Personal Demons: Lowell Liebermann, pianist, in music of Liszt, Schubert, Busoni, Miloslav Kabeláč, and Lowell Liebermann, Steinway & Sons 30172

Turning in Time: Kinga Augustyn, violinist, in music of Elliott Carter, Luciano Berio, Krzysztof Penderecki, Grażyna Bacewicz, Isang Yun, and Debra Kaye, Centaur Records CRC3836

American Violin Sonatas: Ting-Lan Chen, violin; Nathan Buckner, piano, in music of Rubin Goldmark and Alexander Reinagle, Albany Records TROY1840

News of quarantines and lockdowns may accentuate what musicians have not been doing, but what some have been doing is quite exciting, and three recordings that landed in my mailbox are good examples. Two are of new or unfamiliar violin music (solo and with piano) released within the past few months, and one is a two-CD set of all solo piano music to be released February 5.

Though the three recordings are quite different, they all share the qualities of exploration – exploration of deferred personal repertoire dreams (or “personal demons” in the case of Lowell Liebermann’s CD), exploration of expanding roles as performer and composer (in Personal Demons as well as American Violin Sonatas), and the exploration of how our music connects us to other periods in history (in all three, but overtly in Kinga Augustyn’s Turning in Time).

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Starting with the upcoming release, it is an honor to recommend the double-CD set on the Steinway & Sons label entitled Personal Demons, featuring world-renowned composer Lowell Liebermann (lowellliebermann.com), one I’ve admired for several decades. Here he is heard in the role of pianist. Though there is nothing new about Lowell Liebermann’s pianistic strengths (as the idiomatic keyboard writing in his compositions will attest), Personal Demons marks his first solo CD in which he is the pianist, and he is outstanding.

In addition to playing his own Gargoyles, Apparitions, and Nocturne, No. 10, Op. 99 – an education for those who have played these – he offers a selection of formidable works by other composers. As Mr. Liebermann writes, “Personal Demons consists of music that I have been personally haunted by – pieces written by other composers that have preoccupied me and inspired me for most of my compositional career, ones that ‘I wish I wrote.’ Framing these are three of my own pieces that have special significance for me.”

Least known on the two discs may be the Preludes, Op. 30 of Czech composer Miloslav Kabeláč (1908-1979), which bear some kinship to the music of Kabeláč’s countryman Janáček. Kabeláč has a highly sympathetic interpreter in Lowell Liebermann, and these miniatures emerge as treasures. Some musicians may be inspired to purchase the set for these gems alone, but Mr. Liebermann closes the first disc with the hair-raising Totentanz of Franz Liszt, which he plays with ferocity – and then there’s disc two.

On the set’s second disc, after his own marvelous Apparitions, Mr. Liebermann plays the Variations on a Theme of Hüttenbrenner, D. 576, by Franz Schubert, a composer whose music he cherishes, as he reveals in his personal and informative program notes. The D. 576 Variations are striking for their harmonic twists and turns, and though some pianists (the relatively few who play them) tend to smooth things over as if to disguise what may be perceived as quirks, they are all consciously laid out here in what is a faithful and insightful performance.

As if these works were not already enough unusual fare to draw pianophiles, Mr. Liebermann includes the monstrous Fantasia Contrappuntistica (solo piano version) by Ferrucio Busoni. The latter is a notoriously massive undertaking, musically and pianistically – Herculean striving with Bachian inspiration at its core. To be frank, I’ve never taken to this piece and would probably only enjoy it upon consumption of some mind-expanding drug, but Mr. Liebermann’s version will undoubtedly take an important place alongside the not too numerous versions available. Bravo for taking it on – and with mastery!

For this listener, a high point was hearing the closing work, Mr. Liebermann’s own Nocturne No. 10, Op. 99, written in memory of the composer Gian Carlo Menotti. Between the potent lyricism of the composition itself and the expressive performance, it is extremely moving, making a fitting closing statement to follow so many pianistic adventures.

Speaking of adventures, one reads in the credits that Mr. Liebermann recorded these two discs in August and November of 2020, mid-pandemic, at the studio of recording wizard Sergei Kvitko in Lansing, Michigan; this was at a time when many were reluctant to step outside, let alone travel from the East coast. Congratulations are in order to all involved in this meaningful achievement.

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Switching gears to violin it is a pleasure to recommend the new CD Turning in Time (released by Centaur Records in 2021), featuring all solo works played by young violinist Kinga Augustyn, whose career I’ve followed for about a decade now (kingaaugustyn.com). Ms. Augustyn has the natural musicality, keen intellect, and highly developed technique to turn the thorniest of compositions into child’s play, and so it is hard to imagine a better advocate than she is for a program of such challenging violin works of the 20th and 21st centuries.

According to the author of the program notes, Ted Mirecki, the term “modern” in music is often used in a pejorative sense to denote “a radical departure from the past”, and in his words “this collection refutes that conception – it demonstrates that musical ideas, turning in time, represent a continuum over the past several centuries. Specifically, the spirit of J. S. Bach pervades many of the works.” (The latter is a worthy connection to strive to hear, though of course the listener hoping for something resembling Bach tonally may be surprised.)

Starting off with Four Lauds of Elliott Carter, (dedicated to musicians Aaron Copland, Goffredo Petrassi, Robert Mann, and Roger Sessions), Ms. Augustyn opens with a beautiful sound right from the start. One is reminded of yet another reason “modern” is sometimes used pejoratively, and the reason is that not every violinist is Kinga Augustyn! The screeching and scratching that some associate with the music of our time may often be due not to the compositions but to the players; Ms. Augustyn, though, has intonation so true and a tone so singing that one can imagine a listener actually humming a few bars of Four Lauds after hearing her. One is not told whether Elliott Carter (who passed away in 2012) ever heard Ms. Augustyn play these, but one can imagine that he would have been delighted to know and work with her.

Fortunately, two composers heard on this disc did meet this violinist, and two World Premieres of their works are presented here, the Capriccio (2008) by Krzysztof Penderecki (1933-2020) and the title work, Turning in Time (2018) by Debra Kaye (b. 1956).

The Penderecki Capriccio is highly virtuosic in what is described in the booklet notes as a “neo-Romantic” (imagine a Paganini work updated with wider range, playing behind the bridge, etc.). This piece seems absolutely tailor-made for Ms. Augustyn, who has recorded all the Paganini Caprices and could probably toss them off while catching a train. A 2013 photo in the CD booklet of a smiling Penderecki with Ms. Augustyn seems to foretell of this impressive premiere, though the notes don’t mention the details of whether he heard it or not before he passed away in 2020 (the recording sessions were in 2017, 2018, and 2019 at Martin Patrych Studios in New York, engineered by the much sought-after Joseph Patrych).

Turning in Time, the final track and title work for the CD, was written expressly for Ms. Augustyn, who requested from composer Debra Kaye that it make reference to Bach’s Chaconne from the Partita No. 2 in D minor, and it is a tour de force. It is (in the composer’s words), “21st century music periodically interspersed with Bach-like phrases, motifs returning in new variations, juxtaposing past and present, reflecting on things that have changed and what remains the same, in a conversation between the ‘then’ and the ‘now’.” Ms. Augustyn conveys all of this, and the highly expressive ending phrase from the Bach Chaconne itself leaves one with chills after so much dissonance. One can’t help thinking how interesting it would be to pair this in a concert with the entire Bach Partita No. 2 – what better way to illustrate the proposed continuum than to integrate eras and styles?

Other works on the CD are Luciano Berio’s Sequenza VIII (1976), an exhaustive exploration of an adjacent-note motif, Grazyna Bacewicz’s Sonata No. 2 (1958), given a lucid and cohesive rendition here, and Isang Yun’s compelling Bachian work, Königliches Thema (1976). As well-conceived as the CD is, each work on it deserves to be heard in its own space, which is another good reason for the serious listener to own the CD and spread out the listening. Brava!

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We’ve now recommended a piano CD followed by a violin CD, and we’ll close by recommending a disc of music for piano and violin, entitled American Violin Sonatas (Albany Records). It features World Premiere recordings of two works that are quite late in achieving this distinction, the Sonata in B minor, Op. 4 of Rubin Goldmark (1872-1936), and the Sonata in F Major (c. 1790) of Alexander Reinagle (1756-1809), composed around a century apart. The artists are violinist Ting-Lan Chen and pianist Nathan Buckner, who have performed worldwide, working with many of the greatest musicians of our day, and who are currently Professors of Violin and Piano respectively at the University of Nebraska-Kearney.

On top of offering the pleasure of musical discovery, this CD is important historically for filling in gaps in the discography of American music. If one wants to learn about American violin-piano concert music before 1900 (aside from a couple of other composers such as Beach and Foote), a key figure to know is Reinagle. He was central in Philadelphia musical life from his arrival to the US in 1786, and though some may know of his four largescale works dubbed the “Philadelphia” Sonatas, the Sonata in F recorded here has remained unknown in what is believed to be its intended form, due to a missing violin part, either lost or not notated (though there is a recording of it as a piano piece – and in comparing recorded versions, one will notice that the addition of a sustaining instrument affords a much more spacious feel, encouraging a slower tempo in the last movement and naturally adding variety of line and texture).

Enter pianist Nathan Buckner, who with some creative scholarship, imagination, and the musicological equivalent of time travel, created a violin part for it in 2015. One could almost miss from the liner notes that he was the one behind this completion, though his work qualifies as a kind of composing; many pianists might be announcing the upcoming publication of their “signature edition” but not here (though by the way, where and when will that printed edition be available?). Mr. Buckner describes the violin part as filling “the modest English role for the violin typical of Clementi’s work rather than Mozart’s more elaborate use.” In any case, a recital-worthy sonata has been reborn, and it received its recorded premiere just a few months ago in October of 2020.

All that background would be chiefly of theoretical interest without musical quality, but Mr. Buckner and Ms. Chen join in a seamless collaboration of polish and grace. They place the music front and center at all times, and it is a joy to hear. They enhance what the music has to offer, its thematic interest, thoughtful development, drama, and lyricism. The third movement has an infectious energy that brings Haydn and other Classical greats to mind.

In addition to the Reinagle, the CD features the premiere of Rubin Goldmark’s Sonata in B minor, Op. 4. For those unfamiliar with Goldmark, he was a pupil of Dvorak and a teacher in New York whose many illustrious students included Gershwin and Copland. He was Chair of Composition for the newly created Juilliard School starting in 1924 but sometimes is lost in history’s shuffle next to his musical uncle, Karl Goldmark. His Sonata in B minor is yet another great discovery, this time in a late Romantic vein, with some noticeable influence of Brahms and Dvorak for obvious reasons. It is a sprawling work, overflowing with impassioned phrases and harmonies and quite demanding for both instruments, but, thanks to the ample technique, sensitivity, and cohesion in the duo of Chen and Buckner, the performance invites the listener in to love it. One wants to hear it repeatedly (and really should in order to assimilate it fully) – especially that sumptuous second movement – so it will be one to own.

Both Reinagle and Goldmark were recorded in July of 2018, at the Foellinger Great Hall at Krannert Center for the Performing Arts, University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, with excellent recording/engineering by Graham Duncan and Richard Scholwin. Collectors and music lovers may find the recording here and other major music CD vendors:

American Violin Sonatas.

The McCormick Percussion Group

Robert McCormick, director

Julia Keller, double bass; Eunmi Ko, piano; Sini Virtanen, violin

Ravello Records

Catalog #: RR8037

A very stimulating recent arrival across my pandemic-starved desk was Strings & Hammers, a CD of contemporary music with strong social consciousness themes underlying each work. Of course, the critic’s job is to state if the music works “as music” without reference to the declared program. I am happy to report that this recording does so amply.

The very resourceful pianist Eunmi Ko had the initial idea for this suite of works. She is a member of the unusual piano trio “Strings & Hammers” (piano, violin, double bass), though I have heard her shine in more traditional repertoire (Eunmi Ko in Review ). She is a well-known champion of contemporary and under-programmed music, to which her virtuosity adds the excitement that may just get people interested in it.

Ms. Ko bravely dares to do what generations of piano teachers have insistently tried to eradicate from their students: recognize the essential percussive nature of the instrument. Of course, hammers do rise and strike strings, and sound immediately begins to decay—this is just physical fact. Any “singing tone” we impart to the piano is caused by mastering aural illusions through creative use of the pedal and gentle transmission of energy from the fingers, combined with the listener’s willingness to sustain tone in the mind. Ms. Ko’s repertoire of colors prevents her from sounding harsh however, and with the wide variety of repertoire on this disc, the ear never tires.

The opening work is Anthony R. Green’s Piano Concerto: Solution, commissioned by Ms. Ko and Mr. McCormick. The two movement titles, Tension and Solution, are a clever play on the harmony terms tension and resolution. Tension opens with three and a half minutes of kinetic energy and a piano solo that, due to Mr. Green’s compositional skill and Ms. Ko’s playing, makes the soloist sound like she has at least three hands, so instantaneous are her shifts from both extremes of the keyboard to whirring material in the middle register. Had Debussy lived another hundred years, I imagine Mouvement from Images, premier livre could have sounded like this. At this three-and-a half minute mark, clapping, footwork, brushing, and eventually vocalizations begin to cooperate and contrast with the piano part in rhythmically complicated patterns that gradually subside to the end of the movement. The second movement, Solution, begins shrouded in darkness and mystery in the piano, though it does “wake up” about three minutes in. Perhaps solutions are not easily gained. The sonorities are hauntingly beautiful.

Eduardo Costa Roldán’s Pulsar thrives marvelously on the extremes of sonority that are obtainable when piano, violin, double-bass, and percussion combine. The shifting rhythmic patterns, cleverly united through a constant pulse, provide maximum interest. The work builds to a climax and then seems to vanish into cold, interstellar space.

Memento Mori (a reminder of one’s mortality) by Emily Koh begins with ominous rumblings in the percussion, followed by the lowest notes of the double-bass, which is cleverly combined with the violin to create one “super” instrument. This seems to open up a cavernous tomb-space into which have fallen: humanity, civility, morals, courage, empathy, compassion, logic, common sense, and backbone (according to the composer). The work ends with the highest whistle-tone harmonics the violin can provide. Is it a message of angelic hope? Whether this work succeeds as a “charge for those who still stand righteous and strong to fight back and never back down” is for each listener to determine. Ms. Koh calls this work a surreptitious “concerto for superbass and percussion.”

Ice Concerto (for violin solo and percussion ensemble) by Jarkko Hartikainen was commissioned by this recording’s virtuoso soloist: Sini Virtanen. It represents its titular element in all its shifting forms—as temperatures rise (climate change) the ice becomes water, even gas. Overall, the work does create a frozen, glassy effect. Things “heat up” approaching the end, but they subside into eerie high pizzicati in the violin.

Before I speak of the concluding work, a word about the McCormick Percussion Group—these players are at the top of their game. Their virtuosity on the stunningly wide array of instruments, coupled with sensitivity to the huge variety of sonorities called for, makes for unparalleled performances.

Alessandro Annunziata’s often jazzy Apollon is an ingenious evocation of the Greek god of music, prophecy, and healing. The three sections, played without pause, are titled Delphoi (the oracle), Logos (the word), and Ekstasis (the state of being beside, or outside, oneself). It is scored for piano and six percussionists. I’m almost certain that the traditional piano teachers mentioned above would be very happy with Ms. Ko’s beautiful tone throughout. After one has been to the oracle and received the word, one is indeed transported ‘outside’ oneself.

This disc may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but if you try it, I guarantee that your listening will be expanded to include a wider scope of sound, beautifully played. The physical disc is nicely produced, and the recorded sound is beautiful.

Aliya Turetayeva, piano

KNS Classical

Kazakhstan-born Aliya Turetayeva’s new album is devoted to two major solo piano works by Schumann: the Piano Sonata No. 2 in G minor, Op. 22, and the large set of “fantasies in the style of Callot” (Schumann’s original subtitle) called Kreisleriana, inspired by E.T.A. Hoffmann. The two works enjoy certain similarities, including G minor/B-flat major polarity, constant rhythmic displacement, and white-hot restlessness. Strictly speaking, of course, the sonata is not a fantasy, but I’d like to think the pianist is hearkening to the German word Phantasie (imagination), with which Schumann was abundantly blessed.

In the first movement of the sonata, Ms. Turetayeva plays with uncommon musicality and detailed phrasing, however, the movement is marked so rasch wie möglich (as fast as possible, a typical hyperbolic indication by Schumann), and Ms. Turetayeva never sounds quite breathless enough, or “on the absolute limit” of what is achievable. She often breathes deeply between phrases, normally an admirable quality, but one which interrupts the collective rush. I’d like to hear the same thoughtfulness kicked up two notches.

The second movement, Andantino, is a reworking of one of Schumann’s early songs: Im Herbste (In Autumn, poem by Kerner), and here Ms. Turetayeva’s pianism is gorgeously still and full of quiet longing: “Be silent, you little birds,/So that I, I alone,/May sing and blossom for her.” Both the Scherzo and the concluding Rondo: Presto share the same lack of extremity that I noted in the first movement. Clearly, Ms. Turetayeva is a wonderful lyrical player, and it is a pleasure to hear a young pianist who considers every note and phrase deeply, but when in Schumann’s world, one has to partake of the disturbed quality or it all winds up sounding a bit cautious—a little more Florestan to balance the Eusebius.

Ms. Turetayeva fares much better in the eight pieces of Kreisleriana, a diary of pathological sensitivity, where she begins with exactly that passionate surge I wished for earlier. Her imagination is quite original, and she takes the middle section of the first piece a lot slower than the two outer sections, which is a valid choice, however, I’d suggest she explore keeping the same tempo to see if anything occurs to her.

In the second piece, Ms. Turetayeva hesitates before every downbeat in the theme that recurs so often. If it were done once, it could be very effective. She plays the longer second edition (overseen by Clara Schumann and Brahms), which some scholars say should be retired, for it makes nearly everything symmetrical, adding repeats where Schumann didn’t want them and occasionally removing them where he did. Clara, ever the performer, pleaded with the composer to write something “a bit more comprehensible” for her audiences, saying that these pieces “frightened” her. Although Schumann claimed to have composed the set in four days, it underwent a very long period of revision (at least five years).

The fourth piece is another highlight, leading directly into a wonderfully light and spirited rendition of the fifth. I suspected that Ms. Turetayeva’s rendition of the sixth piece would be wonderful, and it did not disappoint, with its fragmented reference to the Grossvatertanz (concluding piece played at every ball, also found in Papillons and Carnaval). There was plenty of fire in the seventh piece, though she did render some portato indications as outright staccati. The final piece was beautifully played, but I prefer a bit more of the “death on a pale horse” quality- Erlking galloping away with his victim. Ms. Turetayeva has a habit of repeating the exact rubato on every recurrence of a phrase, and the downbeat hesitation again interferes with ideal accumulation of panicked momentum.

For those who like their Schumann ultra-contemplative, this is the recording for you. The program notes are very heartfelt, though they could have used closer inspection by someone fluent in English, and the recorded sound is a bit “close” for my taste, but it enables one to hear Ms. Turetayeva’s detailed account of this complex music. Congratulations to Ms. Turetayeva, I’m sure she will go far in her career.

Vladimir Tiagunov, pianist

Released by Record Union, May 6, 2020

Catalog Number: RU 233600

UPC: 7321170125946

It is a brave new world for this classical music reviewer to receive a Spotify link to review an album, but that was the case with a new recording released on the Record Union platform by pianist Vladimir Tiagunov (vladimirtiagunov.com), a young pianist with considerable passion and drive.

Not a “cookie-cutter” pianist, Mr. Tiagunov is a pianist of bold gestures, projecting a large spirit but sometimes a nonchalance about details. Those “details” here include the instrumental sound and editing, so this recording is neither for the faint of heart nor for lovers of the pristine; it promises, however, not to be dull.

Mr. Tiagunov’s programming is also largescale. Here he plays a generous and demanding recital of Beethoven’s Sonata in F minor Op. 57 (Appassionata), Schubert’s Fantasy, Op. 15 (Wanderer), the second (A-flat major) of the Moments Musicaux D. 780, six Chopin Études from Op. 10, and Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. Though no details of recording are given (where it all was recorded, by whom and when, and whether in several days or in one continuous recital), one surmises from his selections that he is a pianist of considerable stamina and dauntless courage.

Mr. Tiagunov starts his program with Beethoven’s Op. 57. Playing a questionably serviced piano of rough sound, with what seems to have been minimal editing, he still conveys enough of the work’s inherent drama to distract the listener’s ears from the rawness of both most of the time. The first movement has a good deal of excitement. Having heard the many highly edited performances of this work that are available today, one fares best if not listening microscopically but with a certain aural “squint” to imagine it as a live performance.

In a live performance, one imagines the pacing would be more natural also. Perhaps it is the way Spotify streams from track to track, but there seems to be much too much haste between the Beethoven’s first and second movements, ruining any preparation for the meditative music ahead. (One hopes that this rapid segue is not where the attention-deficit modern listening experience is headed!) Then, in the second movement, the piano (which elsewhere one would describe as serviceable at best) becomes hard to bear. There is a twangy quality to the bass that grows more and more disturbing, especially for those low offbeats, which also sound unduly poked out. One wonders at this point why a pianist of such dedication has not held out for a better recording situation. If someone with the means is reading this review: please buy or lend this young pianist a better instrument and perhaps more leisurely recording session!

Not all of this reviewer’s reservations are related to equipment. Two diminished chords at the end of the central movement are further examples of haste – and it is not just a matter of the fermata of the first one being undetectable, but that its half-note value is actually shortchanged. One wonders where the fire is. Possibly such haste stems from an awareness that there is still the Wanderer, more Schubert, six Chopin Etudes, and Mussorgsky’s Pictures yet to come, but if so, then a “less is more” approach to programming may help future albums. I personally prefer hearing a single piece with ample time for full note values to speak, rather than feeling I am on a high-speed train with quick stops for major masterworks.

The finale of the Beethoven fares best of the three movements. Here, the same urgency that detracts from other movements creates an edge-of-seat excitement. I enjoyed it overall, a few raced measures notwithstanding.

Moving on to the Chopin Études, Op. 10, there is much to admire. The first in C major has a live brilliance to it. This brilliance at times verges on the breathlessness of an athletic contest (with the occasional smudged notes that beset live performance and usually get tidied up in the studio), but all in all it is effective. The second Étude in A minor goes at quite a clip as well. Though one misses some details underlying the prominent tops, the outlines and continuity are always there.

The third Étude in E major communicates a heartfelt involvement that I appreciate greatly, occasional eccentricities and all. There are extremes of speed beyond the usual range and some very personal liberties, plus more of the tonal issues already mentioned, and yet the individuality brings it a freshness that is much needed after hearing the sameness of so many recordings. Similar sincere lyricism is heard as well in the Étude No. 6 in E-flat minor, emerging as quite soulful despite the heaviness of the instrument.

For lovers of sheer speed, No. 4 in C-sharp minor is wildly fast, and No. 12 in C minor (the “Revolutionary” Etude) enjoys plenty of surging and roiling energy from Mr. Tiagunov’s left hand.

Moving on to Schubert, we hear the second (A-flat) of the Six Moments Musicaux, Andantino. Here the music is treated with a welcome spaciousness, and it creates an effective stylistic transition to the world of Schubert for the Wanderer Fantasy. Anyone who has played the Wanderer knows it is a beast (even Schubert who composed it was known to have said “let the devil play it”), but Mr. Tiagunov seems to take special pleasure in tackling such beasts. He fares well, with masses of leaping chords and arpeggios well in hand and not too many bruises. Mr. Tiagunov lets the heavenly Adagio section speak eloquently from its opening phrases and expansively rolled chords through to the build-up to the next movement – with again, much to admire.

In a surfeit of riches, more virtuosity follows with Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. There are few surprises here except more speed in several spots than one has generally heard. This pianist moves especially briskly through the opening Promenade. It holds together well, but it can also hold together with more relaxed pacing.

High marks go to Gnomus, with its trills having just the right snarly, menacing quality, plus the appropriately childlike Tuileries, the fittingly lumbering Bydlo, and the atmospheric Old Castle. Mr. Tiagunov fares especially well in the muscular and clearly contrasting sections. The characters in Goldenberg and Schmuyle emerge as just the right foils for each other, and the Baba-Yaga movement shows brilliance and power.

Promenade No. 3 is quite fast – again begging the question of where the fire is – but there is surely some reason behind it. The Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks I’ve heard played more lightly, but again, little about this entire recording emphasizes delicacy. Cum mortuis in lingua mortua could also be softer to gain more mystery.

The final Great Gate of Kiev finds Mr. Tiagunov closing the recital in his element, and many will undoubtedly enjoy hearing him play it in live concert when the pandemic is over. For those who cannot wait, this recording can serve as a fair substitute.

The album contains 30 tracks and is distributed to all top digital music services: AppleMusic, Spotify, YouTubeMusic, Pandora, Tidal, Deezer, and others.

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.