Lynn Spurgat, soprano; Jason Wirth, piano

Zankel Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

November 15, 2022

The soprano Lynn Spurgat is a storyteller, and lest we forget that singing is essentially storytelling, she reminded us of that in the most charming and affecting way in her recent recital at Zankel Hall.  Her collaborator, the gifted pianist Jason Wirth, created landscapes of color and dynamics to bring their interpretations to vivid life.

Perhaps this is not fair, but I feel that the program would have been near perfect if the opener, Mendelssohn’s concert aria Infelice, had been jettisoned in favor of something less weighty and imposing, something, in fact, more Mendelssohnian.  The back story for this work is fascinating, but the aria itself is not distinguished enough to merit its inclusion.  I give Ms. Spurgat credit for having the guts to start off firing on all cylinders.  However, it was only after this that her true talents as a singer became apparent.

Francis Poulenc’s monologue for soprano and orchestra, La Dame de Monte Carlo, was written for Denise Duval, Poulenc’s muse in the final years of his life.  By reputation, she was a superb singing actress.  In her own rendering, Ms. Spurgat, alternately comic and tragic, gave a rich account of this very special work.  Though she stopped once because of a memory slip, no one, least of all me, seemed to care.  Her voice, now relaxed and expansive, had a beautiful spin to it in the upper register, and her low notes were expressive and secure.  She has a big sound that can fill a room easily, without having to push.  This was a witty, nuanced performance from both soprano and pianist.

It was a treat to hear the Brahms Zigeunerlieder again, in an impassioned, strongly rhythmic reading that built steadily from its first song to the last, an uninhibited outpouring of ardent love, with Ms. Spurgat’s voice off the leash and in full bloom.

I’ll take a moment here to mention the excellent program notes, which managed to provide both introductory information for the uninitiated and esoterica for the seasoned concertgoer.  Speaking of esoterica, am I the only one who didn’t know that the celebrated writer Anais Nin was the daughter of the composer Joaquin Nin, the Cuban expatriate who was a contemporary of Granados and Albeniz?  In a brilliant stroke of programming, Ms. Spurgat launched the second half of her recital with the Diez Villancicos de Noel, a cycle of Christmas carols from diverse regions of Spain.  Each one was a gem, a microcosm of the rhythms and folk song traditions of those provinces, Mr. Wirth shone here in his voicing and sensitive pedaling, and the soprano held the audience in rapt attention with her melismatic, earthy singing of Jesus de Nazareth, the penultimate piece of this work.

The selection of Kurt Weill songs that brought this evening to a close confirmed for me his status as one of the great theater composers of the 20th century.  Here was a perfect meeting of artist and songwriter.  Ms. Spurgat is adept at conveying the quicksilver changes of mood and the pathos just below the surface of Weill’s creations.  Actors like to say that comedy is harder than tragedy, but what is harder than both is the juxtaposition of the two, and Ms. Spurgat excels at this. 

The enthusiastic audience demanded two encores, and Ms. Spurgat generously complied.  Once again, I can’t stress enough the contributions of Jason Wirth, one of the finest collaborative pianists I have heard, and a rock-solid support and inspiration for Lynn Spurgat.  Finally, compliments also to Laura Lutzke, the excellent violinist in the Mendelssohn concert aria.

Lynn Spurgat’s warm presence and talent for connecting with her audience made this evening a success.  My admiration for Poulenc and Weill was renewed and I discovered Joaquin Nin, all through her committed performances of their compositions.  Who could ask for anything more?

Jason Tramm, conductor

Gauen Kim, cello soloist

David Winkler, Executive Director

Broadway Church, New York, NY

November 4, 2022

The Long Island Concert Orchestra (LICO), under the baton of conductor Jason Tramm, brought a highly enjoyable program to the Broadway Church in New York City on November 4th – two iconic works, the Tchaikovsky Variations on a Rococo Theme, Op. 33, with cellist Gauen Kim, Mozart’s  Symphony No. 35 in D major, K. 385 “Haffner,” and the  US premiere of  Mannheim Preludes, by composer and Executive Director of Chamber Players International, David Winkler. 

Mr. Winkler welcomed the audience and spoke about his Mannheim Preludes. This 2016 work, commissioned by the Karpfälsiches Kammerorchester of Mannheim, is written in the style of the Italian Overture (three sections: fast-slow-fast, played as single continuous whole). Mr. Winkler took a tense thematic motif and “passed” it around the ensemble throughout.  While one sensed the tension, it was not always rendered convincingly. Some attacks were tentative, and the ensemble was not always razor-sharp. One is generally reluctant to make assumptions, but perhaps there was not enough time for extra rehearsals. These issues notwithstanding, it is an effective work, and conductor Jason Tramm invested boundless energy and commitment to bring out the best in the orchestra.  The appreciative audience gave Mr. Winkler warm applause.

Cellist Gauen Kim took the stage for the Tchaikovsky Variations on a Rococo Theme. I’m not sure if Ms. Kim was a last-minute substitute, as the promotion materials listed Eunae Jin as the cello soloist. There was also no talk about the work (or any program notes), which was a bit disappointing, considering the interesting history of how the work’s dedicatee Wilhelm Fitzenhagen, played a bit “fast and loose” with Tchaikovsky’s original conception. As they say, you can look it up, but for a start the Variations on a Rococo Theme employs a theme that is not actually Rococo, but is an original theme in the Rococo style.

There is a certain insouciance required from a soloist to capture this work’s spirit, as too much “seriousness” ruins the playfulness and humor that abounds throughout.  It’s not enough however, to just swagger, one must also negotiate the considerable technical demands. Ms. Kim fit the bill perfectly. Her tone was warm and rich, her bow work excellent, and her intonation overall quite true.  Her rapid passage work was clearly articulated, and the humor was projected with an easy touch that never sounded affected.  Ms. Kim is an elegant player!

Maestro Tramm was an ideal collaborator, keeping the orchestra “in line” while sensitive to the soloist. The one or two very brief moments when the orchestra was obscuring Ms. Kim were quickly addressed.  The call-and-reply moments were charming. All of those ensemble concerns that I felt during the Winkler had disappeared. The audience gave Ms. Kim a well-deserved standing ovation.

The evening concluded after intermission with Mozart’s  Symphony No. 35 in D major, K. 385 “Haffner.” This masterpiece must be considered one of the finest of Mozart’s forty-one symphonies, and Maestro Tramm’s reading served it well. It reminded me of my last hearing of him conducting a Mozart symphony, in that he let the music speak without resorting to any needless “originality.” His an intelligent, respectful approach – after all, Mozart needs no one’s “help.”  It proved to be one of the most enjoyable twenty minutes of music that this often jaded listener has experienced in a very long time.  At one point, a violist broke into a huge grin as he was playing, which really touched me, as this exemplified what music should be, pure joy.

The opening Allegro con spirito was ebullient, with the “fire” that Mozart indicated. The woodwinds were the stars of the lovely Andante. The clever Menuetto was a musical tug-o-war between the tonic and dominant. The scintillating Presto brought the audience to their feet in an extended standing ovation.  Bravo!

The Long Island Concert Orchestra returns to the Good Shepherd Church for a program in the “Great Artist Series” on November 30. 2022.

James Greening-Valenzuela, manager

Gretchen Greenfield, artistic consultant

Eric Malson, pianist

Scorca Recital Hall, Opera America National Opera Center, New York, NY

October 20, 2022

Opera is the only classical music genre that is a growing business in America. Therefore, there will always be a need for young singers trained in its demands both vocal and dramatic. James Greening-Valenzuela, a noted concert violinist with extensive vocal coaching experience, has turned his attention to maintaining a stable of such artists, at all skill levels from “emerging” to “professional,” as the manager of Vocal Artists Management Service (VAMS).

To celebrate the fourteenth anniversary of VAMS, a generous showcase concert was given at the National Opera Center. Once upon a time, such showcases served to show off one’s roster to a cohort of visiting opera and other vocal presenters. I’m not sure that was the case on Thursday, since I didn’t see any personnel fitting the bill in the small audience. Nevertheless, there were many small, and a few large, standout moments in the long program.

Remember, there is nothing quite so subjective as the way a human voice is received by other human beings. The following report is based solely on my response to this particular moment in time. Also remember, no instrument is quite so fickle as the voice, which resides within the body, and is subject to all its whims.

(Full disclosure: Mr. Greening-Valenzuela and I shared the same artist-manager for a period of years, some years ago. My review is objective, as far as a matter of opinion can be.)

The evening was partitioned into “Early Music,” “Opera Arias,” and “Verdi and Puccini Opera Scenes,” with the interesting additional “Original Songs” (a pop category featuring a classically trained singer/songwriter) fitted in just before intermission.

To say that “war horses” dominated the concert would be putting it mildly, with the exception of the aria New York Lights from William Bolcom’s A View from the Bridge (not by Samuel Barber, as erroneously printed in the program). This was given a poignant rendition, one of the evening’s best, by tenor Michael González, one of the emerging artists. He was less successful, though passionate, in Donizetti’s Una furtiva lagrima (L’Elisir d’amore). I predict he will go far, as there is always a shortage of good tenors.

Another very good tenor, with more professional experience, was Pedro Carreras, Jr., whose Dein ist mein ganzes Herz (Lehár, Das Land des lächelns) was spun out with ease and idiomatic style. However, he seemed overtaxed in the verismo style required for the famous Vesti la giubba (Leoncavallo, Pagliacci). True, the tenor voice is the one that takes the longest to mature in the performer’s body, sometimes as late as age thirty-five. Knowing how to select repertoire that is suitable to one’s voice type and ability is absolutely crucial to vocal success and longevity.

During the opera scenes portion, Kate Kyunghee Kim, soprano, and Sang Bum Cho, tenor, were beautifully trained as to their voices in their Brindisi and Parigi, o cara (Verdi, La Traviata), but lacking as to appropriate dramatic content, at least to this listener. Mr. Cho lacked the articulative “snap” that makes the phrases of the drinking song dance. May I remind the reader how very difficult it is to extract material like this from its context and present it in recital/concert form. However, one needs to be able to make a complete impression in auditions—and opera stars used to do it successfully on talk shows (now there’s a memory!). Ms. Kim has a very successful oratorio career, and Mr. Cho sings oratorio and opera.

The famous Act II duet between Violetta and Germont (also La Traviata) received a thoroughly masterful characterization from baritone Tom Sitzler, who sang this unlikeable character with mature and beautiful sonority. His partner, soprano Virginie Besson (emerging artist), had a wonderful dramatic feeling, but hers was the wrong voice type for the role. Mr. Sitzler has extensive opera experience—I think I would enjoy his Golaud (Debussy, Pelléas et Mélisande).

The duet from Puccini’s Suor Angelica, sung by Alexandria Crichlow, soprano and Caroline Tye, mezzo-soprano, was sizzling hot. Both voices were very nice, and the dramatic portrayal was successful. Ms. Crichlow, very affecting as the betrayed out-of-wedlock mother, had only one flaw- mushy diction. Clear diction is possible in opera! This concert was in a tiny recital hall, and more forward vocal placement and pronunciation would help her go even farther. Caroline Tye was fierce as the lying aunt, but I found her sonority overly-darkened, in a somewhat forced, artificial way. The extensive experience of these two artists was truly evident.

The evening’s finale, a duet excerpt, the jail visit, from Act III of Puccini’s Tosca, had good characterization from both Stacey Stofferahn, soprano, and Steven Andrew Murray, tenor. This material can easily tip over into shouting, but each artist produced detailed shadings and lyrical nuances, without forgetting to rise to the heroic heights required.

In the early-music section, the impressive countertenor Andrew Egbuchiem had a lovely voice, he was paired with emerging artist Katie Surine, soprano. Though each of them has experience in the older repertoire, they managed to seem somewhat bland in arias from Vivaldi’s Gloria, Handel’s Rodelinda, and Purcell’s Pausanias. I realize they were being accompanied by a piano, but I didn’t hear any of the vocal practices common to specialists in this repertoire, especially awareness of and enjoyment of chains of dissonances. Countertenors are a growth industry, so to speak, even though they didn’t exist in the Baroque era. Fortunately, we no longer sanction a certain mutilation, so there are no more castrati. The countertenor is a compromise, one which is accepted when the voice is as subtle as Mr. Egbuchiem’s.

Allow me to pause here and praise the evening’s tireless and excellent collaborative pianist, Eric Malson. Orchestral reductions are a thankless job- they are so unidiomatic. Mr. Malson was unflappable and completely supportive.

Two more artists sang on the arias section: mezzo-soprano Roselin Osser, in arias from Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots and Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. The adolescent angst of Cherubino was not fully characterized, though I enjoyed her flair in the Meyerbeer. Soprano Lisa Bryce sang the treacherous Ave Maria from Verdi’s Otello, with very dark vowels. What is going on with voice teaching nowadays? It seems so many young singers are over-darkening, trying to produce something rather than allowing their voices to be revealed through patient cultivation.

Also included was one artist who has switched genres, from classical to popular. The one-named Mahaley (formerly known as Rachel Eve Holmes) sang portions of four of her own original songs. Her microphone technique was shaky; she often turned back to the piano and the sound would become very soft. I suggest she work with experienced songwriters/producers to shape some of her material, which shows promise, into more “hit-ready” songs.  Good luck!

Overall, it was a very fulfilling evening. These young artists are fortunate to have a nurturing artist-management team like VAMS.

Irina Moreland, Piano

Guest Artist Halida Dinova, Piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 16, 2022

I often wonder why more pianists (and perhaps audiences) don’t gravitate to French piano music. It does require some specialized equipment: knowledge of how to produce infinite gradations and blends of tonal colors, often at the softest dynamic levels, precision in score-reading, and a certain temperament, one that doesn’t intrude upon the music, but allows it to speak for itself. Portions of these two qualities were found in abundance in this brief matinee on Sunday.

Pianist Irina Moreland, a double-doctorate and professor of piano in Colorado, decided to reunite with her advanced-student days friend, the equally accomplished Cleveland-based Halida Dinova for an afternoon of mainly French music, mostly Debussy with one Ravel showpiece. The pairing proved a vivid study in contrasts: Ms. Moreland being more the “wild” and Ms. Dinova the “controlled.”

Although Ms. Moreland seemed to be battling nerves, with numerous crucial memory lapses and imprecision (or misreading?), she gave a veritable master class in how to continue despite these things, and – what I was delighted to note – the essential character of each of her pieces emerged vividly.

Ms. Moreland began with four of the five scheduled Debussy Preludes from Book Two. The first three were the misty and surprisingly polytonal Brouillards (Mists), La Puerta de Vino (that evocation of the gate through which wine deliveries were made to the Alhambra), which suited her personality very well, and Les Fées sont d’exquises danseuses (Fairies are exquisite dancers), inspired by a bookplate by Arthur Rackham. Ms. Moreland really made those fairies seem airborne! The last was Feux d’Artifice (Fireworks), a Bastille Day reverie. Numerous dynamics were either reversed or ignored, nevertheless each atmosphere succeeded. The fifth Prelude would have been General Lavine-eccentric, which I thought would have also suited her temperament.

Halida Dinova then took the stage for two Debussy Preludes from Book One: La Cathédrale engloutie (The Engulfed Cathedral), from the Breton legend of the sunken city of Ys that rises only once every one hundred years then sinks back—she understood this piece totally, though I wished for more genuine pp dynamics (from both pianists, actually). Then she “tarantella-ed” her way through Les Collines d’Anacapri, an Italy replete with sun and folksong.

Ms. Moreland returned with what I found to be the only miscalculation of the afternoon: Ravel’s sarcastic, biting showpiece Alborada del gracioso. The alborada (French: aubade; English “morning song”) was traditionally sung outside the window of the illicit lovers’ bedroom just before the break of day, so the man could “self-defenestrate” and avoid being caught. Of course, Ravel has to make the whole scenario a satire, the warning sung by a clown. The musical text, as played by Ms. Moreland, simply had too many errors to be adjudicated fairly, although I will say, her flair for character redeemed it, and I’m sure many in the audience had no idea. Great glissandi, by the way!—they’re murder.

Then it was Ms. Dinova’s turn, with the gorgeous Reflets dans l’eau from the first series of Images. Despite a few odd (original) pedaling choices, she found beautiful blends suggestive of the Nymphéas (Water-lilies) by Monet in Paris’ Musée de l’Orangerie.

Ms. Moreland then returned with what I found to be a jarring shift in tone: a concert jota titled ¡Viva Navarra! by Joaquín Larregla (1865-1945). I don’t know if nerves got the better of her, but she never lost the thread of fiery passion that such a piece needs, and there were many sparkling moments of rapid treble filigree.

The two then joined forces to conclude the recital with a four-hand transcription of Khachaturian’s ubiquitous war-horse, the Sabre Dance from his ballet Gayane. It was a riot of explosive energy, as it should be, and the two of them did something I really like: a true encore, that is, after the ovation they played it again, with even more energy.

Perhaps, rather than the last two pieces, I might have liked a four-hand French selection by either Debussy or Ravel, there are plenty available and it would have preserved the theme. However, an afternoon of sharing music with each other, and with their many friends and fans, ultimately succeeded in conveying the joy of music.

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 11, 2022

Founded in 1965, the prestigious arts organization, Pro Musicis, is a Paris and New York based non-profit which stresses internationalism and diversity. Their mission, as stated in the printed program, is to “awaken the human spirit,” and their artists are chosen for both their “high level of performance and their passion for social outreach.

Tonight’s concert featured two singers and two pianists, all multi-national and multi-lingual. Mezzo-soprano Solange  Merdinian in (who won a 2019 Pro Musicis International Award) is an Armenian-Argentinian-American; soprano Laetitia Grimaldi (who won a Pro Musicis International Award in 2017) was born in France and grew up in Lisbon and London; pianist Ammeil Bushakevitz (who also won a Pro Musicis International Award in 2017)  was born in Jerusalem, raised in South Africa, and studied in Leipzig and Paris; and pianist Ciro Fodere is from Uruguay and now lives in the United States.  The performers’ multi-national backgrounds led to a most interesting and unusual selection of music.

This program of mostly unfamiliar music was bookended by two very familiar vocal duets- the Flower Duet from Lakmé, by Léo Delibes, and the Barcarolle from Les Contes d’Hoffmann, by Jacques Offenbach.  As the two women launched into the Flower Duet, I was immediately struck by how well the two voices blended and how perfectly in synch they were in terms of both dynamics and tempo.  Without looking at each other they executed the small ritards and diminuendos as if with one voice.  Their voices are well matched in terms of size and timbre, Ms. Merdinian’s strong mezzo balancing Ms. Grimaldi’s higher but equally rich soprano.  I thought they must have been singing together for years.  Not so!  I found out later that, although they were good friends, having once lived in New York at the same time, and having long nursed a desire to collaborate, this wish was unrealized until October 10, 2022, the very day before this concert!  Here is the story: Ms. Grimaldi now lives in Paris and Ms. Merdinian in Miami.  Plans were made to meet in New York City several days before this concert to rehearse.  However, Ms. Grimaldi’s air travel plans went awry, as happens so often these days, and it wasn’t until noon on October 10, one day before the concert that her plane touched down at Kennedy Airport.  They met at a studio in Manhattan and rehearsed that afternoon.  On the afternoon of the day of the concert, just a few hours before their performance, they had their dress rehearsal in the hall.  Forget about jet lag! Forget about resting the voice before a big performance!  The show must go on!

After a soothingly lovely performance of the Flower Duet, Ms. Merdinian left the stage, and Ms. Grimaldi and Mr. Bushakevitz performed three songs by Rachmaninoff: Spring Waters, How Peaceful It Is Here, and What Happiness.  Ms. Grimaldi’s exciting voice projects well throughout her registers.  In the songs of Rachmaninoff the piano writing is often virtuosic. The composer is considered to have been one of the greatest pianists of all time.  A smaller voice might have been overpowered, but Ms. Grimaldi held her own as the brilliant Mr. Bushakevitz flew through the difficult passages with panache.  There was one problem, however.  As is customary, the texts of the songs were printed in the program.  This is of the greatest importance because, without this aid, the listener doesn’t know what the song is saying; the title gives only a general idea.  But it was too dark to comfortably read in the audience area of Weill Recital Hall! This happens frequently in song recitals, and it implies a lack of appreciation for the poetry.  Singers spend a great deal of time thinking about and analyzing texts and then working to reflect their subtleties with voice and gesture.  I would recommend that the performers, who put in all this work, make a point of letting the house know that the lights should be bright enough for the texts to be read with ease.  For, although Ms. Grimaldi sang with commitment and passion, there were, no doubt, subtleties in her delivery which I, who speak no Russian, could not perceive. 

For the next set, Ms. Merdinian, accompanied by the always excellent Mr. Fodere, sang four Armenian songs: The Rose, by Romanos Melikyan, (1883-1935), The Sad Little Girl, and My Sweet Harp, by Khachatur Avedisian, (1926-1996) and Song of Merriment, by Aram Khachaturian (1903-1978).  These folk-like songs, alternately sad and joyous, are obviously dear to Ms. Merdinian’s heart, and her compelling and plangent voice was a perfect vehicle for them.

The balance of the first half of the program was given over to music by women.  Ms. Grimaldi and Mr. Bushakevitz returned to the stage and gave a fine performance of Clara Schumann’s Lorelei.  Then Ms. Grimaldi lent her lustrous soprano to Songe (Dream) by the little-known French Composer, Mélanie Bonis, commonly known as Mel Bonis. To end the set, stormy seas were evoked in After the Squall, by the English composer Ethel Smyth (1858-1944).

The concert’s first half concluded with both singers, accompanied by Mr. Bushakevitz, performing Titania’s Lullaby from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by the Argentinian composer Lucia Caruso (b.1980).  This duet was composed for a concert in Stratford-upon-Avon honoring the 400^th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death.  It is an attractive tonal piece with a few well-placed dissonances.  The fine diction of the two women was gratifying as they exhorted spotted snakes, newts, spiders, beetles and worms to “come not near our fairy queen.” 

Ms. Merdinian and Mr. Fodere began the second half with short songs by six composers: the Spaniard, Fernando Obradors (1897-1945), the Argentinians Carlos Guastavino (1912-2000), Alberto Ginastera (1916-1983), Carlos López Buchardo (1881-1948), Pablo Ziegler (b.1944) and finally, another Spaniard, Jerónimo Giménez (1854-1923).  A typically Spanish mood prevailed with frequent imitations of guitars in the piano part and sultry vocalizing and seductive gestures by the singer.  The last song of the set, La Tarantula, by Giménez, brought down the house as Ms. Merdinian ended it on a high note with her hands above her head.  Her childhood in Argentina was not wasted!

Neither was Ms. Grimaldi’s Lisbon upbringing, as was evidenced in the next set.  She was accompanied, as before by Mr. Bushakevitz in Brazil’s Heitor Villa-Lobos’s Melodia Sentimental, from Florets do Amasonas, Villa-Lobos’s foray into movie music.  Two works by Obradores followed and then, in a delightful twist, we heard the French composer Delibes’s take on Spanish music in Les Filles de Cadix.

 The well-loved Barcarolle from Offenbach’s Les Contes d’Hoffmann gently completed the program.  The happy audience, with loud applause and cries of bravo, leapt to its feet and was then rewarded with Vidila, a duet by Carlos López Buchardo. 

Jaeden Izik-Dzurko, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 14, 2022

I must reveal a terrible secret that I imagine is not unique to this reviewer: I can tell within one or two seconds of playing (on occasion, even as the performer takes the stage!) whether a piano recital will be transcendent, very good, good, or (I always hope not) not so good. Jaeden Izik-Dzurko captivated me, with the first category, in the requisite two seconds, the first “ppp, una corda, very faded, nonchalant, uniform, and melancholy” measure of Albéniz’s El Albaicín, that pianistic impression (Albéniz’s own word) of Granada’s Gypsy quarter, revealed in all its splendor.

In doing so, he also confirmed that Hilton Head’s reputation for finding the best young piano talent is rivaled only by its beauty as a South Carolina “low country” destination.

But let us return to Mr. Izik-Dzurko: What he revealed in those two seconds, and continued to display for the next hour and a half, is one the most refined tonal palettes I have ever heard, combined with a polished close-to-the-keys technique, and a certain basic humility in the service of the music. There was not one moment of showing off, yet the wildly enthusiastic audience probably had no idea of the difficulty of what he was achieving. He even seemed shy in accepting his bows. Absolutely everything was put into the music.

He followed the Albéniz with one of his personal favorites, Scriabin’s Tenth Piano Sonata, Op. 70, in whose single movement sonata form is detectable, even rather strict, amid the welter of “powerful, radiant, luminous” trill outbursts. Mr. Izik-Dzurko guided us through the labyrinth with perfect voicing, gorgeous dynamic range, seemingly limitless colors, and let me just gush a little about those trills… Although I’ve known the piece for some decades now, it finally made sense to me!

Mr. Izik-Dzurko then turned his attention to the Classical period with a seldom played Beethoven gem, the Andante in F Major, WoO 57, known as “Favori,” originally conceived as the slow movement to the “Waldstein” sonata (thank goodness he removed it from that). Here, he showed a delightfully subtle feeling for each harmonic change, a delicious “Viennese upbeat” at the beginning of the B-flat episode (done only once, thank you), and phenomenally light octaves in both hands.

He closed the first half of the recital with two of the fiendishly difficult 12 Etudes in the Minor Keys by his fellow Canadian, Marc-André Hamelin. The first of them, No. 7, is for the left hand alone, based on the Tchaikovsky Lullaby, Op. 16 No. 1, originally for voice and piano. With a fluid, relaxed left hand he rendered every textural complexity with crystal clarity, and emotional poignancy. The second of the two Etudes played, No. 12, is titled Prelude and Fugue, and it contains a jazzy element in the prelude leading to a wild tarantella-like fugue. Apparently Hamelin apologized, in some commentary, for creating such an “agglomeration of technical nightmares,” but they held no terrors for Mr. Izik-Dzurko, or if they did, he disguised them to perfection. I will quote Mr. Hamelin, for the sentences apply perfectly to Mr. Izik-Dzurko: “I think it [virtuosity] is a heightened ability, a sort of super-ability to marshal your resources, either emotional or corporal, in order to bring music to life. I think that something like that is inborn, for the most part, but of course this sort of super-ability needs to be cultivated, sharpened, and maintained.”

After intermission, the entire second half was devoted to Rachmaninoff’s First Piano Sonata in D minor, Op. 28, the one that began life as a sort of programmatic rumination “après une lecture de Faust.” What an opportunity, I’m not sure how the universe decides these things, but my second time in two days hearing this seldom-played work! All of Mr. Izik-Dzurko’s virtues were again channeled into this demanding score. Here he appeared to apply an even hotter emotional temperature and involvement, while never once losing clarity. The fortissimo passages were lava escaping from some subterranean fissure. The trills near the close of the slow movement seemed to point the way to the Scriabin we had heard earlier. Amid all the grandeur, Mr. Izik-Dzurko made the piece seem two things: 1) “better” than it is, and 2) “shorter” than it is! An amazing accomplishment in an evening filled with them.

The ovation was long, loud, and of course, well-deserved. Mr. Izik-Dzurko favored us with two encores. First, the delicate tracery of Scriabin’s Etude Op. 42, No. 4. Then he was called back and blazed his way through the brief but rambunctious Medtner Fairy Tale, Op. 26, No. 2.

Is there something in the water in Canada that develops virtuoso pianists? Mr. Izik-Dzurko was born in the quaintly named Salmon Arm, British Columbia, and is continuing his Master’s degree studies with Corey Hamm in Vancouver, following his Bachelor’s degree from Juilliard. He certainly seems on his way to a major career if he wants one. After his victory in Hilton Head, he went on to snag three more first prizes at major competitions within a six-month period. I’m sure he would be the first to tell us that technique is but a means to an end, but without it, you can’t give free reign to your expression.

Oh, and Jaeden (pardon the familiarity), would you do me a favor? Please return to New York every year with the following: a complete Ravel cycle, a complete Debussy cycle, and anything else you would like to program.

As I was leaving the hall, I became aware of a complete stranger on the sidewalk approaching me. Naturally, as a New Yorker, I was a bit cautious, but he began to spontaneously gush about that piano recital he had just heard, and I realized we had heard the same one. We talked for a few minutes and I asked him if he knew the performer, or was from South Carolina perhaps, or Canada. No, he said, I’m just a fan of piano recitals and I saw this on the calendar. Good job, Jaeden!

Martín García García, piano

Mixon First Prize Winner of the 2022 Cleveland International Piano Competition

Judy and Arthur Zankel Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 12, 2022

Competitions can be fraught affairs- for the entrants, jury, parents, audiences, and future audiences. Expectations are high and fear of the “wrong note” can encourage pianists to make safe choices. Happily, I can report that this seems to be changing, especially in the case of the Cleveland International (formerly Robert Casadesus) Competition and its current award winner, Martín García García.

There wasn’t a “safe” choice anywhere near his program of three gigantic showpieces (two well-known and often played, one less so) and a group of his own compositions. I so admire pianists who are also composers—let us not forget that prior to the twentieth century, most of them were—it was expected.

This is a pianist of giant technical ability (we assume that) in the service of what I call “seeking.” His immense musicality leads him constantly to search for one interpretive choice or other, and I believe that he “finds” them, to his satisfaction. Although I’ve only heard him once, I can believe that the same program played in two days’ time would have different textures and details, while remaining recognizable.

García plunged right in with an uncommonly poetic rendition of the gigantic Fantasie in C major by Schubert that has become known as the Wanderer, D. 760, after the lied Der Wanderer, D. 489, that provides its thematic motive and second section’s theme and variations. One of Schubert’s most assertive and consistently brilliant piano works, it is all the more unusual since he was not known to be a great virtuoso— Schubert himself said, “the devil may play it,” in reference to his own inability to do so properly. The work strains at the outer limits of what pianos of Schubert’s time were capable of, with symphonic textures and gossamer piano embroideries.

At times, Mr. García was so musical that I sensed him pulling back from many of the more massive moments, a pacing strategy that I can appreciate, but which made the piece seem smaller than I think it should. Some of the large chords seemed too dry. This was not a Wanderer for those who prefer a weightier, tragic statement, but it is a piece that allows for multiple interpretations, and Mr. García’s certainly had integrity. The entire Romantic age is summed up in the last line of the song’s poem, in which ghostly voices say to the tired wanderer: “Wherever you aren’t, there is happiness!”

Have you noticed a certain mania for audience participation? Choose your own ending for a Netflix series? Does anyone remember The Mystery of Edwin Drood on Broadway, in which the audience could choose the ending? I will let my readers choose their own ending to this sentence: Too often, Mr. García made articulative, textural, and phrasing choices that were 1) original, 2) eccentric, or 3) both. At any rate, I would much rather be stimulated by new music-making choices than bored to death. On a side note: Mr. García was battling two things: his tendency to hum loudly when playing the most lyrical material. I understand where this comes from, mainly a desire to overcome the decaying nature of piano sound, but (for me) it is a bad habit and ought to be overcome- all that energy should be going into the keys; and a recalcitrant piano that seemed to be going out of tune more than once during the recital, despite being adjusted during intermission.

Mr. García followed the Schubert with another giant, Chopin’s final sonata, the B minor, Op. 58. His poetic sense had free reign here, and he created in the moment with great originality. The Scherzo was taken at an unbelievably rapid, feather-light tempo, with perfect clarity. Gone are the days when the sanctimonius James Gibbons Huneker could refer to the Finale as “the parade ground of the virtuoso,” especially when Mr. García’s textural strategies and refinement are applied to it.

After intermission, it seemed as though a different pianist took the stage, different though recognizable. Mr. García began with nearly one-third of his pandemic-inspired cycle Abstractos— Abstracto XII: Silent Postlude (dedicated to Tamana Tanaka); Abstracto VII: Mal du Pays Bleu (dedicated to Margarita Anthoine); Abstracto VI: Mal du Pays Gris” (dedicated to José María García Marina); Abstracto XI: Réminiscenses d’une Berceuse (dedicated to Sujatri Reisinger), in which he sought to channel the unbearable stillness of lockdown, the surreal quality that once-thronged big cites took on, and the equally unbearable losses people were experiencing as many of their loved ones died. Naturally, as I would expect, Mr. García “spoke” this music with total authority. The pieces themselves have delightful motivic unity, and they use the piano and its colors beautifully. Wisps of Medtner and Mompou seemed to hover over them.

Mr. García closed this monumental recital with Rachmaninoff’s first essay in the piano sonata, the D minor, Op. 28, less often played than its perhaps more glamorous sibling Op. 36. However, in the D minor (once projected as a programmatic Après une lecture de Faust), we have even more of the Rachmaninoff virtues: motivic unity among all movements, the aching lyricism, the striving, the massive concerto-like textures we will hear later in his Third Concerto (also notably in Mr. García’s repertoire). In this work, Mr. García’s command of voicing was miraculous and enjoyable. The piano fairly thundered, without there ever once being an ugly tone, then melted to express the lyrical moments. The audience went justly wild.

So wild that Mr. García favored us with two encores, both Chopin waltzes, first the C-sharp minor, Op. 64 No. 2, in which the García of the first half seemed to reappear—I wish he could have avoided repeating the same agogic on the “disappearing” final run every single time it appeared. Then, he played the A-Flat major, Op. 34 No. 1: here was perfection, flair, charm, virtuosity, the second half García.

This young man already has so much, and he has time to gather his musical philosophies into a coherent whole, for it is clear he possesses them. He has numerous concerto engagements coming, the result of his various competition wins, and I hope that the touring life will be kind to him, so that he may continue seeking, finding, and sharing with us.

Athanasios Zervas, alto saxophone; Christopher Lowry, viola; Nathan Carterette, piano; Caio Diniz, cello; Kurt Nikkanen, violin; Maria Asteriadou, piano; Perla Fernández, violin; Mireille López, violin

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 10, 2022

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) presented its annual concert dedicated to the music of Dinos Constantinides on October 10, 2022. It also was a memorial to Mr. Constantinides, who passed away on July 20, 2021, aged ninety-two. The featured performers were Athanasios Zervas, Christopher Lowry, Nathan Carterette, Caio Diniz, Kurt Nikkanen, Maria Asteriadou, Perla Fernández, and Mireille López.

Greek-born Dinos Constantinides was the head of Composition and Music Director of the Louisiana Sinfonietta at Louisiana State University. He had the title of Boyd Professor, the highest academic rank at LSU. Mr. Constantinides has composed over three hundred works, including six symphonies, two operas, and music for a wide variety of instruments and voices, and has a long list of prizes won and excellent reviews worldwide. His writing style is all-encompassing, from the simplest of forms to the ultra-complex, and from the strictly tonal to the acerbically atonal and serial. He is especially adept in his use of Greek influences, such as Greek poetry from both ancient and modern sources, and Greek modal harmony.

There were thirteen works offered, from some of his very early works to his late, and in a variety of styles (i.e., serial, folk-influenced, etc.). It would be beyond the scope of this review to comment about each work, but the interested reader can find a complete list of works played and Mr. Constantinides’s notes here: Program notes

The program was no doubt intended to be a survey of Mr. Constantinides’s oeuvre. The unmistakable impression I got was one of trying to fill the program with as much as possible, which in principle is a good thing, but in practice makes a concert overly long and taxes the listener’s stamina to the point of exhaustion. After a seventy-five-minute first half, more than half of the audience did not return for the second half, which was unfortunate, as the best of the night was awaiting them. Twenty-five minutes of the program could have been removed without any loss, i.e., works “in the style of” and practice room studies for starters. I have made this point in at least two other reviews of programs that were devoted to Mr. Constantinides’s music – they have been exhausting rather than exhaustive, and that is doing a disservice to his music and to the concert-going experience in general.

This is not meant to take anything away from the performers; they are all excellent musicians who deserve praise for their commitment to this music. Athanasios Zervas, alto saxophonist, bookended the program. Fantasia for solo saxophone, LRC 80(1981) was his highlight, played in a jazzy, improvisational manner, even though each note and phrase was carefully thought out. Violist Christopher Lowry followed with the Sonata for Viola and Piano, LRC 21a (1971 rev. 1977), strikingly beautiful with his sweeping lyrical tone against the often-violent piano accompaniment (for which the glassy upper register of the hall piano was especially apt). Next came Ballade for the Hellenic Land for solo cello, LRC 159 (1998), a work revealing Constantinides at his best, and cellist Ciao Diniz transported the listener to Athens in a truly enchanting performance that danced and sang. Like many of the Constantinides’s Greek-themed works, the Ballade has an idiomatic flow that sounds completely natural and spontaneous. Theme and Variations for Piano, LRC 1 (1965) followed, showing the meticulous playing of pianist Nathan Carterette. Each detail was carefully prepared and delivered in a well-executed performance. Violinists Perla Fernández and Mireille López are fine players, but their featured work, Twentieth-Century Studies for two violins, LRC 14 (1970 rev. 2001) was one of those pieces that could have been relegated to the practice room for which such studies are suited. In other words, just because a work can be programmed does not mean it should be programmed- my sincere apologies!

Violinist Kurt Nikkanen was the star of the evening. He is a dynamo with technique to burn and enough passion to fill any hall. It is almost a tragedy that he was featured on the second half, after the mass exodus. He truly loves the music of Dinos Constantinides, and it shows. Mr. Nikkanen also informed the audience that he was playing Mr. Constantinides’s violin, which lent an additional poignancy to his performance. Pianist Maria Asteriadou, a force in her own right, was the ideal collaborator, and their gorgeous Idyll for violin and piano, LRC 147 (1994) was the highlight of the evening for this listener. Again, unfortunately, subsequent offerings emerged as works that ought to have been omitted. The derivative pieces “in the style of” Beethoven and Brahms, Sonata for violin and piano (A Beethoven), LRC 13b (1946) and A Brahms for violin and piano, LRC 13a (1946), would not have been missed if omitted, despite Mr. Nikkanen’s fine performances. There is simply more than enough genuine Beethoven and Brahms to hear without hearing imitations (with rare exceptions), especially on such a lengthy program.

Two works influenced by Percy Bysshe Shelley’s poem Mutability closed each half. The first, String Quartet No. 2 (Mutability), LRC 62 (1979 rev. 1998):  IV. Moderato, was an eighteen-minute journey of funereal despondency, with echoes of Chopin’s Funeral March hovering about, which sent the audience joylessly into intermission. The second, Mutability Fantasy for alto saxophone and piano, LRC 66(1979 rev. 1995), closed the program. It meanders about and just seems to stop rather than actually ending. There were no curtain calls and no assembling of all performers on stage for a final bow. It made for a less than ideal presentation (and hint: it was not Shelley’s fault). This listener, an experienced and avid concertgoer, left both confused and vexed. Imagine how the lay listener must have felt. This must be addressed and not repeated in the future. Mr. Constantinides for one deserves better.

Péter Tóth, pianist

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

Sunday, October 9, 2022

Throngs of music lovers this Sunday traded afternoon sun for a 2 PM Weill Hall concert amid strangers with Covid masks and a program of intense, often dark, piano music of Franz Liszt (including the weighty Funerailles, the dark Ballade No. 2 in B minor, and the ponderous Chappelle de Guillaume Tell). Why, you may ask? Well, it appears that many knew in advance what kind of musicianship and virtuosity awaited, and it seemed well worth the trade. Though this reviewer is new to the pianism of Péter Tóth, it soon became clear that there are very good reasons he has such passionate supporters, including some who were ready to argue heatedly over the last orchestra seats, as overflow moved up to the balcony. (Though it always mystifies me to witness cantankerous behavior in pursuit of something as pure as, say, the music of Abbé Liszt, in a way it is heartening – suggesting possibly an urgent need for such live music, as opposed to the overhyped Auto-Tune shams that pass for music these days.)

Though the elegant and softspoken presenter Adam Gyorgy could barely be heard over the commotion to introduce the concert, he spoke glowingly from the stage about his friend Mr. Tóth, for reasons we would soon learn. Incidentally Adam Gyorgy is a fine pianist himself, whom this listener had the pleasure of reviewing back in 2011 – so with him, Mr. Tóth, and some others, the pianistic talent in the hall was approaching what might be termed “critical mass.”  As for Péter Tóth, the printed program lists some of his important prizes (including from the Franz Liszt International Piano Competitions in Budapest in 2001), as well as recordings and concerts, but more biographical information can be found at his website, petertothpianist.com. In addition to the credentials and brilliance that we have come to expect from young prizewinners, we heard music-making of true passion and intelligence as well as profound dedication.

The Chapel of William Tell from Années de Pelerinage (Years of Pilgrimage) made a grand opening, a noble tribute to the legendary hero in a struggle for independence  – and as resonant in today’s turbulent world as ever. Mr. Tóth captured its declamatory power to a tee, shaping its phrases with conviction and fine gradations of tone. This was not the blitz of brilliance that the uninitiated might expect at a Liszt recital but rather the musical meditation of Liszt the dreamer. Waldesrauschen (or Forest Murmurs) followed flowingly as a balm – a good programming choice, and one well suited to the hall piano with its rich middle register and rather glassy upper register. The performance was a model of balance and control.

The more substantial works came next, starting with Funerailles, and it was here that the expressive range and power of this pianist became clear – as well as his expert pacing. He showed that he is able to sustain a slow build for long stretches while keeping power in reserve to unleash at a work’s peak. Much credit here of course goes to Liszt himself, but even after years of hearing Funerailles, this listener still found surprise in the mounting left-hand triplets and ensuing octaves. They seemed simply effortless in this pianist’s hands – dazzling but with all focus on the music itself.

The Ballade No. 2 in B minor (written in 1853 just a few years after Funerailles) created still greater storms, with its ominous chromatic bass surges and explosive traversals of the keyboard. Not to dwell simply on the overt technical display, what impressed again was the control in shaping the music. Where called for, Mr. Tóth tapered his melodic phrases masterfully in every dynamic range. At several points, for example, pianissimo tones were prolonged such that,  even when one thought it impossible to fade further, they resolved to still quieter ones – still projecting to the back rows. This listener apparently had a kindred musical spirit in the admiration for such control, as each time such a remarkable diminuendo occurred there as a slight gasp from a seat nearby; one need not be attuned to such wizardry to enjoy the magic, however, and the entire audience was silent in reverence (those little gasps notwithstanding).

More oceanic surges came in the Légende No. 2, St François de Paule Marchant Sur Les Flots (St. Francis of Paulus Walking over the Waves), and again the pianist was in his element. Mr. Tóth’s saint walked perhaps more stolidly and metrically than I’ve generally heard, so a few times one might have wanted just a shade more “stopping to smell the roses” (or aquatic flora in this case), but ultimately Mr. Tóth’s conception was persuasive. There was at the work’s peak just the triumph one wanted, so it is hard to argue about the path getting there.

The Hungarian Rhapsody No. 6 capped off the program in celebratory style. For those unfamiliar with this particular Rhapsody, it is the one with such rapid repeated octaves in the right hand that a pianist playing it might land himself in ER if not careful. It is only for the fearless, and Mr. Tóth was just that, with perhaps just a touch of his characteristic restraint at the octaves’ start to pace the excitement. It was a brilliant and altogether exhilarating close to a superb recital and was met with a hearty standing ovation.

An encore of Paderewski’s Nocturne in B-flat was the final reward, and it was meltingly beautiful. A man who before the concert had barked at someone “will you stop that?!” now appeared transported, eyes closed with a faint smile, while a woman in a wheelchair near me seemed to be nearly standing up to see better. Great music in the right hands can be transformative. Congratulations go to those who make it happen.

“Nacht und Träume”

Juhee Lim, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 6, 2022

The typical trajectory of a wunderkind’s career—the firebrand phase of blazing confidence opening the door to a slow infusion of poetry and psychological depth—has been turned on its head by the high stakes of joining today’s music profession. Pianist Juhee Lim, at age twenty-two, sponsored by the Sejong Soloists and the Samsung Foundation of Culture, began her Weill Recital Hall program Thursday night with a requiem and visions of death in Lera Auerbach’s searing 1992 triptych, Memento mori. The raw intensity of Ms. Lim’s statement bypassed all pianistic pleasantries and underscored the ironic double meaning of the concert’s title, “Nacht und Träume.” Far from a tribute to a familiar Schubert Lied about peaceful slumber, the symbolism here was of death, nightmares, and dwindling hope. (Is this the horizon on which a modern creative artist must gaze?) Despair hovers around us—this month marks the centenary of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, to follow the poetic tangent further. Perhaps Ms. Lim’s philosophical icebreaker was just an impressive warm-up, but the message hit home.

The other two works of the evening, Ravel’s Gaspard de la nuit and Brahms’s Sonata in F minor, Op. 5, presented more literary nocturnal associations (water spirits, a hanging corpse, goblins, twilight) and assuaged the realism of Ms. Lim’s opening gambit by returning us, in reverse chronological order, to a more traditional world with which we could cope.

The diminutive Juhee Lim is a colossal pianist with a palette of ten thousand colors. She revels in drama, delicacy, rhetorical outbursts, and sophisticated handling of time and silence. A veteran soloist, having received engagements with the Mariinsky Orchestra, the London Symphony Orchestra, the Tokyo Philharmonic, and the Juilliard Orchestra, among others, Ms. Lim showed no barrier of nerves and plunged straight into her work. Her feather-lightness and faultlessly articulated double notes in Ravel’s Ondine may have been magnified by the easy brightness of the Steinway in the completely full Weill Hall. The morbid theme of the evening continued with the stock-still gallows motif of Le gibet and reached its zenith in Scarbo with its trembling repeated notes and welling-up of passionate ninth chords, all performed with integrity and reserves of stamina.

Ms. Lim’s penchant for muscular majesty encountered a different sort of Everest to scale in the Brahms Sonata. In her hands, this “absolute” music (which does not actually depict anything, although the poetic quote about twilight in Jane Vial Jaffe’s beautiful program essay makes for nice inclusion in the dream sequence) veered daringly close to the aesthetic line famously drawn by Eduard Hanslick in the Romantic Brahms-Liszt divide. Ms. Lim’s coy-to-ferocious character changes and liberally pedalled cadences seemed more evocative of Schumann’s wild Florestan than of the fledgling Brahms who played his new sonata for Schumann at the age of twenty, and inner voices which are often given a sonorous treatment resembled ethereal, post-Romantic filigree. (Premonitions of Ms. Lim’s future performance of a Liszt Sonata came to mind.) A stylishly Viennese Scherzo movement and allusions to the mature Brahms’s A German Requiem recapped the thesis of the concert. For any listeners still pining for a soothing Schubert song as promised in the recital’s billing, his G-flat Impromptu from Opus 90 was an ultimately fulfilling encore.