Naren Palomino Pardo, piano

Merkin Hall at Kaufman Music Center, New York, NY

February 27, 2026

Pianist Naren Palomino Pardo presented a program of music by South American composers at Merkin Hall, under the auspices of Kantuta Concerts Opus 3 and the Foundation for Bolivian Artists. Mr. Pardo, a native Bolivian, enjoys a healthy career as a concert artist, collaborative musician, and educator.

Bolivian composers were featured prominently, though not exclusively, in an evening that also included works by two giants of South American music, Heitor Villa-Lobos and Alberto Ginastera. Throughout the recital, Mr. Pardo played with buoyancy, lyricism, and most of all, an instinctual and improvisatory sense of rhythm.

Baroque works are often the first choice of pianists to initiate a concert, and in this case, Villa-Lobos’ Bachianas Brasileiras No. 4 filled that slot in a way that was both referential and inventive. Mr. Pardo projects a big sound, and the Steinway that evening had a brightness that could easily overpower the space. Within minutes, however, he found the warmth in the instrument. He played the Prelúdio with simplicity and beautiful tone. His technique is relaxed, playing deep into the keys like a jazz pianist. This worked especially well for the Coral movement, with its melismas and the Ária with its massive chords. Mr. Pardo’s voicing in the Ária movement had complete clarity and nuance. It was in the Danza movement, however, that he revealed what he does best- to play music influenced by movement in a way that is both virtuosic and natural.

Jaime Mendoza-Nova, a Bolivian-American composer and conductor with an extensive filmography, was represented by his Tres Danzas Bolivianas, a reimagining of three classic Bolivian folk dances- a fast and furious Taquirari with a bit of hand crossing, a Sikuri with a pagan ritualistic quality, and the Cueca, the most infectious and joyous of the three dances. The Cueca appeared a second time later in the evening, in a version by the Bolivian composer Simeon Roncal that provoked spontaneous rhythmic clapping in the audience. Of the other Bolivian composers in the “Bolivian Watercolor” grouping of the second half, I was most drawn to the Prelúdio by Eduardo Caba, a Debussyian waltz with displaced accents, which was played with sensitivity and color by Mr. Pardo. While I applaud his very generous inclusion of composers of his homeland, some judicious editing of this part of the program would have made it much more effective.

Two very different but compelling Argentinian composers, Osvaldo Golijov and Alberto Ginastera, made significant contributions to the evening. Golijov’s Levante, drawn from his Saint Mark Passion, is a powerhouse piece that was played brilliantly by Mr. Pardo. Ginastera’s Sonata No.1, Op. 22, the most complex and musically substantial offering, showed the full range of Mr. Pardo’s strengths as a performer.

I enjoyed this recital very much, for its exposure to the audience of some neglected composers who deserve more attention, and for the enthusiasm and expertise that Mr. Pardo brings to all his playing. He is a big talent, and I would look forward to hearing him as a collaborative artist and as a purveyor of other corners of the standard repertoire.

by David La Marche  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

February 11, 2026

The Chinese New Year is bringing in celebrations all over the world, and none the more festive (and extensive!) than the one I listened to last night (February 11^th) at Weill Hall! Pianist Tiehan Pan (a graduate of Manhattan School of Music who is currently serving on the institution’s International Advisory Board) has put together an evening full of talent and joy, featuring many of his colleagues from MSM and a few other young musicians from Juilliard, the Special Music School, and the Central Conservatory of Music in Beijing. Mr. Pan, who is also the leader of Lincoln Square Music (described in the program notes as “an education consulting firm that supports institutions and individuals in modernizing arts education for real-world impact.”), is a very fine pianist and a talented curator and presenter. I rather liked his idea of assembling a group of young artists to evoke a 1980’s “Operatic Gala” feel, where each artist performs just one work, not longer than a few minutes, trying to win over the audience in an almost contest-like display of artistry. It must be said, the concert went on for too long (I will get to that later on), but I admit I didn’t feel the time passing and, for the most part, I was completely taken with the impressive musicianship of these young performers.

The first half of the program – which lasted close to two hours! – was divided into three sections: The Classic (where well-known and much loved works from the mainstream repertoire were presented), The Exotic (still mostly repertoire with a “stamp of approval” pedigree, but slightly more adventurous), and The New (a combination of vibrant and exciting new works and AI generated compositions, a fascinating and very intriguing offering).

The Gala opener came from tenor Tong Zhang, whose rendition of Lehár’s Dein ist mein ganze Herz impressed with excellent diction and beautiful phrasing, though the projection seemed a bit forced at times, especially with such perfect acoustics as provided by Weill Hall. 

Next, violinist Marina Alba proved to be an enchanting presence and produced a beautiful tone while resolving all the technical challenges of Kreisler’s Recitative and Scherzo Caprice, showing musical intelligence and refinement.

Pianist Guanxiao Yang delivered the fiendishly difficult Feux Follets by Liszt with elegance and humor. His playing was supple and never heavy-handed, but perhaps a little too careful of taking risks with tempo and thus lacking fire.

Mozart’s Cherubino aria Voi che sapete from Le nozze di Figaro was given an odd interpretation by Zimo Wang: she had problems with the intonation, and the meaning of the words (and the whole story of the character) seemed lost on her. She did, however, wear a stunning and elaborate dress!

Weiwei Kong’s rendition of Dvořák’s Song to the Moon from Rusalka was lovely and fittingly floating. She could have use more nuance and freedom in the phrasing, but her voice and projection were beautifully adjusted to the magical resonance of the hall.

Ending the Classic section of the program, violinist Alix Auclair was joined by pianist Michael Wang in the first movement of Richard Strauss’ Violin Sonata, Op. 18. Ms. Auclair gave a polished and dignified performance, always in full command of the technical difficulties of the piece. She produced a warm tone and played with intelligence and good taste. I felt that at times she could have been better supported by the pianist, especially when navigating the sweeping long lines upon which the entire movement is built.

The Exotic segment was opened by baritone Wei Chen with a shaky version of the Toreador Song from Bizet’s Carmen. The performance lacked gravitas and both performers – singer and pianist – seem to push and pull in different direction, never quite settling on the right pacing for this music. 

Tenor Ramon Gabriel Tenefrancia is the possessor of a stunningly beautiful and capable instrument, as evident in his very musical rendition of Francisco Santiago’s Madaling Araw, but he still needs time to develop and tame that raw material.

Next, pianist Daria Podorozhnova played the Infernal Dance from The Firebird by Stravinsky (arranged by Agosti) with the authority of a fully mature artist. The more intimate and poetic moments were also fully realized. While she produced crystal clear sound throughout and her voicing of the dense chords was perfect, I felt that she could have built up to a more ferocious finale.

Jamil Salizade’s lyrical playing and stylistically accurate performance of Rachmaninov’s Étude-tableaux, Op. 39, No. 8 still needs time to mature and find all of the magic of this heartbreaking music.

Ares Economides’ version of Bartók’s Piano Sonata (first movement) proved very capable but undifferentiated. The accents didn’t have enough “bite” and the rhythmical patterns were softened to the point where they almost lost their potency.

Violinist Betania Johnny and pianist Ainslie Mathew had fun performing African Dancer, the first movement from William Grant Still’s Suite for Violin and Piano, but could have used a more diverse pallet of dynamics which would infuse the music with even more excitement.

Closing this section of the evening, the piano duo Yufei Liu – Yuyue Zhou brought top level energy with an engaging version of Lisa Kaplan’s Boogie-Woogie, complete with elbow clusters and hand tapping for maximum response from the audience.

The next and final segment of the first half was, for me, the most successful and fascinating of the evening. Soprano Zihan Ning seemed to have stepped out of a Chinese fairy tale to deliver her interpretation of Jin Se (Brocaded Zither), which was truly magical. She was also perfectly supported by Mr. Pan, whose gorgeous piano introduction will stay in my ear for many weeks!

Equally beautiful and full of emotion and imagery was the performance of Yuehan Wang in My Faithful Heart Doth Wait for Thee. The voice and the piano blended perfectly and both artists (Mr. Pan was again the pianist) took full advantage of the pristine acoustics of Weill Hall. 

In one of the evenings’ most memorable moments, pianist Vladislav Kern achieved the almost impossible-  he introduced us to one of his own works, Dreamworld Suite, which not only would I want to listen to again and again, but as a pianist myself I would absolutely love to learn and introduce to more audiences throughout the world. In his composition, Mr. Kern creates a magical sound world in which both performer and listener can dream together. A superb pianist as well as an immensely talented composer, he blends melody, harmony and rhythm in a way that is at once fully original and universally relatable, without copying any previous style. As the piece came to an end, I thought to myself this is the kind of new music we need in order for classical music to survive and thrive into this century!

Saltwater, a piano piece by Elle Gurevich, was a fluid evocation of water and perpetual motion, reminiscent of Ravel. Written with intelligence and deft handling of a composer’s arsenal, and performed by Ms. Gurevich with grace and charm, the work was easy on the ears but not particularly original.

Olivia Wu, a 13 year-old singer and performer, decided to employ AI to help her tell the story of the White Horse (related to the Year of the Horse, celebrated this year in the Chinese tradition). The result was a piece that may very well give us a look into what the future holds for the creation of new music and how we as humans will (or will not) be slowly replaced by technology. I commend the idea and I found the result fascinating, albeit not necessarily convincing. The work sounded like a pop song (sung in English and Chinese by Ms. Wu)  with simple harmonic progressions which are very effective in insinuating themselves into the ears of less sophisticated listeners. What it lacked in originality, it made up in sentimentality and cuteness. The question is what do we value more, and what will help our art form survive- giving in to the taste of a wider audience, or preserving an appetite for the hard-won challenges?

As if this last question was hanging too heavily on our minds, the finale of the evening’s first half (!) was appropriately cheerful and low-key: baritone Peiming Cai (expressive and very musical, with a sure and powerful voice) was joined by Wei Chen, Zihan Ning and Yuehan Wang in the song The Moon represents my Heart, a lovely way to end a joyous celebration.

But of course the evening was not over! After a rather long (but much needed) intermission, I was stunned to see how few people opted to come back for the second half. I strongly believe that, in spite of the excessive length of the evening , neither the performer (Yingxin Wang) nor the featured composer of this second half (veteran Chinese composer Weijie Gao) deserved such treatment. In fact, while I was wondering if I would manage to keep my mind fresh for yet another 40 minutes of music, I found myself very much convinced by Ms. Wang’s excellent performance and by the rich musical offerings of this part of the concert.

The small piano suite Age of Childhood is composed of five short pieces, like pastel-colored sketches on faded paper. Ms. Wang played them with bristling clarity and sharp articulation. They were followed by Three Songs after Poems from Yuan Dynasty, which she played with a singing tone and a wide range of dynamics. Her articulation left me speechless. The music (all by Mr. Gao) is sweepingly romantic and descriptive; it belongs to a specific time and place, and its charm resides in transporting us there effortlessly. 

Autumn Fields had a different feel, employing more dissonance, sharp rhythmical figures and expressionistic gestures. The score is technically challenging but Yingxin Wang had everything under control. The musical language reminded me of Szymanowski’s piano suite Masques, a work which I wholeheartedly admire and which deserves a better place in today’s concert life. At times, I felt that Ms. Wang could have explored using even quieter dynamics. The following piece, Winter Snow, employed similar language and further showcased the pianist’s technical and artistic gifts. The next work, Three Preludes, was played with great virtuosity and commitment. 

The last selection on the program (we were now approaching 11:00 pm) was a two-movement suite titled Memories of Childhood. The first piece, Nostalgia, felt a little forceful in its tone, but it did feature some beautiful, evocative moments. The second, Childhood Innocence, lacked a bit in… childhood innocence, and I could not quite see why the composer chose that title. But these were minor quibbles which should not cloud the effect of a truly enjoyable evening (both parts!) which was put together with thoughtfulness and love. Love for music, for young talent, and for the Chinese tradition!

by Matei Varga  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Dr. Kookhee Hong, Executive Director; Dr. Minji Noh, Artistic Director

Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 19, 2026

On January 19, 2026, the Barum Music Foundation (www.barummusic.org) presented a program entitled “Rising Stars Showcase.” Featuring twenty-seven(!) young musicians in twenty-six(!) works (Mozart, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Liszt, Moszkowski, Tchaikovsky, Arensky, Sarasate, Rachmaninoff, Ravel, Bartók, and Rebecca Clarke) this mammoth program was three hours and ten minutes long- without intermission!

While I understand the desire to maximize the quantity of both performers and selections (playing at Carnegie Hall is most likely going to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for some of the young musicians), this was simply way too much for a single session. As time went on, the audience was coming and going en masse, which penalized the later performers in a way that was completely avoidable. At least those audience members had that freedom- a reviewer does not.

The performers were aged (in my estimation) from early pre-teen to late teens – the printed program and the website had no information about the ages of the performers. While it was not completely necessary information, it would have been good to know the ages of the performers from the standpoint of assessment- obviously a conscientious listener would not judge a twelve-year old with the same expectations that would be appropriate for an eighteen-year old.

Any regular reader of these pages will already know this listener has a great interest in hearing young artists. This evening (the length notwithstanding) was no exception. However, the reality of these types of showcases is a wide range of levels, from very promising youngsters ready  to those displaying both superb technique and a highly-polished artistry that places them at the cusp of possibly reaching the highest levels. Accordingly, to comment on each and every performer would turn this into an adjudication, which would not only be tedious, but beyond the scope of this review.

Every one of these youngsters can be proud- they all showed poise and maturity in addition to demonstrating excellent technique and budding artistry. I do want to list all the performers- they are truly Rising Stars. They are Katherine Oh (Flute), Dora Yu (Viola),  Iris Yan, Matthew Margolis (Violin), Joseph Margolis, Matthew Mak  (Cello),  Alexis Lee, Allison Bang, Arin Choi, Ayun Kim, Brian Anesi, Caleb Eshagpoor, Derrick Lin, Erik Chen, Ethan Sun, Fredrik Wong, Isaac Lee, Janice Son, Jina Ju, Justina Cha, Alexander Kai Hilty, Kensy Cuellar, Knox Reid, Ricky Zhou, Sophie Lin, Takako Isobe, and Zachary Eshagpoor (Piano).

Without taking anything away from anyone, I am going to mention the musicians that I felt were standouts. The Eshagpoor brothers, Zachary and Caleb (the former played Bartók’s Op.14, No.3, the latter Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses – after waiting three hours!) are both not only technical wizards, but they possess a true artistry far beyond their years. They are definitely going to be on my to-watch list. Alexis Lee played Liszt’s La Leggierezza with a deft lightness (as per the title) that so many young players struggle with in Liszt, due to their focus on the technical demands at all costs. Ms. Lee displayed the technique and the touch. Cellist Joseph Margolis played Tchaikovsky’s Variations on a Rococo Theme, Op. 33, with a fine sense of insouciant playfulness and humor that is prominent in this masterpiece. I’ve heard older and more experienced players “swagger” excessively through this piece, where Mr. Margolis let every detail speak. Even after nearly three hours (he was the second-to-last), one was fully engaged in his outstanding performance. The trio of Matthew Margolis (violin), Matthew Mak (cello), and Fredrik Wong (piano) played the first movement of Arensky’s D minor Piano Trio, Op. 32 with a rapport one would have thought was a product of years of playing together. The balance and intonation were outstanding. This ensemble has great potential for the future, and I do hope they will continue to play together. Finally, the standout amongst the standouts was pianist Erik Chen, who dazzled all with Ravel’s La Valse. It was fortunate that Mr. Chen was at the midpoint of the program, so the hall was still full to experience a spectacular performance of one of the most fiendishly difficult works in the repertoire. I’m quite familiar with this work, so I was not going to be fooled by its inherent brilliance. I was initially skeptical when I saw it on the program, but suffice it to say that Mr. Chen obliterated that skepticism in record time. It easily held its own against any number of performances I have heard. The audience gave Mr. Chen a well-deserved standing ovation. Predictions are always an inexact science, but I expect to hear much more from Mr. Chen in the future and would not at all be surprised if I see him appearing at one of the premier piano competitions as a contestant. Good luck, Mr. Chen!

Congratulations to all, with wishes for future successes.

by Jeffrey Williams  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Chengcheng Ma, piano

Merkin Hall, Kaufman Music Center, New York, NY

January 8, 2026

Forte International Group is, according to its own mission statement, a global cultural enterprise dedicated to bridging the musical worlds of China and the US, specifically through providing promising musicians with premier performance opportunities and resources that help their career development. On January 8, at Merkin Hall in Manhattan, the organization presented a piano recital featuring Chengcheng Ma, as part of their “Signed Artist Series.”  This was the first concert of the group’s 2026 season. Mr. Ma presented an eclectic program composed by some war-horses of the piano repertoire combined with new works (some receiving their New York premiere) by contemporary composers who have a strong professional connection with this young pianist.

Personally, I don’t think that today, as we enter the second quarter of the 21st century, and especially in a cultural haven such as New York City, there is a true necessity to “bridge” the musical worlds of China and America. I think that we are all fully aware of Chinese musicians’ extraordinary gifts, both on technical and artistic levels, as proved for many years and through many generations of outstanding performers. Therefore, I would imagine that, when an organization such as Forte International Group decides to present a new artist to a New York audience, the artist would be quite extraordinary indeed. I am sorry to say that I did not find Mr. Ma to meet that expectation, in spite of his obvious technical prowess and openness to a diverse and challenging repertoire (for which I fully commend him).

The program started with a piece by Kitty Nez, suite française (no caps), which was described in the program notes as a “free meditation on the richly flourished keyboard music of Couperin.” The piece has five distinct movements, all borrowing titles from the classic Baroque dances: Allemande, Courante, Sarabande, Gavotte and Rondeau. The music switches between quoting actual Couperin pieces and trying to develop an updated neo-Baroque language. Unfortunately, it goes on for far too long and soon wears out its welcome. Only in the last movement – a Rondo entitled “The Bees” – did I find the juxtaposition between Couperin’s passages and the stream of consciousness employed by the original interludes quite effective, and I kept wishing that we’d arrived at this earlier, and with less meandering. Mr. Ma displayed impressive clarity in all the ornaments and very crisp articulation, but his performance needed greater charm and imagination, both of which I tend to believe are essential to Ms. Nez’s vision of this musical bridge between two very different periods.

Next on the program was a puzzling choice: the complete set of Chopin’s Op. 10 Etudes. I really couldn’t see the connection between this monumental cycle and the suite we’d heard right before, so my guess is that Mr. Ma (not unlike most young and ambitious pianists) is simply in love with these works and wanted to include them in his recital. While I partly understand such reasons, I think this particular cycle should only be performed if the pianist has something truly original and remarkable to say and also if they are capable to fully transcend the onerous technical difficulties and reveal the great emotional diversity of each of these miniatures.

Chengcheng Ma started the cycle with a capable but perfunctory rendition of the majestic No. 1, lacking spirituality and finesse. In the tricky No. 2, he lost his place and struggled with the material. The intimate and poetic No. 3 lacked its most essential ingredient: a singing tone, and the rubato felt rather gauche. No. 4 was played at what I call “Richter speed” (I invite you to watch the famous video clip on YouTube), but without the clarity and tension of that unforgettable version. No. 5 continued the speed journey, and in the highly chromatic No. 6 the pianist made use of the same pattern of push and pull to emphasize new harmonies and colors. No. 7 was a big blur of sound, and in No. 8 the pianist again had some memory troubles – unfortunately every music lover knows this one note by note, and every accident becomes even more noticeable. In the sigh-inducing and expressive No. 9, I wish Mr. Ma had shown more awareness of the emotional possibilities offered by the key of F minor. No. 10 went by too fast (quite literally!), and No. 11 suffered from lots of missed notes. The famous Revolutionary Etude was given an impressive technical reading, with a truly precise and light-speed left hand, but it lacked nobility and turned into an exercise rather than the heartfelt statement which Chopin intended. 

After intermission, Mr. Ma was back with a new work, Many’s the Time I’ve Seen Her Nude at the Piano, by Rodney Lister. The title is much more exciting than the actual work (a Prokofiev-like Toccata), in spite of Mr. Ma’s efforts to render it with precision and accuracy. 

He followed this with Liszt’s Dante Sonata, performed with the score. I am a great advocate of playing with music, but I wondered why Mr. Ma used the score for this piece and not for the Chopin Etudes. Aside from obvious reasons to use the score when performing new music, I think the decision should reflect a certain philosophy of the performer and therefore be consistent throughout a recital. Still, with or without the music, Mr. Ma charged again at supersonic speed through most of the difficult passages, with different degrees of success. This caused, quite frequently, a lack of tension and purpose. Listening to his otherwise impressive playing I kept wondering why so many young pianists seem to think that this work is an unabashed display of pyrotechnics and brush off almost entirely the philosophical and deeply conflictual side of it. Chengcheng Ma is a musician undoubtedly capable of conquering most technical challenges and has ability to unleash the expressive treasures of such music, so one wonders why he seemed content to just accelerate the tempo at the cost of missing the emotional twists and turns which give meaning to the piece.

The evening concluded with a short piece for four hands by Zhao Zhang (Hua Yi Dance), which Mr. Ma played together with Yimiao Fang. The two pianists seem to have a lovely rapport, and they navigated with charisma and assurance through this very short musical sketch. The audience (an almost packed Merkin Hall) responded with enthusiasm. 

by Matei Varga  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Shiqi Zhong, percussion

YoonJung Hwang, violin; Qianci Liu, cello; Jiacheng Xiong, piano; Jonathan Haas, timpani/percussion; Kelsey Choi, percussion

New York University, John H. Paulson Center, New York, NY

December 18, 2025

On December 18^th, Shiqi Zhong gave what was his third recital towards the completion of a DMA degree in percussion at New York University. Mr. Zhong is the first DMA candidate in the newly created doctoral program for percussionists. The sole work on his program was the Viktor Derevianko/Mark Pekarsky arrangement of Dmitri Shostakovich’s 15^th Symphony for piano trio, percussion, and celeste, which is obviously not a percussion-centric work, so one assumes that this recital is to meet a chamber/ensemble requirement. Mr. Zhong was joined by violinist YoonJung Hwang , cellist Qianci Liu, pianist Jiacheng Xiong, and percussionists Jonathan Haas and Kelsey Choi .

Mr. Zhong welcomed the audience and thanked them for attending. Before the recital proper, there was some pre-recital “bonus” content – a pipa/piano piece and a presentation of handpan drumming, featuring Mr. Zhong with some of his young students. The Handpan is a steel drum that resembles a large tortoise shell. It has both melodic and rhythmic qualities, which Mr. Zhong demonstrated. He is currently writing a method book for handpan, and two studies that he wrote were offered – the first highlighting the melodic possibilities, and the second, the rhythmic with a focus on hand independence. It was nice to see how much pride Mr. Zhong has in his young students. Of course he is an outstanding musician, but one has the sense that he is also an outstanding teacher who wants to share his love and enthusiasm for music and percussion with his students, regardless of their level of prowess.

After this demonstration,  Mr. Zhong invited his advisor/mentor Jonathan Haas to speak as the other musicians took their places in preparation for the Shostakovich. Professor Haas spoke about Shostakovich and this arrangement of the 15^th Symphony in a manner intended to be a very quick overview of his life and trials. (He had written some informative notes that were included in some pre-concert publicity, but unfortunately those notes were not distributed at the recital.) He did take a few liberties – for example stating that Shostakovich’s first three symphonies had aroused Stalin’s ire, though in fact it had been the composer’s opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District that had caused such trouble. Also, Professor Haas suggested that a fear of Stalin figured into Shostakovich’s compositional mindset, whereas Stalin had been dead for nearly two decades when Shostakovich wrote this symphony, so such fear was unlikely.

Like many of Shostakovich’s works, the 15^th Symphony has definite autobiographical underpinnings, but what exactly they are in this work have been, and continue to be, debated by experts. A plausible explanation suggests that the composer knew that this was going to be his final symphony, and that he shared memories of his life, from childhood to his final days, when the end was imminent. There are quotes from other composers, the most obvious being Rossini’s William Tell overture, which appear throughout the work.

In an earlier review in these pages ( Shiqi Zhong  in Review), Mr. Zhong was the focal point, showcasing his “seemingly limitless technical abilities.” Tonight, he was tasked with a supporting rather than starring role. In this context, it is not easy to offer any specific praise, other than he was an attentive and sensitive team player, moving seamlessly between the components of the percussion battery. His collaborators were all top-notch musicians as well, and the combination of their skill and the very effective arrangement of this symphony resulted in one of the more memorable concerts this reviewer has experienced in some time. There were of course some individual highlights. Violinist YoonJung Hwang captured the gallop-like motifs with a jaunty insouciance that was perfect. Cellist Qianci Liu’s purity of tone brought out the emotional impact of the simple but profoundly beautiful solos from the second movement. Pianist Jiacheng Xiong was a force as he served as the de facto “orchestra”.  Last, but certainly not least, percussionists Kelsey Choi and Jonathan Haas joined Mr. Zhong as the “heart” of the work.  The forty-five minute performance time seemed to pass in a few moments – this is how spellbinding it was. And yes, the audience members were all smiles when the William Tell quotes appeared in the opening movement. Kudos to all, and best of luck to the soon-to-be Dr. Zhong in all his future endeavors.

by Jeffrey Williams  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Yoon Jin Park, cello

Marc A. Scorca Hall, The National Opera Center, New York, NY

December 6, 2025

On a breezy Saturday evening in New York City, the Spanish based Sociedad de Compañerismo de Compositores (The Composers’ Fellowship Society) presented the world premiere of Ross Avant’s monumental new work for solo cello, the Suite No. 2 titled Venient Tenebrae (which translates to “Let the Darkness Come”). Initially I was surprised that the entire concert was to consist of only one piece, but the fifty-minute performance time of this work soon made me understand that the performance would feel anything but short. 

The master of ceremonies for the evening was Jeanette Hoelscher, who introduced herself as a New York-based actress and model. She was a lovely presence, wearing a very high cut dress, and she brought elegance and a breath of fresh air (no pun intended) to the event; however, I couldn’t help wondering if perhaps the services of a classically trained musician would have better served the purpose of this concert, especially during the post-performance talk (with the composer and the performer). Ms. Hoelscher was obviously well prepared and asked pertinent and sometimes interesting questions, but since this was a new work, reaching the audience’s ears for the very first time, it would have helped to have a moderator who could dive deeper into more specific questions about the motivations, goals and inspirations which led the composer to write this unusual (at least for our times) piece of music.

When using the title “cello suite,” one inevitably thinks of Bach and the legacy he left with his extraordinary works in this genre. Even if the musical language is very different, I did feel that Ross Avant was somewhat paraphrasing (or at least paying homage?) to his famous predecessor. Mr. Avant’s work also comes in six movements, which is the established form used by Bach. Both composers use the specifics of the instrument in order to convey a wide range of emotions, from the intimate to the cathartic. Bach looks at traditional dances (such as Allemande, Courante, Sarabande) as inspiration and heartbeat for each movement, and perhaps because of this he achieves great diversity (both in tempo and expression) from one movement to another. In Mr. Avant’s work, the first five movements sounded too similar, almost to the point where I had trouble deciding whether we were still listening to one movement, or have graduated to the next. Only in the last movement did the composer really stir up more contrasting material (an entire pizzicato section, some syncopated melodies) which brought a much needed climax to an otherwise meandering opus. As I was listening to the former movements, I wondered if they had titles, or at least some suggestion as to what inspired them- sadly, the programs were not ready in time for the event, and nobody who was present had the benefit of knowing anything about the piece which was being performed. The answer – which I found later on – is that no, there are no titles for the movements. When I was eventually provided with the missing playbill, I read that Mr. Avant wrote the suite as an homage to the German-Jewish philosopher, critic and essayist Walter Benjamin, who tragically committed suicide in order to avoid being sent to a concentration camp. Mr. Avant’s intent is to evoke not only Benjamin’s memory, but also that of countless victims of the Holocaust and other authoritarian atrocities perpetrated during the Second World War.

As such, the piece is important and undoubtedly deserves to be heard. It is also very refreshing to hear a fifty-minute work for solo cello, crafted with passion and minute care for details, especially in an era obsessed with two-minute Instagram videos, instant gratification, and shorter and shorter attention spans. Ross Avant works here against the current, and that is not only commendable but also encouraging-  perhaps, after all, classical music, and its most traditional forms,  can still provide a thoroughly stimulating and enjoyable experience, without any gimmick. Mr. Avant, who apparently dabbles successfully into many different genres (movie and TV soundtracks, pop tunes) is perhaps an ideal link between the old and the new, bringing to the classical parameters a bit of 21st century salt and pepper. His writing is atmospheric, evocative and I would describe it as faux-melodic in the sense that one can hear many beautifully shaped lines which are, however, impossible to reproduce with the voice or even to remember them exactly after they brushed against your ears. I felt at times that this music might work better as an accompaniment for a beautifully shot sunset in an art house movie than as a stand-alone, listen-with-your-eyes-closed musical journey, but perhaps this is a (small) price to pay for bringing a less savvy audience into the concert hall. 

In the program notes (which I could only read the day after the concert), it is said that the Suite is a “meditation on finality, sacrifice, and the power of resilience.” These are very big words, and listening to the piece as it was performed on Saturday night I would not say that they all came to my mind. Perhaps the cellist, Yoon Jin Park, would need more time to explore the depth and meaning of this complex and ambitious work. Ms. Park is a wonderful performer who plays with grace and a lovely genuineness, making even the most technically awkward passages sound organic and natural. Considering the sheer length of the work, her accomplishment is exceptional and her commitment truly inspiring. I did feel, however, that she was almost avoiding big contrasts as if not to disturb a delicate balance, embedded somewhere in the DNA of the piece. I’m not sure this approach is consistent with the feelings of finality, sacrifice and strength; I dare suggest that a larger spectrum of colors, moods and dynamic changes would help the music seem fresher and even more exciting. Still, there was much to admire in the performance, and in the work itself; towards the end of the fifth movement, the young couple sitting directly ahead of me touched their heads and embraced with sweet affection. What more can we ask from a piece of music, then to bring out the love within us and allow us a moment to savor it?

by Matei Varga  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

The New York Philharmonic; Stéphane Denève, conductor

Jean-Yves Thibaudet, piano

David Geffen Hall, Lincoln Center, New York, NY

November 26, 2025

David Geffen Hall was filled to capacity on the eve of this Thanksgiving by listeners eager to hear – among other enticements – the New York Philharmonic with superb pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet under the baton of the dynamic Stéphane Denève. For this reviewer, it was one of their most striking, brilliantly played programs in recent memory. Combining music of Aram Khatchaturian – his Piano Concerto Op. 38 – with music of Lera Auerbach, Einojuhani Rautavaara, and Ottorino Respighi, the program itself was inspired, uniting a vast range of mythological, historical, natural, and emotional themes, all building to a powerful and uplifting finale.

Maestro Denève proved to be an intensely musical leader, showing a strong rapport with the orchestra and easy communication with the audience. He drew his listeners in by commenting on the works from the podium – though there were generally good printed program notes as well. To start, he remarked before the opening Auerbach piece that this program could have been named “The Augmented Orchestra” concert, as the scoring of each work extended well beyond traditional orchestral instrumentation. He briefly explained, while also crediting the instruments’ guest performers, who had been omitted from the printed program.

Starting with Lera Auerbach’s Icarus, Denève cited its remarkable inclusion of the theremin.  For those unfamiliar with the sound of this instrument, he asked for a demonstration from guest thereminist Rob Schwimmer (who chose to riff on an excerpt from the main theme of the television show Star Trek – to the delight of the audience). In addition, Denève noted, there would be Khatchaturian’s use of the musical saw, to be played by Dale Stuckenbruck in the Piano Concerto, Op. 38, with Jean-Yves Thibaudet. After intermission would be two works that incorporated bird songs into orchestral textures via recording, first in Rautavaara’s Cantus Arcticus, Concerto for Birds and Orchestra, using a recording created by the composer in 1972, and then in Respighi’s Pines of Rome, using bird sounds recorded decades earlier on a 78 recording (the exact one specified by Respighi to be used in the New York premiere under Toscanini in 1926). An imposing 1909 phonograph behind the winds had been lent to the New York Philharmonic for this occasion. It was just one way in which this entire concert wedded a rich musical history with the exhilaration of the new.

While such unusual scorings were certainly exciting to highlight for all present, the true excitement followed, thanks to the composers’ vivid conceptions and the performers’  impassioned commitment. The opening Icarus by Lera Auerbach evoked the ill-fated flight of the mythical character Icarus as he dared come too close to the sun. The work is based on material from her 2006 Symphony No. 1, premiered in its current version in 2011 at Verbier, and given its New York premiere at this concert. Though the program notes stated that Ms. Auerbach chose the title after the piece was composed, anyone present at this concert would now surely link the music inextricably with Icarus. One felt his initial urgency to escape earthly imprisonment, the chimeric rise, the ecstatic soaring, and even perhaps the melting of his wax wings in theremin waves near the final tragic plummet to earth. As Ms. Auerbach stated in her notes, “Sometimes I think that it is the law of gravity that truly defines our existence.”  This twelve-minute work conveyed that sense, and all that comes with it, from courage in the face of the unknown to glorious aspirations and hubris, from the inevitable fall to the reflections on both beauty and pain. It was a powerful experience, and Ms. Auerbach was present to take a well-deserved bow.

Though the Khatchaturian Piano Concerto (1936) is not a new work for the New York Philharmonic (having given its New York premiere in 1942 following its 1937 Moscow premiere), it enjoyed at this concert a long-overdue revisiting in the hands of the brilliant Jean-Yves Thibaudet. Maestro Denève announced Mr. Thibaudet as “the most American of the French pianists” (again to the delight of the audience) – but one wasn’t sure whether that was a reference to Mr. Thibaudet’s playing style or a certain wardrobe flair that brought to mind Hollywood (not far from where he is artist-in-residence at the Colburn School). His playing itself was free of sheer display, as he simply made short work of the tremendously challenging score, handling fiendish sections with suavity. Whether rapid-fire double notes, octaves or whiplash-inducing ritards after accelerandi – all in remarkable synchronization with the orchestra – Mr. Thibaudet was precise and indefatigable. The second movement was memorable for its bass clarinet lines, soulfully projected, and Mr. Stuckenbruck’s musical saw lent it all an otherworldly feeling. As the program notes reminded us, this work and others were “not instruments of musical propaganda” despite coming out of the early Soviet years, but Khatchaturian meant them as celebrations of Armenian culture.  Just two years ago, in fact, another outstanding performance of this concerto was reviewed by New York Concert Review, as passionate Armenian pianist Kariné Poghosyan performed it with the MidAtlantic Philharmonic Orchestra in honor of Armenian Independence Day. The New York Philharmonic’s last performance of it for some reason dates back to 1961, but after the tremendous response from this week’s audience, one doubts there will be another sixty-year hiatus. Mr. Thibaudet responded to the huge ovation with an encore of O polichinelo from Prole do bebê by Villa-Lobos, played with panache.

After intermission came Einojuhani Rautavaara’s Cantus Arcticus, Concerto for Birds and Orchestra, Op. 61 (1972), a favorite of this reviewer for over twenty years on the basis of a recording by the Royal Scottish National Orchestra (RSNO, Naxos 1999). It is hard to believe that this evening marked the New York Philharmonic’s first programming of it, but the magnificent performance it was given on this occasion will surely keep planners from waiting another half-century to include it again.

From its chromatic flute lines at the opening to the wind-like whistling and deep chant-like basses, the piece evokes a vast frigid landscape that is raw and melancholy as well as miraculous. The bird sounds are about as far as they can get from the Romantic sentimentalizing of, say, Henselt’s If I Were a Bird – these are birds that cry, wail, squawk, warble, and merge into a unified texture that inspires an awe of nature. When the audience can unite in recognition of such a landscape, the experience can be potent and life-affirming, and it was. Maestro Stéphane Denève gave his all to it, and the orchestra gave theirs.

Just when one thought nothing further could add to the evening, Respighi’s Pines of Rome (1923-24) capped off the program with its own its magic. The Pines of the Villa Borghese was jubilant and shimmering. The Pines near a Catacomb was doleful, yet regal, bolstered by the exceptional brass section. The Pines of the Janiculum found the sparkling piano part setting the tone for a moonlit night, and the clarinets were sublime in their lines – rivaled perhaps only by nature’s own “winds” – the birds via phonograph. Not far after the last heavenly strains of the harp in this third movement, one of the most glorious crescendos of music begins in The Pines of the Appian Way – and how glorious it was in this orchestra’s rendition!Trumpets emerged in the upper boxes drawing looks of wonder from the audience, as the other brass, percussion, and strings built to a majesty that simply exploded. What a great finale to a great evening!

There are still two performances left at the time of this writing – so I do urge music lovers to run, not walk, and hear one!

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

November 13, 2025

Emily White: Good afternoon. I’m Emily White, and I’m here with one of the most inspiring pianists on the Hungarian—and international!—music scenes, the acclaimed artist János Balázs. Professor Balázs, should I call you János?

János Balázs: Yes.

EW: János has just given a fascinating program at Weill Recital Hall in honor of the legendary virtuoso György Cziffra (1921–1994), who was a great-grandpupil of Franz Liszt. So, János, I understand that you had an early start to your career—you were accepted to study at the Special School of the Franz Liszt Academy in Budapest at the age of thirteen. Could you talk a little bit about your early teachers and how you were taught?

JB: Yes, it was a great time. You know, my father is a pianist, but he’s not a classical pianist. He’s a jazz and bar pianist. When I was a child, I heard a lot of music at my home, and I just know that the music is something magical and it’s very good to play together. Of course, there always was a piano at our flat. But my father’s music was not the very first touch for me at the piano. The first time it was after I heard the recording of Cziffra’s Hungarian Rhapsodies. It was not on LP, it was on 78, and it was so magical. When I was three or four years old, I heard it and I just went to the piano. I remember the first melody I would like to try. It was the Second Rhapsody’s theme, “Da-da, puh, pum,” you know? It was a lot of hours a day, like a game for me, a lovely game. My father’s father played together with György Cziffra, but not on the stage! They played in a bar, because Cziffra was a bar pianist in Budapest, a few years before he went to Paris, and my grandfather was a cellist. This recording of the Hungarian Rhapsodies was a souvenir from György Cziffra for my grandfather. When I was three, I started to play a lot of classical improvisation, and when I was six, I started at the music school. I remember, I played the Beethoven “Pathétique” Sonata without a score, just by ear like a Beethoven fantasy. And my first teacher, Erika Becht, said, “Oh, my God, it’s like genius, and it’s so BAD.” Because I cannot read a score but I can play a lot of hours of music. She was an angel. She was the first who gave me a lot of inspiration by the score. She said, “János, let’s check, maybe Beethoven wrote something better than you can even imagine.”  So that was the first. I won a national competition when I was eight, in Nyíregyháza, and when I was thirteen, I started my study at the Liszt Academy Special Talent Groups. The Liszt Academy is one of the most important of the world, because of Franz Liszt. Bartók and Kodály and Cziffra and Fischer and all of the Hungarian artists, they were in the same building. My teacher through the graduate diploma, Kálmán Drafi, was a great master of the piano, and he was a pupil of György Cziffra at Senlis, near Paris, for three years. I went to a lot of competitions, not the most important, but in Hungary we have the International Liszt Competition and I won first prize, and I won first prize in the György Cziffra Competition, very important for me because he was my idol. This was better than winning a Chopin competition or the Rubinstein competition—I know that they are more prestigious—but for me, Cziffra was the highest level. I don’t know your opinion, but generally I don’t like competitions.

EW: You mentioned studying without reading. When did you start really reading the music?

JB: Around eight or nine. I could play hours of classical music from my fantasy. I played Rigoletto Paraphrase, Rachmaninoff concertos, like little transcriptions, melodies with chords. I like improvising, so in my Carnegie concert, there was a part where I played improvisations on Hungarian folk songs, in classical style, not jazz, like Liszt or Chopin. There were a lot of possibilities for improvisation onstage.

EW: In the United States, there are some teachers now who like to give a famous song or symphony theme to children so it inspires them, and there are others who think this is not original piano music and you should avoid that because it’s not something you could play in a competition.

JB: I think it’s very important to know the music without the score, to know general music. For me, the music is in my mind and I can think about the music’s language. If I read the score, after, I just realize it, and I start to play by heart. My mind is able to search harmonies for the melodies without dissonance.

EW: You feel that the printed score is just a pathway to what’s already in your ear.

JB: That’s it, yes. So now I play 39 piano concertos.

EW: That’s a lot.

JB: By heart, without score. And I’m not a genius, but I started very early to know music, and for me, with a new piece, I never start with the notes. Because I know the structure and the harmony, I feel it.

EW: Do you find as you get deeper into the score, looking at it, that your previous interpretation changes and evolves, or do you find that the printed music reinforces what you had in your mind all along?

JB: A very good question. First is the score, but sometimes before you see the score, you listen to somebody, Horowitz, Richter, and you have an idea, I would like to learn this piece because Horowitz does it like this. But when you take the score to the piano, you give it a totally other character. And I start to search, but it’s a never-ending story. I learned the Fountains of the Villa D’Este when I was eleven or twelve, and almost all of my concerts have a generally other feeling. Because the piano is other, the acoustic is other—I don’t mean that I play different notes, but I feel other emotions, and I would like to make something different from what the public expects.

EW: So does your interpretation change when you play on different occasions?

JB: Yes. And sometimes I change on the stage. Because I was never shy. 90% of it is worked out, but about 10% is in the performance.

EW: You want to be spontaneous.

JB: Absolutely. But of course this means that before it, I must know the piece 150%. If you’re nervous, you can’t feel the ideas. You have to be at the best technical level with the piece, to make some joy. It’s not easy, and sometimes I feel too much. I really love the pieces I play, and you know, I was onstage at Carnegie, and then I had to make choices very quickly, because there’s no time for philosophy: which is the best way to play it? But this game gives me extra energy onstage.

EW: Let’s talk more about Cziffra. He was nicknamed the pianist with fifty fingers! I know he came from a Romani (Gypsy) background and he studied with Ernst von Dohnányi at the Liszt Academy until 1941, when he was conscripted into the army during World War Two, and he was captured by the Russians and held as a prisoner of war. Are there aspects of Cziffra’s life that you try to bring out?

JB: He was a hero. He never lost motivation for music even though his life was a tragedy. There were a lot of deep problems, especially from his childhood. He had a very poor family, he had health problems, and there was the First World War, the Second World War, the Revolution in Hungary in 1956, he was in jail and had to work . . .

EW: He was in a labor camp and was forced to carry 130 pounds of concrete up six flights of stairs and his wrist was damaged. He wore a leather band on his wrist. Could he play after that?

JB: He never gave up. The most important was to make music on the stage. It’s incredible motivation. It was very easy for him to play in a bar because he was a star with a lot of money. He was rich but he felt that it’s not enough to play in a bar with everybody eating and smoking cigars, it’s not the real way. But after he left, he started to play classical music in Budapest, and after the revolution everybody knows his career and it was incredible. ’56 was the revolution, he left Hungary, and in ’57 he played in Carnegie Hall with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

EW: What did he play in that concert?

JB: The Liszt First Concerto and Hungarian Fantasy.

EW: [The date of the concert was November 1, 1958, YouTube link https://youtu.be/HJ_Ajv-rZp0]

EW: He founded a music festival and a competition in France. Have you visited those places?

JB: Yes. When he was on the top, he bought a chapelle, a church in a bad situation because it was a garage, and he made the renovations. He invested all of his money and all of his efforts in young talents. And you know his son was a great conductor and they worked together, they made a lot of recordings. But the fire accident . . .

EW: Right, a tragedy.

JB: His son died. It was the highest tragedy. And after that he stopped playing and just gave master classes.

EW: 2021 was his 100^th anniversary. What did you do for memorial events?

JB: 2016 was the first György Cziffra Festival in Budapest. Before that, when I was sixteen, I started to care for his legacy with a concert “in memory of György Cziffra,” student concerts at the Liszt Academy. They kept getting bigger audiences, and I thought this is a good time. I started in 2016 with five concerts, and it was like a shock, a bomb. All the concerts were more than standing ovation. Everybody felt that Cziffra came back to Hungary. He died in 1994, so many years before. My wife is the director of the festival, and I am the artistic director, but now we have a bigger team. We felt we must continue. For the hundredth anniversary we opened to an international level. We went to France, to Rome, Brussels, Geneva, more than a hundred concerts on the series in 2021. That’s why I played the concert in Carnegie Hall a few days ago. We are on the way. It’s the biggest honor for my festival.

EW: So you’re still riding this big wave.

JB: You know the conductor Péter Eötvös, he wrote for me a piano concerto dedicated to Cziffra, and the name was “Cziff-Rhapsody” [Cziffra Psodia, 2020], a funny name, and we played with the greatest orchestras. The last time we played it was with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in London.

EW: He isn’t alive anymore, Péter Eötvös.

JB: He died about two years ago. All of the concerts we played together, he was the conductor. But also, we have more than concerts, we have support programs for young artists. We spend a lot of energy and money, we have a lot of scholarships and prizes, we have master classes, and everybody is free. Talented musicians have talent but no money, so we have to help them with the skill of the artistic level and the greatest teachers, the greatest artists. I think in the next concert, I have an invitation for next November at Carnegie Hall, and I will play with my students.

EW: Do the master classes take place in Hungary or in different countries?

JB: Yes, in Hungary and in different countries. When I travel for a concert, usually I give a master class.

EW: I’m sure there are pianists who would try to get involved.

JB: They need it. I listen to a lot of Romantic music, especially Liszt, and they play very well but not “with spice.”

EW: How did you come to meet Péter Eötvös?

JB: In Hungary we knew each other, and I started a conversation with him, and I asked if he would like to write a piano concerto for Cziffra. He said, “Oh, what an idea! Please give me a week.” And he called me back and said, “Okay, I have the main melody.” The letters of Cziffra: C, C# [Z=Cis], F, F, Re, A. And the tempo, the metronome is 100, for the anniversary.

EW: Cool.

JB: And he wrote for cimbalom in the orchestra, because Cziffra’s father was a cimbalist.

EW: Like a dulcimer with hammers. That’s kind of a café instrument, isn’t it?

JB: Gypsy instrument in a café or a bar, it’s very Hungarian. The concerto has a lot of cadenzas and Gypsy rhythms, and we play together, piano and cimbalom, and improvisation at times.

EW: I wanted to talk about this prize. In 2019, at age 31, you were named the youngest winner of the Kossuth Prize. For people who don’t know, it was created in honor of the statesman and Prime Minister Lajos Kossuth, in 1948 on the centennial of the Revolution of 1848. It’s for artists, scientists, and musicians, and I’m sure everyone knows some of the musical recipients: Zoltán Kodály (1948, the first winner), Annie Fischer (1949 and other years), Zoltán Kocsis (1978), as well as András Schiff, György Ligeti, and Ernst von Dohnányi, who died in 1960 but was awarded posthumously in 1990. How did you become associated with this historic list of honorees?

JB: This prize in Hungary is like the Oscar, or the Nobel Prize. Usually, the jury and the Prime Minister think about it, I’m sorry to say, before you die, not like 31. I think there were two reasons: the first is that I’m so active in Hungary and I spend all of my energy on the music for Hungary and open to the world. The second, I think, is because of my high level of piano playing and the care of the György Cziffra heritage.

EW: There should be more international exchange than there is right now, because we don’t really know about each other. The cultures are very distinct, and there are amazing people who could learn a lot.

JB: We have a lot of cultural connections, and we like freedom. You know, more than ten years ago, I went to the Aspen Music Festival. And I learned the most from Yoheved Kaplinsky. It was magic for me because it was a totally other style, and I won the “house” music competition at Aspen with the Rachmaninoff Paganini Rhapsody. Before I arrived, I was not ready with this concerto, and I learned it with Veda, and she was great. I realized, we start from another position, and we all want to arrive at the same position.

EW: You make student contacts at festivals for your whole life. You were at Aspen in what year?

JB: I think 2010.

EW: You have a very broad-ranging repertoire, like Manuel Ponce.

JB: Ponce is my favorite. I learned this melody [Estrellita] listening to Jascha Heifetz, and I really wanted to make a transcription. I also love Lauretta’s aria [“O mio babbino caro,” from Gianni Schicchi] by Puccini, and a very funny transcription of Happy Birthday in styles by Mozart, Beethoven, Gershwin, and Liszt. It was my encore at Carnegie. I am not a composer, maybe in the future, but I just like to show my imagination in the music.

EW: I see that you learned all the works of Chopin? You were honored by Poland for your dedication to Chopin. How did it start?

JB: Because when I started to learn his pieces, it was never enough. And I learned the next and the next. For me it’s never a problem to learn the music without scores. Generally, I play it twice or three times and I can play from memory.

EW: What were the first pieces and what were the ones you saved for later?

JB: The first piece was the Nocturne, opus 9, number 2. I played for a series sixteen concerts in Hungary and I played all of his pieces. I played the chamber music and concertos, everything.

EW: Oh, my gosh.

JB: The sensibility, the intimate sound of Chopin is very important.

EW: What did you learn last?

JB: The last was the C-minor Sonata.

EW: With the 5/4. People don’t play it, but it’s very effective. Now some people say that pianists are better either at playing Chopin or playing Liszt, but you seem to be at home with both composers. Do you feel an affinity for one or the other?

JB: I think, when you play Chopin, you have to play like Liszt, and Liszt you have to play like Chopin. If you play Chopin and it’s too intimate, too pianissimo, too shy, it’s not the best, but if you play Liszt and you kill the piano, it’s also wrong. It’s good to know the Liszt pieces and the Chopin pieces and you can make a conversation between the two composers. They were very good friends. After Chopin died, Liszt wrote a book about him.

EW: Do you feel that certain kinds of instrumental sounds are better for conveying your vision of Liszt, or a specific technological setup is better for Chopin?

JB: Usually, I play on a Steinway. In Hungary, we have a new early music center with very historic old pianos, and I was there to check the Erard piano from Liszt’s era. It was a totally other sound.

EW: There’s a Historical Piano Study Center in Ashburnham, Massachusetts if you ever have time to go there. It’s hard to keep an Erard piano in shape, but it gives you a different aura of the music.

JB: Very important is what you feel inside, to play because you would like to give something of yourself. I play the Steinway more like the historical pedal system. Sometimes I like to make some noise, not always clear with the pedal. In the Chopin Ballades, you might have three chords in one beat, but if you change the pedal, it’s too much like a motor. You have to feel the chords together, in a Romantic style, and also what you hear is not what the public hears.

EW: The pedal on Chopin’s Broadwood piano in London never smeared sounds the way the pedal does now. Do you think that Chopin and Liszt were influenced by organ pedals?

JB: I’m sure. Liszt loved church music, and Chopin idolized Bach and always played the Well-Tempered Clavier.

EW: There are all sorts of ways to give that feeling of mysticism.

JB: I’m so happy to have composers close to me but I have not enough time to make their music the best way. You have to choose how to find the polyphony and the melodies without playing too hard.

EW: Do you like to study the musicology about Liszt or read Alan Walker’s books? Alan Walker was given an honorary doctorate by the Liszt Academy just this year.

JB: Yes, I know. I always like to read about the lives of the composers, a lot of sad stories.

EW: He had a scary book about the death of Liszt. Were you also drawn to Bartók? Did he pull on your heartstrings?

JB: I like the recordings, but not all his pieces are close to me. For me, the top pianist is—I don’t know—Vladimir Horowitz, Richter, Martha Argerich in our era. She is the best. Sometimes even better at her age than before! I asked her, “Martha, how can you be better now than when you were twenty or thirty years old?” And she said, “I practice now.”

EW: I noticed on November 20^th you’re already giving a recital back in Budapest at the Bartók National Concert Hall. You like to go around from one place to the other.

JB: I’ve done it for twenty years.

EW: Well, János, thank you for a great conversation, and I hope we can keep in touch!

JB: I loved this conversation.

by Emily White  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

János Balázs, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

November 9, 2025

How do we pay homage to our idols? How do we trace our inspirations and, once we acknowledged them openly, how do we avoid being compared (probably less favorably) to those who we admire so passionately? On November 9^th at Weill Hall, the Hungarian pianist János Balázs (who is the Artistic Director of the Cziffra Festival, the co-presenter of the event, together with the Liszt Institute in New York) tackled this difficult task. For his Carnegie Hall debut, he constructed a program meant to celebrate the great Hungarian pianist György Cziffra, who was apparently the reason why young János became fascinated with the piano, and especially with the fiery Romantic repertoire in which his illustrious predecessor shone. 

Mr. Balázs’ name is tightly connected with that of Cziffra; he not only won a couple of Cziffra competitions in Europe, but also created a Festival in his name and is a tireless promoter of his artistic legacy. In other words, he does the good work. He also speaks lovingly about his role model, inspiring the listener to seek out older recordings of the great master, something which is touching and relatively rare in today’s world where the “me” culture is taking over more and more aggressively. He is also a good speaker- considering that there was no printed program and no intermission during the performance, it would have been easy for the less savvy audience members to get lost in the intricacies of the program, but Mr. Balázs offered charming and informative “notes” before every group of works, making the evening flow organically and avoiding lulls.

The selection of works included pieces famously performed by Cziffra, such as Liszt’s Dante Sonata and Hungarian Rhapsody No. 6; works which he adapted or arranged, such as the paraphrase on Strauss’s The Blue Danube; and also a few novelties by Hungarian composers Peter Eötvös, László Dubrovay and by Mr. Balázs himself, who treated his very appreciative audience to an improvisation on Hungarian folk tunes. In the latter selections, the young pianist proved to be a genial, humorous and slightly cheeky performer/improviser. The two miniatures, one by Eötvös (Dances of the Brush-Footed Butterfly, full of imagery and character), and the second by Dubrovay (Swallow Songs, a very short and winged musical afterthought) were especially welcome additions to the otherwise heavily Romantic entries.

In these Romantic masterpieces, János Balázs had the opportunity to emulate his famous fellow Hungarian, but to my ears the attempt was not very successful. Cziffra was, by all accounts, an enfant terrible of the keyboard, with a monster technique that allowed him to attack some pieces at supersonic speed, which often led to criticism by the more conservative critics. He was, however, an artist of supreme musicality, who paid great attention to detail and delivered each performance with absolute grace. In contrast, Mr. Balázs seemed to me a forceful performer, concerned more with physical power than spirituality. Where Cziffra demonstrated agility in service to the music, Mr. Balázs demonstrated – musically speaking – an approach that has some majesty but stresses athleticism. His interpretation of Chopin’s Ballade No. 3 lacked the poetic fluidity which is one of this piece’s elusive challenges; the pianist often produced a warm, singing tone but suffered from stiff phrasing and an almost militaristic feel. In Liszt’s Les Jeux d’eau à la Villa d’Este the lowest dynamic was somewhere in the mp vicinity, which is unfortunate when one has the advantage of performing in a hall with such superb acoustics as Weill. Cziffra’s paraphrase on Strauss’s The Blue Danube (slightly embellished by Mr. Balázs’ own contributions) was given an interpretation that felt harsh and needed more finesse. In Isolde’s Liebestod (a famous Liszt transcription after Wagner) the notes were there, but the meaning between them remained opaque; the most transcendental moments sounded like exercises in polyphony, and the grand climax was, again, a beastly fff. In Liszt’s Dante Sonata the demonic quality was always placed in the foreground (complete with a facial frown), but it never really sounded ominous; the only truly frightening element was the volume itself. Last on the program, but not least in decibel levels, the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 6 unfolded as a cascade of fast octaves leading to an apocalyptic finale, but all the opportunities to convey wit and nostalgia – as so often is the case with these virtuosic little poems – faded in the shadow of technical wonderment.

Such are, in the opinion of this reviewer, the challenges of linking one’s performance too closely to that of a legendary artist. Perhaps if Mr. Balázs had chosen a more personal selection, filled with more improvisations (to which he seems quite gifted) and a few more contemporary works (which he plays with vitality and a keen sense for contrasts), his incontestable gifts would have shone brighter; such as it was, in a repertoire very much associated with Cziffra, I regret to say that the younger pianist fell short of carrying the torch, so to speak. What I found disappointing is that he seemed to have misunderstood what made Cziffra really special- it wasn’t how many notes he could play per second (and admittedly he could play more than most pianists!), or how much power he released into the keys; it was the razor-sharp lucidity with which he penetrated each piece’s meaning, and the way he imbued every phrase with meaning and grace. János Balázs is undoubtedly a talented pianist who is capable of giving convincing and vivid interpretations. I’m just not sure that it is meant to happen in the same repertoire that Cziffra played.

by Matei Varga  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

House Concert, New York, NY

November 13, 2025

It may be rare for a reviewer to be asked to write up a concert in a private home (as opposed to one in a traditional concert hall), but “house concerts” have long been a way of sharing classical piano music, and they appear to be enjoying an increase in popularity. Nearly two hundred years ago, composer and pianist Frédéric Chopin was one example of a musician who preferred to share his music this way, in fact giving relatively few public performances in standard concert venues. (Such a fact seems hard for many to process, given the scope of the composer’s renown during his life and beyond, but it was the case.)  It thus seems rather appropriate that, for a recent house concert given by pianist Ivan Gusev, the works presented were by none other than Chopin.

Mr. Gusev is a native of Kazakhstan who, after relocating to Russia at age four, started piano studies at age six and went on to distinguish himself at the Moscow Conservatory, where he received Bachelor’s, Master’s and DMA degrees with highest honors, having studied with Mikhail Voskresensky and Eliso Virsaladze. He has received prizes in Italy (the Mauro Monopoli Prize International Piano Competition), Russia (the Benditsky Russian Piano Competition and the Third International Neuhaus Piano Competition), and here in the United States (the 3rd Gershwin International Music Competition, the Dorothy MacKenzie Artist Recognition Scholarship Award from the International Keyboard Institute and Festival, the Chopin International Piano Competition in Hartford, and the New York Piano Festival and Competition). He also completed a Master’s degree at Mannes with Jerome Rose. Mr. Gusev has been reviewed by New York Concert Review on several occasions, quite favorably by this reviewer in a Mannes concerto prizewinner’s concert in 2017 and in his solo debut at Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall in 2018.

In this evening of all Chopin, he played a program that was thoughtfully constructed, with the largest work and finale being the Sonata No. 3 in B minor. Leading up to it were two Ballades (No. 1 in G minor and No 2 in F major), two Nocturnes (Op. 48. No. 1 in C minor and the Op. 37, No. 2 in G major, the latter opening the second half before the sonata), the Waltz in A minor, Op. 34, No. 2, the Mazurka in B minor, Op. 33, No. 4, the Étude in C-sharp minor, Op. 10, No. 4, and the Scherzo No. 3 in C-sharp minor, Op. 39. All were arranged with care in regard to either key relationships, continuity, or contrast. Though the word “curate” sends many cringing from its overuse, there is definitely an art to curating a musical experience, and Mr. Gusev excels at it. The audience was rapt.

The Ballade in G minor opened the program, inviting us into a world in which Mr. Gusev is clearly comfortable. One had the sense that this pianist has lived inside this piece and knows and loves every corner of it. The only real glitch (aside from minor smudges in the coda) was a missing phrase on the opening page shortly following the pitter-patter of a family pet who decided to enter, crossing between the audience and the piano to curl up right near the piano (only to be removed after the piece concluded). Mr. Gusev continued the musical poetry without the slightest interruption.

While house concerts can be among the most memorable and intimate experiences of shared music, they can also bring the sorts of issues that concert halls largely eliminate – whether crying babies, delays, clinking wine glasses, or even a sense of obligation to socialize before playing. Thanks to Mr. Gusev’s considerate hosts, there seemed few of these here, though this listener wondered whether another concomitant of such concerts might have been affecting the sound – and that is the nagging compulsion an artist can feel to politely subdue the music’s greater storms for such a gemütlich environment. Often during Mr. Gusev’s excellent performances – and they were, as one has come to expect, marked by special sensitivity and care  – one had a sense that he was holding back in the more dramatic sections and that he could have projected more contrast. Mr. Gusev has on several occasions struck this reviewer as a special artist, closer in understated spirit to, say, Richard Goode than to the flashy firebrands who abound these days; still, he may need to watch the tendency to be so self-effacing that some drama is lost. Sometimes an actual concert stage offers not merely physical elevation but the kind of elevation that encourages a separation from the realm of the everyday.

The Ballade No. 2 which followed enjoyed a beautifully conceived opening. Where the piano tone did not always sustain fully in longer notes (possibly due to the instrument itself needing a bit of voicing work), the pianist’s own sense of line and pacing sustained the life of the phrases. The left-hand “E” in the final chord resounded prominently in a way that pointed up the continuity to the opening of the subsequent Waltz Op. 34 in A minor, and in this waltz the pianist cast a musical spell of sorts. The audience refrained from applause afterwards, as they did following the beguiling Mazurka in B minor, the noble C-minor Nocturne, and even the brilliant C-sharp minor Étude. This latter piece was given an impressive ride, with exceptionally dry pedal for extra clarity. The first half then closed with the Scherzo in C-sharp minor, which found the pianist reveling more in Chopin’s full range of emotions and sonorities.

After a brief intermission, Mr. Gusev played the Nocturne in G major, Op. 37, No. 2, one of the most deceptively difficult of the Nocturnes to hold together. It was a joy to hear this pianist’s silken double-notes, particularly as he eased them gracefully into the piece’s Barcarolle-type flow, rather than heralding their entry as one hears all too often. He put the music first – a quality one would think should be a fairly obvious prerequisite for performing, though it isn’t always the case. There were moments when one wondered about various readings or editions (once in the F Major Ballade just before the stormy A-minor entry, once in this Nocturne before the second theme, and later in the Sonata’s second movement, trio section), but these questions became almost negligible within the overall experience.

One could predict that such a thoughtful pianist would handle the large Sonata in B minor well, and he did just that, managing to hold the sprawling first movement together quite convincingly. The second movement had the right leggiero touch and the Largo movement was extremely moving. The last movement was particularly successful and carefully planned from its measured start to its more impassioned finish. While one felt that there was still more power to unleash, one holds out hope that Mr. Gusev will bring this program to a larger venue with a concert grand soon. He will undoubtedly have a growing number of connoisseurs to appreciate it.

Meanwhile this audience was visibly thrilled and offered a standing ovation. He kindly obliged with an encore of Chopin’s Mazurka Op. 68, No. 2 in A minor – played with grace.

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