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!

Books, Music, and Lyrics by Debra Cook;

Debra Cook as Debra;

McKinslee Mitchell as McKinslee

Tanya Taylor, collaborative pianist;

Kathy Morath, Director; Christopher Stephens, Music Director

Gene Fisch, Jr, Producer

Weill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

February 14, 2023

For one of my more unusual reviewing assignments, I found myself on Valentine’s Day evening attending the musical “Jilted to Perfection” by Debra Cook at Weill Hall. What was unusual? Well, the whole night was, but to start, a musical at Weill Hall is unusual in and of itself (as a classically oriented recital hall). Then, despite its billing as a musical, one found that there were none of the usual sets or backdrops except the hall’s usual Steinway grand piano, and the only prop was an armchair (used chiefly for one angry slamming episode). The show would thus rely completely on the music and cast to inspire the audience’s imagination – but, wait, what cast? Apart from a special singing appearance in the last few minutes by McKinslee Mitchell (creator Debra Cook’s young granddaughter), the “cast” consisted solely of Ms. Cook herself, singing ten songs she composed and strung together with a memoir’s worth of tales and quips for the whole eighty-plus minutes (with no intermission). The collaborative pianist Tanya Taylor was a stalwart professional through it all but was inconspicuous, leaving it clearly a “one-woman show.” So, how was it? In a word, inspiring.

When my humorous “better half” mimics theatre raves, he says in a fangirl voice, “I laughed, I cried – it became a part of me!” Well, I have to admit that Jilted to Perfection did make me laugh – and cry – so call me a fangirl. That said, it might need some tweaks to become “a part of me”- but I’ll get to those.

The show started off centering on Ms. Cook’s life as a singer in her thirties and gradually shifted focus to a romance that became more central to her world over the course of (what I later learned to be) several decades. She opened, ably singing audition excerpts from Bel Raggio lusinghier of Rossini’s Semiramide, interrupting those to tell of the challenges facing young singers, from frequent sexual harassment to the micromanaging of an accompanist’s sheet music. The show promised to take a rather different direction from what followed based on that first scene (which one could say about several scenes), but since Ms. Cook is a trained classical singer and the show is part memoir, it did serve to establish her background. Ms. Cook’s singing credits have included solo performances with the National Choral Society at Lincoln Center’s Avery Fisher Hall, Utah Symphony’s Beethoven 9th, and several seasons in repertory with Utah Opera Company. In this scene, though, she was primarily the storyteller, exaggerating strenuous vocal feats to semi-comical effect, presumably for the entertainment of a non-operatically inclined audience. She occasionally pushed the singing volume beyond the point of a listener’s comfort (whereas I wanted more volume in the storytelling that connected it all), but it was presumably to establish the rigors of her calling.

Ms. Cook moved swiftly on to her more Broadway-esque numbers, First Sight (as in “love at first sight”) and Jilted Kiss (about a mysterious kiss shared after Debra had stood up her date, Fredric Cook) – though operatic flourishes would burst forth throughout the evening. In First Sight she recalled her earliest encounters with Fred (the ostensible subject of the musical), but those hints of romance barely took flight before comical touches returned, including what was called the “Four Divorce Mombo” scene (which I’d almost hoped to become a full Mambo dance scene), as Debra recounted a brief history of Fred’s four divorces. The realization that he was a Scientologist (not quite in synch with her Mormon background) set up the laugh line “what could possibly go wrong?” so one was led to expect a zany comedy about love gone awry. The title itself, Jilted to Perfection,helped that slight misdirection, though the song Jilted Kiss gave glimmers of love’s promise. All of the songs in the show were composed – and sung – with musicality and theatrical flair.

Even amidst Ms. Cook’s stream-of-consciousness style, one wasn’t mentally ready for the next song, Why Does Daddy Hit Me?, and it might have been good to have a few more hints about Fred before this plunge into his childhood. Only the final pages of the program booklet revealed that one of the goals of the musical was to “promote Fred’s work as a philosopher and teacher in preparation for books on his works.” Apart from program notes, an audience relies on proportionate timing and other cues to learn what to care about in a musical, and the focus up to this point had indeed been Debra more than Fred (with hints of various other themes in her life also showing potential for development). The program booklet included a “Composer’s Notes” section, aiming to address this issue, but it seems that still further clarification and focus could help. Sometimes artists’ gifts and ideas are so abundant that an artist wants to say too much all at once.  This is not a weakness, as long as one can learn to mete out creations gradually towards, say, another few musicals. It also may be inevitable that a one-person musical will face challenges in appearing to be about someone else. There are many solutions, including narrowing the focus or simply adjusting the pacing in spots.

Moving on, Why Does Daddy Hit Me? dipped into Fred Cook’s traumatic childhood with a heartbreaking tone that reflected Debra’s growing insight into Fred, and how and why he had become a “seeker” in life (with interests ranging from Scientology to the LDS church, in which, as we read in the booklet, his final role was as a High Priest). It is a song that could easily be used on its own for crusades against abuse – just as several other songs could take on separate lives.

The next song, Nine (named for the number of other men Ms. Cook had been seeing), reverted to reinforcing my initial impression of a light rom-com, complete with flirtatious shimmying that would make a woman half Ms. Cook’s age envious. (Did I mention that Ms. Cook is a mother and grandmother to many children? and co-founder and Executive Director of Utah Conservatory, Partner in Professional Artists Group, and Park City Music?) Yes, she is a dynamo.

Then, before one could blink after the song Nine, we heard Surrendering Heart, the show’s most stirring love song. It was moving – and beautifully sung – but also left me with the sense that I’d missed some steps leading to its intensity. The popular texter’s acronym ELI5 (“explain like I’m five”) has its place in musical production, especially when a writer is so close to the material (such as anything autobiographical) that there may be neglect in filling in gaps for a total stranger (and n.b., the five-year-old in ELI5 must not be one’s grandchild). Ideally, an audience member needs no supplementary reading for a complete understanding of the heart of a musical.

Later scenes of Jilted to Perfection zigzagged rather fast. In record time there was a move to Hollywood, a marriage, a wacky number about fraud called Jodie Foster’s Father is a Con Man, a scene entitled “In Sickness & In Health,” some comical struggles with Utah terrain in King’s Peak, mosquitoes, jagged rocks, a recession, surgeries (not necessarily in that order), and an extremely touching song called Big Guy –  all passing by in a bit of a blur of bubbling creativity. Even the passing of Fred was only briefly communicated before the song Come Back Home – as a concerned son cut short his phone call with the words “I’ll call you back.” The unspoken words there were a silent dagger, undoubtedly intentional, as perhaps the rapid blur was intentional, to signify the brevity of life … but then one tends to ask: what else was intended? Flipping through the program booklet, one finds that one of the two stated goals of this production of the musical is the promotion of Fred Cook’s work as a philosopher. Though Fred’s philosophies were not explicitly “front and center” to this listener, the printed list of “Dr. Fred’s Philosophies” could fill an entirely new musical, one song or anecdote for each homily perhaps. On the other hand, since Fred Cook’s credo includes the belief that “Man is made that he might have joy,” then the sheer exuberance throughout this show could be seen as its own form of homage to his belief, thanks to the energies of Ms. Cook.

In summary, any observations of mine do not diminish the fact that this musical is brimming with all kinds of life – love, frustration, humor, sadness, and ultimately an uplifting determination to go on, in a sense to start over. There wasn’t a dry eye in the hall after the closing number, Good Fight Hallelujah with Debra Cook and her granddaughter McKinslee Mitchell. The song itself shows a certain debt to the “Alleluia” part of All Creatures of Our God and King, a hymn of great importance over the centuries (drawing the attention of Ralph Vaughan Williams and others), so it tugs at very deep heartstrings. Its recurring line “I can still find my own destiny” is a lasting message, and it was the perfect “take-home tune.” I won’t even describe how the encore (a reprise) was handled (to avoid a spoiler), but it was potent, drawing on the sense of theatrics for which the presenter DCINY (Distinguished Concerts International New York) is famous.

Incidentally, the program booklet states that the second goal for this performance through DCINY is “to generate momentum to engage an iconic Broadway Diva to play Debra on Broadway.” If that is decided, I’ll put in my two cents: Kristin Chenoweth! That said, the big appeal of this musical in its current form is that it is the author-composer’s personal story, shared and sung by her. Who could match Ms. Cook there?

The Oberlin Orchestra, Oberlin College Choir, Oberlin Gospel Choir, Oberlin Musical Union

Raphael Jiménez, Conductor

Chabrelle Williams, soprano; Ronnita Miller, mezzo-soprano; Limmie Pulliam, tenor; Eric Greene, baritone

Stern Auditorium, Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 20, 2023

On January 20, Carnegie Hall was packed for a grand ending to the week of Martin Luther King Jr. Day as musicians from Oberlin performed a program featuring The Ordering of Moses, the fifty-minute oratorio (1932), by a noted black Canadian-American composer. Nathaniel Dett (1882-1943). The Oberlin Orchestra, Oberlin College Choir, Oberlin Gospel Choir, and Oberlin Musical Union all joined forces for this still-underappreciated work, along with a first half consisting of the Tragic Overture of Brahms and a 2018 work by Puerto Rican composer Iván Enrique Rodríguez.

To open the program, Oberlin President Carmen Twillie Ambar greeted the audience with words about Oberlin’s historic role in the struggle for diversity and freedom, an important one indeed, as Oberlin was the first American college to fully admit Black students and the first to admit women.  Conservatory Dean William Quillen followed with his own welcome, adding to his words in the program booklet, which had noted that R. Nathaniel Dett was an Oberlin graduate in 1908, the first Black double major, and the first Black alum to receive an honorary doctorate from them in 1926.  One can understand, for such an Oberlin-centric occasion, that the speakers might not dwell on Dett’s history with many other institutes of higher education, but these included also Harvard (where he won two prizes, 1920-21), the Fontainebleau School in France, where he studied with Nadia Boulanger (1929), and the Eastman School of Music, where he received his Master of Music degree in 1932, composing The Ordering of Moses as his thesis (to be reworked for its premiere in 1937). Dett was a model of the scholarly and artistic ideals that uplift individuals and groups, and as the final jubilant movement of his oratorio resounded at Carnegie, there seemed enough inspiration in the hall to fuel the entire planet.

The connection between the story of Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt into freedom and the emancipation of the enslaved Africans needs little explanation, but suffice it to say that spirituals are incorporated and woven into the texture throughout, as was a growing pursuit during Dett’s Oberlin days studying Dvořák, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, and others. As Dett wrote later in 1918, “We have this wonderful store of folk music—the melodies of an enslaved people … But this store will be of no value unless we utilize it.” The spiritual Go Down Moses permeates his oratorio from the work’s first descending four-note motive in the cello, foreshadowing the specific intervals matched to the words “Egypt’s land.” The solo cellist, presumably the listed Principal, Amanda Vosburgh, handled this opening and her recurring solo lines with sensitivity. The orchestral playing was excellent overall under the direction of conductor Raphael Jiménez.

Enter the singers. We first heard from excellent baritone Eric Greene as The Word (essentially the narrator of the story) and later as the Voice of God. Mr. Greene was regal in delivering his solemn account of the Israelites’ bondage, and he was soon joined by mezzo-soprano Ronnita Miller, equally successful in projecting torment as the Voice of Israel. She was then paired in a compelling duet with the impressive soprano Chabrelle Williams as Miriam (sister of Moses). The chorus was powerful and passionate, to say the least, and always well-timed and reliable. Just occasionally the upper choral voices were overpowering to the point of stridency  – only mentioned because a poor tyke in front of me was forced to cover his ears, and I sometimes wanted to do the same. Dett wrote so much brilliance into his orchestration itself, including the clanking of chains in the percussion section, that no exaggerated choral volume is necessary to convey the power of his ideas. Where the chorus was particularly effective was in parts where they echoed or underscored certain phrases, such as “Mercy Lord” or later in the “Hallelujah” which, as Courtney-Savali L. Andrews aptly put it in her program notes resembles “call-and-response – much like the climax of sermonic exegesis in the Black church.” Their timing was just right, and their preparation, credited in the program to conservatory faculty Gregory Ristow and Ben Johns, was excellent.

Though God in a traditional oratorio is generally a bass or baritone, tenor Limmie Pulliam is divine the second he opens his mouth. He was superb in his role as the hero Moses, projecting a warm, rich tone that captured the leader’s strength, but also the touch of vulnerability as he undertook his mission to cross the Red Sea.

All in all, these combined forces created a memorable interpretation of Dett’s magnum opus. High points were many, including the March of the Israelites which sets a haunting choral hum over an irresistibly driving beat. The latter’s kinship with later film scores (e.g., Rózsa’s King of Kings) may even suggest that later composers owed a certain debt to Dett (!). The highest point, naturally, was the rousing final section, He is King of Kings, in which all the musicians united in unbounded jubilance. Their ecstatic music of praise and deliverance was exceeded only by the roar of applause as listeners jumped to their feet. Bravissimo!

Incidentally, at the risk of sounding heretical, one wonders whether, just as Handel’s Hallelujah chorus is sometimes excerpted from the oratorio Messiah, this last movement of Dett (paired with perhaps one other) might allow audiences more valuable exposure to this very special composer for programs where there are not fifty minutes to spare. Perhaps this happens already, but I haven’t encountered it.

Meanwhile, with a first half that had fifteen minutes of spoken introduction, there was room on the program only for two relatively short works before intermission, the Tragic Overture of Brahms, Op. 81 (composed in 1880, the same year as the Academic Festival Overture) and A Metaphor for Power (2018) by ASCAP award-winning Puerto Rican composer Iván Enrique Rodríguez (b. 1990).

The Brahms was majestically done, with the passion that tends to be seen more frequently with student ensembles than with professionals (no “phoning it in”) – and there were only fleeting moments of rough edges where there could have been tauter ensemble. Especially beautiful were some of their hushed piano dynamics. The entire orchestra and their conductor Raphael Jiménez can be very proud.

A Metaphor for Power (taking its name from a famous James Baldwin quote) closed the first half. It is, in the words of its composer Iván Enrique Rodríguez, “a musical essay that attempts to address the present turbulence of ideologies, dreams, and hard-hitting realities. The piece unfolds as an expedition through an expanse of troublesome experiences visited by fleeting and unsuccessful moments of hope.” One need look no further for the latter “unsuccessful moments” than the fragments of America the Beautiful that dissolve into a dissonant chromatic puddle, the rumble of indecipherable spoken words that convey unrest, and the hints of My Country ‘Tis of Thee cast in irony and despair.

The orchestration reflects imagination, employing everything from harp and glockenspiel to Mahler hammer and tubular bells. There was no question that this composer is a gifted colorist with an abundance of emotional energy and the means to communicate it. He certainly had some fans in the audience, and he bounded to the stage exultantly afterwards to take his bows.

Martin Matalon, composer

Elena Klionsky, pianist 

Salome Jordania, piano II (Track 4)

Eve Payeur and Julián Macedo, percussionists;

David Adamcyck, sound designer (electronics)

Joel Sachs, conductor, the New Juilliard Ensemble (Track 1)

MSR Classics: MS 1789

As fans of contemporary classical music will want to take note (if they don’t already know), an exciting CD was released this year dedicated to music by Argentinian composer Martin Matalon (b. 1958, Buenos Aires) on the MSR Classics label. The CD has four tracks, all with pianist Elena Klionsky performing in a central role, first as concerto soloist (Track 1), then as solo pianist (Tracks 2 and 3), and then as Piano I in a mixed percussion/electronic ensemble (Track 4). The works are from a timespan of fourteen years of Mr. Matalon’s output (2000-2014), and the range of techniques and expressiveness is wide.

Martin Matalon has made a growing international reputation for himself through many genres including opera,  choreographic works, installations, concert music, and film scores. He has won numerous awards, including a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2005, and he is currently the composition professor at the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Lyon. Organizations performing his works have included the Orchestre de Paris, Ensemble Intercontemporain, Orquesta de Barcelona y Catalunya, MusikFabrik (Cologne), and many other ensembles. His film scores have included one for the restored version of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (commissioned by IRCAM) as well as three for surrealistic films of Luis Buñuel. 

It was at the Juilliard School in New York (while obtaining his Master of Music Degree) that Mr. Matalon met Elena Klionsky, a pianist who went on to play throughout the United States in recital, orchestral, chamber music, and duo-piano performances. In her native Russia, she has performed with leading orchestras including the Moscow State Symphony, St. Petersburg Camerata, Ural Philharmonic Orchestra, and Russian Federal Orchestra. Coming to the US, she was mentored for many years by Isaac Stern as well as at Juilliard (first in the Pre-College Division, later for BM and MM degrees). She was the first foreigner to open the annual Moscow Stars Festival in the Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory and has performed at the White House as part of its National Treasures event. 

For full disclosure, this reviewer was at Juilliard for several of the same years as Mr. Matalon and Ms. Klionsky but missed several decades of their careers since then. Having not seen Ms. Klionsky since school days and having remembered mostly personal attributes of sensitivity, delicacy, and a Romantic aura, I was not prepared for the playing of a tigress that emerged in several of this CD’s works! From relentless ostinato patterns and clangorous clusters to trills and soft coloristic effects, and everything in between, Ms. Klionsky shows that she is not to be limited to any one niche. Mr. Matalon, then a student of Vincent Persichetti, has also clearly forged his own paths, in a way that intertwines all the arts.

Poetry takes a role in Mr. Matalon’s first work on the CD, Trames IV: Concerto for Piano and Eleven Instruments (2001) with the New Juilliard Ensemble under Joel Sachs. As the composer writes, “The generic name ‘Trame’ is inspired by a poem of the same name by Jorge Luis Borges, which unveils for us the synchrony that exists among all elements constituting ‘universal history.’ Less ambitious and more circumscribed, my Trames evoke simply the ‘weaving’ proper to each composition, its ‘Ariadne thread.'” Despite its description as “less ambitious and more circumscribed” Trames IV is overwhelmingly complex in texture to the point of being dizzying. If one reads the very short Borges poem, La Trama,  telling of the attack on a gaucho in Buenos Aires and the eerie connection to  Julius Caesar’s betrayal 1900 years earlier, one can perhaps understand better the source of the harrowing, almost chaotic flight through time in this piece. Just to be clear, the word chaotic here is not meant to imply that the piece does not possess internal order, for though this listener failed to grasp the piece immediately in its entirety, it did seem oddly internally cohesive, as if a wrong note or beat would be easily apparent. 

At sixteen and a half minutes, Trames IV comprises five continuous movements. Though we are told of a prologue and epilogue and movements in between, there is no clear boundary from one to the next, a fact that seems appropriate to its themes of connectedness. Meanwhile, its mixtures of timbres, though using familiar instruments (strings, winds, brass, a full battery of percussion), create effects that sound completely new. As with combining flavors, it is an instance of the whole being “greater than the sum of its parts.” The expressiveness ranges from ominous and other-worldly to furious in its driving piano ostinato (think of the third movement of  Barber’s Piano Concerto, as if played on acid). Throughout it all, the pianist is part of the concertante texture, in which split-second timing is essential. One only wishes that this were a video recording, because the interaction had to be awe-inspiring at the live performance; it is remarkable, though, as it is. The liner notes state that this performance was recorded live at the Peter Jay Sharp Theater, Lincoln Center with Robert Taibbi as the engineer. Though premiered in Paris in 2001, Musical America listed this performance (2010) as the US Premiere. We can so glad that it was preserved and is shared in this CD.

The next work (Track 2) is Artificios (2014) dedicated to Elena Klionsky, who gives it its World Premiere performance here (recorded in a private studio in New York by Dale Ashley). Just around seven minutes long, it also covers a wide range, particularly in tonal register. As Mr. Matalon writes, “My interest at the time I wrote Artificios was to create polarities through a single musical parameter. I chose to underline the importance of register: how the same lines employed in the two extremes of the piano would imply a totally different perception of the material and create polarities: density and lightness, black and white, opacity and crystalline. The lines are inhabited by trills, spirals, loops, chirping birds, cascades and repeated notes.” Ms. Klionsky handles all of these components with conviction, particularly the glassy treble repeated notes, and with an improvisatory feeling that must surely have pleased the composer.

The third work, Dos Formas del Tiempo (2000, roughly translated as “Two Forms of Time”) is perhaps the most accessible work of the CD, just over seven minutes and developing its toccata-like left-hand opening in increasing complexity, syncopation, and cluster chords with never a dull moment. As the composer describes the piece, the musical “objects” that populate it include “explosions, trills, sparkling, garlands, spirals, repeated notes or resonances.” There are long stretches of crystalline motifs in a high treble register that are so subtly varying that, even if one were not enamored of the piece itself (and it is far from “easy listening”), one has to admire the pianist for processing it all and projecting it with such polish. One never gets the sense that Mr. Matalon wrote for the ease of the pianist (or for any of the instruments for that matter), but out of an urge to expand the piano’s sonic capabilities into the evocative orchestral realm of say, film scores. In fact, throughout the entire CD, one found oneself constantly imagining what images and drama would accompany it all if paired with film.

The final work on the CD, La Makina (2007, premiered in 2008 at McGill University) has the greatest sonic variety of all, through the combination of two pianos (Salome Jordania joining Ms. Klionsky) in addition to percussionists Eve Payeur and Julián Macedo, with electronic sound by David Adamcyck. The composer’s description once again partially eludes this listener’s full understanding, including “the time polarity created by the use of ‘suspended time’ as opposed to ‘pulsed time’ and the premises of lightness and density created by the use of ‘frequency zones’ which are often poles apart.” That said, there is such an ear-tickling array of sounds from the percussion instruments and electronic effects, that one can appreciate it on that level alone. In around twenty-two minutes it builds to an absolutely nightmarish peak – including what sounds like the cracking of whips – and it is hard to miss the dramatic import on at least a basic level. The performances are impressive, as with the entire CD, and the recording, by Frédéric Prin at the Conservatoire à Rayonnement Régional de Rueil Malmaison, France, is excellent as well. 

All in all, this CD represents a formidable achievement both for the composer and for the performers. Audiophiles, particularly contemporary music and electronic music buffs, will surely want a copy. As a bonus, those with the physical CD will appreciate the cover art (acrylic on canvas, 1994) entitled “Music” by Marc Klionsky, an especially meaningful depiction by the father of the talented Elena Klionsky.

Éva Polgár, pianist

Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

December 15, 2022

Éva Polgár made her second major Carnegie Hall appearance of the season this Thursday in a program entitled “Evocation” including some new and rarely heard Hungarian piano music at Weill Hall. Just a few weeks ago, on November 27, she had impressed this reviewer in a demanding program entitled “Carpathian Impressions” including collaborations with two other pianists at Zankel Hall (also reviewed in New York Concert Review: Carpathian Impressions in Review), but this concert was all solos. She is a powerhouse indeed, combining a winning stage presence, a flair for programming, and highly communicative playing.

Bearing the Hungary Foundation’s title of “Cultural Ambassador of the Year” Ms. Polgár has proven, through her study and performances of Bartok, Liszt, Kodaly, and newer composers, to be a strong advocate for the music of her native Hungary. In this most recent recital, there were important offerings by Franz Liszt and Zoltán Kodály (as she announced, Kodály’s 140th birthday was the next day, December 16th), but she also gave New York premieres of two newer works, one by Hungarian composer László Dubrovay (b. 1943) and one by Russian-born Arsentiy Kharitonov (b.1984), both of whom deserve to be better known here in the US.

Opening with Liszt’s soulful Sursum corda, the recital was off to an uplifting start (literally, with the Latin translation being “Lift up your hearts”). Ms. Polgar showed her gift for pacing and control as the music built from its quiet beginning to its peak. In the next piece, Le mal du pays (Homesickness), she impressed with her coloring of alternating soprano and tenor lines, which were appropriately haunting. It is said that when Liszt played, the music transcended the instrument such that “the piano disappeared,” and one always hopes for that sense in performances of his works. Ms. Polgár’s performance did weave a spell –  and only in one or two spots, where one wished for more seamless pedaling, did the complexity of the instrument itself reappear.

Les Jeux d’eaux à la Villa d’Este splashed all homesickness away in sparkling fingerwork, and Ms. Polgár was in her element. Often one hears the focus on one facet more than another – either more wash of pianism or more wringing of the harmonic beauty – but we were fortunate in her interpretation to hear it all.

Selections (Nos. 2, 3, and 4)  from Seven Piano Pieces, Op. 11 by Zoltán Kodály were a refreshing move to the twentieth century.  Composed from 1910 -18, they show a strong French influence, especially that of Debussy, following Kodaly’s visit to Paris. In the doleful No. 2 Székely lament, Kodaly uses changing meters, ties, fermatas, and frequent changes of tempo to achieve a parlando feeling, and a sympathetic interpreter is essential. Ms. Polgár was just that. She played with intense feeling and conviction, unruffled even by an extremely disruptive cellphone.

The third of the Kodaly set, It rains on the city, reflects even more French influence referring directly to Debussy’s 1887 setting of lines of Verlaine ” il pleure dans mon coeur comme il pleut sur la ville” from the Ariettes Oubliées (inspired as well by a similar line of Rimbaud). It was bewitching in Ms. Polgár’s rendition, with steady repeated piano “droplets” beating poignantly alongside melancholy melodic motifs. No. 4, Epitaph found her skillfully balancing its chant-like phrases against stony chordal accompaniment, closing the set with solemnity.

Kodály’s Dances of Marosszék (1927) brought the first half to a close in high energy. Rather neglected in live concerts, this work can be a tour de force but is hard to hold together with its rather disparate dances – plus considerable technical challenges, including some octaves that are perhaps not overtly showy but can be simply awkward. Ms. Polgár was more than up to the task, and her surrender to the moment gave a special inevitability to its transitions. The dreamy central section was meltingly beautiful. One hopes she keeps playing this, as it could become a signature piece.

After intermission came the two New York premieres and two more Liszt pieces. The first premiere was Hommage à Fellini (The Last Dream of the Clown) by László Dubrovay (2014). It opens with what sounds vaguely like the opening of Liszt’s Gnomenreigen heard through a haze of pedal. It progresses to a circus-like waltz which balloons into a style reminiscent of grand operatic paraphrases, with just enough dissonance to make all feel a bit “off” – as if Godowsky had been filtered through the aural equivalent of a funhouse mirror; obviously, with the title Hommage á Fellini and given Fellini’s filmography, that “off” feeling constitutes a success.  Naturally, there are hints of Nino Rota, composer for a multitude of Fellini soundtracks – and if there were not in such an homage, one would be shocked. Ms. Polgár handled it all with brilliance – and from memory, something one does not necessarily expect with contemporary works, but which certainly adds to the depth of the interpretation.

Between premieres, Liszt’s Concert Étude No. 2 in F minor (La leggierezza) was the perfect buffer – even if not this pianist’s best performance of the evening with minor momentary lapses. It was a good Romantic backdrop for the premiere of the more tonally adventurous Concert Etude Op. 44, No. 5 by pianist and composer Arsentiy Kharitonov. Mr. Kharitonov is an intriguing new presence on the musical scene, and his work as a pianist is undoubtedly helping him as a composer to create valuable new additions to the piano repertoire. Ms. Polgar (again without the score) handled this work’s arched shape with artistry  – from its quiet beginning to its blazing dissonant fireworks and back to its desolate close. Any composer is fortunate to have such an able advocate, and Mr. Kharitonov was present for a well-deserved bow.

Liszt’s Legende No. 2, St-François de Paule marchant sur les flots (St. Francis of Paulus walking over the waves) closed the program, strongly and with only minor “spillage” – hardly of concern as miracles take place. An enthusiastic audience gave Ms. Polgár a standing ovation and was rewarded with another piece composed by Mr. Kharitonov, Les Exercices Romantiques (for two fingers, one from each hand). Ms. Polgár quipped that she would just be using two fingers because she was “tired” – but her remarkable performance, sounding like ten fingers at least, suggested otherwise! Brava!

Philippe Quint and Stephanie Zyzak, violins;

Maurycy Banaszek and Paul Laraia, violas;

Adrian Daurov and Zlatomir Fung, celli;

Bohemian Hall at Bohemian National Hall, New York, NY

December 7, 2022

An unforgettable concert, combining six outstanding musicians in sextets of Tchaikovsky and Dvořák, took place this past Wednesday at Bohemian National Hall, part of the Aspect Chamber Music Series. As the founding Director of Aspect Music, Irina Knaster graciously thanked the sizeable crowd for coming, she remarked that, though there were many events to attend that night in New York, “you made the right choice” – she turned out to be exactly right.

Stepping into the Bohemian National Hall building on East 73rd Street is a bit like entering the home of nobility from some time in the 1890s, and thus it seemed a particularly appropriate place for the Aspect Chamber Music Series to present this week’s offering of two sextets from that era, the Dvořák Op. 48 (composed mostly in 1878) and the Tchaikovsky Op. 70, subtitled Souvenir de Florence (composed mostly in 1890). The hall’s Bohemian history suited the music of the two composers who blended a Germanic tradition with the music of more Slavic/Slavonic folk influence (as one common theme from the “Crossing Parallels” title of the evening). The feeling throughout was that of an intimate house concert, an unusually great one, and despite a full hall of well over 100 people, one could hear the proverbial pin drop.

All six performers listed credentials with serious firepower. Names that jumped out first included stellar first violinist Philippe Quint (whose multiple Grammy-nomination discography speaks for itself) and first cellist Zlatomir Fung, now known across the globe as the first American in four decades and the youngest musician ever to win First Prize at the International Tchaikovsky Competition Cello Division (2019). Violinist Stephanie Zyzak, violists Maurycy Banaszek and Paul Laraia, and cellist Adrian Daurov rounded out this illustrious group with impressive individual lists of prizes, principal positions, scholarships, festivals, and concerts. In the film world, they might be called an all-star cast.

Naturally, an all-star cast is not always what one wants in chamber music, as the players must be a team first and foremost; thankfully, here, they were. There have been performances of these works in which each player seemed to be vying for center stage, visually and aurally, and the effect especially in such complex writing is obnoxious, like a noisy conversation with too many speakers all at once. Sadly, some critics have thus called both works “busy” or “garrulous” – and the fact is that, because they are the bountiful outpourings of two miraculous melodists, both works rely on an ensemble’s ability to prioritize and know when and where to create a subsidiary texture, an issue too often overlooked. Also, large swaths within the works have to be kept to a lesser importance, lest the listener overdose on vicarious adrenaline.  (Perhaps, because of this profusion of material, the Tchaikovsky Souvenir has prospered for a century in string orchestra transcriptions, in which a conductor can more easily control the balance and shape.) Our evening’s artists, thankfully, met the challenges with resounding success.

In both the Dvořák and Tchaikovsky, the ensemble resembled a well-conducted orchestra or even a piano transcription in a way (by an expert pianist, that is), with a oneness of conception. While it did often seem as if the sextet by mutual agreement had determined Mr. Quint and Mr. Fung to be the leaders, their parts frequently prominent over subsidiary textures, that dominance was always inherent in the writing itself. These were performances of lucidity and proportion, with still ample opportunity ultimately for each player’s important lines to shine individually. This group went beyond being an all-star cast to be what one might call a “Dream Team.”

Highlights in the Dvořák were many but included (admittedly strangely) the beginning of the first movement’s development, where all was scaled down just perfectly before building back up – pianissimo but clear as a bell in each part. The Dumka was exceptional for its utterly natural flow in contrasting melodic outpourings, and again the phrasing and balance among players were sublime. The ensemble lit fiercely into the Furiant movement, with evident pleasure in its mellower trio section, and their last movement’s Stretta was an exuberant ride to the movement’s final Presto . Bravi tutti!

After an intermission, we heard a good prefatory twenty minutes about the music and life of Tchaikovsky from Ms. Knaster – comparable to what we’d heard about Dvořák at the opening, which I’d neglected to mention. At first, I had been a bit disappointed to learn that there were talks before each work, not mere introductory comments, but a twenty-minute-plus lecture about each piece and both composers’ lives. It seemed at first that the program notes by Stephen Johnson were enough – and, for a musician, the odds of learning something new about these very famous composers in a (presumably) layperson’s talk seemed slim; fortunately, I was proven wrong, and both talks were delivered with humor, some amusing visual aids, and several well-chosen anecdotes I had not recalled hearing before, with personal asides to lend a human touch to it all. Ms. Knaster drew the audience into these composers’ worlds, refreshingly and at times through the intriguing backdoors often ignored in fusty reference books. With such contextualizing talks as part of the series, it is no wonder that crowds are being drawn to this enriching experience. Aspect’s talks help audiences to know the composers – and the musicians help them to love the music.

Loving the music was easy in the Tchaikovsky Souvenir de Florence as played by our evening’s six musicians. It was launched with an Allegro con spirito that was hearty but not harsh, as it can be. The musicians built the energy to a perfectly synchronized stringendo and brilliant prestissimo which left the audience simply unable to restrain their applause. The Adagio cantabile movement next was striking for its chorale-like opening, played with minimal vibrato to set in relief its sensuous solo and duet lines to come. Though these operatic sections are naturally linked to Tchaikovsky’s Florence memories, the playing also reminded one that this sextet was written in years filled with the composer’s own ballet music – grace and momentum reigned.

The pacing was perfect, and the third movement brought the energy up a notch further. Incredibly rapid and amazingly synchronized saltando (bouncing) bowing was like a ballet in itself, and the energy was electric. Several times in this piece motives were passed down in such rapid succession from instrument to instrument that it was like hearing (and seeing) a musical chain of dominoes – riveting. The finale with its fugato writing built to an exciting and powerful finish, bringing everyone to their feet.

More about the Aspect Chamber Music Series, including upcoming events, can be found at their website: Aspect Music