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The Hilton Head International Piano Competition presents 2019 First Prize Winner Chaeyoung Park in Review

Chaeyoung Park, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 27, 2019

A day of heavy windswept rain gave way to a lovely sunset, which seemed a symbol for the impressive, successful award recital by Chaeyoung Park, the latest first prize winner of the prestigious Hilton Head International Piano Competition. Only 22, Ms. Park (currently a Juilliard student) has already had numerous successes in the important competition scene, and appears regularly with orchestra and in chamber music.

Ms. Park’s program was thoughtful, focusing on rarely heard items—not the standard “debut” fare. The second half provided one repertory staple, to be discussed below. Her strengths, as shown on Sunday night, are: a refined ear for piano color, excellent use of pedaling to create sophisticated mixes of sound, total concentration, rock-steady technical means, and not a single note played without thought and feeling, while remaining spontaneous.

She opened with four pieces from Gyögy Ligeti’s Musica ricercata (1951/53, premiered 1969), that systematic exploration (ricercare: seeking) of every possibility for a work based on just one note (until the end), then two, then three, etc., until the eleventh piece gives us all twelve notes. It was banned from performance by the Soviets in the 1950s as too radical. Ms. Park chose two lively and two introspective pieces from the set, including the mournful memorial to Ligeti’s fellow countryman Béla Bartók, which connected nicely with the final work on the first half (see below). Her rendering of the fourth piece, a limping waltz “on a barrel organ” even seemed to relate to the Ravel that followed. In these brief but accessible works, Park immediately displayed her great personality, a characteristic that defined the whole night.

Following that, Ravel’s Valses nobles et sentimentales (1911), a set of seven waltzes plus a nostalgic epilogue, was given a bold reading whose only fault was excessive rubato. This work, which meant a great deal to Ravel personally, has a score that abounds in descriptive terms such as avec une expression intense, très expressif, and even the dreaded word rubato. The trick is, however, to apply these nuances in two ways: 1) Only where indicated, and 2) Minimally. Henriette Faure, a pianist who was the first ever to present Ravel’s complete piano music in Paris in the early 1920s, and who was coached by the composer, relates what a “frightful burden” it was to work on these waltzes in particular with Ravel, that he was a “human metronome.” For some reason, Ms. Park omitted the obligatory repeat of the second section of waltz no. 4. Nevertheless, Ms. Park’s conviction carried the work. The seventh waltz, which Ravel regarded as the most characteristically Viennese, and the Epilogue were both ravishing.

The first half concluded with Bartók’s suite Out of Doors (1926), which Ms. Park admirably describes as “a recreation of the natural world, raw and undecorated.” Her ability to create sonic atmosphere at the keyboard was fully realized here, especially in the haunting evocation of nighttime in the fourth movement. She had the knack of organizing all of Bartók’s material into compelling emotion-containing phrases and groups. The score makes fierce demands dynamically, and I urge Ms. Park to consult the many recordings that the composer, a virtuoso pianist, made of his own works. Even when fortissimo is called for, he never sounds percussive. Some of her big dynamics were overplayed, though they were always part of her complete emotional commitment. This is not a “careful” competition winner, and Hilton Head is to be commended for consistently choosing such fine musicians.

After intermission came Brahms’ monumental Piano Sonata No. 3 in F minor, Op. 5. This five-movement work strains at the boundaries of what a lone piano/pianist can do, so symphonic are its textures. Here, all of Ms. Park’s strengths were audible, especially a wonderful feeling for expansion, a stretching of the line for emotional heightening, and a mature ability to take her time. The slow movement is prefaced by several lines of romantic poetry that speak of “two hearts united in love,” and the entire sonata seems to speak of the many dimensions of that relation, including its demise. Perhaps for endurance’s sake, Ms. Park omitted the exposition repeat in the first movement, which “Brahms the classicist” would not have liked; though she did do the slow movement’s repeat of its first theme. Ms. Park was at her very best in the introspective “as softly and tenderly as possible” moments of the work, and the Intermezzo, subtitled a Rückblick (a look back), even showed Brahms as a proto-Impressionist. Ms. Park’s virtuosity was exciting as the fifth movement whirled to its huge close.

After a well-deserved standing ovation, Ms. Park favored the audience with a sweet encore by Gershwin/Wild: “Embraceable You,” which was played with exquisite voicing, subtlety, and an elegance that Earl Wild would surely have enjoyed.

by Frank Daykin for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Wa Concert Series presents Memory and the Expressiveness of Time in Review

Charles Neidich, clarinet; Vera Beths, violin; Mohamed Shams, piano

Friday, October 20, 2019 at 7:30pm

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

Wa Concerts, held at the Tenri Cultural Institute, are unique in their pairing of performances at the highest level with insightful musical and philosophical themes, all in an intimate environment that allows the audience to connect with the artists (and to enjoy gourmet offerings throughout the evening). For those of us lucky listeners who have been to one or more of these concerts, we may be getting spoiled, but the revelations continue.

Sunday’s concert, entitled “Memory and the Expressiveness of Time” was one such revelatory program. Its theme could have also related to Austria (with one lone work by German composer Sigfrid Karg-Elert) because most of the program was devoted to the Second Viennese School of music, Schoenberg, Berg, and Webern, with some Schubert representing the retronymic “First” Viennese School. As things stood, though, the chosen title drew the listener into what one could regard as a sort of expressionistic funhouse, each work inspiring meditation on music’s relation to time in intriguing ways.

Introductory comments from Charles Neidich (in his capacity as Director and curator of the Wa series) made reference to the fact that music exists in time, thus establishing the foundation for a program replete with more than the usual temporal illusions and memory manipulations, with phrases and structures appearing compressed, expanded, in retrograde, as palindromes, and so on. One could try to paraphrase, but one might risk doing a disservice to Mr. Neidich’s eloquence, not to mention growing dizzy in the effort! Suffice it to say that, once one has meditated on these phenomena, one listens rather differently.

The concert itself was superbly performed by the three featured musicians, clarinetist Charles Neidich, violinist Vera Beths, and pianist Mohamed Shams. The music began with Berg’s Vier Stücke, Op. 5, for clarinet and piano, played by Mr. Neidich with Mr. Shams at the piano. The duo captured these remarkable miniatures with vivid expressiveness and cohesion. Mr. Neidich, as ever, was one with the music in ways that impress it indelibly upon “the mind’s ear.” Mr. Shams, new to this reviewer, was simply outstanding throughout the evening in a string of wide-ranging challenges. He hails from Egypt, having studied in Cairo, then at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Scotland and the Manhattan School of Music, and he is currently on the faculty of the Hartt School of Music. He has performed widely as soloist and chamber musician and has been winner of numerous distinctions; his greatest distinction, however, is his playing itself, and what this reviewer heard from him reflected keen intellect, sensitivity, and commitment – all of which should keep him much in demand in contemporary music circles.

Schubert’s Violin Sonata in A Major, D. 574 followed, featuring violinist Vera Beths in collaboration with Mr. Shams. Ms. Beths is a veteran of the international music scene, with a particularly strong background in contemporary music. She has premiered many violin concerti, including Isang Yun’s Third Violin Concerto and has collaborated as soloist with numerous distinguished conductors including Haitink, Kondrashin, and Maazel. She is currently Professor at The Royal Conservatory at The Hague and the Sweelinck Academy in Amsterdam and leads the prizewinning period instrument ensemble L’Archibudelli. Though her background certainly prepared one for her excellence in the Berg Kammerkonzert which closed the program, one was struck by her gracious ease in this sublime Schubert work. Of course, music is music, but not every violinist can move so seamlessly from the world of Schoenberg’s school to the music of Schubert – described by Schumann and Stravinsky in heavenly terms, as Mr. Neidich reminded us. The juxtaposition of the early and late Viennese styles was inspired, setting off Schubert’s particular elegance and pacing, and there was a beautiful conversational fluency between Ms. Beths and Mr. Shams.

After intermission we heard Webern’s very famous Variations, Op. 27 played by Mr. Shams. With acute focus and exceptional control, he played from memory, projecting this work’s concise expressiveness to a tee. One marveled at his grasp of this difficult music, but also at the accordion-like flexibility of musical time, as projected from composer to composer.

As if one needed still more food for thought, we heard a composer from the same era, Sigfrid Karg-Elert (1877 – 1933), a student of Reinecke and largely known through works for organ and harmonium. Mr Neidich played his Sonata for Solo Clarinet Op. 110 and it was an extraordinary journey. Mr. Neidich draws a kaleidoscope of sounds from his clarinet, rendering each sound memorable in a way that is essential if one wants the listener to note interval patterns, for example the opening fifths and seconds that recur and appear in retrograde, and so on. It is always interesting to contemplate the role of memory in music, but first comes the act of making it memorable. It was.

The concert closed with Berg’s Adagio from the Kammerkonzert für Klavier und Geige mit 13 Bläsern (Chamber Concerto for Piano and Violin with 13 Wind Instruments), composed in 1925. The Adagio from it was arranged as a separate piece for trio by the composer and was premiered in 1927. The evening’s performers shone in the works expansively expressive gestures and phrases, and one was left wanting to hear it all again and meditate for several more hours. Bravi tutti!

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

A Carnegie Hall Premiere, 102 years late: Carnegie Hall Presents Marc-André Hamelin in Review

Marc-André Hamelin, piano

Tuesday, October 22, 2019 at 8pm

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

Saying that Marc-André Hamelin played an amazing concert is like saying water is wet –how does one make that sound like news? It simply cannot be a shock to anyone to hear that his Tuesday night recital at Carnegie Hall, including works of Scriabin, Prokofiev, Samuil Feinberg, and Schubert, was yet another tour de force, but it was astonishing in new ways.

Mr. Hamelin still handles unthinkable pianistic and musical challenges with the sangfroid of a neurosurgeon and the inexplicable ease of a wizard; however, for those still pigeonholing him as the pioneer of barely-known or barely-playable works, he is clearly much more than that, as one felt powerfully in his Schubert Sonata in B-flat major (D. 960) which closed the program. For the record, Mr. Hamelin has by now performed as much standard repertoire as non-standard – perhaps more – but reputations are slow to change. Fortunately, standard vs. non-standard is not an either-or proposition, and the combination of well-loved mainstream repertoire with discovery and rediscovery was one of the special beauties of Tuesday’s program.

This reviewer has for almost thirty years been grateful for performances and recordings by Mr. Hamelin, sometimes the only ones available for certain works, and though his biography modestly states that he has recorded a “broad range of repertoire” the word “broad” doesn’t begin to convey the encyclopedic range of his more than sixty albums (starting with letter A for Alkan). We had a prime example of such championing on Tuesday, with the Sonata No. 3 (1916-17) by Russian composer-pianist Samuil Feinberg (1890-1962).

Feinberg’s sonatas draw upon formidable pianistic skill, contrapuntal mastery, and a wildly adventurous tonal imagination, yet his music suffered delayed exposure in the West, as with many other Soviet composers. Even amid the pianistic bounty that is New York, Feinberg Sonata “sightings” are still rare, with the Sonata No. 3 being the rarest. So rare is the latter, in fact, that this evening marked the Carnegie Hall premiere of the Sonata No. 3, as noted in the program. Though the Sonata No. 3 was composed during World War I, it was not published until 1974, twelve years after Feinberg’s death, and beyond matters of the score, the demands on the performer are immense. Demands on the listener are considerable as well, and so even this reviewer, a Feinberg admirer (and owner of scores to all of Feinberg’s sonatas except No. 3), had trouble assimilating its sprawling scope. If Scriabin’s sonatas run the gamut from romantic outpourings to the rantings of a madman, Feinberg’s do similarly, but with added digressions, reiterations, elaborations, and intricacies of texture – and just when one thinks it has all reached a saturation point, a fugue gets thrown into the last movement! Some of it is frankly overwhelming, but the many glorious moments – including some Medtneresque patches of heaven – tell one it must be reheard, and probably by this same pianist – one looks forward to that. Complete love at first hearing is a lot to ask with such a work, but one can only be grateful to have heard it first from such an exceptional musician. It was a fitting climax to close the first half, which opened with Scriabin’s poetic Fantasy in B minor, Op. 28, given an unusually gentle unfolding, followed by Prokofiev’s biting Sarcasms, Op. 17, shot with perfect, jolting attacks.

A second half completely devoted to Schubert’s Sonata in B-flat Major, D. 960, was a dream come true after the tortuous complexity of Feinberg, and Mr. Hamelin blessed it with a patient reverence well suited to its autumnal place, from late in Schubert’s brief life. Some of it (naturally the second movement Andante Sostenuto) was glacially slow, probably slower than some are accustomed to hearing it, but this reviewer loved it, as did many Care was taken to achieve myriad gradations of sound down to the faintest pianissimo, and wonderful individual touches emerged. Especially wonderful was a seemingly improvisatory quality, as if the pianist were capturing the very moment of decision where the composer took a familiar beginning of a phrase into a new direction. Such moments are among the reasons why, even with miraculous recordings (and Mr. Hamelin did record this for Hyperion in 2018), we still need live performances.

Ardent fans brought the pianist back for three encores. We heard Fauré’s unjustly neglected Barcarolle No. 3, which positively glittered, followed by Debussy’s sixth Prelude from Book II, Général Lavine – eccentric, with all its jaunty quirks accentuated perfectly, and finally Mr. Hamelin’s own composition Music Box. Awash with pedal in a delicate haze of treble patterns – with just a smattering of piquant dissonance – it created an effect similar to that of Liadov’s Musical Snuffbox and other bonbons favored by the early twentieth century’s “Golden Age” pianists. It was good to see that spirit living on, including through such charming miniatures. Mr. Hamelin has certainly earned his place among the titans.

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) presents Loralee Songer in Review

LORALEE SONGER, MEZZO-SOPRANO; PERRY MEARS, PIANO

WEILL RECITAL HALL AT CARNEGIE HALL, NEW YORK, NY

OCTOBER 19, 2019

This recital by mezzo-soprano Loralee Songer featured individual songs and song cycles by six living female composers, set to texts by nine female poets. The styles of the songs varied from pop to somewhat dissonant 20^th century norms. The skillful accompanist was Perry Mears. The printed program had one unusual feature, in that after each song title its duration was written. I can therefore state that there was thirty minutes of music on the first half and twenty-eight minutes after intermission.

The program began with two short songs, music by Lucy Simon and text by Marsha Norman, from their 1989 adaptation of Frances Hodgsen Burnett’s The Secret Garden. If I describe these songs as pop music, I am not using “pop” as a pejorative term. For me it describes music that is, amongst other things, undemanding and uncomplicated. Although it certainly was attention grabbing, I wonder why Ms. Songer chose to make her first sounds a scooping cry and not regular pitches. I listened to other renditions of If I Had a Fine White Horse and all singers began with recognizable pitches. As the audience applauded after the song’s conclusion, I worried that there would be applause after every song. Although I have nothing against an audience showing their enthusiastic appreciation, I would suggest that in future recitals Ms. Songer include in the printed program a request that the audience withhold their applause until the end of each set.

The performers then left the stage, something that is often done after the first set to allow latecomers to be seated. What I found unusual was that the performers left the stage between all of the (mostly short) sets. They returned to perform Lori Laitman’s setting of three poems by Emily Dickinson. The accompaniments of these works were slightly more dissonant than those of the previous set. Ms. Songer has a very bright voice which doesn’t sound very mezzo-like, and when she did sing in the lower register, it was quite weak.

Libby Larsen, whose music we heard next, was the only one of the six composers on the program whose name I recognized. Her song cycle, Love After 1950, was written in 2000 for the mezzo-soprano Susan Mentzer. I wondered what “after 1950” meant. Could it have referred to the year of Ms. Larsen’s birth? It was the first of two cycles on this program whose texts dealt with woman’s difficulties in the “battlefield of love.” The music of each of the six songs was written in a different musical style including blues, cocktail piano, honky-tonk, and tango. Yes, I know that’s only five styles – Ms. Larsen’s website didn’t give a musical style for the last song.

The first half ended with One Perfect Rose, a short three-minute song with music by Emma Lou Diemer and words by Dorothy Parker. This was one of the works on the recital which had, as the program notes stated, a simple yet varied accompaniment that allows the words to shine. However, many of the other works had very complicated accompaniments, which pianist Perry Mears played with clarity and ease.

The second half began with the U.S. premiere of Godiva, music by Juliana Hall, text by Caitlin Vincent. While the first half of tonight’s recital was performed by memory, this and the following work were performed on book. For the first time in the evening I had trouble understanding the words. This was anomalous in that Ms. Songer’s diction during the first half was clarity personified, made obvious by the audience’s laughter at the comical portions of the text.

The recital concluded with the world premiere of tonight’s longest work, Little Black Book, with music by Susan LaBarr and text by Caitlin Vincent, which is described in the program notes as one that “highlights the struggle to find love in the digital age.” Directly below the work’s title in the program proper was printed “a song cycle that fails the Bechdel Test.” As the program notes did not explain anything about the Bechdel Test, I went to the internet and found on Wikipedia: “The Bechdel Test is a measure of the representation of women in fiction. It asks whether a work features at least two women who talk to each other about something other than a man.” I also found that it is most often used in analyzing the portrayal of women in movies. And yes, as the program notes stated that these songs dealt with both Ms. Songer’s and Ms. Vincent’s romantic histories, the terms of the Bechdel test were certainly not met. The audience found many of the six songs very funny.

Throughout the concert, Ms. Songer sang with commitment, fine diction, and stylistic awareness. The audience agreed and, at the recital’s conclusion, showered Ms. Songer and Mr. Mears with tumultuous applause and the vociferous “woo-woo” sound which seems to have replaced “bravo” with contemporary audiences.

by Harry Saltzman for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

An Interview with composer Gustavo Díaz-Jerez

Maghek: Seven Symphonic Poems about the Canary Islands

In 2016 this reviewer had the pleasure of reviewing a superb video recording of the complete Iberia of Albeniz for New York Concert Review, played by pianist Gustavo Díaz-Jerez (https://nyconcertreview.com/reviews/dvd-in-review-pianist-gustavo-diaz-jerez-plays-iberia-by-isaac-albeniz/). As it was a performer’s review, one neglected to mention the fact that his career as a composer was thriving as well. His compositions have in fact been heard throughout Europe performed by distinguished instrumentalists, conductors, and orchestras in Spain, Slovenia, Italy, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Hungary – and one is probably omitting several countries.

Currently Mr. Díaz-Jerez is awaiting the release on Signum Classics of his double CD recording, Maghek: Seven Symphonic Poems about the Canary Islands, with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra – arguably one of the finest orchestras in Europe – under conductor Eduardo Portal. Mr. Díaz-Jerez took time out from his busy schedule recently to speak (via Skype) with New York Concert Review. Prior to our interview, he summarized some key points about the cycle as follows:

“The main idea about the cycle Maghek (this is how the Canary Islands aborigines called the Sun-goddess) is a personal evocation of the natural environment of the Canary Islands, conveyed (somewhat oneirically) to sound. For inspiration, I have focused in particular places in each island as well as in specific historical facts. Of course, there are many common elements among the seven works. I have a very strong scientific background, especially in mathematics. I think music and mathematics are very closely related, and to me the idea of “abstract” beauty is common to both. I’m also very fond of the concept of “emergence”: the idea that a complex system is more than the mere sum of its constituent parts. This phenomenon is seen all over the natural world, and it’s even present in pure mathematics. I like to think of my pieces much like living organisms, complex, emergent structures that arise from the sum of many, carefully intertwined, simpler parts. I’m also a computer programmer. I created some time ago a program (FractMus) that translates mathematical structures into musical material you can use for composition. Here is a link if you are interested: www.fractmus.com”

Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review:

Thank you – this is all so interesting! Now to start, I would love to hear about your recording sessions in Glasgow.

Gustavo Díaz-Jerez:

Right, it was last week. Well, this project has been going on for ten years actually, because the first of the pieces I composed is called Aranfaybo … it’s inspired by the island of El Hierro. That was composed in 2008, and that was the one performed in ten European countries. It was a tour with the Hungarian Chamber Orchestra. So that was one, and then, when I composed the piece, I thought well maybe I can write one orchestral piece for – inspired by – every island [for those unfamiliar with the Canary Islands, there are seven, including Tenerife, the birthplace of Mr. Díaz-Jerez].

NYCR: Wonderful …

G D-J: So, the second one was Ymarxa … and that was premiered by the Royal Philharmonic, Charles Dutoit conducting. And then every year after that I composed one of them, well more or less. Some of them are longer than the others.

The shortest one is Aranfaybo which is thirteen minutes, and the longest one is a piano concerto, which is one of the newer ones, which is about twenty-five minutes. One of them is a clarinet concerto called Ayssuragan, with my friend Cristo Barrios, who recorded the piece in Glasgow. And the other one is a piano concerto … I wrote it for a friend of mine who is a pianist specializing in contemporary repertoire. He is a Spanish pianist, Ricardo Descalzo.

Both the clarinet concerto and the piano concerto are not pieces thought of as the Romantic kind of concerto for soloists. They’re actually like orchestral pieces where the soloist is kind of part of the orchestra but has a very important role by itself.

Since I am a pianist myself, I was very concerned with the difficulty of the piece, because I think the problem with many contemporary piano solo concerti, in general, is that they are usually very, very difficult to play, to rehearse, to perform. So, I was very concerned with that.

You know de Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain?

NYCR: Yes.

G D-J: That’s my idea of the piece, a piece which is more concertante than Rachmaninoff or Brahms. It’s very playable. It’s not so difficult that non-contemporary specialists would say no. Any pianist would be able to enjoy and play it.

NYCR: Good!

G D-J: Although there are some extended techniques inside the piano. Everything is written from the perspective of the performer … everything. Not only the piano part but the orchestral part. I think that’s very important nowadays, because, you know if you see the programming 95% is music from the past, from the nineteenth century, eighteenth century. And very little contemporary music is done in my opinion. And there must be a reason.

One of the reasons I think is that the amount of effort that needs to be put into it to rehearse and to learn the music is greater than the music of the past. And it’s maybe because every composer was also a performer. I think that makes a big difference. Not all contemporary music is difficult to perform but many pieces are, so I wanted to make sure that my pieces are as easy to rehearse and play …

NYCR: and idiomatic?

G D-J: yes, they are written very ergonomically for the instruments. And that was something I learned in the recording.

The orchestra is absolutely unbelievable. Their reading is hard to believe. They read it at sight… I mean I sent the scores like three months in advance, but they are capable of reading it almost at sight. I’m not saying they did but … (laughs) it’s unbelievable. I mean, there are seven pieces, the total is like 140 minutes of music…

NYCR: and how many hours of recording did you have with them?

G D-J: We had eight sessions of three hours with a twenty-minute pause in each one…so that’s about I would say twenty-two hours more or less … so, basically the plan was that they play the piece from beginning to end, and they did it so well that I think it would be good for a concert. They played the piece through, and it was already at such a high level, that … (laughing) I was really amazed.

NYCR: And were there any surprises?

G D-J: Yes, especially in the newer pieces, in the ones that haven’t been performed, I found out that certain things didn’t work as I expected in terms of balance. That’s the most difficult thing for a composer. You know even Mozart had to change some things in the Jupiter Symphony. Once he heard the piece, he had to adjust some of the dynamics of the instruments. So that was kind of a surprise. Some things, I thought they would be too soft for instance. I tend to write the harp part a little bit louder …and the harpist had such a big sound that I had to tell her, you know, just a few dynamic markings less. But in general [with] everything I’m very, very happy, because everything in general worked as I expected.

NYCR: And do you envision it all (the entire two-and-a-half-hour cycle) being done in a concert at some point, or …

G D-J: Well, it’s a possibility, but I think it would be kind of too much of the same composer in one concert. Our idea is to have several orchestras play one of the pieces. We are working on that here in Spain and possibly also abroad in the UK… or maybe two of them.

NYCR: I see. When we’re talking about difficulty for the musicians, I want to bring up difficulty for the audience in terms of understanding. Now imagine I’m a five-year-old, and I hear something about fractals and L-systems in your music, and I say what’s that? How would you explain the music to a five-year-old?

G D-J: (laughs) That’s a hard question really. Well, you know, you have to be very poetic. When you are speaking to people who don’t know … I mean they don’t really have to know what’s going on underground to enjoy the music.

I would say these things I use, mathematical procedures, are really just like a scaffolding. It’s a way I use to get raw musical material, like prime matter, musical prime matter. I think of it as a painter or a sculptor, for instance clay or iron or granite, whatever… In itself it’s not a work of art… but it’s what you do with it.

NYCR: It’s a medium.

G D-J: Material, exactly. So that mathematical underpinning is just a medium. And what that gives me are structures, musical structures, because what I do is: I take those mathematical procedures, and I make a correspondence with the musical language.

So those structures which are coherent – they are not random, of course – they have coherency – they are translated to the musical language, and that becomes a medium. That in itself is not a work of art. The material is melodies, rhythms, forms … and I take them, and I make them into the timeline of the work of art.

It’s like, you know, Beethoven, the beginning of the solo of the Third Concerto, you know the scale, the C minor scale. In itself, the scale is just a scale. But when Beethoven puts that outside of time structure in the timeline of the piece, that scale becomes a work of art.

And that’s what I do with this mathematical-inspired material, exactly that. Because you know nowadays, I mean you can’t compose like Beethoven. I mean tonality is not for the music of art in my opinion. I mean you can use it for, maybe for commercial music, but you can’t write in C minor today, in my opinion.

NYCR: (silent disagreement about C minor and the tonality issue but realization that my opinion is not the topic of the day).

G D-J: I know this is very personal, but I think, you know, that that language was exploited up to its maximum, and we have to find new ways …

So, the important thing for me is first, that the music is written for human beings, I mean thinking about that someone has to play that and has to learn, to employ time … I mean you can’t expect a performer to be twelve hours practicing your music… it has to be as easy as the music of the past … in general…especially orchestral music. If you write for a soloist, then you can write more virtuosically, but if you write very difficult music for a large ensemble or an orchestra, then your music won’t be performed. So, I use those mathematical underpinnings from a very, very musical and practical point of view.

You know, when one of my pieces Chigaday for the island of La Gomera was premiered, I have a group of friends here in Madrid (non-musicians, you know I play golf, and we go together), and I invited them to the concert, and they appreciated the music. I mean they thought it was, for them it was kind of alien, but in the good sense. They found strange sonorities and … but it was a very, very pleasant experience. So, I think everything depends on what you do with the material.

I think just like in nature, repetition is an important part of the complex system in nature … in music too, we are prepared as human beings, we have evolved to recognize patterns both visually and aurally, so I think a piece of music be it written in the tonal system or any other system, if it doesn’t have a certain amount of repetition, something you can remember, then it becomes incomprehensible.

NYCR: I agree.

G D-J: and I think that’s part of the key in writing contemporary music, that the audience can enjoy and understand.

NYCR: Yes. Some of that repetition I assume you’re referring to is what is embedded in the material and some of it is in your manipulation of the material.

G D-J: Exactly … absolutely. You know I believe my music is quite complex in terms of sonority and orchestral texture, but I try always to be concerned with that repetition of certain elements. I mean I’m not talking about repeating the same thing over and over, but relationships between the instruments… something most composers have done throughout history. Somehow, we must not forget that that is one of the keys of understanding anything, not only music but any piece of information, be it music or literature or painting… it has to have some amount of recognizable patterns, I believe.

NYCR: Yes. I know you created your own program and made it available (at fractmus.com), so other composers could use this program… so are you starting a whole school of composition, and are others going to use it? and is their music going to have a recognizable quality that relates to yours, or would it be completely different?

G D-J: Well, I know the program has been used for many years, because the program is twenty years old already. I wrote it for my doctoral dissertation in 2000, so it’s almost twenty years old. It’s still alive and kicking, and I’m aware it has been used by many composers. You see the program is so open-ended that the material it gives you can be manipulated in so many ways that every composer can use it in its own way of writing, so I wouldn’t say that I would be able to recognize something that came out of the program. It’s really infinite, because it uses mathematical formulas that translate into numbers and those possibilities are really infinite. It would be impossible to know, unless they said so, but usually they don’t say so. So, what the program is is really what I just said: it translates mathematical formulas into musical elements, like pitch, rhythm, and dynamics… so I’ve used it in many of my pieces.

NYCR: Yes. So, have you written a lot of music without the program?

G D-J: Yes, but I use other structures, not related to the program. But usually in my music, there is always a mathematical hidden layer… kind of in the background, inspired by some mathematical process, but I then use it in a more intuitive way. Like something that I always think … like Beethoven for instance… when he wrote the Pastoral Symphony, where do those melodies come from? They come from culture, from other melodies he heard, maybe from imitating the birdsong, when he took those walks outside of Vienna, right? so it comes from somewhere. So, I kind of mine the computational universe, the mathematical universe to search for structures that I can use as musical material. And of course, I decide… if I try something and I don’t like it, I discard it. It’s a beautiful process, because it’s really a search, a search for what I consider beautiful, of course … some other composer may say, “oh why did you throw out this melody? I think it’s great,” but you know it’s my decision, of course.

NYCR: perhaps a silly question, but say a very eager patron asked you to write something in C minor, what would you do?

G D-J: I wouldn’t. I have to be honest with myself. It would be a commercial kind of commission… I pay you this amount and you do what I say. That’s not a work of art … it’s like, I don’t know how to say it but … a carpenter, you ask “I want you to build a table, a three-legged table made out of rosewood, and do it this way and that way.” OK. He may do a beautiful thing but it’s not a work of art. Because he hasn’t put his own … I don’t want to say … soul or his own spirit, his own true way of working. It would be something commercial.

NYCR: The next thing is about fractals, which you use in your music, and I was reading about the first time the word was used by Mandelbrot in 1975 … you must have been a toddler or not even born.

G D-J: I was five.

NYCR: So, I want to know where in your life did you come to all these ways and thoughts?

G D-J: It was in 1982 when my father bought me a computer, you may have heard of it, the Commodore 64… remember? It was a home computer from the 80’s. The difference between those computers and the computers we have nowadays is that you could program the computer right away. It had a basic programming language, so I started learning the basic programming language, and I started to find out about math and fractals at that time actually, so I became very interested in mathematics and programming. That was the seed of my interest.

NYCR: Fantastic … I see.

G D-J: and I remember writing programs when I was twelve, twelve or thirteen. And I remember a program in the Commodore 64 Basic to map, or translate, how the prime numbers turn into sounds, into musical notes… and they created a kind of melody, that of course at that time I didn’t use it for anything, but I just wanted to know, oh, if instead of numbers you use notes, but with the structure of prime numbers, what will it sound like? So that’s the kind of thing I started doing…

NYCR: Were you one of those rare children who memorized every prime number?

G D-J: No, I know up to 100 but …no, I use them in my music, because you know they create fascinating rhythms, because there are so many gaps. Once you reach a higher number there are many gaps in between. So you can use the prime numbers as a way of creating interesting rhythms. And I use them in every piece in the cycle. The very rhythmical sections are mostly based on prime numbers.

NYCR: That’s fascinating. This all brings to mind the numerical interest of J. S. Bach … we know of it and all as an additional aspect, but often we are mainly aware that it is beautiful.

G D-J: There is a very big mathematical underpinning. A Bach fugue is a fractal musical structure, because it has the subject in different transpositions, at different speeds, and that’s part of the fractal geometry…that’s one of the keys of fractal geometry, repetition of patterns at different scales.

NYCR: … so augmentation and diminution and …

G D-J: Exactly.

NYCR: I never really applied (the term fractal) to earlier music. I see. I wondered also whether you had any earlier composers whom you found particularly vital as influences on your composing.

G D-J: Yes … Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky I like, and I’m very, very fond of early music composers like Machaut, Ockeghem, Josquin Des Prez, Gesualdo…

NYCR: And you made a magnificent video of the entire Iberia, so I’m sure Albeniz is in there somewhere…

G D-J: And not only his music was very advanced for his time, but also the piano writing was very, very advanced for the time. And also I seem very related to him, because he was a great composer, but he was a pianist too. He was really a performer.

NYCR: I reviewed your recording of Iberia and was so taken with it … you are a superb pianist.

G D-J: Thank you… and I still play it quite often. I play it three or four times a year. It is a very difficult program, because to play the whole thing in one recital is … something.

NYCR: So, you are continuing to combine piano concerts with your schedule?

G D-J: Yes. I also have a chamber music group resident in Tenerife, and we do a lot of chamber music, some of it contemporary, but not only contemporary. We do everything from Baroque to new commissions.

NYCR: I see. Now, when people hear your music, do they say it reminds them of any particular composer?

G D-J: That depends on how much music you have heard. If you are informed about for instance the spectralist school, you can recognize some of the elements. Tristan Mirail or Gérard Grisey. But you know, just like Beethoven and Mozart wrote in the tonal system and sound different, so I sound different than those composers.

NYCR: If you had to choose one movement of your cycle that is your favorite that you would want an audience member to hear first, what would it be?

G D-J: Oh, that’s like choosing between seven of your children. I wouldn’t do that. But I can say that Aranfaybo is the most “classical” piece, and Guanapay, which is the piano concerto is the most experimental.

NYCR: and what are some of the responses to your music that have made you the happiest? … have you had that feeling that “they really get it.”

G D-J: Yes, you know from people who are not used to listening to any classical music. It has happened a few times with my orchestra pieces and with my piano pieces. I was approached by a girl, I mean she wasn’t five but maybe twelve, and really honest about how much she liked my piano pieces. And that’s great.

NYCR: Was that Metaludios?

G D-J: Right. She came with her mother and she was really fascinated by the sonorities and … she didn’t know … she’s not a musician… so that makes me the happiest. Because of course if you know the repertoire, it’s logical that you can appreciate, but if someone is not familiarized with classical music or contemporary music and appreciates your music, then … I’m very happy. But, having said that, I have to write what I have to write. I wouldn’t write something thinking that more people are going to like it. I don’t think that’s an artistic attitude. I think that you have to write what you have to write. Be honest with yourself and of course be concerned about the performer because after all someone has to play your music, but I think if you write think oh, if I put this maybe more people will like it … no, that’s … no.

NYCR: Now I also wondered about the images. There are many images from mythology and geography and geology. How do the visual aspects correspond to the musical? Can you discuss any of that?

G D-J: Right. Well, the whole cycle is really about the natural beauty of the Canary Islands. It’s not about the folk music of the Canary Islands, it’s about the nature of the Canary Islands. So, in the pieces, there are many, many evocations of natural forces. I mean you can hear the sea, I mean I have orchestrated some passages to sound like the waves and the wind. You can listen for instance to the beginning of Chigaday … that’s an evocation of the wind with the sea birds … and not only that, but for instance the ragged textures of the volcanic landscape, because you know the Canary Islands are completely volcanic, like Hawaii is the same type of case. So, I try to evoke musically those things that are very specific to the Canary Islands. And that’s about for instance the geology, but we have amazing forests and they are called laurel forests and they existed in Europe around twenty million years ago. And those forests used to be all over Europe, I think around twenty million years ago, and nowadays I think they are only in the Canary Islands and in Madeira (you know the islands that belong to Portugal) … so that kind of forest is very, very green and with tortuous trees, very humid, it’s amazing… looks like… have you been in the highlands in Scotland? It’s very similar actually. I was so surprised.

NYCR: Oh, and you were just there…

G D-J: Yes, I went to the highlands, some of the most beautiful places I’ve been, and some of the forests look … maybe not the same type of tree but …looks very similar. The tree, the trunk is filled with moss… and in the Canary Islands we have something very similar. So. I tried to evoke that feeling of being in a place, kind of dark and green and misty, and I tried to evoke it with musical texture.

NYCR: So you were born in the Canary Islands, but then you came to the US to the Manhattan School of Music. I am thinking the connection must have been Solomon Mikowsky?

G D-J: Right… Yes!

NYCR: and he has, or did have, a music organization in the Canary Islands.

G D-J: I think the last festival was around 2006… we are trying to revive it …

So yes, I met him in a competition in Madrid, and I was just finishing my studies in Tenerife, so he said “why don’t you come to New York” … and you know I was sixteen at that time, so I came to New York when I was 17, in 1987. So yes, I met him, and he was a wonderful teacher and more than a teacher – he has been almost like a second father. And I have a very close relationship with him … today I wrote an email to him a few hours ago.

NYCR: So are you often in the Canary Islands?

G D-J: Our festival in the auditorium, the resident chamber music group, we play almost every month except September and January. And I go very often … my family, my mother, my siblings live there so I go.

NYCR: Now not that this is important but, is there music in your family? You mentioned your father giving you the computer, and I’m guessing there is a mathematical/scientific interest there …

G D-J: Yes, he’s responsible for me being a musician because he when I was little, my grandmother had an upright piano, and he bought me lessons, and then the conservatory, so … and my mother sang very, very well… she wasn’t a professional singer, but she has a very, very good ear. And my sister is a composer too. Dori is her name, Dori Diaz-Jerez. And we inherited I think the musical talent from my parents, obviously.

NYCR: …and your father played the piano?

G D-J: The violin a little bit and the piano a little bit, but as an amateur…

NYCR: Sometimes the amateur passion is very strong …

G D-J: Yes, right …he made sure we went to the best teachers there, in Tenerife, and then in New York, so … yes, if you don’t have the support of your family it’s very difficult. If you are a child, it’s very hard to become a musician if your parents don’t believe in it…

NYCR: …or if they never listen to it or play it in the house. So … you’ve combined music and science in ways that many cannot.

G D-J: I will tell you a little story. You know my scientific interest…the side of the computers came when I was, I must have been four because my younger brother wasn’t born yet, and we used to live near the beach … my parents have a house near the beach, and we had a long room … and my sister and I, we used to close every door, so everything would be dark, just to play, you know … children. And from the kitchen window, the light of the sun passed through the keyhole of the door, and you know it made a camera obscura … you know what it is, right? So, I realized it was being projected on the wall, the images from outside, like a little movie. And I was so fascinated… and I remember that, and I was four, and my sister was three years old, and I think that kind of awakened my interest for science from there, because it was so breathtaking … I was watching the cars pass, and – because it’s like a camera – and I remember it so vividly, that image. That awakened my curiosity for science, to find out why that happened … it remained with us for many years and I think that made me want to find out things about nature and science …

NYCR: I imagine there must have been a struggle at some point deciding between your love of science and math and music …

G D-J: No, I think my love for music has been greater…I mean I love science of course… but so much to become a scientist … no, my love of music is too great to be just an amateur in that …

NYCR: well, I have so many questions, but … aside from this recording, is there another project coming up ahead?

G D-J: Yes, there is! I hope that by the end of next year or maybe 20-21 I want to record another CD with more piano pieces, my Metaludios.

In the first one I recorded three books of six pieces each, so there are eighteen pieces in total…and I’ve written already 25. So my plan is to record two new books plus an older piece I have, so that would make up another CD. And also maybe some chamber music … I want to record some of my chamber music pieces.

NYCR: Wonderful! Tell us more about the origins of your composing Metaludios…

G D-J: Well, you know, since I’m a performer, a concert pianist, I’ve been composing really all my life. When I started playing the piano people asked me “what do you want to be when you are older” and I said I want to be a composer. That’s what I said when I was ten years old. So, I’ve been composing really all my life. But maybe for the past 25 years I’ve taken it more seriously, and I’ve been writing these pieces for over six years now.

NYCR: and do these (Metaludios) have anything to do with your (computer) programming?

G D-J: Yes. Some of them are. All of them have to do in some way or other with a mathematical idea – not idea, structure.

NYCR: Would a performer, let’s say someone who is not familiar with the technique behind the composition, simply play them?

G D-J: Yes, they could play them without any knowledge of what’s going on underway… but of course as with all music, if you know how it’s constructed, how it’s put together, you know, it makes the piece more available to you.

NYCR: On these recordings you will be playing them?

G D-J: Yes … and I think any good musician can play them. You don’t have to be a specialist to play this kind of music. You have to know how to do certain things, because some of the pieces require extended techniques inside the piano…but everything is very well explained … you’ll see the score. I’ve put QR’s [QR codes] so you can scan with your phone and you can see how it sounds … it takes you to a YouTube video of myself playing the passage, then you know how to do it…because you know, we have the technology to do that … so that clarifies very, very much …everything is very thoroughly explained.

NYCR: Well I can’t wait to hear your orchestral pieces, and I guess I will be able to hear them in a couple of months?

G D-J: Yes, the first edit I will be able to send a first edit in the beginning of November for reviewing …but it will be on the market in February.

NYCR: Very exciting! And I’d love our readers to know a bit more about you as a person… when you are not composing, tell us a bit about you … you are teaching as well.?

G D-J: I teach in San Sebastian, at the conservatory of San Sebastian, the conservatory of the Basque country…

NYCR: So, between your teaching, your concertizing as a pianist and your composing, are you basically making music all day long (aside from golfing which you mentioned). Are there any leisure pursuits?

G D-J: I like to walk with my wife … we take walks every day if we can, because exercising is something that is very important to keep the mind in a good state … but I must say that I feel very. very lucky to be what I am. If you think how many people are struggling in humanity, not only what happens in poor countries like in Africa or in India but others – sometimes, I hate to say it, but they don’t like their work. So, I feel so fortunate to do what I so – it’s amazing – in every sense, in composing, in playing, in teaching, in communicating your ideas to the students… I couldn’t be any happier to be where I am. Sometimes, you know, it’s luck, because if I were born in Somalia, I would probably be struggling, but I was very lucky to be born in Spain …

I also want to express thanks to those involved in the recordings, the conductor of the Royal Scottish National Orchestra, Eduardo Portal. He is a close friend and a champion of my music, and he was the one who initiated the recording project. He was awarded the prestigious “Leonardo” grant from the Fundación BBVA (Banco Bilbao Vizcaya Argentaria), which is our main sponsor. Special thanks also go to the soloist in the clarinet concerto (Ayssuragan) Cristo Barrios, to Ricardo Descalzo, the pianist for the piano concerto, and to the sponsors of the recording project, Fundación BBVA, Cabildo de Tenerife, Cabildo de Gran Canaria, and Gobierno de Canarias.

NYCR: Thank you so much for this interview, and we look forward so much to hearing the recordings of your music!

The website for more information is www.maghek.com.

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Cultural Centre of the Regional Government of Central Macedonia presents “Cavalleria Rusticana” by Pietro Mascagni in Review

CAVALLERI RUSTICANA, HEPTAPYRGION FORTRESS, THESSALONIKI, GREECE

JULY 12, 2019

A taxi took us from our hotel near the sea up into the hills above the city of Thessaloniki. As we drove higher and higher above the town, my wife and I mused about the performance we were about to attend. In what kind of space would it take place, what would be the quality of the singers, how would they be accompanied – a piano, or possibly two, or even an orchestra? We really didn’t know what to expect.

We finally stopped in front of the Heptapygrion (Seven Tower) Fortress, parts of which were built in late Classical times. Its present form dates from the Byzantine and Ottoman periods. It served as the major fortification of Thessaloniki’s acropolis, as well as the seat of the garrison commander in Ottoman times. In the late 19th century, about 60 years after the outbreak of the Greek War of Independence and while Thessaloniki was still under the Ottoman occupation, it was converted to a prison which remained open until 1989. The site was then taken over by the Ministry of Culture and the regional Byzantine Archaeology Service, which moved some of its offices there. Systematic archaeological study and restoration began in 1990. This is the first year of the Heptapygrion Festival, which ran from July 2^nd to July 22^nd.

After passing through the site’s monumental gate, we were directed to the old prison’s courtyard. The performance would take place out of doors! (I must admit that because of less than optimal acoustics, I am not a great fan of outdoor opera performances.) But I was very happy to see a full-sized orchestra seated in front of me and behind it a lovely set featuring a staircase to the entrance of a church one might find in a small Sicilian village. This was much more realistic than the massive “Cecil B. DeMille” staircases one finds in major operas house productions. The visible wings on both sides of the stage, from which entrances and exits would take place, wrapped around both sides of the audience.

The State Orchestra of Thessaloniki tuned up (I do love that sound) and the conductor, Zoe Tsokanou, made her entrance. After a few moments of the opera’s prelude it was clear that the State Orchestra of Thessaloniki was a first-rate ensemble. Ms. Tsokanou drew from them beautiful well phrased playing with her graceful, concise and clear conducting. And the sound we heard belied the fact that we were out of doors. The acoustics were wonderful. Would the same be true for the voices? I awaited the tenor’s offstage serenade with eager anticipation.

I was not disappointed. Dario Di Vetri’s plangent tones reverberated off of the fortress’s stone walls to great effect. This is a true Italianate tenor voice with the thrilling “squillo” of the upper register. Usually I find it takes this opera a long time to “get off the ground,” but this atmospheric outdoor setting made the time before any major on-stage-singing seem to go by quite quickly. When the other soloists finally got on stage, they followed suit in vocal and dramatic ability.

Eleni Calenos was a lovely and compelling Santuzza, winning the audience over with her beauty of tone and committed performance, Maria Vlachopoulou possessed the perfect Mama Lucia voice –deep, rich and, velvety. As Lola, Violetta Lousta’s seductive singing illuminated the irresistible hold she had on Turiddu, and Giannis Selitsaniotis as Alfio was simply magnificent –his is a huge and gorgeous voice. The opera’s sixth character, the Sicilian village’s townspeople, was brilliantly portrayed by the Mixed Choir of Thessaloniki. Prepared by director Mary Konstantinidou, the choir produced a glorious sound and moved about the stage in a natural and realistic way.

But there is one more person worthy of special kudos, the stage director Athanasios Kolalas. (Although what follows is a very long paragraph, I beg the reader’s indulgence.) Not only was M. Kolasas responsible for the fine costumes and the aforementioned lovely set, his decisions with respect to the drama helped make this the special performance it was. One decision gave shape to the entire drama. During the central scene at the church, a procession was headed by men carrying an icon of the suffering Virgin Mary. This foretold the suffering of the grieving Santuzza and Mamma Lucia after the murder of Turiddu by Alfio. Another directorial decision, and the one that impressed me the most, was a wonderful “coup de théâtre” which made clear a turning point in the drama that I had always found somewhat puzzling. After the church scene Turiddu and Santuzza quarrel in a duet in which she pleads with him to stay with her forever and love her again, while he tells her to just leave him alone. He finally loses his temper and throws her down to the ground. As he goes to the church, she hurls a curse at him and sobs. Alfio enters. We know she is desolate and angry, but was this enough to have her tell Alfio about his wife Lola’s affair with Turiddu, knowing that this would inflame him, thereby sentencing Turiddu to death at Alfio’s hand. In this production, when Turiddu throws Santuzza to the ground, she crashes into a chair. She clutches her belly as she gets up. We see blood on her dress. She lifts her dress and we see more blood. She was pregnant and the fall has caused a miscarriage. She is insane with grief. Betrayal and the loss of love were bad enough, but the loss of her child was the breaking point. Although I usually don’t approve of stage directors making such changes, this time I found Mr. Kolasas’s decision revelatory.

I hope I have made it clear that this was a performance worthy of any of the world’s major opera companies. It has been a pleasure to be able to praise each of the five soloists, the orchestra and its conductor, the chorus and its director, the performance venue and its acoustics. Thanks to the Cultural Centre of the Regional Government of Macedonia for presenting the first Heptapyrgion Festival and I wish the festival continued success in the years following.

by Harry Saltzman for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Key Pianists presents James Dick in Review

James Dick, Piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 10, 2019

Kansas-born pianist James Dick has had a long and distinguished career. His major teachers included Dalies Frantz at the University of Texas at Austin, and Sir Clifford Curzon in England. He was a prize winner at the Tchaikovsky, Busoni and Leventritt International Competitions, and went on to perform numerous solo and concerto engagements. He received major awards, such as the Texas Medal of Arts and the Chevalier des Arts et Lettres from the French Ministry of Culture, and he is an Honorary Associate of London’s Royal Academy of Music. In 1971 he founded the Round Top Music Festival Institute in Texas, where a distinguished faculty teaches nearly one hundred young artists every year, and there are year-round education and performance programs for audiences.

He is an artist of substance and refinement.

The B minor Sonata of Haydn, which opened this program, never impressed me as one of the composer’s most interesting works. Mr. Dick’s performance quickly taught me that I had underestimated it. Phrases, starting from the beginning of the first movement, were molded beautifully, and always headed somewhere. There was a charm that I hadn’t noticed here before. The slow movement was thoughtful, almost “deep.” The melodic leaps in the Menuet were played with great expressivity, and there were subtle shadings of both tempo and dynamics in the Trio section. The driven last movement was dramatic, the fast right- hand passage work played with a flourish, and the left- hand octaves that accompany it with determination.

The Bagatelles, Op. 126, are Beethoven’s last major work for piano. They are rather strange, but fascinating, and not at all “bagatelle-like” (i.e. lightweight). Mr. Dick played the first Bagatelle at a good, moderate tempo, and seemed to revel in the trills that then flow into notes running up and down the keyboard. The ending was very dignified. In the second Bagatelle he seemed to find a contrasting character between the impatient first four bars versus the calmer-sounding next four. An unusual effect came after the double bar, where outbursts are followed by rests. In this interpretation, the rests sounded full of longing rather than hysteria.

The third Bagatelle, which is like a slow movement, was not too leisurely, and had lovely little eloquences. The B minor section of the fourth Bagatelle seemed a bit laid back compared to other performances I’ve heard, but the B major part, with which it alternates, was dreamy and exotic (one could imagine a cult meeting with this music playing in the background!) The fifth Bagatelle, the shortest piece in the group, was warm, and Mr. Dick brought out the lovely dissonances played by the left thumb after the double bar.

The sixth and final Bagatelle is truly bizarre. It begins and ends with a six measure Presto, but what’s in-between, had it been written twenty years later, might well have been called a nocturne. This segment had intensity, as well as a very sensitive lead-up to the “moonlit” section in A-Flat major, after which we were then jolted back into the powerfully played concluding Presto.

The American composer, Dan Welcher, writes about his 1999 work, The Birth of Shiva: “This ten-minute work is a distillation of the first movement (‘Time’) of my 1994 Piano Concerto, which has the subtitle ‘Shiva’s Drum.’…The Hindu god Shiva, who was the protagonist of the concerto, is revealed in this new work to be an entire universe. Since Shiva is both Creator and Destroyer, and since this piece could not attempt to replicate a concerto that lasts more than thirty minutes, I decided to feature him solely in his Creator role…The piece proceeds from a ‘lightning bolt’ opening in which the cosmos is created….”

Indeed, The Birth of Shiva starts with a cacophonous explosion, followed by rushing notes in all directions, after which the hands alternate different sonorities. Patterns repeat over and over, as if to mesmerize. Later there is less dissonance, the music sounding more confident. There is a thoughtful, almost lyrical area, followed by a buildup of strength, then soothing, and finally a powerful end. This work seems to be very difficult to bring off successfully, and James Dick played the heck out of it!

The second half of the recital consisted of Schumann’s Carnaval. Mr. Dick gave an elegant reading of this demanding, almost half hour long work. There was much beautiful playing here, though one has heard some of the faster movements played at greater speed by other pianists. Some high points, after the strong start, and Animato section of the first movement, included the indeed nobly phrased Valse Noble, Eusebius, with the flowing intersection of, and interesting harmonies caused by the irregular right hand notes meeting the chords in the left hand, the assertive Chiarina, and the expansive Chopin segments. Aveu sounded nostalgic, and the Marche des “Davidsbündler” contre les Philistins at the end was vigorous. After that the entire enthusiastic audience rose to give Mr. Dick a standing ovation!

by Donald Isler for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Carnegie Hall presents: “For Justice and Peace” in Review

Sphinx Virtuosi; J’Nai Bridges, mezzo-Ssoprano; Will Liverman, baritone; Damien Sneed, piano; Chorale Le Chateau

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 11, 2019

A packed Carnegie Hall greeted the Sphinx Virtuosi for their annual New York concert on October 11. The program, entitled “For Justice and Peace,” consisted of seven pieces, all of which were in some way related to injustice, protest, and the hope for a better future. The eighteen -member ensemble more than lived up to its name: the performance of every composition was on the highest level.

The Sphinx Organization is one of the brightest lights in the cultural firmament of this country. It was founded twenty-two years ago by Aaron P. Dworkin, who at the time was an undergraduate at the University of Michigan. He was distressed by the underrepresentation of people of color in classical music and decided to do something about it. His success has been phenomenal. The programs under the umbrella of the Sphinx Organization span education initiatives, annual competitions and scholarships, professional performance opportunities, and leadership training and career development. From the beginning violin students in Detroit and Flint elementary schools to the extraordinary recipients of the $50,000 Sphinx Medals of Excellence, Sphinx has empowered musicians of color to succeed onstage and off.

Friday’s program started off with Fuga con Pajarillo, by the twentieth-century Venezuelan composer Aldemaro Romero. The beginning sounded like Bach, but after a while the Latin rhythm of the pajarillo, a Venezuelan dance form, appeared. After the performance, the concertmaster (and excellent soloist) for this piece, told us that it was programmed to celebrate the great musical tradition in Venezuela, his native country, which is presently going through very difficult times. It was performed with expertise and aplomb, getting the program off to a fine start.

Next we heard the final movement Allegro assai from Bartók’s Divertimento for Strings of 1939. As the program explained, Bartók was an immigrant, fleeing Europe after the rise of Hitler, and hoping to find justice and peace in this country. He wrote this piece shortly before his departure from Hungary.

After a fine display of virtuosity in the first two selections, there was a calming respite in Philip Herbert’s Elegy: In Memoriam – Stephen Lawrence. Mr. Lawrence was a British man who was killed in a racial incident. This beautiful work employed harmonic and melodic material from both Barber’s Adagio for Strings and Ravel’s Pavane for a Dead Princess. And why not? Homage is a respected technique in musical composition, and has been employed by the greatest composers. This Elegy was beautiful in its own right, and no doubt drew a tear from more than one eye.

I was intrigued by the title of the next piece, Global Warming. Climate change is certainly a hot topic today, but how could one compose a piece about it? The answer came from the woman who introduced it- each composition, after Fuga con Pajarillo, received an introduction from the stage by one of the performers. Composed shortly after the fall of the Berlin wall, it refers not to climate change but to the “celebration of divergent cultures through their own folk music.” Written with a warm sense of hopefulness about the planet and global relations, it was one of the first works by an African- American composer to be performed by the National Symphony of South Africa after the election of Nelson Mandela. Irish fiddling encountered Middle Eastern modality to their mutual benefit. For this listener, though, it went on a little too long.

The next piece, from which the concert took its title, was For Justice and Peace, for Violin, Bass, and String Orchestra by the Sphinx Virtuosi’s composer-in-residence and bass player, Xavier Foley. Co-commissioned by the New World Symphony, Sphinx Organization and Carnegie Hall, tonight’s performance marked its New York premiere. Mr. Foley wrote ,“I felt it was my job to illustrate how the issues of justice and peace remain critical to our society today.” On this occasion, the Sphinx was joined by the excellent Venezuelan violinist Rubén Rengel, 22, winner of the 2018 Annual Sphinx Competition. Mr. Rengel and Mr. Foley, on bass, showed off their great virtuosity on difficult solo lines. The sound of a gavel, struck by one of the violinists, and quotations from spirituals added to a portrayal of the justice system and, in Mr. Foley’s words, “certain challenges it faces.” This deeply affecting work earned a standing ovation.

What could follow this heartfelt tribute? Very fast Schubert, of course! Shortly before composing the Death and the Maiden Quartet, it turns out, Schubert, along with some rowdy friends, was arrested by the Austrian secret police for “insulting and opprobrious language.” According to the program notes, having this blot on his name was a hindrance to his activities. Hence Herr Schubert’s anti-oppression bona fides. The final movement, Presto, from the aforementioned quartet was performed with urgent intensity.

The last piece on the program was Our Journey: 400 Years from Africa to Jamestown. This was the first performance of the opening of the opera We Shall Overcome by Damien Sneed. Two excellent young singers, mezzo-soprano J’Nai Bridges, and baritone Will Liverman, the small but sonorous Chorale Le Chateau, and Mr. Sneed on piano joined the Sphinx for a moving description of the arduous Atlantic crossing, the opening of Mr. Sneed’s opera. This four-minute excerpt made me want to hear more of this work, which combines African rhythms, spirituals, gospel, jazz, and European musical techniques.

Indeed my only slight reservation about this concert was the short length of all its works. Besides the Sneed excerpt, the Schubert offering was one movement from a quartet, and the Bartók was a movement of a divertimento. The average length of a piece was less than eight minutes. As a frequent concertgoer, I am used to hearing at least one work of a substantial length from a Carnegie Hall concert. Even vocal recitals organize single songs into sets. There were other unusual aspects to the program as well. There was no intermission, and midway through the concert a screen was lit and a short film about the Sphinx Organization was shown. Afterwards, the President and Artistic Director, Afa S. Dworkin gave a speech. Then we returned to the music.

Any reservations of mine about the unusual format of this concert were not shared by the audience. The evening ended with a long and ecstatic ovation.

by Barrett Cobb for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Katerina Nafplioti Panagopoulos presents Athens Philharmonic in Review

Yiannis Hadjiloizou, Artistic & Music Director

Larisa Martinez, soprano; Daveda Karanas, mezzo-soprano

New York Choral Society

David Hayes, Music Director

Stern Auditorium, at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 10, 2019

In a concert in memory of Pericles Panagopoulos, and to support the construction of the St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church and National Shrine (to replace the original that was destroyed on September 11, 2001), the newly formed Athens Philharmonic took the stage at Carnegie Hall in a program of two Cypriot works and Gustav Mahler’s monumental Second Symphony, the Resurrection. Program notes were printed in Greek and English, and a short message of welcome from the concert sponsor Katerina Nafplioti Panagopoulos referred to New York as a place where no one is a “foreigner” including her late husband and even Mahler himself. Her idea was that faith and love triumphing over fear and death.

Formed in early 2019 by the energetic pianist/composer/conductor Yiannis Hadjiloizou (b. 1976), the Athens Philharmonic (AthensPhilharmonic.gr) staged their first concert on April 23 in Athens. Tonight’s concert was the introduction of this orchestra to Carnegie Hall, and the hall was filled to capacity with supporters (although the top two tiers were closed).

At 8:15pm, Mr. Hadjiloizou took to the stage. Two US premieres, the Ballet from Act II of the opera 9th of July 1821, by the conductor’s father Michael Hadjiloizou (b. 1945), and his own Cyprus Dance No.1, Servikos, opened the evening. The Ballet opens with the sounds of what the composer calls “the melodic tweet of a bird in the forest of Kykkos,” then shifts to a Christian hymn “We Praise You,” then returns to opening material . This Ballet is a lively, charming piece that got the night off to a good start. Servikos takes Brahms and Dvořák as role models, and while the brilliance of these masters is much in evidence, the sounds have a more than a little Bartókian flavor. Servikos is a definite crowd pleaser!

So far, so good, but the real test awaited in the Mahler. Let’s get some of the criticisms out of the way. As might be expected by a group that has been together for only about six months, there were some ensemble issues that should work themselves out as time goes on. There were some moments where the intonation was not up to standard, with a few instances of clashes between strings and horns that jarred, especially in the opening movement. It would seem that most of the issues were in the opening movements, so I will not nitpick too much, but attribute them to a combination of nerves and “growing pains.”

In the grand scheme of things, these issues were minor hiccups in what was a remarkable performance, all the more so considering how new this orchestra is. Maestro Hadjiloizou was impressive. He has a commanding presence on the podium, his direction is crisp, his motions are precise and economical, and his mastery of the score was much in evidence. His approach was well thought out, and he maintained a firm hand on the wheel, never allowing things to devolve into bombast.

Mezzo-soprano Daveda Karanas’s voice was radiant in the Urlicht movement, and the clear voice of soprano Larisa Martinez was heavenly. The New York Choral Society was perfection, and their pianissimos were breathtaking!

Maestro Hadjiloizou and the orchestra saved their best for the final movement, which brought the evening to a triumphant close. The audience responded with a loud, extended roar of approval, justly deserved. The future should be bright for this promising orchestra.

by Jeffrey Williams for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) Presents Elżbieta Woleńska in Review

Elżbieta Woleńska, flute; Zhang Moru, piano

Weill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 4, 2019

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) presented an exceptional debut this week for flutist Elżbieta Woleńska and collaborative pianist Zhang Moru, in a program listed at various websites as “Frederic Chopin, Pablo Sarasate, and others.” One had really little idea of what was in store, but if the intention was to maximize the surprise, it worked – Chopin turned out to be the least of the offerings (just an arrangement of the Prelude in D-flat, Op. 28, No 15 – popularly known as the “Raindrop” Prelude). The “Sarasate and others” (namely the Carmen Fantasy, Op. 25 and a half-dozen other gems by a variety of composers) combined to make one of the most impressive flute concerts in memory. Each piece was a discovery in its own way, and it was one of those nights when one forgets to look at one’s watch.

For a bit of background, Ms. Woleńska studied flute in Paris and Poland, earning a doctorate and numerous distinctions and awards. She has taught in Poland, along with performing and recording internationally, and currently teaches at Zhaoqing University in China, as does pianist Zhang Moru, who has also won a long list of awards and prizes.

The first work on the program was one by Johann Sedlatzek, entitled Souvenir à Paganini, Grand Variations on the Carnival of Venice. In what was a clever touch of symmetry, the concert ended with the same theme, via Mike Mower’s Deviations on the Carnival of Venice for flute and piano, given alternately jazz, salsa, rock, and other treatments – but more on that later. Suffice it to say that there was such fascination in the programming itself that one’s interest would have been held even without such a high level of playing – but the playing happened to be astonishingly virtuosic.

Beyond the program’s symmetry and the flutist’s mastery, the opportunity to hear music of Sedlatzek (1789 – 1866) is also rare. A Silesian flutist born in Prussia, referred to as “The Niccolò Paganini of Flute,” Sedlatek concertized throughout Europe, played alongside violin virtuoso Niccolò Paganini, and perhaps most memorably he served as principal flutist in the world premiere of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 in 1824 under Beethoven himself. One heard immediately Sedlatzek’s kinship with Paganini, and if readers want to listen to it, along with other works by Sedlatzek, one can obtain Ms. Woleńska’s recording entitled Souvenir at her website (https://www.wolenska.net/music) and other online stores.

Incidentally, after the Sedlatzek, Ms. Woleńska thanked the audience and commented that the “grand, grand, grand, grandson” of Sedlatzek was in the audience, and he stood to acknowledge the applause. Though such connections may not be rare in the classical music world, they are interesting to contemplate.

For a more lyrical spell, Lensky’s Aria from Tchaikovsky’s opera Eugene Onegin followed, and its plaintive poetry came through well, despite the jump from tenor voice to flute. On a perhaps fussy note, no mention was made of the transcriber, though one guesses that it was the Guy Braunstein version played by Emmanuel Pahud and others. One cannot assume these things though (nor memorize each version’s distinctions), and transcriptions ought not to be relegated to a pile of generic products by anonymous workers. Similarly, the Sarasate Carmen Fantasy, Op. 25, which followed (originally for violin) had no mention of the transcriber – and there are several versions out there – but this one may even have been Ms. Woleska’s own. In any case it fit her like the proverbial glove, its five movements layering brilliance upon brilliance. She sailed through its florid passages with dazzling skill, capturing perfectly the coquetry of the habanera, and fluttering her way through unthinkably fast repeated notes. Just when one imagined that the pyrotechnics could not increase, they did. Only a few excessively shrill moments in the Lento third movement detracted, possibly unavoidable in this arrangement.

The ensemble with Zhang Moru was excellent throughout and riveting at times, such as in the final accelerando of the Sarasate. The pianist kept a firm command of the evening’s wide array of challenges, all with polish and a presence that was unassuming, generally allowing the flutist to shine. One’s only reservations of the evening in terms of the collaboration were a few rough moments in an early triplet section of the Sedlatzek – and where the piano (though only on the half stick) was a bit too dominant – and a few moments in the Sarasate’s first movement where the flute was slightly covered. All in all, though, this duo worked amazingly well together, and one hopes they will continue to do so.

The Chopin arrangement (the “Raindrop” Prelude) followed – and again there was no mention of the arranger, but perhaps in this case it was a merciful omission, as it fell short of the other arrangements. Though Chopin’s lyricism offered a respite from the hyper-virtuosic repertoire preceding it, the arrangement itself was puzzling, with inner voices from the original brought into treble prominence, creating a different effect altogether from the original. It was a bit surprising that a musician from Chopin’s native Poland would endorse these alterations, but presumably the flutist wanted to include something from her homeland, and it seemed to fit the bill. Similarly, there was a doffing of the hat to China, where both musicians teach, in what was listed as Ancient Chinese Folk Song: Singing in a Fishing Boat in the Dusk (again anonymous, though someone had to have arranged it). It closed the first half with a refreshingly different flavor in its pentatonic melodies and shadings.

After intermission came a delightful array of flute-piano duos in somewhat newer styles. First came a piece called Airborne (composed in the early nineties) by Gary Schocker (b. 1959), whom many may know better as a leading flutist than as a composer, but who clearly excels in both roles. Airborne is written in a breezy jazz style that brings to mind the music of Claude Bolling (and at times some hints of Vince Guaraldi), but with his own special voice unifying it all. It was a pure joy in this duo’s rendition, with particularly fine precision from the pianist.

Hypnosis by Ian Clarke (b. 1964) followed, based on improvisations by the composer with his former bandmates Simon Painter and David Hicks (1986-1994). It conveyed a new-age dreaminess that perfectly suits its title and was playing winningly.

Rituals by Slovenian composer Blaž Pucihar (b. 1977) was another joyful discovery for this listener, though Pucihar’s work is clearly not unknown to the flute and wind world. It combines haunting melodies, sensitively set, with wonderfully inventive elaboration and a folk-like quality described as balkanian in the notes (though they reminded this listener of Bartók). It was superbly played by both musicians.

Concluding this enchanting array was Deviations (as mentioned previously, on that Carnival of Venice theme) by Mike Mower (b. 1958). It ran the gamut from waltz, jazz and swing, to salsa and rock styles. A spectacular ending, it was met with a standing ovation and rhythmic clapping, eliciting an encore in the literal sense – a reprise of the final Mower variation. Bravo!

by Rorianne Schrade for New York Concert Review; New York, NY