation of the Schumann-Liszt Widmung. One was surprised by some of the rubato and by a few unusual readings, including a curious bass line at the very end (using G-flat rather than the usual G – seemingly intentional as it happened both times) –  but it was all thought-provoking. In any case, it was practically miraculous that we were offered any encore at all after such a program. One looks forward to more from this outstanding pianist. Bravo!

The Modus Operandi Orchestra; Justin Bischof, Music Director and Conductor

St. Mary Church, Long Island City, New York

April 29, 2023

It was especially uplifting this weekend, as we emerge from the pandemic’s death blows to the performing arts, to attend the most recent concert by the Modus Operandi Orchestra under music director and conductor Justin Bischof.  In a program entitled “The Glory of Vienna: An Evening of Mozart and Beethoven,” they showed that not only can local orchestras flourish again, but audiences are ready and eager for them. St. Mary’s Church in Long Island City, a large, beautiful, and acoustically live venue, was packed for this concert. It was so packed that the front ticket desk was overwhelmed, and the concert started twenty minutes late. This listener, often needing to watch the clock, grew actually fairly impatient about that (and there ought to be some measures in place to prevent it), but as the conductor Justin Bischof announced “it is the price of success.” A success it was, on all fronts.

With an excellent conductor and corps of fine musicians – twenty-eight strings, plus healthy winds, brass, and timpani – they had the spirit, skill, and energy they needed to bring to life a program that included Beethoven’s Coriolan Overture, Op. 62 and Symphony No. 7, as well as Mozart’s Symphony No. 35 (“Haffner”). In addition, with guest soprano Laura Léon, they performed Mozart’s Exsultate Jubilate, K. 165, and No, no che non sei capace, K. 419. Their promotional material announced that the concert would “celebrate the riches and majesty of works that either premiered in Vienna or that have a strong connection to this glittering European capital city,” and that celebration was palpable.

Justin Bischof introduced each work with the spoken equivalent of program notes, and though this listener at first thought “Oh, no, more waiting,” his comments were brief and illuminating. Maestro Bischof strikes the perfect balance between high-level professionalism and the ability to reach out to the non-musicians in the audience. His comments were simple and entertaining enough for the many young listeners present but also held valuable information for the adults (such as noting that Mozart’s “Haffner” Symphony manuscript can be found right across town at the Morgan Library). His comments on the Coriolan Overture highlighted the contrasting themes of war and peace in it, and the audience was rapt from its dark dramatic opening to its whispering close. 

Mozart’s Symphony No. 35, the “Haffner,” was opened with energy and precision. One could close one’s eyes and easily imagine oneself in any of the major symphony halls of the world hearing a more renowned orchestra. One followed each theme, each voice, and each entry with the excitement that was meant to imbue the “ennobling” ceremony of the Haffner for whom the work was commissioned (despite further transformations before the work became the Symphony No. 35). The Andante movement spotlighted the expressive unity of the orchestra, and the Menuetto enjoyed its characteristic restraint. The Presto finale impressed as unusually clear, especially given the brisk tempo. It closed with rousing ebullience.

The famous solo motet, Exsultate Jubilate for soprano and orchestra, followed. Maestro Bischof gave a glowing introduction to Laura Léon , and she lived up to it fully. Her melismatic singing in the first section  – and the final Alleluja section –  was dazzling, but it was the sublime softness and expressivity at the end of the Tu virginem corona section that had me thinking we will be hearing much more from this talented musician. Following the Exsultate was the “insertion” aria (written to insert into an opera by Pasquale Anfossi) No, no, che non sei capace. It is an angry aria of disappointed love, with its anger made manifest in ridiculously difficult high notes – yet thanks to the uncanny gifts of Ms. Léon, one still heard in it the transcendent beauty of Mozart rather than mere shrieking. She sang with amazing ease and fluidity. One occasionally had trouble matching the diction with the printed text, but that may have been the overwhelming reverberation obliterating consonants. Brava to this young talent!

After the obligatory pitch for funds from Maestro Bischof, the program proceeded with Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7. He also set the scene historically by describing the orchestra that played it as having included Meyerbeer, Hummel, and Salieri. That warrants a few moments of awe, but the playing lived up to this awe. The first movement projected a jubilance enough to overcome the late hour. The flutes shone particularly in the movement’s big transition, but the winds in general shone throughout. The Allegretto movement, one of the divine miracles in music, held the audience rapt, as one noticed strikingly in the soft fugal section. It was partly striking because there were such very young children held spellbound throughout as if watching an action movie. With worries over attention deficits and smartphone addictions, this heightening of sensibilities in young audiences represents a success that will bear fruit in the generations to come. Thanks to the enveloping reverberations of St. Mary’s church, those children tapping on air drums and parents rocking little ones on laps were barely noticeable – except for what they added to the overall joy. A rare few minor glitches occurred, but all was always controlled. The Presto movement offered many opportunities for the horns to shine, even if the upper strings seemed more “caffeinated” than the lower (as often happens – and there were only four celli and three basses listed at that), but by the final exuberant movement, there was hardly a soul able to keep from dancing.

Check the MOO website to add future concerts to your calendars, but (for now) perhaps make allowances for an extra twenty minutes. Bravi tutti!

Sharon Chang and Mateusz Borowiak, pianists

Merkin Hall, Kaufman Music Center, New York, NY

April 23, 2023

A fascinating concert took place this Sunday at Merkin Hall, featuring music by composer (and presenter here) Louis Pelosi, whose 76th birthday it was on this occasion. I had a few years ago heard some of Mr. Pelosi’s piano music championed persuasively by the pianist Donald Isler, a thoughtful musician who also writes for New York Concert Review, and it had been an intriguing introduction to an equally thoughtful composer, inviting further study. Mr. Isler’s label, KASP Records, also released several CDs of Mr. Pelosi’s music, including one 2012 disc by pianist Mateusz Borowiak who performed half of Sunday’s program. The other half of the program was performed by pianist Sharon Chang. 

Born on April 23, 1947, Mr. Pelosi has taken an unconventional career route for a composer, his biography stating that he “declined to work in academia or the commercial music world” and so has earned his livelihood as a self-employed piano technician. He received several degrees (BA from the University of Notre Dame, English, BM in Composition from Hartt College with Arnold Franchetti, and MM in Composition from the Manhattan School of Music under Charles Wuorinen), but it was clear from everything about this Sunday concert’s that he prospers by carving out his own unconventional path, composing with his own tonal language, often within structures such as fugues and inventions which one might call Bachian (to allude to another composer who followed his own heart, far from more fashionable musical pursuits). Mr. Pelosi has nonetheless amassed an impressive array of performances and recordings to his credit.

One big plus of Sunday’s concert was the format, with works of two other composers included, Bach (via Busoni) and Beethoven. It was refreshing to hear world premieres alongside familiar masterpieces rather than relegating new music (as often happens) to “quarantined” status, but beyond that, each piece illuminated the next. Another big plus was the presentation of two excellent young artists to perform all of it, both of whom impressed as worth hearing in any repertoire.

Mateusz Borowiak, a powerhouse pianist with substantial credentials (including being laureate in several important competitions such as the Queen Elisabeth of Belgium), opened the first half with a World Premiere of Mr. Pelosi’s Piano Sonata No. 7 in D (2016-17). Consisting of several mostly attacca movements of contrasting tempi and moods, connected by six transitional sections entitled Scorrevole (translated roughly as “gliding”), it was bursting with ideas and sometimes with chromatic lines intertwining quite closely, requiring extremely keen listening from the performer and audience alike in addition to some pianistic wizardry. Mr. Borowiak was more than up to its thorny challenges. 

One wondered at times, with such a flood of ideas, whether Mr. Pelosi might have overestimated the average listener’s ears in this work. He states his credo on his website as, “What the sensitive ear can follow, so can the mind accept and the soul be moved and enlarged” – a refreshing expression of regard for one’s audience. Somehow though, despite Mr. Borowiak’s skill at sorting out and projecting the many rapidly entwined chromatic lines, this listener (with a half-century of ear-training experience of all kinds) was still at sea, wondering which of so many ideas to focus on, or –  if the answer is “all of them,” wondering just where they were headed and what I was missing. Perhaps program notes would have helped. Thankfully, this was a concern that did not persist past this piece.

Mr. Borowiak followed with Bach’s “St. Anne” Prelude and Fugue in E-Flat major BWV 552, played absolutely brilliantly in Busoni’s virtuoso transcription. Mr. Borowiak navigated the whole gamut of fierce pianistic demands, drawing attention not to himself but to the grandeur of the music, interpreted with mastery. He is an artist one looks forward to following.

Returning to the music of Mr. Pelosi, his Sonata No. 8 (2019-2020) closed the first half with fewer of the issues that this reviewer had felt in Sonata No. 7. Perhaps the intervening Bach had helped a bit to sharpen up this listener’s contrapuntal acuity, but the Sonata No. 8 seemed also much simpler and more accessible in rhythm and affect. It seemed to stay with ideas a bit longer, introducing more discernibly repeating patterns and dancelike elements and giving the listener time to absorb them. One could hear a fine mind behind it but also enjoy it. (We mortals enjoy the reassurance of a bit of repetition or continuity now and then). Also, there was more of a sense of tonal grounding. Mr. Pelosi’s penchant is for creating a pull towards a key (in this case E-flat) without seeming quite IN a key. His endings – as here – are as far as I’ve seen on the key a piece is listed to be in, but even with his endings there is some ambiguity as to mode. (On the topic of keys incidentally, the composer’s shunning of key signatures can make his scores appear as a daunting barrage of accidentals, so one admired still more the perseverance of tonight’s pianists.)

The evening’s second pianist, Sharon Chang, proved to be outstanding as well. She brought her keen listening, coloristic skill, and superb control to Louis Pelosi’s Twelve Fugal Metamorphoses (2020) and Twelve Inventions (2018 – dedicated to Donald Isler), which bookended Beethoven’s great Sonata in A major, Op. 101. 

The Twelve Fugal Metamorphoses, like the Sonata No. 7, overflowed with ideas, but each one here felt (perhaps from being compartmentalized as individual pieces) highly assimilable. I enjoyed the set thoroughly. My favorites were the dreamlike No. 5 in E-flat, the nicely arched No. 6 in G, the lovely No. 7 in A-flat, the short, agitated No. 8 in C, the No. 9 in E with its pervasive fifths and octaves giving it an open quality, and the fascinating four-part No. 10 in F. Suffice it to say that the whole set, which had loomed formidably on the program, simply flew by.  Certainly, this was in no small part thanks to Ms. Chang’s abilities, but one also felt that Mr. Pelosi has a particularly special gift for these forms. Perhaps another set of fugues or inventions is in order – it would be a commissioning project well worth considering for some fine pianist.

Beethoven’s Op. 101 came next, and with all its fugal writing it fit right in. To start, Ms. Chang established a serene measured tempo for its introspective opening. It is never easy to carry the second half of a program (irrespective of whether the first half’s soloist is celebrating or atoning backstage), but here we had the added stress of two world premieres with the composer present. In following the Fugal Metamorphoses with late Beethoven, a large work now played from memory, there was much switching of gears required (as with Mr. Borowiak’s Bach-Busoni). Ms. Chang gave herself time to breathe in Op. 101’s opening and was rewarded for it. The alla marcia moved to a decisive, bracing spirit, and the subsequent melting into its pedaled D-flat section was perfect.  There were some glitches here and there, but overall it was an admirable performance. Her marked skill in delineating voices boded well for the Inventions to come.

Once again, the placement between new works of a classic with fugal writing served everyone well. A listener grew increasingly sensitized from one piece to the next. (In this case, even the octaves in Mr. Pelosi’s Invention No. 2, descending by emphatic thirds, had one jump at the near déjà vu from Op. 101). Ms. Chang chose to order the Inventions as follows:  C, F, Bb, Eb, E, A, D, G, Gb, B, Ab, and Db (four sequences of descending fifths, in one case enharmonic). Highlights included No. 1 in C, vaguely reminiscent of Shostakovich (who in his own way also followed Bach’s example), and No. 4 in F with its gentle streaming sixteenths. Some, like No. 11 in E, felt more rigorously imitative, while others, like No. 6 in E-flat, with its prevalence of open-sounding fourths and sevenths, swept up the listener in the wash of resulting harmonies and colors. This reviewer’s very favorite, chosen by Ms. Chang to be the final one, was No. 10 in D-flat, bringing to mind (in key and in its rocking bass) Chopin’s Berceuse. The absence of what one expected as a full “resolution” of preceding chords made the final single D-flat all the more poignant, and Ms. Chang concluded the concert beautifully with it. 

One reads that Mr. Pelosi married artist Rosemarie Koczÿ in 1980, and after her untimely death in 2007 has created numerous works in her honor and memory. That labor of love aspect is very much in evidence in much of the music we heard. One wishes Mr. Pelosi not only a very happy birthday week but many more years of continued fruitfulness. 

Ian Hobson, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

April 20, 2023

Don’t let his modesty and British understatement fool you – pianist and conductor Ian Hobson is a titan. Among the flurry of artists with press releases billing them as “renowned,” there are those who actually are renowned such as Ian Hobson, with a discography of over 60 recordings (on labels such as Arabesque, EMI, Albany, Hyperion, and his own label Zephyr), performances with the world’s major orchestras (Philadelphia, Chicago, Baltimore, London Philharmonic, Hallé Orchestra to name a few), conducting work as well (Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra, English Chamber Orchestra, and others), and appointments as teacher and adjudicator for decades (Florida State University, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign). The abundant skill and unflappability that won Mr. Hobson the Leeds Competition in 1981 have had staying power, serving him well through decades of complete cycles of numerous composers (live and recorded) –  and judging by his all-Schumann program at the Tenri Cultural Institute this week, he is still going strong. 

It is extremely inspiring to hear Mr. Hobson play live, especially as one who spent college and grad years in the eighties and early nineties listening to numerous recordings by him. Young musicians who grow up now taking the Internet for granted might not appreciate what a gift it was then (without YouTube, etc.), that when one needed to hear a work in a reliable, thoughtful, and technically top-flight performance without eccentricities, there, in various libraries, were usually voluminous sets by Ian Hobson. Given the relative rarity of live all-Schumann recitals, Mr. Hobson is still filling a void, particularly in recitals placed within a historical framework (with helpful program notes by Richard Dyer ensuring this ). His Tenri program offered Humoreske, Op. 20, Nachtstücke, Op. 23, and the Drei Romanzen, Op. 28. The concert was entitled “Love and Nature II” (“Love and Nature I” having been covered here Schumann: Love and Nature I). Almost a musical counterpart to some reality series that one might “binge-watch,” it invites the title “Schumann: Season 1839,” offering an amazing window onto the breathless mania, grief, and romance that saturated that year for Schumann, programmed from latest to earliest. The Romanzen closed the year 1839 telling of an imminent marriage to Clara, but only after a turbulent journey in earlier months.

Before opening with the Romances, Mr. Hobson explained that due to the size of the hall and the desire to avoid stridency from the piano, the piano lid would be lowered onto the half stick. In keeping with this spirit of comfort and intimacy of musical gathering (despite having the music committed to memory), he would also be using the score. The half stick was a wise decision, because the sound was still quite robust as it was, as one heard from the first Romanze onward. As for using the score, there is almost always a certain unsettled quality that comes with that, perhaps partly from the unpredictability of having a page-turner nearby, so though it is hard to believe that this Luddite writer is advocating digital tablet page-turning (having never tried it), it might be worth a shot if playing with the score will become the norm. A few turns had perilous moments (the Humoreske‘s Intermezzo octaves section for example), and most glitches through the evening might also be chalked up to that unsettled feeling. Beyond that, there is perhaps nothing quite as conducive to inspired solo playing as solitude onstage. 

At any rate, the famous second Romanze was lovely with its full singing duet melodies, and the third found the spirit of Schumann’s Florestan alive and well. Interestingly Mr. Hobson commented on the influence on these of William Sterndale Bennett’s Romances (not just Clara Schumann as is often repeated). Being unfamiliar with those, this reviewer went to look for them and immediately found – you guessed it – recordings of them by Ian Hobson. One can only envy the lucky students of this professor who has such a large repertoire!

Moving backward in time from the December 1839 Romanzen, the Op. 23 Nachtstücke, composed in late March of that year, express presentiments of death as Robert was losing his brother Eduard. Originally entitled “Corpse Fantasy” (and renamed on Clara’s recommendation), its four pieces are fraught with rhythms of funeral marches, clashing uneasily with the boisterousness of the living.  Mr. Hobson brought clarity to the madness. The first movement (Mehr langsam, oft zurückhaltend) did emerge as quite hardy for Schumann at his most neurotic (and a tad brisk for its funereal subject), but because of ultra-clear thematic statements, it made one more keenly aware of the theme as transformed later, with Schumann’s poignant omission of several melody notes to symbolize loss. The second piece (Markirt und lebhaft) had just the right frenetic energy to suggest the original title of the piece “Strange Company,” and the third piece (originally “Nocturnal revelries”) had special high points for this listener, such as where the chordal playing cedes to streaming sequences – played with perfect balance and a singing tone. The fourth piece closed the work admirably with a final return to a more pensive spirit. This whole set is a work in which one can get lost between extremes of almost catatonic grief and nervous surface energy, but somehow Mr. Hobson balanced it all with the mastery of a storyteller. Often his storytelling verged on matter-of-factness, with no heart-on-sleeve projection or pained empathy, but he kept the momentum going in this problematic work, and that went a long way for this listener (who, for full disclosure, never loved this set, despite loving most of Schumann’s output). Thankfully this performance brought me closer to embracing it.

After intermission, we heard Humoreske, composed earlier in that March of 1839, before Schumann lost his brother. It is bursting with joyous creativity, as Schumann’s letters from that time to Clara also describe. In it lies the full spectrum of Schumann moods in rapid alternation, and Mr. Hobson played it with masterful grasp of each one. His first fast theme (Sehr rasch und leicht) was irresistible, and the seemingly premature repetition mid-theme, as if Schumann is interrupting himself in his excitement, was perfection. He even somehow managed to evoke the famous (unplayed) “inner voice” of the hastig section (which I like to call the “hastig situation”- no tomatoes please), through skillful emphasis of outer voices. Later in this section before the move to D minor, he achieved amazing bell-like sonorities, and the return to pianissimo was quite special. I have to echo here the words of my New York Concert Review colleague in the feeling that there could be more of these special moments, but I did love the ones we had. Meanwhile, it was a joy to behold the mastery of a pianist for whom so much comes so easily with minimal motion or commotion – and seemingly not a drop of sweat.

All in all, it was a memorable concert and a privilege to attend, as those present were undoubtedly aware. A standing ovation was rewarded with Liszt’s well-known transcription of Schumann’s song Widmung, dedicated on this occasion to Mr. Hobson’s wife who was present and whose recording of it was played at their wedding a year ago – a heartwarming personal touch. 

Qian Yin, violin; Po-Chuan Chiang, piano

Recorded June 18 and 21, 2018, at Foellinger Great Hall, Krannert Center for the Performing Arts,

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Kevin Bourassa, Producer; Sam Gingher and Kevin Bourassa, Recording Engineers; Russell Baker, Editor

Dr. Gary Lemco, Program Notes

MSR Classics: 2022 release

A 2022 debut release of a recording of the violinist Qian Yin with pianist Po-Chuan Chiang landed in my review assignments this week, and it was a joy to find that there are simply two works on it, the Sonata in G major, Op. 78, of Johannes Brahms and the Sonata in A major of Cesar Franck, both slices of nineteenth-century musical heaven. For the repertoire pairing alone, a collector might want this CD, but the performers proved to be excellent as well, and the recorded sound has the listener feeling almost present in the room.

Some might ask, “Why do we need yet another Franck or Brahms Sonata recording?” but my feeling is “the more the merrier.” The dreaded day when violin-piano duos stop sharing their passion and energy for such masterpieces would be a sad day indeed – and amazingly, many people on this planet have not heard these pieces even once. Though I am fond of renditions of Perlman, Zuckerman, Heifetz, Dumay, and many others, there are as many interpretations of this music as there are musicians – each with a different sound, different balance between players, different pacing, and different feeling. Beyond interpretation, there is the necessity for living artists to keep the living aspect of a piece of music alive, as one can feel during an “in the moment” realization; sadly this is less the case with a CD than in live performance, but this recording certainly whets one’s appetite to hear the Qian Yin/Po-Chuan Chiang duo play it in concert.

This duo’s Brahms “had me at hello.” From the very first notes, they pulled me into its nostalgic spirit, something that is not so easy with music of such depth – and with no introductory works to warm up the listener’s ears. Dr. Yin and Dr. Chiang capture its indescribable mixture of comforting warmth and bittersweetness immediately, and one is reminded why Clara Schumann, who played it with the great violinist Joseph Joachim (on the late Robert Schumann’s birthday no less) wrote a letter to Brahms saying, “I wish that the last movement could accompany me in my journey from here to the next world.” (To me it is all there in the first movement, but vive la difference!)

Dr. Yin’s playing in the Brahms has a mellow sweetness of timbre that is truly special. Her ensemble with Dr. Chiang is precisely together, and her intonation is always sure. It is a special joy to hear how seemingly effortlessly she navigates its more challenging aspects, because even in these days of technical firebrands, many players still have squawks and screeches here and there in such a piece. Nothing can ruin a Brahmsian spell like such sounds of strain, but there was no such issue here.

Incidentally, Dr. Yin plays an Italian Stefano Scrampella violin from the year 1830 with a French Violin Bow by Alfred Lamy from the year 1920, courtesy of the Guadagnini Violin Shop in Chicago. One is reminded here of the story of a legendary violinist, who when receiving praise for the sound of his instrument held it up to his ear saying, “funny, I don’t hear anything” – because naturally it is the violinist who deserves the praise – but a fine instrument and bow can certainly help!

Recording-wise, the violin is clearly front and center throughout, almost as if recorded in a separate room from the piano (except with excellent synchronization). Though it has been said that the violin always leads in this piece, I disagree with such extremes, so a minor quibble I had was that I didn’t hear a fuller piano part. A listener wants to imagine the duo close enough to react to each breath and twitch of an eyelash. Dr. Chiang is an excellent pianist so this comment is merely to say (to the recording engineers and editor?) that one wanted to hear more of him – and also to know that the violinist was responding to him, not merely being superbly accompanied. The piano sound itself sometimes verged on a distant glassiness where one wanted richness, and even, for example, where the piano has the melody and the violin has just accompanying sixths and sevenths (for example, m. 29) there was room for more piano sound to lend the interpretation a spirit of true collaboration. That comment may betray this listener’s pianocentric perspective, but then again, Brahms was also a pianist. All in all, the Qian-Chiang version is a compelling one, so reservations are fairly minor. (On a side note, I loved that the violinist is not afraid of an occasional slide, such as a delicious one at m. 172 – though nothing here is overdone ever.)

The Adagio movement of the Brahms is soulfully played as well. The beginning of it is hard in terms of establishing a measured nobility without woodenness – and at first this performance seems in danger of being metrically stiff – but it thaws beautifully as it develops. Again one wants a bit more bass in the piano part (m. 111 as an example) for the burnished Brahmsian glow to emerge.

The third and final movement, Allegro molto moderato, finds the pianist emerging in a more formidable role. Dr. Chiang is admirably precise and reliable –  flawless really –  and the violinist is so dazzling at times (m. 106 as just one example) that one almost laughs in amazement. My main quibble in this movement is that when the piano has a special look back at the opening theme from the slow movement (the Adagio‘s E-flat major now in G major – m. 142) the violin still overpowers the piano. The piano needs its turn.

Perhaps this little seed of objection planted itself in my mind to subsequently dull my enjoyment of the Franck Sonata, but the tone of violin part seems also noticeably different in the Franck. One becomes more aware of an edge to the sound that one doesn’t hear in the Brahms. One analysis is that there may be such focus on each tone that the listener after a point starts to feel strain from it – and the other possibility is that the violinist is the one who, perhaps through the absence of relaxing, is actually developing more of an edginess to the sound here. In any case, my favorite performances of this piece possess in the phrasing the ability to relax at dramatic low points, endings, and subsidiary passages (there are always some to be found!), to let the music breathe a bit more.

It would be an exaggeration to pull out the old saying, “if everything is important, nothing is important,” but the general idea is applicable when performances are unceasingly high voltage in energy or tone. The great violin masters of yesterday had a way of keeping excessive reverence for each note in check and looking at the big phrase and the big picture. It’s always easy to say this with hindsight – and unfair to players who have spent probably a decade micro-managing every nanosecond of every note for, say, “perfection” in a competition. It thus seems cruel to tell a young musician “Perhaps don’t try so hard” (when the life of a young musician is harder than ever and no amount of trying seems enough) – but paradoxically the music needs a bit of that.

In conclusion, one will just say that this violinist is superb, and may she be rewarded with the golden touring life that her predecessors had rather more easily – and may the relaxation come! The same goes for the pianist. We read that both have been extremely busy earning degrees, competing, collaborating, performing, teaching, coaching, and much more. Their impressive biographies may be found on the following websites: Qian Yin and Po-Chuan Chiang.

More importantly, their beautiful recording is available to hear or purchase through Apple Music, Spotify, and MSR Classics (Brahms and Franck Violin Sonatas), but my recommendation would be the actual physical CD with illuminating liner notes by Dr. Gary Lemco.

Eric Whitacre, composer/conductor; Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Kelly Yu-Chieh Lin, pianist; Jake Charkey, cellist

David Geffen Hall, Lincoln Center, New York, NY

April 17, 2023

Composer Eric Whitacre, in another fruitful collaboration with Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY), conducted a powerful program of his choral works this week at David Geffen Hall. The concert was what Mr. Whitacre announced to be his 21st concert with this organization, and it was his first time presenting his music in the newly renovated space, which – as Avery Fisher Hall until 2015 and after that David Geffen Hall – had hosted many of his earlier DCINY performances. He praised the beauty of the sound in the hall, and though much of that beauty could be attributed to the compositions themselves and the singers, it is hard to disagree with his reaction.

Many of the works were familiar to this listener, who reviewed Mr. Whitacre’s performances for New York Concert Review first in 2009 and several times since (The Music of Eric Whitacre 2018 and The Music of Eric Whitacre 2022). Three of Mr. Whitacre’s now ubiquitous works were included, Cloudburst (1991)  Lux Aurumque (2000), and Sleep (2000), and for those unfamiliar with the music of this composer, these reflect his signature choral style of close harmonies and shimmering textures. Introducing a touch of his humorous side were Animal Crackers, Vol I (2002-2006) and Vol II (2009), set to poems of Ogden Nash, and little man in a hurry from The City and the Sea (2009-2010), set to poems of E.E. Cummings. In addition, there were newer offerings, which showed this composer to be ever-expanding in range and depth, including six movements from The Sacred Veil (2018) a cycle composed for his friend and poet/collaborator Charles Anthony Silvestri. Newer still were two songs, Sing Gently (2020) composed during the pandemic (with text by the composer), and perhaps the most uplifting of the program, All Seems Beautiful to Me (2022) to a text of Walt Whitman.

Lux Aurumque opened and was as lustrous as one recalled but with perhaps an even more polished soprano section than usual in this particular combined chorus. They delivered their early high notes with clarity and made what one might call an upper pedal point ring out above all the other voices more than I can recall hearing. Each time I hear this piece I hear something new like that in it, which makes it always a discovery even after hearing it over and over.

The City and the Sea followed, listed as a set of five songs (though it seems they omitted the fourth – unless it was short and I blinked). It employs what Mr. Whitacre refers to as his “oven mitt technique” – piano clusters on strictly white keys – in the accompaniment. This piano part was played admirably by Kelly Yu-Chieh Lin, who was a pillar for the entire evening (interestingly reading from actual pages rather than a digital tablet as is so prevalent these days). The jaunty opening, i walked the boulevard, set a light-hearted spirit, and was followed by the mesmerizing movement, the moon is hiding in her hair. The text of the next, maggie and milly and molly and may, hovers between innocence and heartbreak, something Mr. Whitacre conveys extremely well, and the final one, little man in a hurry, was delightfully vivid under Mr. Whitacre’s precise and energetic conducting. 

Three movements from The Sacred Veil followed, the first two, In a Dark and Distant Year and Home, set to texts by poet Charles Anthony Silvestri, who lost his wife Julie Lawrence Silvestri to cancer when she was just 35. The third song, Magnetic Poetry, was set to a text written by his wife Julie from her poems using refrigerator magnets. The entire 12-movement cycle centers on Mr. Silvestri’s wife and their love, and we heard half of it. The first three (heard in the first half) expressed the pre-diagnosis life together with joy and love, and the later three (in the second half) addressed the illness and loss. Particularly beautiful in the first half were the second and third songs. Home, set to the simple line “You feel like home” as Mr. Silvestri first articulates his feelings for Julie, and Magnetic Poetry, a text for which there could not be a more ideally suited composer than Eric Whitacre. The words “Sleep-swimming through sweaty summer Dream mists” found the listener musically “swimming” through some sort of harmonic nebula, to stunning effect. With fine solo cellist Jake Charney sending his singing lines soaring through it all, the three songs cast a unique spell.

The first half of the program closed with the famous Cloudburst, in which the chorus makes clapping sounds (augmented by audience snapping later), collectively evoking the sounds of rainfall. The thrill of that one never gets old.

After intermission, we heard the Pembroke College Chapel Choir (UK) singing Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine under the direction of Anna Lapwood. We are told it was a relatively late entry, but it certainly added much to the program. Along with Mr. Whitacre’s unique integration of sound effects into his harmonies to convey a sense of flying, we heard some stylistic hints of Renaissance music to place Leonardo’s dreams in history, and the fusion evoked a great overview of time, from DaVinci’s days forward. Mr. Whitacre’s text setting is expert here, as usual. Between imitative music set to the release of “pigeons one by one” and the vocal “tolling” of a clock, the story came magically to life.

An unexpected note of humor came before the Ogden Nash songs as a microphone mishap left us hearing Mr. Whitacre’s voice backstage (and other extraneous noises) through part of the Leonardo piece. After the composer emerged to congratulate Ms. Lapwood and the chorus, he asked the audience, “Did I leave the mic on?” – and all were more than happy to sing out a “yes” with a unison force that would put any chorus to shame – everyone’s a critic, but all in fun.

The mood was then just right then for Animal Crackers, Vol I (2002-2006) (The Panther, The Cow, and the Firefly) and II (2009) The Canary, The Eel, and The Kangaroo). These were hilarious settings of Nash’s poetry, demonstrating a mastery of the musical equivalents of poker face and punchline. The timing had to be brilliant, and it was, in the pieces themselves and the delivery. There was respect for each poem’s brevity – the “soul of wit” after all – yet where prolonging was called for, it was ingenious, such as in The Canary (the song of canaries never varies”), with its incessant repetition of the line “never varies” – a hilarious touch that Nash would surely have applauded.

In addition to the humorous poems, the running commentary by Mr. Whitacre himself was entertaining throughout, from the story of his piece Seal Lullaby (orphaned by a studio’s decision to create Kung-Fu Panda instead) to the legal troubles in attempting to publish Sleep with its original Robert Frost text (replaced later with a Silvestri text).

Particularly inspired and inspiring was the new piece, All Seems Beautiful to Me (2022), set to a text by Walt Whitman (from “Song of the Open Road”) and commissioned by the US Air Force Band. I confess that I had already heard a rendition of it by Voces8 online so was already captivated by it with a small ensemble – but it worked for a large chorus as well. Whitman’s text is a perfect match for Whitacre’s spacious musical style, some of it seeming too heaven-sent to be true, such as the line “I inhale great draughts of space.” If Whitacre had not chosen this text, I would have chosen it for him, to suit the ethereal quality of much of his part-writing. The text-setting throughout was again inspired, including, as one example, the accelerating polyphony set to the words “I will scatter myself.” 

Sing Gently (2020) followed, set to the composer’s own text. As the composer’s notes on it state: “Ten years ago we created the Virtual Choir with a simple question: is it possible to make beautiful music together, no matter how far apart we are? After multiple virtual choir projects featuring over 20,000 singers from 124 different countries, the answer is a resounding yes. We continue the journey with a new piece I’ve written especially for the Virtual Choir during these challenging times, Sing Gently.” It was given a devout and sensitive reading.

Three more songs from The Sacred Veil followed. The first two, set to texts by Julie Lawrence Silvestri (from her blog during treatment) told stories of bravery and joy in the face of illness (in Delicious Times) and a desperate will to live and plea for prayer in the face of a terminal diagnosis (in Dear Friends). The final piece, Child of Wonder (text by the composer), served as a blessing and farewell. It was at once poignant, personal, and universal. Fittingly the evening closed with Sleep (2000), beautifully sung up through the last repetition of the impossibly soft final word “sleep.” 

Participating Groups included the Pine Crest School Select Ensemble, Mississippi School Of The Arts Chorale, Summit Ensemble Of The Colorado Springs, Children’s Chorale, Blue Hawk Singers, Wagner College Choir, Montclair State University Chorale & Alumni Affiliates, Newton County High School Choir, Singspirations, Ozarks Technical Community College: Chamber Choir, Saint Edward’s School Choirs, and The Pembroke College Chapel Choir.

Deke Sharon, Conductor, Arranger, and Creative Director

Special Guests: Nikisha Williams, GQ, Jua Amir,

Featured Vocal Percussion: Winston Yang, Kaila Mullady, Mark Martin

Distinguished Concert Singers International

Stern Auditorium, Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

April 2, 2023

There are many reasons to be grateful to the presenter, Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY), but the concerts led by the magnetic Deke Sharon, Total Vocal, have to be somewhere at the top of the list. For those who have not heard of Deke Sharon, he is well-known as an arranger, singer, music director, and producer, and has been behind the explosive craze for updated a cappella singing groups over the past several decades (from 200 college a cappella groups when he started thirty-something years ago to over 3000 now). If you’ve seen the famous Pitch Perfect films, you’ve seen some of his work, but nothing compares to his live Total Vocal concerts at Carnegie Hall. For the record, this reviewer listens mainly to classical music, but as Deke Sharon leads choruses with his inimitably rhythmic dance across the stage, he becomes the music, and the magic is hard to resist (no matter how bad one’s day was or how crowded midtown was). The a cappella choirs he conducts – Sunday’s ranging from age 10 to 89, all backgrounds, national and international – clearly become the music as well – and, in succession, the audience. The chain reaction is something great.

One of Deke Sharon’s lasting contributions to the resurgence of a cappella singing was the addition of “vocal percussion” (or beatboxing) while he was still a student at Tufts. He met much resistance at first but persisted. This element seemed in special focus at this concert, from featured soloists to groups. From “mouth trumpet” noises, to beatboxing, to pure singing, the message is clear: human beings are instruments. That is undoubtedly part of the primal appeal of such a concert.

The program opened with a song of welcome, the traditional Hawaiian E Ku’ulei, sung with hula hand gestures, by the Keiki Kani Choir. It was a festive sight to see this singing group crowned with haku leis and the singing was heartwarming. The arrangement, by Camilla Corpuz Yamamoto (one of only three songs on the program not arranged by Deke Sharon), was lovely.

Don’t Start Now (Dua Lipa, Caroline Ailin, Emily Warren, and Ian Kirkpatrick) picked up the pace and found Deke Sharon bounding to the stage, joined by Seth Gustafson and Cameron Jarrahnejad as Vocal Percussion.  Along with speculating that Mr. Sharon could single-handedly solve the world’s energy crises if hooked up to a grid (and mentally substituting his name into every Chuck Norris meme I know), I was still trying to figure out what had happened to Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, which had been programmed to start after the Hawaiian group (and apparently was switched) – but the classic from Mary Poppins (Robert B Sherman and Richard M. Sherman) followed seamlessly next and with zest.

Pompeii, by Dan Smith, introduced a more serious tone and in a style dubbed “Emo-pella” by Deke Sharon. It was given a dreamy feeling by soloists Carter Searcy, Ainsley Gulden, Sydney Porter, Sydne Carmon, Elise Fried, Cecilia Fulton, Hana Grimmer, Claire Long, Lauren Weiskopf, and Jiya Kumar.

Just the Way You Are/Just a Dream (from Pitch Perfect – Bruno Mars and Nelly) then brought out the forces of the El Segundo High School Chamber Choir, who did admirably. Though some choirs stayed (like the Hawaiian group, which was easily recognizable), there was some shifting of personnel, so one wasn’t entirely sure who all was on stage at certain points; one person we learned was singing, though, was Mr. Sharon’s daughter Juliana. In his typically hilarious commentary, he gave a shout-out to her but added that he is now working with her to be more punctual and thought she would benefit from hearing that advice from a few thousand people. Sure enough, he got us all to say, “Be on time, Juliana” – followed by much laughter and some blushing (and later “I love you, Juliana”).

It was a treat next to hear a familiar song from the early ’80’s, I love a Rainy Night (David Malloy, Eddie Rabbit, and Even Stevens). With beatboxer Winston Yang giving it a background (and some audience participation), it hit the spot. By the time we heard He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother (Bob Russell and Bobby Scott), the beatbox sound seemed to have been over-miked a bit – or the chorus just needed to be more, but the balance was a bit off.  Following that came Memories (Adam Levine), essentially a rewrite of Pachelbel’s Canon in D, which became something of an anthem in the pandemic’s virtual chorus boom. It was given a spirited performance.

Love on Top (Beyoncé Knowles, Terius Nash, Shea Taylor) offers special challenges in the higher and higher range demanded, but the featured group Squad Harmonix was more than up to it. Only True Colors (Tom Kelly, Bill Steinberg) was left before intermission, and it was sung with a gorgeous tone by Nikisha Williams, who was able to escape for a spell from playing Eliza in a national Hamilton tour, our good fortune and Hamilton‘s temporary loss (except, as Deke Sharon quipped, for her understudy).

In lieu of an intermission, there was simply a “pause” listed (to set up new chairs for more choristers), and even the pause was filled with more beatboxing, so there wasn’t an idle moment. The team of Kaila Mullady, and Mark Martin wowed the audience with their antics and many sounds that may have expanded what most people understand as “vocal percussion.”

After the pause, we heard Aint Too Proud to Beg (Norman Whitfield, Eddie Holland), introducing some of the Motown vibe. Soloists Julia Walton, Walker Van Gilder, Kayla Mendes, Annette Palmer, Anya Small, Elaine Sedgwick, and Ava Stoddard sounded in fine form.  You Make My Dreams (Daryl Hall, John Oates, Sara Allen) followed, in a style embraced by what is apparently called “Yacht Rock” (who knew?), but whatever party was on this boat was a fun one.  

Speaking of parties, the next selection introduced special guest quartet GQ singing Pity Party (Aubrey Logan, arr. Patrick McAlexander) – and as the lyrics make clear, a pity party is not the party you want to attend, though it seems like a barrel of fun to sing. GQ is an updated all-female barbershop quartet and a cappella group that has achieved great success, including being called the #4 barbershop quartet in the world by the Barbershop Harmony Society (which only recently opened its doors to women). If the term “barbershop quartet” has you picturing four mustached men with bow ties and hats singing Sweet Adeline, think again. Their rendition of Pity Party was hilarious, and expertly sung by Amanda Sandroni, Ali Hauger, Katie Gillis, and Katie Macdonald.

Showing their more serious side, GQ then sang Timshel (Marcus Mumford, Ben Lovett, Ted Dwayne, Winston Marshall), a wistful song set to a hypnotic accompaniment in this Katie Gillis/Katie Macdonald arrangement.

Cecilia (Paul Simon) took us back to Deke Sharon arrangements, and next was the very special Teach Your Children, dedicated to the recently departed David Crosby (Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young), for whom Deke Sharon had opened many years ago.

Crimson & Slateentered as the next featured ensemble, and they gave a sleek, taut rendition of Surface Pressure (from Encanto, Lin-Manuel Miranda). Kiss from a Rose (Henry Samuel) followed with the golden tones of special guest Jua Amir and a fine new beatboxer who was not credited in the program but whose name was regrettably announced somewhat inaudibly.  Next up was Rhythm of Love (Tim Lopez), in an arrangement categorized by Deke Sharon as “Barber-pop,” and it was done to a tee. Soloists Laurin Smith, Anya Small, Katie Duncombe, Beth Rhodes, Fanny Dario, Maryline Kaim, Crystal Petit, Gemma Henbest, and Helen Kay Tierney pulled it off well.

The grande finale of the concert was I Wish (Stevie Wonder), given such an infectious rhythmic spirit that even the rather staid, well-coiffed older woman near me popped out of her seat to dance, waving her hands to the music. Choristers entered from behind to dance down the aisles, and one pulled my elder friend out of her row to dance with them. The dancing continued through the “encore” of The Lion Sleeps Tonight (Solomon Linda/George David Weiss), a Deke Sharon specialty.   There were hugs all around from the sheer joy – and it wasn’t even Woodstock, just music. Surely there must be a way to keep the chain reaction going in this needful world. Juliana, do something.

Participating Groups were: El Segundo High School Chamber Choir, New Trier High School Wind Symphony & Symphony Orchestra, My Pop Choir, Diamond Bar High School Wind Ensemble & Diamond Bar High School Symphony Orchestra, Diamond Bar High School Wind Ensemble & Symphony Orchestra, Mt. Sinai High School Jazz Choir, Crimson & Slate, Keiki Kani Choir, Mariemont High School Choir, Squad Harmonix, Vocal Synergy, Pop Voices, Singing Earth Divine, Westport Youth Choir, and Vocal Academy@St. James.

Asiya Korepanova, pianist

Rachmaninoff 150^th Birthday Concert: Part II

Mary Flagler Cary Hall, The DiMenna Center for Classical Music, New York, NY

April 1, 2023, 8 PM

As anyone who loves great piano music and great pianists probably knows, 2023 marks the 150th birthday of the great pianist, composer, and conductor Sergei Rachmaninoff. Many of the world’s pianistic luminaries have been and will be celebrating his music all year – even more than usual – but the actual birthday comes only once, April 1 (though Rachmaninoff was known interestingly to celebrate it on April 2, as his grave is marked at Kensico as well). On late notice, I was assigned to an all-Rachmaninoff concert celebration and despite a tight schedule jumped at it – both for the repertoire and for what I had heard of the pianist Asiya Korepanova and her ambitious programming – though I had never actually heard her play.

Based on her programming alone, Asiya Korepanova is a force. Many musicians may have seen photos of her looking rather like a mermaid with golden hair stretching for miles, but what not everyone knows is that her repertoire stretches for many more miles. As her biography states, she is “the only pianist currently performing Liszt’s 24 Etudes as a single program, and one of the few to possess a concerto repertoire of over 60 works.” In 2023 she has been engaged in a monumental project performing Rachmaninoff’s complete solo piano music in six recitals as a featured artist at the Friends of Chamber Music of Miami. For those who know Rachmaninoff’s music, there should be a long pause here to contemplate what that means: the two fiercely demanding sonatas, two large sets of preludes, two large sets of etudes, two large-scale sets of variations, the Moments Musicaux, and numerous smaller works. A fair number of pianists will play them all eventually in a lifetime, but to perform them all in one year?  On top of the feat of performing all of these, Ms. Korepanova (as if running out of challenges) added to this concert her own transcription for solo piano of Rachmaninoff’s Sonata for Cello and Piano, Op. 19, one of this reviewer’s favorite works in its original form, so a huge draw to attend this concert. How would it sound minus the actual cello? Will it become a new gift to the world of virtuoso transcriptions? These questions will be revisited later, but we’ll move on first to the program, scheduled to include also the Variations on a Theme by Corelli, Op. 42, and the Moments Musicaux, Op 16.

In a change from the printed program order (originally starting with the transcription, then Op. 42 and Op. 16), Ms. Korepanova announced that she would start with the Corelli Variations, as she found the opening theme to be like a prayer. Indeed it is, and she made it more so, honoring its hallowed, translucent spirit. Much of what she did following the theme was also just as one wants to hear in this magnificent set. She has a superb pianistic technique, as one would expect from her programming, but there was much more. She projected nuances and harmonic surprises wonderfully in the quirky third variation and elsewhere, and one was reminded that pianists who compose are often going to delve more deeply into the music and with more interesting insights than others. Ms. Korepanova, as her biography states, studied composition with Albert Leman, chair of the composition department of the Moscow Conservatory and a student of Dmitri Shostakovich. Along with her growing number of transcriptions, she has composed many original works, as well as multimedia projects featuring her poetry and art.

To be balanced about things, composers have another trait quite often, which is to hold to a masterful overview while letting slip what they might consider details. Though there were wonderful inner highlights in Variation 13, for example, Variation 12 was rough. The beastly penultimate variations were not altogether tamed either, though the spirit was fierce, just as it should be before the poignant close. Other minor reservations included a sense that a fuller sound was needed for the melodic top voice in the D-flat variation, even if by that point the interest lay more in the harmonic treatment. A certain amount of that issue may have been due to the hall piano, which seemed not entirely even.

Onward to the Moments Musicaux, Ms. Korepanova set a contemplative tone for the B-flat minor Andantino that was just right. There were moments later in the piece of some excessively blurred pedaling, both in melodic sections and passagework –  and where the theme returns woven into a lacework of sixteenths, there was more of a pastel blend than the clarity that makes it glisten – but these may be differences of conception. Overall the set offered a huge spectrum of moods and colors and was quite impressive on such an already demanding program.

Minor glitches in the opening piece were handled with the skill of a master improviser, but these were a bit more distracting in the Allegretto in E-flat minor and the Presto in E minor; both, though, had the emotional power and sweep to carry the day. The Andante cantabile B minor was close to perfection. Here again there we heard Ms. Korepanova’s gift for “connecting dots” in wonderful inner voice surprises. The Adagio sostenuto in D-flat was serenely expressive.

Though the final Maestoso in C Major also had its unclear moments, it ended the first half with a persuasively heroic spirit. For complete disclosure, this final Moment is not a favorite of this reviewer, and it alone has prevented the reviewer from performing this group as a set rather than as two or three gems at a time. When one recalls that Rachmaninoff released this set for publication supposedly because he was short of money, this final movement offers possible evidence of that, seemingly dashed off, with flourishes that sound facile compared to the rest of the set. As much as I admire the bravery of those who take on the whole Op. 16, a virtual hexad of musical challenges, most performances of all six have not helped my aversion to the “boxed set” mentality – and that is from a diehard devotee of Rachmaninoff.

After intermission came the long-awaited transcription of the Sonata for Cello and Piano by Ms.  Korepanova. Before playing, she spoke about the piece, her early love of it, and many subsequent performances, along with the questions she has been asked about it (such as why is she being “mean” to cellists, isn’t there enough piano repertoire for her, and is she nuts?). Frankly, based on the fact that many pianists have for decades referred to it jokingly as “a piano sonata with cello obbligato” a transcription seems not an outlandish idea at all. Thankfully Ms. Korepanova was not dissuaded from writing it and was in fact encouraged by her piano teacher, Santiago Rodriguez, who asked her (if I heard her story correctly amid some noise), “what are you waiting for?” Every musician needs someone to ask that.

Any lingering doubts about the transcription were rendered moot by the appeal of the performance itself.  Amazingly, Ms. Korepanova managed not only to incorporate the cello lines but also to maintain much of their distinctiveness overall, amid the piano textures. Though there is hardly a true substitute for a sustaining instrument (and the potential for vibrato), the piano can convey almost anything (entire Beethoven Symphonies, for example). Ms. Korepanova demonstrated superb control of timbres so that repeated themes did not sound like mere repetition but like the passing of ideas to another instrument.  Sometimes she bolstered cello lines with octaves, and sometimes she reined in the dynamics of the original piano part to a surprising degree (which might be disconcerting to lovers of the original –  but tweaking has to happen to make the proportions work).  All in all, it was a miraculous achievement.

The most salient drawback I expected from this transcription was the missing “two-ness” of it – the exchange of the glorious third movement theme, and the convergence of two human forces towards the end – but these were remarkably approximated by this single pianist. Though the actual playing may have flagged in energy towards the end, that was perhaps to be expected in such a big program.  Incidentally,  Ms. Korepanova played this work from her own score off of a digital screen (having played all prior solo works from memory), and that score is now available for purchase. www.asiyakorepanova.com

Though cellists will at no point stop playing (nor audiences stop clamoring for) the original masterpiece, Ms. Korepanova’s transcription makes a worthy addition to the virtuoso literature. In addition, beyond the sheer joy of playing it, a pianist can enjoy a performance free of intonation trouble, ensemble issues, extra airfare, and splitting artist fees! It seems fitting to include here Ms. Korepova’s comments on the transcription process from her website as follows: “The process of making a transcription is akin to the most consuming and passionate process of taming a wild animal… And when you finally find that all of it is possible, you are the happiest creature in the world.”  Ms. Korepanova should indeed be happy. Her standing ovation earned her large audience two encores, Rachmaninoff’s Romance (composed at age 14) and the Elegie in E-flat minor, Op. 3, No. 1, both beautifully played. Brava!

Lina Yoo Min Lee, pianist

A recording available for streaming via iTunes, YouTube, Spotify, Amazon

March 26, 2023

An excellent recording of piano music was sent my way this week, all played by Lina Yoo Min Lee, and it constitutes a distinguished introduction to this young pianist. Dr. Lee (D.M.A.)  enjoys a versatile career as a soloist, chamber musician, and educator, having performed worldwide (mainly in the US, Spain, and her native Korea), and she currently serves on the piano faculty at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. As her recording is available to stream on iTunes, Spotify, Amazon, and YouTube, you don’t need to take my word for it but can listen as you wish.

The repertoire includes some well-known and slightly lesser-known piano music by Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Liszt, and Prokofiev. Beethoven’s Sonata in D major, Op. 10, No. 3, is hardly neglected, but with such great works, good musicians cannot simply bypass them, even while forging unique paths. The same can be said for Chopin’s Étude, Op. 10, No. 4, in C-sharp minor, Liszt’s Ballade No. 2, and Mendelssohn’s Variations Serieuses, Op. 54, all on this recording; Prokofiev’s Sonata No. 1, however, is often ignored (in favor of the composer’s later – and greater- Sonatas), so it was refreshing to find it here as the album’s final work. If memory serves, the last time I heard it performed live was in a brilliant New York performance by Nadejda Vlaeva in 2009 – so it was time for another.

Apart from the more traditional Western canon, Dr. Lee has also been working to promote new music and repertoire that she considers “historically and systematically marginalized.” In that spirit, her latest piano solo recital in New York (October 2022, Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall) featured music by women: Secret & Glass Gardens by Jennifer Higdon,Gustave Le Gray by Caroline Shaw, Small Noise and Great Noise by Hyo-shin Na and Piano Sonata No.5 by Galina Ustavolskaya. There will be a release of her performances of these works in the fall of 2023. Based on her current recording that should be a release worth anticipating eagerly.

Meanwhile, returning to the works at hand (all recorded live, we are told, pre-COVID), there is much to admire. Beethoven’s Sonata in D major, Op. 10, No. 3,  opens the collection and is given a polished performance here, one that would be hard to criticize unless one had heard over a half-century’s worth of interpretations of it. There is a substantial performance history with this work, as one of the most magnificent piano sonatas by Beethoven (though still “early” – dating from 1798) – and according to many, among the greatest piano sonatas by anyone.

Dr. Lee’s rendition has much to offer, though some personal reservations included an overall feeling of slight haste. The first telltale sign was the omission of the repeat in the exposition. In a world catering to attention deficits, it is understandable to cut repeats on occasion in live recitals, but a recording can be the ultimate opportunity to let the music breathe. One also wanted just a bit more time in general – in the first movement to allow the articulations to have more definition and its noble structure more heft, and in the second movement, Largo e mesto (a rare use of this tragic designation), just a bit more depth of struggle than was projected. It was lovely playing in so many ways, but some dramatic changes of harmony and register were effected with a promptness that verged on the metronomic. On a more positive note, the Menuetto movement was played with sheer delight in its playful articulations and was a joy to hear. There were also no first or second repeats here, but any beginnings of complaints got lost in the sheer charm of it all. The final Rondo was also excellent. Dr. Lee’s extreme metrical precision here (despite judicious ritardandi where marked) simply underscored Beethoven’s inherent rhythmic play, so it was a wonderful change from performances where fussiness ruins the metric framework. In summary, there was much to enjoy in this performance.

Chopin’s Étude, Op. 10, No. 4, was all it should be, with superb fingerwork. Tempo-wise it was solid as a rock, with just enough increase in momentum towards the end to convey an adrenaline rush.

Mendelssohn’s Variations Serieuses, Op. 54, stood out as my favorite of the offerings. The theme was projected with admirable solemnity, and the pacing and balance were well-considered throughout. Though I still wanted more breathing at the ends of long phrases and occasionally at harmonic surprises deserving special attention, it was a winning performance. Her momentum was energizing in Variations 7, 8, and 9. The fugato in Variation 10 was well-voiced and lucid, and in Variation 11, Dr. Lee took time to savor melodic peaks just as one had hoped. Variation 13 had especially good staccato articulations, and the set finished with great emotional power. Brava!

Liszt Ballade No. 2 in B minor was excellent as well.  Composed in a grand operatic style (the same year as the composer’s monumental Sonata in B minor), it offers considerable technical challenges for a pianist, but none were beyond Dr. Lee’s abilities. She has tremendous octaves, runs, chordal playing, and much more. Occasionally one felt she could have “lived” each phrase more – i.e., that certain repeated gestures warranted re-conceiving and re-experiencing, rather than sounding like clones of prior parts; that said, Dr. Lee’s Ballade interpretation certainly holds its head up with the many fine ones available.

Finally, we heard Prokofiev’s single-movement Sonata No. 1  in F minor, the composer’s Opus 1. Composed when Prokofiev was just 18, it is worth getting to know, even if only for a historical perspective on the youth of a major composer. As a pianist, it can be hard to know how to approach this piece, since familiarity with Prokofiev’s later works predisposes one to more biting angular sounds and phrases, and yet this work billows with Romanticism. Ms. Lee strikes a good balance in which one can hear the young Prokofiev and the mature master all at once, with plenty of bravura.

In conclusion, this is a collection of performances worth hearing. It most likely will not disappoint listeners who love these works – and in some cases, they may become favorites.