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.

Alexei Tartakovsky, Pianist

Baisley Powell Elebash Recital Hall, The Graduate Center (CUNY), New York, NY

March 17, 2023

After the concert I heard at the Graduate Center Friday, March 17th, I would say that Alexei Tartakovsky is one of the finest young pianists that I’ve heard in recent years. He took on a fiercely difficult program which included Liszt’s transcription of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony (Pastoral) as the first half and after intermission Schumann’s Geistervariationen (“Ghost” Variations in E-flat, WoO 24), and the complete Etudes-Tableaux Op. 33 of Rachmaninoff. In it all, one heard not just the command of a master pianist, but the depth of a true musician.

Though this concert was held at the CUNY Graduate Center, where Mr. Tartakovsky is pursuing his  Doctor of Musical Arts (DMA) degree, it would have been equally at home at Carnegie Hall or the Concertgebouw. For now, it represented a partial fulfillment of the requirements of his program, for which he is currently the recipient of a Graduate Center Fellowship. His playing (like his insightful program notes) bodes well for his completion of the degree at the very least, and one expects much more. He has been a student of Richard Goode, having also studied with Matti Raekallio, Nina Lelchuk, Boris Slutsky, Boris Berman, and Horacio Gutierrez. He completed his undergraduate studies at Juilliard and Queens College (CUNY), his MM from Peabody, and an Artists Diploma from the Yale School of Music. His biography reflects success in several important competitions, including as Laureate of the 2021 International Beethoven Competition in Bonn, but he is much more than a mere competition winner.

His program opened with Liszt’s transcription of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6. There are now quite a few pianists who play one or two of the Liszt transcriptions of Beethoven Symphonies, and some who have played all nine (including notably Cyprien Katsaris, Idil Biret, who was the first to record them all – plus several others); in live concert, though, I’ve rarely heard a pianist play a single one of these and emerge without some “wear and tear.” Though countless performers exploit Liszt’s more idiomatic works to sound (as the joke goes) “like better pianists than they actually are,” those same pianists get bruised by these symphony transcriptions and end up sounding not quite as good as they should be. Though they are amazingly well-written for piano (created by Liszt, after all!), the demands are simply too gargantuan for most.

The Beethoven-Liszt Pastoral, as with the other eight transcriptions, requires the pianistto capture each instrumental timbre as the focus rapidly shifts and to pass voices unobtrusively between hands. Mr. Tartakovsky’s ability here was remarkable right from the first movement, Awakening of cheerful feelings on arrival in the countryside, and memorably so in the more serene second movement, Scene by the brook. All through this juggling of demands, one must maintain supreme control and consistency of tempo and mood, and he did just that. There are the more obvious challenges, from the clarity of the thirds near the opening of the piece to the rapid octaves in the third movement (the Merry gathering of country folk), but Mr. Tartakovsky was undaunted and addressed most of them better than I’ve heard before. He unleashed his force with fire in the brilliant fourth movement (Thunder, Storm), the most quintessentially Lisztian of the five. By intermission, the audience could only join the fifth movement’s shepherds in Thankful feelings.

From even the best pianists there are inevitably some unflattering flubs and glitches without the help of a recording editor, so there has to be not just great skill, but passionate commitment, even bravery to perform them live. Mr. Tartakovsky has these qualities and more. Though he was not exempt from the occasional smudge himself, he was infallible in matters of memory and was able to convey all the intricacies of Beethoven’s orchestration via Liszt, while projecting a powerful overall conception of each movement. It was a thrilling performance.

What originally had this listener most eager to hear this program, though, was the set of Variations in E-flat, WoO 24, one of Schumann’s last works, a profound and relatively neglected one – lacking the popular appeal of say the Symphonic Etudes or Schumann’s more youthful sets. It is based on a theme so dear to the composer that it had found its way (with certain differences) into several other works, including the slow movement of his Violin Concerto. The theme is so moving that one wants simply to hear it by itself over and over; variations can be a way of giving listeners their “fill” of such beauty, but things don’t always work out that way. For whatever reason (pursuit of balance or variety perhaps) these variations in most performances I’ve heard have had a dilutive rather than deepening effect on one’s recollection of the theme; Mr. Tartakovsky, however, drew the listener’s focus to the musical heart. The variations naturally radiated from it and looked back toward it.

If one were to find a reservation about this recital, it would be a non-pianistic observation that arose repeatedly. Mr. Tartakovsky feels the music so intensely that occasionally his magnificent phrases are accompanied by quite audible breathing, occasional humming, and other vocal sounds. Having grown up with the grunts and moans of Casals and having felt that I would still not give up any of his recordings, it is still good to try for the best of all possible worlds (and such habits can intensify with time so should be curbed). With playing so wonderful that several of us were ready to do battle with two bearers of flowers rattling their noisy wrappings (yes – skip the flowers, but don’t ruin the recording), the performer himself should at least not sabotage his own recordings.

The Op. 33 Etudes-Tableaux of Rachmaninoff closed the recital with equally powerful and musical interpretations. As the pianist aptly states in his program notes, these Etudes are “less overtly virtuosic and flashy than many of the Preludes, and certainly less demonstrative than the etudes by Liszt or even Chopin. Rather they require a refined pianism of greater precision of expression and tonal control.” Exactly right, and Mr. Tartakovsky lived up to his own words, bringing them a wide range of intense emotions and colors and sustaining interest throughout (no small feat, as this reviewer knows from performing the entire set as well). Bravo!

After this far-from-light program, one would have understood if there had been no encores, but the audience was treated to four, the first three with no words of introduction. First, he gave us a sensitively voiced rendition of the lyrical Rachmaninoff Prelude Op. 23, No. 10 in G-flat major. After still more applause he lit into the Bach-Busoni Nun freut euch, lieben Christen g’mein – at lightning speed and with superb clarity. A highlight of the evening for this listener was the next encore, the Brahms Intermezzo in A major, Op. 118, No. 2, given a mature pacing with ample time to absorb its great beauty. One wanted to say “Amen.”

Before his fourth and final encore, Mr. Tartakovsky made some remarks about leaving school soon with “tearful goodbyes” and announced that he would play Rachmaninoff’s own arrangement of  Nunc Dimittis from the All-Night Vigil (or Vespers) Op. 37. The text begins (as he announced) “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace” (St. Luke 2:29). Indeed, we wish the future Dr. Tartakovsky peace – but we also wish him the long fruitful career he richly deserves.

Rachel KyeJung Park, pianist

Weill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

March 13, 2023

There was something for everyone at a recent concert at Weill Hall given by pianist Rachel KyeJung Park, Assistant Professor of Piano at Jacksonville State University and recipient of numerous distinctions in Korea and the US. Of greatest interest to me were selections from 12 Heilige Glockenklänge für Klavier, a US Premiere of music by Korean composer M. W. Johann Kim (b. 1959). The balance of the program featured standard repertoire, including Beethoven’s Sonata Op. 109, Chopin’s G minor Ballade, Debussy’s Estampes, Ravel’s Alborado del Gracioso (from Miroirs), and Rachmaninoff’s Etude-Tableau Op. 39, No. 6 in A minor. The final work on the program was the pianist’s own arrangement of the traditional Korean song (and unofficial anthem), Arirang.

Dr. Park started the evening off with confidence and color in the four fascinating selections by M. W Johann Kim, 12 Heilige Glockenklänge für Klavier (or 12 Holy Bell Sounds for Piano). The first piece,  Am Anfang (Beginning), started with a great chordal burst, from which emanations of color seemed to stream. The second piece, Frieden des Herrn (Peace of the Lord), was the most bell-like of the four, with hints of Debussy and Messiaen. The third piece, Freude, emerged as rather boisterous, starting with a lively ostinato and growing dance-like and brilliant (with bell sounds not too detectable to this listener, though it was exciting, as it stood). Finally the fourth, Liebe (Love), closed the set with a melody in ebullient right-hand octaves over quasi-impressionistic chords, trills, and passagework. These are intriguing pieces, unique in expression though reminding one of Messiaen, Scriabin, and the impressionistic composers. Dr. Park did an impressive job projecting their spirit while handling their technical complexities, and the composer was present for a well-deserved ovation. His works, we learn from some texts that were available at intermission, are created with his own acoustically inspired system called bell sound harmony, based partly on the work of Kurt Anton Hueber and grounded in Mr. Kim’s own faith. One hopes to hear more of this fascinating music.

Moving to more familiar music, Dr. Park played Rachmaninoff’s Etude-Tableau Op. 39 No. 6 in A minor (often called “Little Red Riding Hood”). It was striking for the relative slowness (compared to many performers) of her opening chromatic runs – but the initial surprise became admiration as these passages (likened to the growling of the wolf) “growled” all the more for not being rushed. Dr. Park has clearly no trouble with high-velocity fingerwork, as the ensuing challenges were easily met at very high speed. Well done!

Debussy’s Estampes followed, and each of the three pieces was played with great care, though with varying degrees of emotional power to this listener. Pagodes, the first of the three, left nothing wanting. Redolent with the sounds of Debussy’s beloved gamelan, it was happy in Dr. Park’s hands. La soirée dans Grenade was well done overall, but, to this listener, it needed a more sultry, smoky feel in its habanera, and a lusher, more expansive climax. Jardins sous la pluie conveyed well the shimmering colors and repeating rhythms of its subject, gardens under the rain, though it lost focus at times.

After intermission (and a change of evening dress from red to brilliant turquoise), we heard Beethoven’s Sonata Op. 109 in E major, one of the master’s great three final sonatas for piano.  Rather than assess each movement blow-by-blow, suffice it to say that it was probably an “off night” for this piece; if one had to pinpoint the source of the several mishaps, however, they might relate to this pianist’s favoring of the right hand. Gifted with a penchant for all things cantabile, this pianist seemed to need a bit more thorough attention to the bass lines and harmonic underpinnings. (Underpinnings that are neglected have a way of getting revenge at the oddest times, and some did just that.) Beyond that, this listener felt at odds with some of it purely interpretively – with the first movement feeling overly “prettified,” and the Andante theme of the finale exuding sweetness more than nobility.

Ravel’s Alborado del Gracioso from Miroirs seemed well suited to this pianist, and that is quite a compliment, considering what notorious challenges it presents, from its rapid repeated notes to its double glissandi. Dr. Park was up to the demands and played with fire and flair. Her repeated notes, incidentally, were superb.

Chopin’s G minor Ballade was also well in hand overall, and though I didn’t agree with every interpretive decision, the work was solid and well prepared throughout, with excellent tonal balance and control, pearling runs, judicious pacing, and plenty of spirit in the coda.

The final work on the program was also a delightful surprise, Dr. Park’s arrangement of Arirang – which turned out to be not just a rhapsody on Arirang but also on Amazing Grace, the tune that opens the piece. Her rendition was charming, as is the piece itself, reflecting a lovely and grateful spirit. Dr. Park has a gift for embellishing and harmonizing, and one hopes she will do much more in this area.

An enthusiastic crowd gave a standing ovation and was rewarded with an encore of Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu, played well enough that it might have been put on the program itself.

Samuel Lord Kalcheim, composer;

Kristyn Michele, tenor; Juan Aguilera Cerezo, cellist

Tobiasz Siankiewicz, alto saxophonist;

Daniel Beliavsky, Jason Weisinger, Nicholas Pietromonaco, pianists

Tenri Institute, New York, NY

March 3, 2023

An eager crowd of music lovers filled the Tenri Institute auditorium this Friday for a concert entitled Ancient Wisdom, Emerging Voices, the New York City debut of composer Samuel Lord Kalcheim (b. 1990). The program offered two major works inspired by Ancient Greek writings, including his Sonata for Violoncello Solo “Three Maxims of Delphi” and his Ancient Hymns and Prayers, a song cycle based on his translations of mostly Greek texts. Rounding out the program were his Six Morning Miniatures for Piano (World Premiere) and Grand Duo for Alto Saxophone and Piano.

The composer’s biographical notes state that “Building on an expertise in 18th and 19th c. styles and forms, Samuel writes expressive new music for today’s sensibilities.” For full disclosure, I had run across some of Mr. Kalcheim’s more youthful work through mutual friends nearly a decade ago and had been surprised by the predominant 18th- and 19th-century aspects of his writing. As a diehard devotee of tonality, I had cheered but also had wondered how this particular style, something of a throwback, might play out in the “new music” world. How would it find its place in new music circles where such styles are often peremptorily dismissed? How would these styles of long ago weave into our current world? Well, I am happy to report that this evening offered heartening answers. Mr. Kalcheim is proving to be a promising and accomplished young composer with much to offer the world.

The concert opened with Grand Duo for Alto Saxophone and Piano, given a bravura reading by Tobiasz Siankiewicz and pianist Daniel Beliavsky. The piece, originally written for and recorded by saxophonist Jessica Dodge-Overstreet, lives up to the “grand” title in its bold gestures and flourishes, starting with a fortissimo chordal announcement at the piano and moving on to impassioned, long-breathed phrases in the saxophone. It is (in the composer’s words ) “something of an homage to the French origin of the saxophone, blending French Romantic and Impressionistic influences, with a hint of fin de siècle Russian music.” At times one heard hints of Fauré – and at times, in its sparer textures, of Ibert – but in any case, it conveyed something of the intoxicating beauty of France where we are told most of it was composed (Paris). It is a piece that should find a happy home on many saxophone recitals. Mr. Siankiewicz and Mr. Beliavsky seemed both more than up to its demands. My one complaint was that (as often is the complaint with Tenri) the sound was overwhelming from both instruments, overwhelming enough to cause actual pain and invite earplugs. Either the performers need to know this in advance and adjust fortissimos accordingly, or there need to be some sound-absorbing panels or cloths brought into the room.

Next, filling out the first half, came the Sonata for Violoncello Solo “Three Maxims of Delphi, written for and performed here by Spanish cellist Juan Aguilera Cerezo. The first movement was based on the maxim Gnothi seauton (Know thyself) and was appropriately searching and probing. Written idiomatically for cello, it conveyed inner conflict through its dissonant counterpoint, a pedal point heard almost as an idée fixe, and the gradual and skillful development of its material. Mr. Cerezo played with a complete commitment to the music, and his audience was rapt.

The second movement Meden Agan (Nothing in excess) was a study in musical balance, the opening chant-like figures (faint hints of Dies Irae) proceeding to a more dance-like section. The third and final movement, Eggua para d’ate (A pledge brings ruin), exploited the cello’s extremes of dynamics and timbres, as the music conveyed still more emotional grappling. It was (as was this entire piece) refreshing in its genuineness, avoiding fads or flash in favor of its own course; there were moments, still, when one wondered whether parts might have been compressed slightly with no loss of the sense of odyssey.

After intermission, we heard Six Morning Miniatures for Piano (World Premiere), composed, as Mr. Kalcheim describes, “in a series of mornings as a way to start the day. Each briefly explores a little musical world, almost in a naive way.” Pianist Nicholas Pietromonaco performed these with great sensitivity to their varied moods. They were a joy to hear, bringing to mind miniatures of Grieg (Lyric Pieces) and sometimes those of MacDowell, Gretchaninoff, and others, though each with its own individual spirit. Little Wild Horse (a far cry from Schumann’s Wild Horseman) was gentle and dreamy. Morning Tea conveyed a workaday comfort, with just enough color to be an eye-opener. A shift from imagery to contrasting abstraction came in Two-Part Invention (an interesting exercise exploiting an easily discernible theme) and Bitonal Study (with such understated contrast that one easily forgot it was bitonal). In a return to imagery, Hummingbirds (Toccata) benefitted from Mr. Petromonaco’s rapid fingerwork and then disappeared with a playful humor that wasn’t lost on the attentive audience. (Was I in a mood or were there hints here of Dies Irae as well?) Finally, Summer’s End (Pastorale) brought the set to a touching close, bringing to mind some miniatures of Rebikoff.

Just for clarification here, with all the mentions of hints and similarities, these are not criticisms. Just as poets through the centuries can describe the same subject with both overlap and individuality, the same applies in music, without detriment if one is true to oneself. As for influence, the great composers left us seeds – and sometimes doors to Narnia. Casting them aside as used, like casting tonality aside, is “throwing the baby out with the bathwater.” For this reason, I hope that Mr. Kalcheim stays his course without the temptation to be “original” for originality’s sake.

Originality is also inherent in the exploration of new voices, and Mr. Kalcheim’s final work on the program, Ancient Hymns and Prayers, is just that. Based on his own translations from Ancient Greek texts, he composed the cycle for non-binary tenor Kristyn Michele as part of a goal of creating works for non-traditional voices; the program title “Ancient Wisdom, Emerging Voices” was thus quite fitting.

The six songs of Ancient Hymns and Prayers started beautifully with Prayer to Pan. Kristyn Michele sang with a pure and focused tone and captivating emotional involvement, and Jason Weisinger was a wonderful collaborator here, establishing a hallowed mood with his hypnotic repeated figures. Hymn to the Earth was a beauty as well, bubbling over with youthful energy and voluptuous color. Occasionally in lower registers the voice was overwhelmed by the very bright piano, but this was perhaps inescapable given the venue – and even more pronounced in the next movement, Praise to the Sun. Hymn to the Night brought more complex and sometimes tortured emotions, and if there was some debt to Scriabin here, it was well-placed.

The fifth song, Prayer to Aphrodite, reflected Mr. Kalcheim’s special sensitivity to text, as the wavering chromaticism suggested the fickleness of love – not a surprise, given his role as translator of the text, but worthy of mention. Finally, Epitaph, the sixth song, closed the concert with a haunting setting of the lines “As long as you live, shine!” (and some more hints of the Dies Irae chant). It was a moving close to a memorable evening.

Ten long years have passed since that first hearing of Mr. Kalcheim’s youthful work – a different phase of life, different compositions – and since that first glimmer, Mr. Kalcheim has composed for soprano Estelí Gomez, the Delgani String Quartet, University of Oregon’s Musicking Conference and the Elsewhere Ensemble, in addition to current projects shared on this occasion. He currently plans a recording of his works and is clearly not at a loss for creative projects. Stylistically, his music now reflects a wide range of influences from Romanticism, Impressionism, early 20th-century Russian composers, and much more, but it retains overall its rootedness in a traditional tonal language. More importantly than that, though, it reflects a fidelity to his own creativity, which he cultivates with integrity and intelligence. More power to him!