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.

Dan Flanagan, violin

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

October 3, 2022

Dan Flanagan is a true Renaissance man.  During the height of the pandemic in 2020, while the rest of us were baking sourdough bread and watching Netflix, he was busy commissioning sixteen short works for solo violin, inspired by the paintings in his own art collection. Most of the composers, and some of the artists reside in the Bay Area near San Francisco, where Mr. Flanagan is an active freelance musician, a faculty member at UC Berkeley, and concertmaster of the Sacramento Philharmonic. 

Every aspect of the production was thoroughly professional and of a high quality, yet presented in a relaxed and engaging way.  Mr. Flanagan is an excellent violinist, versatile enough to serve as a blank canvas (and I mean this in the best sense) for the diverse styles of all the composers.  The selected paintings were displayed clearly on a large screen.  Before each composition, the violinist rendered a brief introduction, with personal notes about the visual and musical artists.   Marc A. Scorca Hall is a small room, but perfect for this sort of evening, and the acoustics are superb.

Time and space do not permit me to review each of the participants, so I will mention a few highlights: The Collection, by Shinji Eshima, was inspired by a portrait of the violinist by Paul Gibson.  Mr. Eshima wove a theme based on the four notes of Bach’s name into an expressive, rhapsodic piece, employing all the basics of violin technique.  Raven’s Dance, to a texturally vivid painting of that creature by Nina Fabunmi, led Linda Marcel to create an aural landscape of fluttering, skittering, clawing sound, using a battery of contemporary techniques.  I was surprised to learn from the extensive program notes that Oil on Canvas was the composer Michael Panther’s very first piece for solo violin.  If so, this is a very impressive partner to another Gibson work called, simply, AB White.  Of all the solos, I felt that this one struck the perfect balance between subjective and objective modes of interpretation. It certainly made we want to hear more of Mr. Panther’s work.  Equally compelling was Émergence, a haunting evocation of Susan Bostrom-Wong’s Stepping Out.  In both works, concrete ideas emerge from a hazy background in a beautifully modulated fashion. 

At this point in the program, Mr. Flanagan paused to tell the story behind the next piece, Blue Swan, by Evan Price.  In his recounting, to relieve his boredom during lockdown, he developed a new hobby – destroying old string instruments that were already beyond hope.  The cello that appears in Sean O’Donnell’s Allegro Non Trollop was in fact, thrown off a fourth story building, and became the model for his sculpture and for Mr. Prices’s bluesy transformation of Saint-Saëns The Swan, from Carnival of the Animals. 

James Stephenson, a successful orchestral musician turned composer,  chose Armand Guillamin’s Cour de Ferme, Breuillet, as a departure point for an entire vignette with some dark overtones. A demonic country fiddle tune becomes frenzied as the story behind the painting unravels.  Mr. Flanagan brought this to life convincingly, as he did in the following solo, Peter Josheff’s Same Old Sadness, and exquisite, shimmering evocation in the alpine regions of the violin of an untitled canvas by Peter Canty.  Finally, in Couple au lit, David Mecionis explores the netherworld between waking and sleeping, in a thorny, eerily beautiful and challenging solo. 

I must list all the composers and paintings on whom I could not elaborate:  Victoria Veedell, Cindy Cox, Elaine Pratt, Maija Hynninen, Rachel Dwan, Nathaniel Stookey, Ludovic-Rodo Pissarro, Edmund Campion, Carrington Arredondo, Emily Onderdonk, Joaquin Turner, Nikki Vismara, Libby Larsen, Robert Antoine Pinchon, José González Granero, and last, but certainly not least, the unassuming star of the evening, Dan Flanagan.  His generosity and intelligence informed the entire program, and both of his own compositions affirmed his talent and (especially in the encore) his virtuosity.  This presentation is scheduled for an extensive touring season, and I wish it much success.

Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra
JoAnn Falletta, Conductor

The Choir of Trinity Wall Street; Downtown Voices
Nikki Chooi, Violin; Amy Porter, Flute

Stern Auditorium, Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 3, 2022

To celebrate the centennial of the birth of Lukas Foss, a free concert by the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra (BPO) was presented at Carnegie Hall on October 3, 2022. Five of Foss’s works, plus one by Foss’s teacher Randall Thompson, were on the program, with The Choir of Trinity Wall Street and Downtown Voices also participating. It was wonderful to see a packed hall even in spite of the bad weather, with a large number of BPO supporters festooned with BPO face masks and many young people.

The Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra led by JoAnn Falletta was ideal for offering this tribute, given both Foss’s strong impact on both the BPO (as music director from 1963-1971) and Foss’s influence on Ms. Falletta as a mentor, friend, and colleague. Those in attendance were rewarded with the experience of hearing a world-class orchestra, led by a conductor who rates as one the all-time greats, playing the music of an authentic musical genius. Maybe this concert is a step in “righting the wrong” of this country’s relative neglect of Foss, who is every bit the national treasure that Copland and Bernstein are – a voice of optimism, idealism, and great expanses.

JoAnn Falletta bounded onto the Stern Auditorium stage with energy and purpose, what proved to be traits of her leadership this evening. One could sense there was something extra, that this was much more than just a concert to her. Opening with Ode (or the full title Ode to Those Who Will Not Return), this listener sensed from the first notes that this was going to be something out of the ordinary. Ode is inspired by John Donne, specifically the 17^th Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, which has been often rendered in poetic form as “For Whom the Bell Tolls.” The “bells” toll in the low strings, and there is an uneasiness that hovers over, but never really disappears until the very end, where a serene C major quietly “makes peace,” which mirrors Donne well. This was an inspired choice to open, and I was much taken with this work.

Three American Pieces, in the 1986 version for violin and orchestra, followed the Ode. BPO concertmaster Nikki Chooi was the featured soloist. Make no mistake, this is unbridled joy from start to finish, brimming with Americana. One can hear what Foss calls a “prairie lullaby,” folk-like tunes, ragtime, blues, and some scintillating fiddling. Mr. Chooi played it to the hilt. He was obviously having a great time and is clearly a player of dazzling abilities. As much as I enjoyed the razzle-dazzle moments, the second movement Dedication was my favorite in its breathtaking beauty.

Renaissance Concerto for flute and orchestra, with flute soloist Amy Porter, was the final work on the first half. While many of the names of early music make “guest appearances,” (viz. Byrd, Rameau, Monteverdi, and Gesualdo), modern devices abound, such as extended techniques from the soloist. It is looking forward and backward simultaneously – vintage Foss.  It is said that Foss “followed where his mind went,” which sometimes was forward and other times backward.  Any number of “schools” could have claimed him, and they all would have strong cases. Incidentally, on this subject, I must mention the excellent program notes by Peter J. Rabinowitz, which were informative without being overly didactic or just a mishmash of “fun facts” for the lay listener.

To return to the performance, the Renaissance Concerto enjoyed a superb interpretation. Ms. Porter is a formidable player – she couples a pristine tone quality with technique to burn. The Jouissance finale was the showcase, with brilliant passagework, a courtly duet between the flute and tambourine, some tapping on keys, and aggressive blowing, culminating in Ms. Porter’s slow exit from the stage while still tapping keys and making a “click” sound as she got farther from the stage. The audience reacted enthusiastically, and it was a fine end to the half.

After intermission, Psalms for chorus and orchestra opened the second half. The Choir of Trinity Wall Street and Downtown Voices joined the BPO. Psalms is a single-movement, three-part work that uses verses from Psalms 121 and 95 in the first section, Psalm 100 in the second, and Psalm 23 in the third. It is built around the harp, piano, and percussion, what the program notes refer to as an imagined “Biblical” sound (though I have some mixed feelings about that designation). There are glances at Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms and Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms, but let’s remind the reader in the latter case that Foss was first! The combined choirs were outstanding, with clear diction and articulation, coupled with ensemble balance and intonation that was exceptional. Special credit to Stephen Sands for his fine work in preparing the choirs.

Randall Thompson’s much-loved and much performed Alleluia was another opportunity for The Choir of Trinity Wall Street and Downtown Voices to showcase their artistry. It was sublime.

Foss’s Symphony No. 1 was the final work on the program. This is the work of a young composer who is still trying to establish his voice. It’s brimming with ideas, and the orchestration is brilliant, but there is the unmistakable impression that while the composer has the gifts, he does not a clear idea of what to do with them or how to use them to maximum advantage. One hears Copland, some Stravinsky, and even Hindemith, to be sure, all good role models; these observations notwithstanding, it is still a remarkable work for a twenty-two-year-old composer. Ms. Falletta and the BPO gave it their all; the strings shimmered, and the brass and woodwinds were rich and robust. The audience reacted with a well-earned standing ovation in what was a fine ending to a memorable evening.

Junior Division (ages 10-18): Julia LaGrand, violin, (USA), 1^st prize; Ryan Maxwell, piano, (USA), 2^nd prize; Sihu Hwang, piano (S. Korea) 3^rd prize; Laura P. Muñoz, piano, (Spain), encouragement award

Young Artist Division (ages 19-30): Jisun Kim violin, (S. Korea), 1^st prize; Mackenzie Jacquemin, voice, (USA), 2^nd prize; Guillem León, piano, (Spain), 3^rd prize; Fernando Apan, piano (Mexico), encouragement prize

National Opera Center, Marc A. Scorca Hall, New York, NY 10001

September 3, 2022

The Bella Music Foundation presented the winners of its 2020 competition in the intimate Marc A. Scorca hall at New York’s National Opera Center. Yes, they were delayed by “that” virus. Now imagine winning a competition two years ago and having to hold on to that piece and maintain its level for two more years.

Let me frame this another way: I often tell my students to close their eyes for fifteen minutes or a half-hour if they can stand it (no peeking!) to sharpen their spatial awareness at the keyboard. What if you could “never” open your eyes?

Bella’s mission statement is: “supporting musically talented individuals and schools for the blind by presenting opportunities for world-class education in classical music.” Judging from these talented performers, it is a resounding success.

In all, there were eight winners (see above for full list), but only five were able to make it to New York, despite six being listed on the program.

First to appear were the Division I (ages 10-18) winners. Pianist Laura P. Muñoz gave a rapturous, mature reading of Liszt’s Transcendental Etude No. 9, “La Ricordanza,” with beautifully lyrical melody and sparkling filigree, reminding me a bit of Arrau. She was followed by pianist Ryan Maxwell, who created a deep, meaty, appropriately Brahmsian tone in Brahms’s Rhapsody in G minor, Op. 79, No. 2, while also bringing out its essential mysterious quality. This portion of the recital concluded with violinist Julia LaGrand’s stunning rendition of Ravel’s treacherous showpiece Tzigane. Every firework was perfectly carried out with wit and poise, and the whole built beautifully to its final frenzy. She was more than ably accompanied by the evening’s collaborative pianist, the excellent Hyunjin Cho.

Two of the Division II winners (ages 19-30) then took the stage. First, soprano Mackenzie Jacquemin, who showed off a bright, clear lyric soprano in Pamina’s aria from Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte, “Ach, ich fühl’s,” sung with gentle sorrow. Ms. Jacquemin had some lovely soft high notes too. The concert was brought to a stunning close by violinist Jisun Kim, (with Hyunjin Cho again, wonderful), who tossed off Sarasate’s blistering Carmen Fantasy, Op. 25, as though she had been born playing it. Every dazzling special effect was spot on, and, by the way, her intonation was perfect.

All took the stage for the official presentation of the prizes. The audience, naturally, was wild with ovation for everyone.

Bella’s motto is: “In every note there is hope.” I’d venture to add, even more than hope: realization, the ultimate achievement.

“In Search of Lost Time”

Jingci Liu and Wenting Yu, Pianists

OPERA America’s National Opera Center, Marc A. Scorca Hall, New York, NY

July 30, 2022

In the last weekend of July, GOCAA Artists Concert Series (Global Outstanding Chinese Artists Association) presented a recital of two of their winners, pianists Jingci Liu and Wenting Yu at the National Opera Center’s Scorca Hall, and listeners were treated to exciting solos and duos from both. Both are winners of a variety of awards, and both are working for their Doctorate of Musical Arts degrees. Ms. Liu is currently studying with Dr. Angelina Gadeliya at the University of Connecticut. Mr. Yu is studying with Dr. Vladimir Valjarevic at Mason Gross School of the Arts at Rutgers University. Ms. Liu and Mr. Yu were graduated from the Mannes School of Music in New York City where they each achieved the Master of Music degree under the tutelage of Mme. Pavlina Dokovska. They are married and have played duos together since 2016. For full disclosure, this reviewer was out of New York for the concert so could not attend, but a video recording of the live performance was provided.

Ms. Liu opened the program with music by three female composers, Clara Schumann, Amy Beach, and Cecile Chaminade. First came Clara Schumann’s Soirées Musicales, Op. 6, written when the composer was just sixteen. The music is a set of six pieces full of yearning and youthful dreaming, from which Ms. Liu chose three, starting with the Nocturne, continuing with the Mazurka in G minor, and ending with the Toccatina (which originally opens the set). Ms. Liu revealed sensitive shading overall through the Nocturne, a flair for improvisatory whimsy in the Mazurka, and just the right urgency in the impassioned Toccatina.

Dreaming, Op.15, No.3, by Amy Beach followed with no break for applause, but Ms. Liu took a substantial meditative pause beforehand. Her unhurried approach suited this miniature just right, affording her time to lavish its lyrical lines with care. Cecile Chaminade’s bristling Toccata, Op. 39, closed the set energetically with lots of perpetual motion pianism. 

The next segment found Wenting Yu introducing his portion of the program, including three Preludes of  Claude Debussy, Voiles (Veils), Ce qu’a vu le vent d’ouest (What the West Wind Saw), and Feux d’artifice (Fireworks). Mr. Yu probed the magic of Voiles beautifully, with every detail in place. Like Ms. Liu, he clearly revels in a large range of sonorities. His Ce qu’a vu le vent d’ouest was fittingly stormy, and Feux d’artifice benefited from his precise touch and control at high speed.

The Étude, Op. 28, No. 2 by Robert Casadesus felt like an encore after all the storming Debussy, and it lightened the mood with its jaunty spirit. The fact that it is an octave study seemed insignificant, as its challenges were handled with aplomb – close in mastery to that of the composer’s wife, pianist Gaby Casadesus, whose recorded rendition set the standard. The rapidfire Étude Op. 28, No. 8 and the Toccata, Op.40 capped off Mr. Yu’s solo group brilliantly. If this reviewer recalls correctly, this Toccata was a required piece several decades ago for the Cleveland International Piano Competition when the competition still bore the name of Casadesus. It is thus especially refreshing to hear this work take its rightful place on a stage without any taint of duress. Mr. Yu is to be commended for exploring this lesser-known repertoire, and for doing so expertly – as is Ms. Liu with her selections by women composers.

The second half of this concert featured the two pianists as a four-hand team in a tantalizing array of arrangements of orchestral works by Rachmaninoff and Debussy. To start came one penned by Wladimir Wilschau of the second and third movements of Rachmaninoff’s glorious Symphony No.2 in E minor. Devotees of the orchestral original may balk at the idea of such grandeur being “reduced” to the realm of four-hand piano writing, but doubters will enjoy a threefold epiphany. First of all, Wilschau’s is an excellent arrangement, which has simply remained in relative obscurity since its publication in 1910. Secondly, the tonal palette available to two highly trained pianists on a single piano can be much greater than many imagine. Thirdly, the sensitivity of the Yu/Liu duo, both to the composition and to each other’s performance, creates a cohesive and compelling performance that is hard to resist.

Debussy’s Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, as arranged by Maurice Ravel, was equally evocative of orchestral color in this duo’s hands, as was Debussy’s Dialogue du Vent et de la Mer (Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea) from La Mer, arranged by the composer himself. (For those interested, the duo swapped Primo and Secondo roles several times – Ms. Liu playing the Primo part in the Rachmaninoff second movement, with Mr. Yu Primo in the third, and then Ms. Liu playing Primo in the Afternoon of a Faun, with Mr. Yu as Primo in La Mer.)

Hearty applause was generously rewarded with two encores, both ones with “novelty” appeal. First was Qui vive! (1862) by Wilhelm Ganz (1833-1914), an illustrious but now rather forgotten musician who happened also to be an accompanist to singer Jenny Lind. A joyous romp, the piece galoped its way to an exciting finish in perfect synch through myriad tempo tweaks. It is the perfect test piece for a married duo in a way, each player needing to adjust pace and mood at the bat of an eyelash or the twitch of a finger. Suffice it to say that this duo passed with flying colors.

The second encore was by Tal Zilber‘s Brahms in Salsa, a saucy play (pun intended) on the Brahms Hungarian Dance No. 5 (with even a few gratuitous quotations from Beethoven’s Für Elise towards the end).  Though this duo needs no gimmicks, such campy touches undoubtedly will please crowds as this duo tours, as will their introductory remarks (though some of those warranted a bit more planning). The only part of this concert’s “packaging” that really didn’t work for this reviewer was the rather strained subtitle for the whole program, “In Search of Lost Time.” Despite catchall comments from Mr. Yu about remembrance, wishes, and the spirit of the repertoire (and despite the fact that some audiences need something extra-musical to think about), one found oneself looking for a copy of Proust’s masterpiece and a shoehorn; in all other respects, however, congratulations are in order for a fine recital.