Santiago High School Treble Ensemble; Santiago High School Combined Women’s Choir; Santiago High School Madrigals Karen Garrett, Director; Alexis Ohmar, Piano East Brunswick High School Orchestra (NJ) Arvin Gopal, Director
Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
March 18, 2023
I should be, and in fact I am, a cheerleader for all things involving young people and music education and participation, and all the benefits they bring. Therefore, I may appear somewhat Scrooge-like in some of my less flattering comments below, but I wish to take nothing away from the hard work and enthusiasm these high school youth and their leaders put into their programs. Two disparate types of music (choral, string orchestra) from opposite ends of the country (between Riverside and Anaheim CA, and, just a few miles down the NJ turnpike) split the bill on Saturday evening.
Was it a sort of metaphorical Saint Patrick’s hangover that caused such a low (though highly vocal) turnout? Or was it the constant clomp-clomp of the Carnegie ushers swooping down the aisles to chide the omnipresent photo and video takers during the performance that detracted from my ability to surrender to the performance fully?
First on the program were the various combinations of choral activity from Santiago High School in California, ably led by Karen Garrett and their pianist, the sometimes too firm Alexis Ohmar. The Treble Ensemble, a group of twenty-six young women, shone best in the Hassler motet Cantate Domino. Elsewhere, in folksong and Spanish contemporary pieces, their sound and diction were diffuse, I believe mainly because of their odd positioning on the risers. With so few singers placed so far from each other, it is much more difficult to produce one cohesive ensemble sound. Perhaps they wished to appear more sizeable than they are, but this issue also affected the other two Santiago groups.
The Combined Women’s Choir was at its finest in Beverly A. Patton’s Exaudi Laudate!, though it lost a dimension without the TB portions of its original SATB choral layout.
Finally, the Madrigals (thirty-five singers, with the addition of male voices) was the most successful of the three groups. They sang a wide range of material, from Viadana to spiritual, with focus, diction, and color, even in the sometimes overwrought Lamentations of Jeremiah by Z. Randall Stroope. After all, isn’t Jeremiah himself somewhat overwrought?
After intermission and the customary massive stage re-orientation, the gigantic East Brunswick High School Orchestra took the stage. I am using their billing, but I must state that this was a group of 170 (!) string players only (violin 1 and 2, viola, cello, double bass). Why they don’t call themselves a string orchestra is beyond me. They were led in style by Arvin Gopal, an experienced, formally trained violist (inner voices!), in music by Sibelius, Warlock, Ippolitov-Ivanov, Mozart, and others.
Sibelius’ Andante festivo opened their half of the program, and it must have been the best rehearsed work, or perhaps something about its composition makes it more forgiving, for the massed string sound was luscious and very Sibelius-appropriate, in his own amplification from string quartet to full string orchestra, despite the lack of triumphal thwack by the timpani.
Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the other selections. An orchestra of one hundred seventy musicians is larger than any currently functioning professional symphony orchestra in the world, including ALL the sections (woodwind, brass, percussion). Here, the valiant East Brunswick youth lumbered their way through three sections of Warlock’s delightful Renaissance pastiche Capriol Suite, which lacked the needed delicacy and transparency. Hofeldt’s The Journey and Silva’s Forest Incantations didn’t make a strong impression on this listener.
However, they did achieve success in Ippolotov-Ivanov’s Procession of the Sardar from Caucasian Sketches. This impression was immediately undone by the final offering, the Finale from Mozart’s Symphony No. 41 in C major, K. 551, known as the “Jupiter.” This work is for full (but SMALL) orchestra, and it was played at half the requisite tempo, with poor intonation and realization of the miraculous polyphony therein, based on its initial theme, a Gregorian chant fragment known as Confiteor (I confess to almighty God… that I have sinned).
I won’t go as far as to say that they “sinned,” but my advice to East Brunswick, which obviously has the means to fund such a huge string orchestra, is to invest equally in woodwind, brass, and percussion programs, and conduct rigorous auditions to create an ensemble of manageable size.
None of my carping can reduce the obvious pride and happiness shown by the parents of the young people involved, whose tumultuous ovations had nothing to do with any fussy reservations on the part of this, or any, critic.
by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
KNS Classical- available to stream on iTunes, Spotify, Amazon, YouTube
This past Valentine’s Day, pianist JingCi Liu gave us a lovely musical valentine, in the form of an album dedicated to women composers. Perhaps someday we can stop saying women before the word composer, but I understand how when one gender has been dominant and exclusionary, some redress is called for. The title of the album is Portrait of Beauty, one of those titles that doesn’t say much, but here is rescued by the quality of the playing.
For me, the real discovery is the first work, the first (of three) keyboard sonatas (E major) by Marianna von Martinez, a classical period composer, and that rarity—a woman allowed to pursue education and artistic goals—to a point. Imagine having Haydn, Metastasio, Porpora as housemates and teachers, and Mozart as a drop-in guest in Vienna. I believe this may be the first recording of one of her sonatas. Ms. Liu plays it with crisp, stylish articulation in the two quick movements, and lovely lyricism in the slow movement, where the music is very reminiscent of Haydn.
The five middle composers are: one concert pianist, wife of a famous composer (Clara Schumann), one neglected French “salon” composer (Cécile Chaminade), one recognized Amereican composer (Amy Beach), and two French sisters, one Prix de Rome winner who died too young (Lili Boulanger) and the other who devoted her life to the memory of her sister and to generations of pedagogy (Nadia Boulanger).
Clara Schumann’s Soirées musicales (1836) are her own attempt to do what she was constantly exhorting her husband to do: create recital pieces that are not too demanding (read: alienating) for the audience. The Beidermeyer aesthetic of coziness is present in the diminutive but precisely characterized pieces, all but the first sharing genre names closely identified with Chopin. Here, Ms. Liu’s touch becomes meltingly romantic. The Notturno’s main theme was “borrowed” by Robert Schumann, the two of them often communicated with each other prior to their “forbidden” marriage via musical themes and quotations. Ms. Liu makes all of Clara’s notational eccentricities/innovations sound absolutely natural. You would never mistake a mazurka, ballade, or polonaise by Clara Schumann for one by Chopin, but Ms. Liu makes as persuasive a case for them as I can imagine. The second mazurka in the set (piece no. 5) was directly quoted by Robert Schumann as the beginning theme of his Davidsbündlertänze, also his Op. 6. The whole is played with an appropriate intimacy and restraint.
Although Chaminade died in 1944, most of her music sounds like it was composed one hundred years prior; alas, such is the fate of retro-inspired composers, though I for one, enjoy her considerable output immensely. The Toccata, Op. 39, a delightful study in lightness and speed, ought to be on more high-school music competition requirement lists. Pierrette, Air de Ballet, Op. 41, is a perky, eminently choreographable trifle. I do wish Ms. Liu had chosen one of Chaminade’s lovely slower, lyrical moments, such as Automne, for greater contrast and balance.
Amy Beach also died in 1944, and similar to Chaminade, she has that backward-looking/sounding romantic-era style, though she did manage to find some quite original sonorities and tonal experimentation. A successful pianist, she managed to wrestle her way to recognition as a composer with larger-scale art music such as symphonies and masses, in the male-dominated classical world, while also having to fight her mother and husband for control of her own career. Dreaming, the third of the four Sketches, Op. 15, is preceded by an epigram from Victor Hugo: “You speak to me from the depth of a dream…” Ms. Liu delivers it in truly dreamy style; she has an ability to hold on to long sustained notes and create a true legato.
Nadia Boulanger was better known as a creator of other composers than as a composer herself. Her professorship at the American Conservatoire in Fontainbleau (known as the “Boulangerie”) attracted hundreds of aspiring students, many from the US. She had a unique ability to allow their individual voices to thrive, even if they weren’t aligned with her typically Fauré/Stravinsky esthetic (now there’s a contrast!). Vers la vie nouvelle (Toward the new life) is a completely un-ironic statement that might have been made by any of the women represented on this album; in this case written one year before the death of her beloved sister, 1917 (see below), a blessing at times dark and sinister and an envoi to the beyond.
Lili Boulanger was the first female winner of the Prix de Rome in its (then) 110-year history. Sadly, the frail, chronically ill young woman was to succumb to intestinal tuberculosis at age twenty-four, leaving behind a short body of work that undoubtedly would have grown and matured. The three pieces for piano, two concerning gardens, D’un vieux jardin and D’un jardin clair, and the Cortège (originally for violin and piano) all date from 1914. They demonstrate some harmonic exploration, but also hover somewhere between Schumann and Scriabin at times.
Caroline Shaw is the only living composer on the album, and a multi-prize winning one at that (Pulitzer, Grammy). Gustave Le Gray was premiered in 2012. Le Gray (1820-1884) was a French painter and an innovative photographer in the earliest days of that medium, exercising great influence on those who came after. If Caroline Shaw “says” the piece is about Le Gray, we must surely take her at her word. But which aspect of his life is contained therein? His student years, innovations, success, financial ruin, abandonment of family, adventures in the middle-East, death in Cairo? No matter, this, the longest work on the album, has the texture of most of the other works, nocturnal, sustained, playing to Liu’s strengths. There is a direct quote of the entire Mazurka, Op. 17, No. 4, by Chopin, right in the middle of the work—Le Gray was 29 when the composer died, but the famous daguerreotype of the sick composer was not by Le Gray, rather Louis-Auguste Bisson. This extended quote absolves Shaw of the need to compose a large section of her own piece, however, the payoff comes when she begins improvising with the actual ending of the Mazurka, signaling some sort of emotional shift.
The recorded sound is beautiful and the dynamic palette is such that an intimate mood is created and featured. This isn’t a “barnstorming” album, so if you’re looking for technical fireworks, look elsewhere. If however you, as do I, appreciate the sort of quiet virtuosity that involves control and sustained intimacy, this would be perfect for you.
by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
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.
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.
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!
Patricia Spencer, flute and alto flute; Marianne Glythfeldt, clarinet and bass clarinet; Curtis Macomber, violin; Chris Gross, cello; Steven Beck, piano
Guest Artists: Yoshi Weinberg, flute; Hannah Levinson, viola; Michael Lipsey, percussion; James Baker, conductor
Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY
February 26, 2023
I wish I could split this review of the Da Capo Chamber Players’ 51st Season into two parts—I shall explain in a moment. Their 50th season was spread over several years due to you-know-what. But think about a fifty-year legacy rich with commissions and a fierce desire to present works by living composers in addition to a few canonic works.
When you attend a concert by Da Capo, you hear transcendent virtuosity, including stunning extended techniques, as we did on this occasion. You know that each time you hear a performance you are hearing the finest possible rendition—as if it were a ready-to-release CD. Da Capo’s survival is largely due to the unwavering labor of its remaining founding member, flutist Patricia Spencer.
Three of the four works on this occasion were by women, and three of the four works by living composers- two of whom were present. However, and here’s where I must return to my above comment, I sat in the intimate gallery space of the Tenri Cultural Center, and aside from my admiration for the playing, I was left absolutely cold. How I longed for just one melodic phrase with some expansion, some yearning, or any sustained mood. Today’s composers seem more preoccupied with innovations in sonority and rhythmic dislocation—two important elements of music to be sure, but not the whole picture. The head/heart ratio, as I call it, is out of whack.
Bach’s Die Kunst der Fuge (The Art of Fugue), the work I have spent the most time living with in my career, is one of the most abstruse treatises on counterpoint ever conceived by a human, yet it is at the same time a gripping, emotionally moving statement.
The concert began with Barbara White’s Learning to See, her musical response to four prominent 20th century visual artists: Tinguely, Brancusi, Hesse, and Johns, with their technical preoccupations translated into her music. The title of the first section (after Tinguely) with its phrase “junk heap” did not bode well for me, though I was able to appreciate the fine shades of instrumental blending the players achieved. Brancusi’s music (Bird) formed an alternating episode between the others, similar to a rondo. This was the only work in which Patricia Spencer played—she generously gave the rest of the evening to a young colleague, Yoshi Weinberg.
Next was, for me, the most successful work of the evening, Eleanor Hovda’s Ariadne Music (1984), in which one could imagine the mounting terror of being trapped in a labyrinth with a monster, as represented by wisps of sonority that grew to a shattering climax over an excruciating amount of time, then subsided to the point at which it began. This work was conducted by James Baker.
After intermission, a brief hard-to-hear interview was conducted by David Bridges of the Composers Now initiative with Barbara White and David Sanford. Folks, if you’re not going to use microphones, please project and enunciate. They discussed how the ensembles they work with may, or may not, influence their composing, and they talked about the importance of quotation (transformed, of course) to their process.
Then came the world premiere: David Sanford’s time isn’t holding us (2023), leaning on his great knowledge of jazz and “unstable” (as he calls it) music from the 1970s, including Jimi Hendrix, George Crumb, Miles Davis, and Charles Mingus, all demonically sampled and transformed. Among the new techniques I observed (perhaps I need to get out more often!), was the xylophone being brushed with string bows. I must single out pianist Steven Beck for his tremendous musicianship and versatility.
In conclusion, Da Capo offered Belinda Reynolds’ light hearted coming around… (1995), a sort of musical portrayal of a Californian working in New York City for a few years, then returning to her true homeland. Particularly enjoyable was a “fractured waltz” in the middle of the work, never staying in 3/4 too long.
I have every confidence that Da Capo will continue far into the future—and I hope they are, in fact, able to get a younger generation interested in placing and keeping groundbreaking works in the repertoire.
by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Lukáš Windřich, Director; Lenka Navratilova, Piano
The Music of Mack Wilberg
Distinguished Concerts Singers International
Mack Wilberg, Composer/Conductor; Gabriel Evans, Piano/Organ
Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
February 20, 2023
Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) offered another typically generous evening of a wide variety on President’s Day. The three groups featured could not have been more different, and each showed its personality successfully.
First up was the gigantic Langley High School Concert Band from Virginia. Under the sensitive, efficient direction of its conductor, Doug Martin, they played six short pieces (one of them was conducted by the young Kai Smith). John Philip Sousa’s Gridiron Club march made for a rousing opener, with beautiful contrast between the “A” theme and the Trio. Kai Smith then led Adam Gorb’s A Little Tango Music, which displayed little of the dangerous ritual of attraction/repulsion of the dance. Praetorius’ Dances from Terpsichore were rough going in such an inflated version, and they’re not even by Praetorius. Elgar’s beloved “Nimrod” variation (from the larger Enigma Variations) had melting legato. Johan Halvorsen’s Entry March of the Boyars was full of character. Finally, Brian Beck’s La Madre de los Gatos, the most recent work (2009), cleverly named for a middle school band director, Velma Shine, aka “Kitty Mama,” was spirited fun.
After considerable stage remodeling during intermission, the Cancioneta Praga, a group I had never heard, took the stage. A “mere” three dozen women, there is nothing “mere” about this precision choral group: their harmony, blend, dynamics, and precision were marvels. Their six Czech selections showed enormous range, from Dvořák, and Smetana, to Martinů, and they were exciting and controlled. Where I took issue was with the final two pieces: two traditional American spirituals: Michael, Row the Boat Ashore and When the Saints Go Marching In. (Is this what they mean by cultural appropriation?) Their English was heavily accented, and when Maestro Jindřich turned to the audience to solicit participation in the “Hallelujahs” at the end of each line of Michael, Row, I was left with this uncomfortable image: I (for some reason) am at a $700/person tasting menu dinner, and the chef invites me into the kitchen to put some finishing touches on the food.
Finally, Mack Wilberg, conductor of the iconic Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square (formerly the “Mormon T.C.,” Salt Lake City), was in charge of the assembled DCINY choirs who traveled from North Carolina, South Carolina, Texas, Utah, and Virginia. They were in charge of a group of inspiring sacred choruses (German, American), all arranged by Mr. Wilberg. I wonder if it was difficult working with these disparate forces, well-trained though they were, after the glories of his home choir, this group was somewhat short on male voice parts. He and his valiant organist Gabriel Evans also had to fight the disgraceful plug-in organ that serves Carnegie Hall. The American folk hymn My Song in the Night was particularly lovely. DCINY really made us wait for its umbrella title, the Shaker hymn Simple Gifts, which was performed nicely, if somewhat “complicated” by Wilberg’s arrangement. In conclusion, a blessing was offered, gorgeously sung, to the tune of English folksong O Waly, Waly, with words “Thou Gracious God, Whose Mercy Lends.”
The loud ovation showed that on many levels, people do understand (or feel) that “simple” gifts such as communal music-making, are not achieved without intricate work.
by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Pianist Ian Hobson continues his Colossus stride through the complete piano music of Robert Schumann, on this occasion offering two contrasting Schumanns: 1) the purveyor of Biedermeyer coziness to a burgeoning amateur piano market and 2) the prickly innovator, with one of his most neglected oeuvres. The normally excellent program notes by Richard Dyer were wrong about one fact: Schumann did not compose 28 consecutive opuses of piano music, for Op. 24, 25, and 27 are Lieder sets- though there is sometimes a discrepancy between composition and publication.
The two opening works, which included the beloved Arabeske and the lesser-known Blumenstück, are thought to have been conceived as parts of the same compositional outburst of flower pieces, Guirlandes (Garlands). Schumann was trying, against his nature, to create works that would not scare off pianists and listeners. He even denigrated the Arabeske as “slight, for ladies.” However, this “slight” rondo possesses thematic unity among its compositional qualities.
In Mr. Hobson’s traversal of the Arabeske, I found myself wondering why so many phrase endings were being accented instead of “lifting,” and other issues of phrasing, accentuation, legato, tone, and volume then began to usurp my attention. Was Mr. Hobson trying deliberately to de-sentimentalize this work, which indeed has been, shall we say, abused, by so many well-meaning pianists over the years? It’s just that the piece (and the recital as a whole) craved more tenderness. Its marking is Leicht und zart (light and tender).
The Blumenstück, conceived at the same time as the Arabeske, is an episodic interleaving of two ideas (including the famous “Clara” cipher). It offers much less variety musically than the Arabeske, therefore it needs even more poetic fancy in the repetitions than we were given. Had Mr. Hobson misgauged the room? For Theodor Leschetizky’s piano sounded very loud in the intimate space of the Tenri Institute. Every once in a while, Hobson found one of the softer, more intimate colors, and it made one wish for much more.
Mr. Hobson decided to divide the Noveletten in half, the first four ending the first half, then the concluding four after intermission. These are problematic works, due to their length, and repetitive square phrasing and rhythm. Although they contain many felicities, they have been neglected by pianists, and rarely played as a complete set. The term novelette, borrowed from literature, denotes a form shorter than a novel, usually light and rather sentimental. Schumann himself regarded them rather as “extended, interconnected adventure stories,” and he incorporated some of his intense study of Bach in the form of canons and other imitative textures.
There are eight character pieces, including Schumann’s favorite masked ball scene (No. 4), and an energetic polonaise (No. 5) that is extremely similar to one of Schumann’s swaggering macho songs Der Hidalgo (Op. 30, No. 3). Here Mr. Hobson’s approach conveyed some of the preening and boasting of a confident suitor. In some of the Novelettes, he was more hectoring than jovial, and contrasting lyrical episodes were shortchanged as to their intimacy.
For me, Mr. Hobson made us wait for his triumph in this group. The final Novelette was given a masterly rendition, with all the color and contrast one could wish for. In the moment when the Stimme aus der Ferne (Voice from Afar) appears, which is actually a quote from one of Clara’s own works, we were given all the haunting poetry this music is capable of in the hands of a great pianist. I tend to think of Mr. Hobson as a great “organizer,” that is, he doesn’t tend to linger, but has a great capacity to put wayward things together into larger wholes—not a bad quality for sure.
Dear Mr. Hobson, you know how very much I (we) esteem your great skill and commitment, but please “try a little (more) tenderness.”
by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
Theodore Kuchar, Principal Conductor; Stanislav Khristenko, Piano
Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
February 15, 2023
Last night I attended a most memorable concert. It was both heart-warming and heart-rending. I came home both invigorated and exhausted. Driven out of their homes by Putin’s brutal invasion, these excellent musicians have miraculously regrouped in the U.S. They are showing the world that Ukraine is as rich in music as it is in bravery and resilience. I missed the first piece, Yevhen Stankovych’s Chamber Symphony No 3 for Flute and Strings, and entered just in time for Brahms’s Piano Concerto No. 1, featuring the consummate pianist, Stanislav Khristenko. Mr. Khristenko flew over the keyboard with ease, tossing off virtuosic passages and soothing us with his warm sound. For an encore he amazed and enthralled us with Horowitz’s Variations on a Theme from Bizet’s Carmen, a highly entertaining and fiendishly difficult piece.
In the second half the orchestra, led by its principal conductor Theodore Kuchar, came to the fore in a thrilling performance of Dvořák’s New World Symphony. The first thing that struck me about this performance was the very long pause after the initial theme in the strings. What potent silence! Almost over the edge but not quite, making the subsequent reiteration of the theme in the woodwinds all the more gratifying. This was a foretaste of what was to come. This performance was not only technically excellent, it was also individualistic and imaginative.
At the symphony’s conclusion there was a long ovation. At this point it is usual for the conductor to give solo bows to principal players. At first, it felt a little disconcerting that this didn’t happen, but then I realized that this was truly democracy and equality in action. Any individual recognition might have detracted from the feeling of group unity. Nevertheless, I felt a little disappointed that I didn’t get to cheer as loud as I could through my K95 mask for the most eloquent and poignant playing of the English horn solo I have ever heard. It was especially touching because this theme, which was adapted into the spiritual-like song “Goin’ Home” (often mistakenly considered a folk song or traditional spiritual) by Dvořák’s pupil William Arms Fisher (who wrote the lyrics in 1922), must have surely resonated with the performers and, by extension, with the empathetic audience.
For an encore we were treated to the Ukrainian composer Anatoliy Kos-Anatolsky’s Chasing the Wind from his ballet,The Jay’s Wing. This rollicking dance was performed with great verve and abandon. There ensued a long ovation in the sold-out hall during which a large banner, which was a combination of both the American the Ukrainian flags, was unfurled by brass players at the back of the orchestra. It brought a tear to the eye and a strange joy laced with pain.
by Barrett Cobb for New York Concert Review; New York, NY
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.
Good Fight Hallelujah with Debra Cook and her granddaughter McKinslee Mitchell
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?
