Ian Hobson, conductor

Jakub Haufa, violin; Zuzanna Elster, harp; Damian Skowroński, organ

Sinfonia Varsovia

Toccata

Catalogue Number: TOCC0557

Ian Hobson can do anything. Here is an interesting parallel: music by a pianist renowned in his time, who wanted to be taken seriously as a composer of larger forms; conducted by a renowned pianist of our time, who is also a gifted orchestra leader.

We must thank Mr. Hobson for rescuing Moritz Moszkowski (1854-1925) from his reputation as a composer of glittery “salon-ish” music (think: Spanish Dances for piano duet, the 15 Etudes de virtuosité for piano, or Horowitz’s classic encore Etincelles), and for blowing some of the musical cobwebs off his diverse output. Some of Moszkowski’s story reads very sadly, as tastes and musical fashion seemed to move on without him. He turned to the United States for salvation, but had to be financially bailed out by sympathetic artists, only to die before receiving the benefits of the concert.

The two suites (Deuxième Suite d’Orchestre, Op. 47, Troisième Suite d’Orchestre, Op. 79) on this disc are not shy, little pieces. The Second Suite, composed in 1890 and given its premiere recording here, is forty-one minutes long. The Suite allowed the composer more structural freedom than a typical symphony, and Moszkowski pours it on, with six movements, including a Prelude, Fugue, Scherzo, Larghetto, Intermezzo, and March; a veritable mini-survey of orchestral variety.

The Sinfonia Varsovia plays beautifully under Mr. Hobson’s direction. The Prelude immediately draws one in with its brooding, yearning, rhapsodic string writing, only to stop on a half-cadence that ushers in a “celestial vision” quasi-cadenza for solo harp and violin. The brief sounds of the organ at the conclusion follow, the only truly Baroque reference, leading to the attacca Fugue, which is livelier in tempo, but with similar emotional darkness- its subject reminiscent of the head motif of Bach’s G minor fugue from the Well-Tempered Clavier, Vol. 1. The entries are easy to follow, thanks to Moszkowski’s transparent handling of a large orchestra. Every contrapuntal device is present- augmentation, stretto, a pizzicato section, and another Baroque reference with the reappearance of the organ. For me, the only miscue (sorry, Moritz!) is the triumphant but inconclusive Picardy third ending.

A lively Scherzo in G minor, with its distinctive motto, is easy for the listener to follow. A Larghetto fourth movement (B -flat Major), the emotional heart and longest movement of the Suite, is intense and passionate, and although some have compared it to Wagner, it is much more concise. An Intermezzo (D major) fills the function of the old minuet and trio from the classical symphony. The concluding March (G major) provides a suitably rousing ending; I found it, thankfully, more elegant than martial, a sort of spiritual descendant of Schumann.

The Third Suite is marginally better known, and at only just over half the length of the Second Suite, is a petite cousin, so to speak. Perhaps that stems from its provenance, just over seventeen years later, after Moszkowski settled in Paris. Even the instrumentation seems a bit more transparent. An opening Allegro has a distinctive horn motto, but doesn’t belabor it, preferring melodic sweep. The second movement, Molto moderato, has a wonderful subtitle: La note obstinée (The stubborn note), which in this case is a middle C, that begins and ends the piece in the horn and transfers to the harp part, around which the music moves in sometimes surprisingly remote keys. The third movement is a glorious salon-waltz, the sort for which we remember Moszkowski, perhaps unfairly. Fanfares announce the finale, which provides a satisfying conclusion.

I can imagine, in a post-pandemic world, orchestral subscription audiences pleasantly settling in to hear either or both of these suites. Moszkowski has indeed found a persuasive advocate in Mr. Hobson.

Liana Paniyeva, pianist

Mechanics Hall Summer Music Festival

Mechanics Hall, Worcester, Massachusetts

August 14, 2018

As much of the world uses the enforced pandemic “pause” to catch up on life, it is a pleasure to note that many musicians are taking this time to unearth pre-pandemic live performances to share over the internet. One such performance is by Ukrainian pianist Liana Paniyeva, who performed at the Mechanics Hall Summer Music Festival in 2018 and has shared her recital via YouTube. Click the following links to listen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENTExyRi_h4&t=239s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0oGi_hPKFA&t=1242s

First, for a bit of background, Ms. Paniyeva has won prizes in numerous competitions internationally and has performed at festivals in Norway, Hungary, Syria, Canada, England, Italy, South Africa, and Israel. Her recitals have taken her to Carnegie Hall and the Myra Hess Concert Series in Chicago, to note highlights. A graduate of the Donetsk Music Academy in Ukraine, she earned her Professional Studies Diploma from the Manhattan School of Music and an Artist Diploma from The Hartt School of the University of Hartford.

Ms. Paniyeva impresses this listener right away as a sensitive player, opening her recital with the much-loved Gluck-Sgambati Melody (“Dance of the Blessed Spirits” from Orfeo and Euridice). Her earnest rendering sets a pensive tone for this rather weighty program, which continues in a similar spirit (and key) with the Rachmaninoff-Corelli Variations, Op. 42. Here again she reveals herself to be a musician of intense commitment. Her attention to detail through the entire performance is impressive, showing fine control and transparency in the complex textures and thoughtful delineation of phrases in slow lyrical sections.

There is an orderly, meticulous quality to all that Ms. Paniyeva plays, and this is accentuated visually by her preparation and cut-off gestures, which we can see thanks to the large screen with keyboard view that Mechanics Hall has onstage. The idea of an onstage close-up screen (prompted one guesses by the size of this imposing hall) is a wonderful feature in general for this increasingly video-oriented world, and though this concert is from 2018, pre-Covid, one can’t help thinking that with current social distancing we may be seeing a similar feature at venues that can manage it.

If there is anything missing in Ms. Paniyeva’s Op. 42, it is that one occasionally expects more of the sense of impassioned abandon in some of the faster, more driving variations, though her interpretation is quite persuasive as it stands. Speaking of things missing, one is also sad not to hear the craggy Variation XIX, which can build to hair-raising effect towards Variation XX. Now, Rachmaninoff did specify about Variation XIX, that “this variation may be omitted” (for, as the story goes, when he sensed that his audience was restless in his own performances, he would spontaneously drop a variation); this listener, though, at home during the pandemic and with no train to catch, would love to hear each note of the piece. (As an aside, it is interesting to speculate how these Covid days may change listeners’ expectations and wishes.) Thankfully, Ms. Paniyeva does play the other “optional” Variations, XI and XII, and they are compelling in their rhythmic energy.

Following this work comes more Rachmaninoff, two of the Moments Musicaux, Op. 16. The first in B-flat minor is fittingly brooding in Ms. Paniyeva’s rendition, mournful from the beginning through winding elaborations and back. Polish and accuracy are commendable here, with barely a flaw – a tall order with such an intricate piece. This listener is accustomed to a bit more contrast of dynamics and mood in the central section, but again, vive la difference! Ms. Paniyeva follows with the second piece of the same set (F minor), and she projects its surges and sweeps well.

Medtner’s Sonata Tragica (Op. 39, No. 5) is simply a gift to hear, as it is still underplayed, and Ms. Paniyeva gives it a marvelous performance. She lavishes care and attention on each nuance and storms through its virtuosic fistfuls with fire and command. Her special commitment to this repertoire is clear, and she is more than up to all of its substantial challenges. Brava!

The final work (and Part II of the program) is Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, played with mastery of its many contrasting techniques and moods. What strikes this listener perhaps most about Ms. Paniyeva’s conception is her pacing and ability to hold power in reserve. Never does she turn the stage into a pool of sweat and pile of missed notes, as sometimes one sees and hears. She sustains intense focus and leads the trusting listener on her long journey with no histrionics.

Highlights include her “Tuileries” movement where she displays nearly Horowitzian staccato notes at high speed and the ” Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks” – fittingly chirpy and whimsical. The “Bydlo” (Cattle/Oxen) movement is not quite as heavily lumbering in her hands as one often hears – refreshing in a way, and yet leaving some questions. Though Ms. Paniyeva favors tapered phrases and a rounded sound – qualities often falling under the heading “musicality” – perhaps more of the thundering bovine is justified here. Again, it is a matter of taste.

Another notable feature of Ms. Paniyeva’s conception is her omission of the fifth Promenade section, between “Samuel Goldenberg and Schmuÿle” and “The Market at Limoges.” The omission works well to sustain momentum (as various arrangers and performers seem to have agreed, notably Ravel). This reviewer is frankly prone to fatigue in many performances of this piece but Ms. Paniyeva’s performance keeps the flow. With the momentum sustained, one is then readier for the eeriness of the “Catacombs” movement and ensuing “Con Mortuis in Lingua Mortua” – and Ms. Paniyeva plays them with fitting eeriness. “The Hut on Hen’s Legs” (Baba Yaga), while more deliberate than one often hears, is also very clean here with only negligible exceptions, and “The Great Gate of Kiev,” measured and mighty, is a victory lap capping off a fine performance.

In summary, this an excellent recital by a wonderful pianist.

Eugene Albulescu, piano & conductor

Orchestra of Friends

AMP Recordings

Catalogue Number: AMPA22.2

One of the things that hasn’t been stripped from the arts community during this pandemic is the joy and pleasure of recorded art. Pianist Eugene Albulescu has taken on a mission to restore the dual-role of soloist and conductor, which was quite commonplace at one time, to two concerti of Beethoven, the “first,” Opus 15 (actually the second to be composed) and the fifth, Opus 73, known as “Emperor.” And what joy and pleasure this CD brought me. First off, the name of the orchestra: Orchestra of Friends, which made me think, isn’t that the way it should always be? Made up of the most talented players from the triangle roughly formed by New York, Philadelphia, and the Lehigh Valley, these players are at the top of their game, and they respond acutely to every bit of guidance in Mr. Albulescu’s vision.

Naturally, neither one of these works suffers from a shortage of recorded performances over the years. However, the beauty of an interpretive art is that every single person with skill, commitment, heart, and knowledge may add their own particular touch to a work, no matter how well we think we know it. This is immediately obvious in Mr. Albulescu’s approach.

The opening tutti of the First Concerto is wonderfully phrased and detailed, incorporating many details of the historically informed performance movement, without ever seeming dry or pedantic; it wasn’t hurried through as just a “stop” on the way to the soloist’s entrance. Mr. Albulescu uses a modern Steinway concert grand, perched at a 45-degree angle toward the players to accentuate his desired chamber-music level of communication, along with modern instruments. It just goes to show, if style doesn’t reside within the musician, no amount of scholarly tedium will avail.

And what an entrance it was, embodying Mr. Albulescu’s general approach to his part as soloist, which was, to my ears, to restore some of the radical quality to the music. He plays with an almost impish rubato that is never exaggerated, most pronounced in places where the harmonic exploration is at its most adventurous. It shows that he has deeply considered where the important musical events are, and how one can stand out as soloist, while filling the dual role as conductor.

Generous pedaling, without going overboard, a real measuring of the relative harmonic weight of each chord relative to the ones around it, discreet ornamentation, fabulous trills, all these made this an exciting listen. Mr. Albulescu uses the third of three cadenzas Beethoven left for this concerto, the most “outrageous,” but also the most searching, and he really makes it sound like spontaneous improvisation, rather than something that has been rehearsed hundreds of times.

The second movement, Largo, is played with deep and beautiful singing tone, reflecting the “humanity melody” that Beethoven often turned to when in the tonality of A-flat major. The concluding Rondo, taken at a marvelously impetuous clip, shows us that Beethoven was also a man of great wit and humor, not always the dour figure that posterity has left to us.

Now turning to Opus 73, Mr. Albulescu delivers a wonderfully detailed performance on both counts: solo and orchestra. Orchestral scope enlarged in the years between Opus 15 and this one, and Beethoven’s own treatment of the concerto as a drama pitting the soloist against the orchestra changed too. Here, nothing is left to chance, after the perfunctory opening chord, the written-out cadenza begins the piece before the standard orchestral exposition. This recurs, and even near the end, Beethoven specifies, after the conventional 6/4 arrival chord: “Don’t play a cadenza here, but attack the following immediately.”

Many folks find this first movement rather relentlessly martial in character, Beethoven’s “heroic” mode, but Mr. Albulescu finds the dance within it, keeping textures marvelously transparent. Mr. Albulescu’s depth of musical thought and feeling finds full expression in his use of just the right amount of flexibility at the points of harmonic turning and arrival.

A rapt account of the slow movement, followed by the unbridled joy of the attacca rondo finale was perfectly gauged. Mr. Albulescu’s fleet immaculate articulation allowed me to perceive similarities between this finale and that of the sonata Opus 81, “Les Adieux,” not far away in Beethoven’s output, with its evocation of the dog nipping at the wheels of the carriage bringing his master home after the long absence.

The recorded sound on this disc is beautiful, the liner notes are informative, and there is even a new portrait adorning the cover, taken from a life mask of Beethoven, made by the pianist’s wife, Linda Ganus Albulescu, who is also a flutist on the recording.

Bravi to all!

Rixiang Huang, Piano

Recorded March 7, 2020, Alfred Newman Hall, University of Southern California, CA; Recording Producer, Engineer, and Editor, Josue Gonzalez;

Photographer, Jiachen Liu; Piano Technician Ann Hayden;

Booklet Editing and Art Direction, Chenting Zhao

On March 7 of this interminable pandemic season, prizewinning pianist Rixiang Huang was busy playing a highly demanding piano recital at the University of Southern California, where he is a doctoral candidate at the Thornton School of Music. From this recital, a recording was made and released commercially in April as a CD entitled “French Romance.” The recording is now available both as a physical CD (including Poulenc, Debussy, Ravel, and Mussorgsky) as well as a download-only recording (with additional tracks of Bartók and Mendelssohn). There is much to admire in it.

About the repertoire, the French works include a short song transcription from the Poulenc’s Léocadia incidental music, specifically Les chemins de l’amour, plus Ravel’s Sonatine and Debussy’s Estampes. Though entitled “French Romance” the CD contains just around thirty minutes of French music, with the other thirty-one being the great Russian masterwork, Pictures at an Exhibition by Mussorgsky. The additional download-only tracks range still more widely (with Mendelssohn’s Phantasie, Op. 28, and Bartók’s Sonata, Sz. 80), bringing the total to around an hour and a half of very diverse piano music.

About the performer, Rixiang (Ricky) Huang (https://www.rixianghuangpianist.com/) is an excellent young pianist, whose live performances of Haydn, Beethoven, Granados, and Liszt I reviewed quite favorably last year at a Bradshaw and Buono winners’ recital at Carnegie’s Weill Hall (Bradshaw & Buono Winners Recital in Review). He has won an impressive array of other prizes and accolades as well, and he currently studies with the noted pianist and conductor Jeffrey Kahane. His playing on this recording displays the tremendous technical facility and range that one heard around a year ago in live concert, and it bodes well for continued success in his career.

The disc opens nostalgically with an arrangement of Poulenc’s meltingly beautiful song Les chemins de l’amour. Once a signature piece for the legendary Jessye Norman, the music had originally been set to a heartbreaking Anouilh poem of love and loss and has since been played in various arrangements for different instruments. No transcriber is credited for Mr. Huang’s solo piano version of the song, perhaps understandably in that very little is added to the original (to keep its purity intact).  Mr. Huang lets the melody speak, as he should, and it is a poignant performance.

Debussy’s Estampes follows, and all three movements show individuality. The opening of Pagodes was a high point for this reviewer, reflecting a special sensitivity, grace, and delicate tonal shading. That sensitivity was less apparent to this listener in the second piece, Soirée dans Grenade, which suffered a bit from an almost metronomic stiffness, particularly the staccato sixteenths in measure 18 (and every analogous spot to follow). More of the crescendo in these spots (as marked even in Debussy’s manuscripts) would have lent a more human impulse and gesture to the phrasing to offset this quality. In the third and final piece of the set, Jardins sous la pluie, the drumming of the garden “rain” was quite evocative. Minor quibbles aside, many will be sure to enjoy the entire set, especially the Pagodes.

Next on the disc is Ravel’s Sonatine, and here the phrasing is flexible and singing, while still maintaining a restraint in accordance work’s neo-classical spirit. Mr. Huang shows a genuine expressiveness in the work’s central Mouvement de Menuet, and the finale, Animé, has just the right crystalline brilliance and drive.

Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition concludes the physical CD’s selections, and it does so with gusto. One may well ask why yet another recording of this well-known piece is needed (and why place one might place this juggernaut on a disc of French delicacies), but the results speak. It affords a chance for Mr. Huang to shine in almost every facet of his pianism. That is part of the goal of a debut CD, after all (which has this listener wondering why it wasn’t simply a self-titled CD rather than one shoehorned into a “French Romance” theme).

The Mussorgsky benefits here from a highly intense Gnomus and an exceptionally plaintive rendition of The Old Castle. The deft finger-work (especially in Tuileries, Limoges, and the Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks) is expert, as is the power in the lumbering – but not too slow – oxen of Bydlo, the storming of Baba Yaga, and the final Great Gate of Kiev. To play each contrasting piece with the different required touches, sounds, and moods is to master an encyclopedic range of pianism, and Mr. Huang delivers it all with seeming ease. The piece marks the end of a highly auspicious first commercial CD.

The additional digital downloads of Bartók and Mendelssohn are more than a bonus. Though the Bartók Sonata seems at first not as savage as one sometimes hears, it has instead a reined-in energy which is effective in building excitement, and Mr. Huang unleashes the accelerando to the close of the first movement with ferocity. The final movement is bristling. It may be one of this listener’s most enjoyable Bartók Sonata performances to date. Mendelssohn’s relatively underplayed Phantasie, Op. 28 is also excellent, with Mr. Huang’s fleet-fingered reading bringing it lucidity and cohesion.

One won’t find these last two pieces on the physical CD itself, so adventurous music lovers might consider purchasing the download-only version. A preview is available at https://rixianghuang.hearnow.com/. The complete recording is at Spotify, Itunes, Apple Music, and other stores.

Sabrina Xiao He, piano

Ivory Classics CD-20190

The pairing of Chinese piano music and that of Claude Debussy is a natural one, given the French fondness for Asian influences in art and music, particularly during the late-nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and the fondness for, and keen appreciation of, nature in most Asian cultures. Keywords are: autumn, moon, lake, water, spring, clouds, bamboo, river, and sunset.

Chinese-born Sabrina Xiao He released a CD of just this combination on the Ivory Classics label (Ivory Classics CD-20190), and the result is 70 minutes of beautiful, fluid, passionately engaged, often meditative playing. The piano sound is also beautifully engineered. Dr. Xiao He, a prodigy in her native China, moved to the United States to continue her musical education, completing her Doctor of Musical Arts degree, in piano performance at the University of Southern California Thornton School of Music 2018.

The first eight selections  (Peixun Chen : Autumn Moon over the Calm Lake (1975), Mingxin Du: Dance of the Waterweeds (1959), Yiqiang Sun: Spring Dance (1980), Jianzhong Wang: Colorful Clouds Chasing the Moon (1975, Ruixing Li: Little Bamboo Raft (1973), Jianzhong Wang: Liuyang River (1972), Yinghai Li: Music at Sunset (1972), Xinghai Xian/Chengzong Ying: Ode to the Yellow River (1969)) are by twentieth-century Chinese composers, all of whom are new to me. This music is becoming much better known outside of China, thankfully, through strong advocacy such as Dr. Xiao He’s.

I’m not sure I possess the innate cultural cues necessary for the involuntary response I imagine a Chinese person might have upon hearing a folksong transformed on the piano, but I can evaluate the playing itself. Dr. Xiao He has a beautiful tone and wonderful elasticity in the phrasing, her technique is fluidity itself. Her pedaling is also superb, creating the mixtures and washes so crucial to this music’s effect. I imagine she’d be successful in most any repertoire that called for sophisticated organization of textures and sound layers. If there’s a sameness to some of the Chinese selections, it’s only because they sound somewhat influenced by previous western styles, especially French.

The second half of this fine disc consists of some early and some mature Debussy. Just one critic’s pickiness: I feel she could have utilized the second book of Images instead of the ‘early’ Debussy—its third movement Poissons d’or was even inspired by the giant koi (Japanese carp) lacquered on a prized bowl that Debussy kept on his composition desk. And the first two pieces of that set also seem much more evocative of Asia than do the Arabesques or even the Ballade slave, despite the exotic titles of the latter. Even Pagodes from Estampes would have been appropriate, if obvious.

That being said, the same qualities that animated Dr. Xiao He’s Chinese repertoire are found here as well. She gives tasteful, unexaggerated accounts of the ubiquitous First and Second Arabesques and Clair de lune. The first series of Images displays Dr. Xiao He’s command of atmosphere, and a very subtle, controlled velocity in the final Mouvement, a depiction of a mechanized society, whirling away to nothingness. The Ballade slave fares very well, Xiao He even makes it sound ‘better’ than it actually is, with her trademark liquid tone. Her Feux d’artifice sounds less violent than one usually hears it, perhaps there is even a playfulness to her approach, although I always sense menace under its surface, and I longed for a bit more of that.

All in all, this is a very beautiful disc, produced with a lot of affection and thought. It is quite an achievement, and we look forward to more.

Michael Avagliano, conductor; Emil Chudnovsky, violin soloist; Julia Zilberquit, piano soloist

Merkin Hall, Kaufman Center, New York, NY

March 7, 2020

A concert advertised as an “All J.S. Bach Program” was presented at Merkin Hall, March 7, 2020, by The Bachanalia Chamber Orchestra, marking the revival of the Bachanalia Concert Series that noted violinist Nina Beilina founded in 1988. This concert was organized in her memory by her son, violinist Emil Chudnovsky, who was host, teacher, storyteller, performer, and at all times loving son as he spoke of his mother. The full hall was witness to an evening full of emotion, along with some exquisite music making.

Scheduled soloist violinist Michael Guttman cancelled due to illness, so the originally programmed Concerto for Two Violins in D minor, BWV 1043, was replaced with the Violin Concerto in E major, BWV 1042. In addition, Michael Avagliano offered his talents as conductor. Regrettably, there was no list of the names of orchestra members in the program.

The Brandenburg Concerto No. 3, BWV 1048, opened the concert.  The bold, assertive playing, combined with the impeccable articulation, precise intonation, and ensemble balance, made this listener sit up and take notice immediately. One can’t hide behind a large section in such a small ensemble – any weak players are immediately exposed. Rest assured, there are no weak players in this ensemble (and this listener was seated so close to the stage as to be able to focus on any number of individual players).

The second movement Adagio consists of a single notated measure of a Phrygian half-cadence, which invites improvisation (by harpsichord or violin), and in this case it was harpsichord. The (uncredited!) harpsichordist offered an elaborate and virtuosic cadenza, after which the orchestra launched the Allegro assai finale. The ensemble played with great brio. The audience was a bit late in reacting, as it seems that perhaps the 2nd movement confused some regarding the order of movements, but they applauded respectfully. If anything, this audience seemed a bit too restrained in their responses to these fine musicians, who deserved resounding ovations!

Mendelssohn’s Capriccio from Four Pieces for String Quartet, Op. 81, followed the Brandenburg. Wait, didn’t the publicity say “All J.S. Bach”? Mr. Chudnovsky explained to the audience about Mendelssohn’s leading role in the Bach revival, particularly the 1839 revival of St. Matthew Passion. The Capriccio prominently features a fugue. When one thinks of fugues, the name J.S. Bach is the gold standard and the undisputed master of the form. The programming of the Capriccio is what is nowadays would be called a “hat tip” to Bach. It was played with polish.

After the stage was rearranged and a piano moved to the center, Julia Zilberquit took the stage as the soloist for the Piano Concerto in D minor, BWV 1062, Michael Avagliano conducting. Your reviewer has had the pleasure of hearing Ms. Zilberquit in a past concert (Long Island Orchestra with Julia Zilberquit), so I was well aware of her qualities, both technically and artistically. I admired her approach to this work; it was free of the extravagances and eccentricities that beset too many performances. The outer movements were child’s play in her hands, but her artistry in the central Adagio was what won me over completely. It was moving without any “romanticizing,” just pure beautiful Bach. Ms. Zilberquit offered the Vivaldi-Bach Sicilienne, BWV 596, as an encore.  Let’s not forget the orchestra and Mr. Avagliano – they were every bit as compelling as Ms. Zilberquit.

After intermission, the second half opened with the Violin Concerto in E major, BWV 1042, with Mr. Chudnovsky as soloist. Perhaps due to the short notice (Mr. Guttman cancelled five days before the concert), Mr. Chudnovsky used the music. As far as I could see, he never really looked at the music a single time (although Mr. Avagliano made a deft page turn for Mr. Chudovsky as he conducted!). Whatever the case was, Mr. Chudnovsky showed no signs of rushed preparation. He played with the confidence of one who knows he has everything under control. His tone was full-bodied, his intonation impeccable, and his ensemble with the orchestra superb. It was truly impressive.

The story behind the last work on the program, the Bach-Busoni Chaconne from Violin Partita No.2, BWV 1004, is too good not to relate (which I will do very briefly). Charles Jaffe  arranged the Busoni arrangement of Bach’s monumental violin Chaconne to be played as a string quartet, then later arranged it further for string orchestra at the behest of Eugene Ormandy. When Jaffe left the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1945 to join Toscanini’s NBC Orchestra, Ormandy angrily cancelled the premiere. Fast-forwarding sixty-two years (2007) Michael Avagliano was asked to play violin at a 90th birthday party for a gentleman who “loves violin music.” That 90-year-old turned out to be…Charles Jaffe! Jaffe told Mr. Avagliano about his string quartet arrangement and gave him the music, with an additional fifth part for bass. Fast forwarding another eleven years (2018), Mr. Avagliano pulled the music out to prepare for performance, and this evening’s performance was scheduled – so, after seventy-five years, we heard the world premiere of the Bach-Busoni -Jaffe Chaconne! It was the highlight of the evening; effective, powerful, and maintaining all the grandeur of Busoni’s arrangement.  Bravo!

Zachary DePue, violin; Joana Genova, violin; Michael Isaac Strauss, viola; Austin Huntington, cello

Drew Petersen, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

March 5, 2020

The Indianapolis Quartet made an exciting, auspicious New York debut on Thursday night. It is young, as quartets go, formed only in 2016, but it has quickly rocketed to the forefront of well-deserved attention. The quartet plays standard repertoire, judiciously combined with contemporary American works, which are often written expressly for it. The ensemble’s strength is in its energetic, often kinetic, enthusiasm, and each player’s individual virtuosity and flexibility—ideal conditions for a unified group. The interpersonal communication was a joy to behold, with plenty of ease which allowed for smiling and eye contact. On this occasion the quartet played two iconic nineteenth century works (one with piano), and two contemporary works (one a world premiere).

The evening began with Frank Felice’s humorous Five Whimsies for Non-Grown-Ups, brief programmatic movements based on children’s books the composer re-acquired in adulthood (Sendak, Tolkien, Seuss, etc.). The quartet’s playing was so clear and their ensemble so perfect that I could almost “read the score” in my head, although the composer and his work were previously unknown to me. The most successful movement, for me, was “Great yawns are in blossom,” which nearly rose to Barber Adagio grandeur. The composer, in attendance, gratefully received his due applause, and showed his beaming approval of the ensemble, any composer’s dream.

The quartet followed this with a thrilling rendition of the great Schumann Piano Quintet in E-flat major, Op. 44, the first great work for this combination in the nineteenth century, acclaimed and beloved immediately after its premiere, by all except perhaps the work’s instigator: Franz Liszt, who called it “Leipzig” music. Maybe he was referring to the omnipresent squareness of phrasing. It takes a great deal of refinement to make the listener forget about that issue, and we were in good hands here, with the addition of pianist Drew Petersen (an Avery Fisher Career Grant recipient!) to the excellent quartet. This rendition thrived on the electric energy of all the players. There was only one “miscalculation” in my opinion: the second movement’s principal theme, a funeral march, should have a more searching, broken quality, more mystery; it’s very difficult to achieve, and they were in fact playing the movement in the proper tempo. The ensemble eventually got to that quality in the final page of the movement. Naturally, the quick movements were played with excitement that did not exclude sensitivity. Not only is the work cyclic, but the descending six-note “Clara” cipher appears in the first two movements, secret messages being Schumann’s default setting.

After intermission came the world premiere of Robert Paterson’s Quartet No. 3, which is also a five-movement series of programmatic content. This is high-energy music, perfectly suited to the quartet’s strengths. The Auction Chant movement was a wild romp, a description of the frenetic sing-song of a typical auctioneer, combined with witty references to country fiddling, often found in conjunction with such sales. Anthem was a humorous take on fight songs and state songs played at sporting events. The other three movements were harder to define—if one hadn’t read the program notes, perhaps they could have been about “anything,” which is a recalcitrant issue with program music ever since its beginnings. Nevertheless, they provided a great vehicle to display the Indianapolis’ many virtues. Paterson, also in attendance, took his bow to the roar of the appreciative audience.

The group closed with Debussy’s iconic String Quartet in G minor, “Opus 10,” which is funny because it is the only work with an opus number in Debussy’s output, added by his reluctant publisher to make it seem more “official.” This is a monothematic, four-movement work, with constantly shifting, elusive harmonic subtleties, modal inclinations, and the groundbreaking “tritone dominant,” in this case G-C sharp (sometimes spelled D-flat), which occurs not only melodically, but in the tonal relationships of the movements. Here the Indianapolis Quartet showed its most ravishing playing of the night. They fully revealed the inherent beauty and mystery in the score, creating ethereal dynamic contrasts, while faithfully executing everything this elaborate work demands. It was a dazzling achievement.

Aleksander Simic, cello

Tatiana Goncharova, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall

Tuesday, February 25, 2020, 8 PM

By any standard of measurement, 16-year-old Austrian-born cellist Aleksander Simic (his parents are Hungarian-Serbian) made a very impressive recital debut on Wednesday in New York. Sixteen, let’s let that sink in. Although his program was conservative chronologically (all nineteenth century), it contained two demanding standard repertoire masterpieces, and two showpieces, all played with sweet tone, sufficient, sometimes awe-inspiring, technique, and an un-showy focus that is often rare in young people. Mr. Simic was ably assisted by the hyper-refined pianist Tatiana Goncharova, who was the picture of deference, providing a plush red carpet for Simic to walk on. My only reservation, aside from the short-stick used on the Steinway, was that perhaps she was too deferent, a common enough concern in cello-piano recitals. Fear of balance however, sometimes made her well-phrased contributions take a back seat to the soloist rather than sound like strands fully participating in the musical conversation. She did break out fully late in the program, to my great pleasure (see below).

The recital began with the treacherous Sonata in A minor, D. 821, the“Arpeggione.”. This work, written for a now-extinct instrument (except for museum collections), is almost always played on the cello. Poor old arpeggione, a six-stringed instrument, fretted like a guitar but bowed like a cello. The fear in modern cello performances (which have four strings) is that the work will become a strenuous acrobatic display; its reaches into the upper notes of the instrument are relentless, yet they must sound lyrical and ‘easy.’ Mr. Simic gave us no cause for apprehension—in fact, his handling of the high registers was assured all evening. The lyricism so crucial to this work’s success was revealed so sensitively, my only concern was that there was a certain emotional distance, it seemed almost too reserved, though lovely.

Next came one of Paganini’s ‘trick’ showpieces, originally for violin. The legend dates back to Paganini’s manic touring in early nineteenth century Europe. He’d play so violently that he’d break one of his strings, continue the recital with just three strings, break another one, continue with two, then break that one and continue with just one string. Of course, all this was figured out way ahead of time, but nonetheless impressive. The Variations on One String on a theme from Rossini’s Mosè in Egitto is that piece, and it still stuns when given a passionate run-through on the cello. Here, Mr. Simic showed his ebullience, both in the lyric line and the busy interrupting cadenzas (a quality we would hear later in the program as well). The lavishly printed and photographed program that was distributed didn’t even mention the ‘one-string’ part of the title, and I’m not sure the nearly sold-out audience even realized what an achievement they were hearing.

After intermission, the duo returned with Brahms’ great Cello Sonata No.1 in E Minor, Op. 38, the fruit of his incessant study of baroque counterpoint, in this case Bach’s magisterial summation: Die Kunst der Fuge. The first and third of the three movements are based on permutations of themes from it. (There was a destroyed Adagio movement at one point, what a loss!) Here Mr. Simic stepped fully into the music, and he showed a great deal more emotional vividness (his eyes also traveled a bit more toward the score, which he had ignored completely in the first half). His sound, it was very good to note, changed and became much more appropriately muscular. In the first movement, I wished for more left-hand sound from Ms. Goncharova (see above), as it contains a lot of motivic content, but in the difficult fugal finale, both players really “let it rip,” providing the most satisfying combination of the evening.

Then came the final showstopper, David Popper’s Hungarian Rhapsody, Op. 68. Any number of pianists would recognize at least two of its themes, they served Liszt well in his own Hungarian Rhapsodies. Nowadays it is “politically correct” to note that this genre of work bears no resemblance to authentic Romany music; they are westernized versions, music played by strolling “gypsy” violinists in cafes, using some stereotyped gestures and melodies. But why let that get in the way of our enjoyment, especially when they’re in the hands of such a gifted player as Mr. Simic? Here, he let his impish side come out a bit more (though his focus and concentration never called attention to himself), and the work certainly thrives when the player “winks” at the audience as if to say: “See, not only can I do that, I just did it.” The alternations of lassu and fris, interspersed with crazily florid cadenzas testing every harmonic, were spooled out in masterly fashion. The hall went wild, and deservedly so.

Mr. Simic and Ms. Goncharova favored us with Elgar’s Salut d’amour (another violin original), which was sweetly played. He is sixteen after all, and I suspect that there will be more, shall we say, ‘subtext’ to a morceau like this as he grows and matures. A very impressive player though, also photogenic (which is important), and definitely a “rising star.”

Alexei Tartakovsky, piano

Baisley Powell Elebash Recital Hall, The Graduate Center, CUNY, New York, NY

February 24, 2020

Pianist Alexei Tartakovsky appeared at Baisley Powell Elebash Recital Hall at the CUNY Graduate Center as part of the Ph.D/D.M.A. Programs in Music on February 24, 2020. He is currently pursuing his doctorate with Richard Goode at CUNY Graduate Center, where he was awarded the Graduate Center Fellowship.

Mr. Tartakovsky has an impressive list of accomplishments that the reader can learn more about by visiting https://www.atartakovsky.com/. His program was all twenty-four of Chopin’s Op. 28 Preludes, Einojuhani Rautavaara’s Passionale, and Schubert’s Sonata in B-flat major, D. 960.

The first half consisted of the Chopin. These Preludes have loomed large in this reviewer’s personal and professional life, and consequently, some rather strong opinions have developed about how these pieces should be played. (The reader might already be thinking that my objectivity is compromised, but rest assured I do not claim to own the truth, only my truth.)

Mr. Tartakovsky’s excellent program notes about the Preludes quote Schumann (some rather backhanded compliments), and Liszt (more generous praise). I would like to add two more. Musicologist Henry Finck said that, “if all piano music in the world were to be destroyed, excepting one collection, my vote should be cast for Chopin’s Preludes.” Chopin biographer Jeremy Nicholas writes that, “Even on their own, the 24 Preludes would have ensured Chopin’s claim to immortality.”

With all that being said, let’s get to it. Mr. Tartakovsky’s conception of the preludes is to treat the set as a single work with (as he states in his notes) “a clear beginning, middle, and end.” I am in general agreement with this concept, even if there is dispute over whether this was Chopin’s actual intent. It is a thoughtful, intelligent approach, and given Mr. Tartakovsky’s consistency in overall style, it also was compelling. That style was one of avoidance of any overt emotion or any exaggerated romanticism, basically “playing it straight.” For this listener, it struck me as overly cautious. It is certainly not a question a technique, as Mr. Tartakovsky has more than enough firepower to handle these works, and his accuracy was outstanding. I’m not wanting hyper-exaggerated emoting, but a little more exploration of emotional depth in a few preludes (notably the E minor, the F# major, and the A-flat major). To be fair, the G major and C# minor were exquisitely done, the D-flat major “Raindrop” had a surprising freshness of quality for such a well-known work, and the B-flat minor (which has caused innumerable pianists to crash and burn as they flew off the rails catastrophically) was lightning fast with each note clearly articulated – truly exceptional. Honorable mentions go to the E-flat major (another ferociously difficult prelude that has snuffed out the dreams of many a pianist), and the final Prelude in D minor. After the last of the three hammer blows on the low D, the audience gave Mr. Tartakovsky a standing ovation.

After intermission, Mr. Tartakovsky opened with Passionale, written in 2003 by Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara. This listener is an admirer of Rautavaara’s works, so it was a wonderful bonus to hear this piece. Rautavaara is “modern” (for lack of a better term) in his harmonic language, but always remains highly accessible to the listener. Passionale is the modern Chopin or Liszt in its romantic conception, but the sound is unmistakably Rautavaara. Mr. Tartakovsky really let loose and “went for it” in a fantastic performance. It was easily the favorite of the night for this listener.

After the Passionale, Mr. Tartakovsky returned to the thoughtful, intellectual side with Schubert’s Sonata in B-flat major, D. 960. Written in the last year of Schubert’s life (1828), it was not published until ten years after the composer’s death. Mr. Tartakovsky writes in his notes that “one can’t help but feel that this sonata is Schubert’s epitaph to himself,” which is not altogether without reason. Thematic material and ideas from previous works abound throughout. Mr. Tartakovsky’s artistry was on full display here. The long lines and autumnal qualities that are much more difficult to render effectively than many realize were done with a natural, organic quality. It’s another thing to keep the listener involved in this very long sonata, but the audience was held in rapt attention, which is no mean feat. I have observed much restlessness from listeners in other performances (by “big name” artists), and that was not the case here. Mr. Tartakovsky can be proud of his superb playing. The audience rewarded him with a loud and extended standing ovation.

Mr. Tartakovsky offered two encores, Schubert’s Liebesbotschaft arranged by Liszt and Chopin’s Waltz in A-flat major, Op. 34. No.1, both played with graceful elegance.