Yixiang Hou, pianist

Joel Crawford, Recording, mixing, and mastering engineer

KNS Classical label: KNS A/139

The KNS Classical recording label (www.knsclassical.com) has just this spring released an album entitled Carnival featuring excellent performances by pianist Yixiang Hou in unusual selections from the late Renaissance to the twentieth century. Recorded December 18, 2022 on a Steinway at Robert J. Werner Recital Hall (University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, CCM), it includes composers as disparate as Orlando Gibbons, Robert Schumann, Charles-Valentin Alkan, Alexander Scriabin, and Arnold Schoenberg. Not too surprisingly this album includes Schumann’s epic Op. 9, Carnaval, but equally carnivalesque is Alkan’s Le Festin d’Ésope (The Feast of Aesop), Op. 39, No 12 (1857), an exciting and still relatively overlooked work. Mr. Hou, a winner of quite a few prizes, revels in this diverse musical menu, proving himself to be a gifted and adventurous young artist. 

One is a bit puzzled by the inclusion in a “Carnival” collection of several much more somber selections – the Schoenberg Op. 11, Scriabin’s “Black Mass” Sonata No. 9, and especially the  Gibbons Pavan in G minor which opens (the processional display aspect notwithstanding); perhaps these are to serve as foils for the Schumann and Alkan centerpieces, but if the title “Carnival” is simply to suggest great variety, these works do add to that.

Mr. Hou opens the album with solemnity, imbuing the Gibbons Pavan in G minor with a free, quasi-improvisatory expressiveness that suits it well. It is a joy to hear. Though performance practice specialists tend to prefer early instruments for such a piece, a modern piano works beautifully in its own ways (as Glenn Gould and others have agreed). Mr. Hou is a persuasive advocate here, exploiting the piano’s colors to project its mercurial changes and shaping its florid lines well.

Alkan’s Le Festin d’Ésope (the twelfth etude of Alkan’s Op. 39 from 1857) follows in complete contrast, starting with an impish theme in E minor followed by twenty-five virtuosic variations. Honoring Aesop with various animal evocations, this etude an orgy of pianistic display, chordal bombast, wild hand-crossing, rapid octaves, ridiculously fast sixty-fourth notes in one hand with simultaneous leaps in the other, and just enough rhythmic mischief and abbajante (“barking”) dissonance to keep a virtuoso from taking himself (or anything) too seriously. Mr. Hou handles the pyrotechnics easily, with a technique that allows him to unleash its maniacal outbursts with zest. Still a bit more measured than my “go-to” recording of this by  Marc-André Hamelin (who was noted for pioneering this and other pieces by Alkan), Mr. Hou maintains most of the overall tautness of tempo as requested by the composer (avoiding what pianists jokingly call the “emergency maestoso” even in the direst diabolical difficulties), but he takes extra time where the music invites breathing. He is always controlled, with careful metric placement. He also thankfully manages the bravura passages without stretches of “banging” or stridency.

The relative spareness of Schoenberg’s Drei Klavierstücke, Op. 11 (1909) feels just right after Alkan’s circus of excess, though the three pieces are challenging to pianist and listener alike. Mr. Hou gives them thoughtful interpretations, carrying the listener through their almost stream-of-consciousness journey. The slow second piece benefits from a particularly expressive and involved performance here, and the stormy third is full of passion.

Scriabin’s Piano Sonata No. 9, Op. 68 (“Black Mass”) is one of the more difficult of Scriabin’s piano sonatas to hold together, but Mr. Hou has the insight and technique to do just that. Going back to the album title “Carnival” (if this work were meant to relate to that title at all), this would surely be the carnival’s Tower of Terror or some such attraction. This pianist’s rendition comes closer than most in capturing its eerie otherworldliness and ineffable terror.

Placement is key in music, and almost anything following the “Black Mass” Sonata sounds joyous; Robert Schumann’s Carnaval thus brings an especially welcome spirit of triumph to close this album. Mr. Hou gives it all it requires in a fairly mainstream, unsurprising but thoroughly satisfying performance. One can only imagine that his various live performances of it in competitions must have wowed his juries with his technical strengths and reliable musicality.

Along with being a frequent prizewinner in competitions, Mr. Hou continues his studies as a doctoral candidate at the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music (CCM) under the tutelage of Ran Dank (whom this reviewer reviewed as a musician of “immense talent” in 2008 as the winner of the Hilton Head International Competition).  What a fruitful pairing of two adventurous musicians! In addition, Mr. Hou has studied at the Shanghai Conservatory with pianists Qi Zhang, Weiling Chen, Dachun You, and Ting Zhou, in Boston with Wha Kyung Byun at the New England Conservatory, and at the Aspen Music Festival with Arie Vardi.

To reach such a high level while still a student bodes well for Mr. Hou’s future, and he is certainly an artist to watch as he continues to explore. Meanwhile, one can find his album at most online music stores. It would be hard, if not impossible, to find this particular array of works played as well by a single artist.

Xiao Chen, piano, and Xenia Deviatkina-Loh, violin

May 15, 2023

Recognizing, performing, and recording works of under-represented composers is a popular and welcome trend now; the hope being that their proliferation will gain acceptance into the canon of standard repertoire. Duo X² has realized a dream in their recording of works by women composers. This selection showcases music written in the 21^st century by extremely accomplished women hailing from differing cultural heritages.

The video recording can be viewed on YouTube: A Celebration of Women Composers. Each track brings the listener into a unique world, from Chen Yi’s Chinese diaspora (From Old Peking Folklore) to Ellen Taffe Zwilich’s eclectic expression (Episodes for Violin and Piano). Some of the composers wrote pieces as a reaction to global events, such as Gillian Whitehead’s Tōrua, written in the wake of the destruction of the February 2011 earthquake in Christchurch, and Jessie Montgomery’s Peace, a reflection composed during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. Other works on this recording include Impulse by Franghiz Ali-Zaden, Memories by Michiro Oshima, Ara Ri Yo by Eun Young Lee, and Speak, Memory, by Lera Auerbach, which shares its title with Vladimir Nabokov’s critically acclaimed memoir.

Duo X² delivers a crystalline accuracy in their highly refined ensemble playing; they are consummate professionals whose commitment to excellence is evident throughout this recording. Xenia Deviatkina-Loh possesses a toolbox of comprehensive technical skills: finger pizzicato, intricate bowing, and mastery of intonation in the extremely high registers. Xiao Chen displays a deep understanding of the transparent textures, playing with clarity and brilliant rhythmic backbone. The two musicians are consistently successful in achieving balance.

The only distraction seemed to be in the sound engineering. Often the audible breathing was too present in the violin part, possibly a result of microphone placement. In addition, between each selection was dead air as opposed to an ambient sound to connect the music.

While the music in this recording is by no means “easy listening,” the performances are riveting and a worthy addition to the continuing mission of expansion and inclusion.

Alexandra Eames

Jonathan Mamora, pianist

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

May 4, 2023

A large audience turned up at Weill Hall on May 4th to hear the Carnegie Debut recital of Jonathan Mamora, the 2022 Solo and Concerto Winner of the Palm Springs International Piano Competition (formerly The Virginia Waring International Piano Competition), and they were well rewarded. From a brief introduction by the competition’s Artistic Director, Robert Koenig, we learned that around a dozen audience members had flown in for the occasion, and one could feel their excitement, along with that of others.

Jonathan Mamora is what one might call a “big” pianist, in the best sense of the term. Starting with his programming, he chose both of Rachmaninoff’s fiercely demanding Piano Sonatas (Opp. 28 and 36), the Sonata No. 3 (Op. 82) by Lowell Liebermann (b. 1961), Liszt’s Les Jeux d’eaux å la Villa d’Este from Années de pèlerinage (Troisième année), and to open the concert a work entitled Resolve (from the set of Five Intermezzi) by Australian composer Carl Vine (b. 1954). Though the Vine and Liszt works are relatively short, they are substantial, with wide-ranging challenges, and as for Rachmaninoff’s Sonatas, their considerable difficulty is paired with a need for mental and physical stamina, with No. 1 being over a half hour and No. 2 in the original 1913 version approaching that. The Liebermann 3rd Sonata in one movement is hardly short, but it started to feel short between two behemoths. Either of the Rachmaninoff Sonatas might normally be the single central attraction of a program surrounded by shorter works; it was thus a rare and overwhelming experience hearing both together.

Along with the programming, Mr. Mamora’s playing itself is larger than life. Perhaps it is unsurprising for a winner of several big competitions, but he possesses a technique so solid that it seemed at times that he couldn’t play a wrong note if he tried. On top of that solidity, he dazzles, with lightning-fast fingers and an encyclopedic array of dynamics and articulations.  

Carl Vine’s Resolve (2022) made a compelling opening. Commissioned by the Olga Kern Piano Competition, which Mr. Mamora also won, it has all the hallmarks of a test piece, revealing a full spectrum of moods, colors, articulations, and tempi, all turning on the proverbial dime and with a dramatic finish. Some of this pianist’s most expressive outpourings of the evening came through this work, as well as through the Liebermann Sonata (2002). He brought both to life with brilliant colors, imbuing their more elusive phrases with emotional richness and clarity and then knocking us out with pyrotechnics. Mr. Mamora demonstrated a marked ability to go to the heart of a work’s drama and to share it in a way that grips the audience. That gift is arguably the most important one for a soloist, and though it is often mistaken for showiness, it is quite distinct from it; it is communication in service to the composer, pure and simple. Though a glance at the program had one ready to characterize Mr. Mamora as a Romantic player, it may be newer music that will benefit from his gift the most. 

Interestingly, for several of his Romantic offerings, Mr. Mamora chose works that stood to benefit most from his expert restraint and control. The glistening fountains of fingerwork which verge on Impressionism in Liszt’s Jeux d’eaux were almost pointillistic and strikingly even like perfectly cut diamonds. The cascades and trills shimmered with what seemed lighter pedal than one usually hears. The extremely bright upper register of the Yamaha CFX concert grand heightened the glassiness in Liszt’s crystalline droplets. At times, frankly, the piano treble was painfully bright, but there are always surprises bringing such resonant instruments into intimate halls.

Incidentally, before playing the Liszt, Mr. Mamora spoke briefly to the audience, first with gracious thanks and then some brief notes about the program. He seemed amazingly calm, especially for one with both Rachmaninoff Sonatas yet to come. This mature serenity was surely what was behind the pacing of the next works, especially the Sonata No. 1. He casually mentioned (to paraphrase) that the Sonata No. 1 does not have melodies per se as much as motives, and (without getting into definitions of melody) this listener saw some truth in that;  what he might have added briefly, though, was that behind some of these repeated-tone motives are the unmistakeable church chants that were such a huge part of Rachmaninoff’s upbringing.  If not chants melodically, they were certainly rhythmic stand-ins for them, just as one finds in late Liszt. Long stretches of such minimal melodic motion have historically made this ponderous work less accessible than the Sonata No. 2 (and far less often performed). It is a profoundly beautiful piece, bringing to mind in many sections the composer’s Concerto No. 3 (composed just a few years later and in the same key), but it requires masterful pacing, which Mr. Mamora has to an impressive degree. He never wallowed in local detail but kept a grip on the overall journey. It would be hard to imagine it being played better, so perhaps he will help bring it increased favor.

After intermission, we heard Lowell Liebermann’s one-movement Piano Sonata No. 3, given a powerful performance abounding in all the virtues mentioned earlier. It has been speculated that this work, composed in 2002, may have been partly in reaction to the events of 9/11, but in any case, it reflects the compositional brilliance for which all of Lowell Liebermann’s works are known. Mr. Mamora captured its Inquieto, esitante opening, building from there, and he sensitively rendered the Dona Nobis Pacem and Lullabye at its center. He built to great ferocity at the end (what a left hand!). Some repeated percussive attacks were again almost too strident to bear, but assuming the possible 9/11 origins, those would seem justified.

To follow this acerbity came more familiar Romanticism – again well-placed – with Rachmaninoff’s Piano Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor, Op. 36, performed in its original (1913) version. There is a “Goldilocks” situation with this piece, whereby many feel (as it seems Rachmaninoff did) that the original version was too sprawling. Others find the revised (1931) version too terse, and still a third camp finds the Vladimir Horowitz hybrid of the two (or similar amalgams) “just right.” For full disclosure, this listener is devoted to Rachmaninoff’s more concise 1931 version. Hearing the original again after many years of embracing only the revision felt like having a troubling dream of a dear loved one who is suddenly meandering and disheveled. It was hard to hear, but all in all, Mr. Mamora managed to pull its unwieldy parts together, finishing the recital with virtuoso excitement.

A standing ovation with many shouts of “Bravo” from his fans elicited a highly free interpretation of the Schumann-Liszt Widmung. One was surprised by some of the rubato and by a few unusual readings, including a curious bass line at the very end (using G-flat rather than the usual G – seemingly intentional as it happened both times) –  but it was all thought-provoking. In any case, it was practically miraculous that we were offered any encore at all after such a program. One looks forward to more from this outstanding pianist. Bravo!

Christopher James, cello

Lynelle James, piano

Weill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

 April 27, 2023

Brother and sister Christopher James and Lynelle James follow a time-honored tradition of siblings collaborating as musicians, and while they each enjoy active careers as individuals, there was no shortage of synergy between them in this recital. Hailing from a large extended family of fine professional musicians, one could imagine that respect for the score, attention to phrasing, and good musical taste were as much a part of their upbringing as keeping their rooms tidy or proper table manners. This concert was dedicated to the memory of their mother, pianist Robelyn Schrade and their uncle Randolph Schrade, also a pianist.

The program opened with two sonatas: the Debussy and Schubert’s “Arpeggione”. The slightly austere approach to the Debussy was effective in demonstrating the composer’s foray into a more modern style, with its transparent textures. Particularly striking was the interplay of pizzicato cello and staccato piano in the second movement. In the Schubert, the duo selected slower tempi than usual; this created a more plaintive atmosphere and allowed for more lyricism in the treacherously high registers in the cello part. The third movement which is often played in a more headlong fashion, had more of the necessary Viennese dance character in this relaxed tempo.

The first half of the program concluded on an extroverted note with Chopin’s Introduction and Grand Polonaise Brilliante. Despite Chopin’s admiration for the cello, this was the pianist’s moment in the sun. Lynelle James is a powerhouse of a pianist, with dexterous ability to execute the glittering scales and double thirds with grace and panache.

The second part of the concert began with the little-known Five Preludes for solo piano by the Ukrainian-born Nikolai Roslavets. Here Lynelle continues to demonstrate her considerable mastery in bringing out the many colors and textures in this dense and complex writing, reminiscent of late Scriabin and Szymanowski. After her solo, it was Christopher’s turn to lend his single voice in the Prelude from Bach’s C minor Suite. While playing an excerpt from a complete work seemed slightly out of place in this program, he embraced the acoustics of the hall and delivered a dark and brooding performance. Christopher James is a musician of deep intensity and integrity, and while not a showy player, he has all the equipment to serve the technical demands of the music.

The beloved Sonata by César Franck has become as familiar in its transcription for cello as for the original violin. Highlights of the Jameses rendering were the refreshingly light pedaling in the second movement, which is so often played too heavily, and the soulful cello recitatives in the third movement. The excitement in the conclusion of the final movement was almost uncontainable, and the rapt audience rewarded the duo with warm and well-deserved enthusiasm.

by Alexandra Eames for New York Concert Review; New York, N.Y.

The Modus Operandi Orchestra; Justin Bischof, Music Director and Conductor

St. Mary Church, Long Island City, New York

April 29, 2023

It was especially uplifting this weekend, as we emerge from the pandemic’s death blows to the performing arts, to attend the most recent concert by the Modus Operandi Orchestra under music director and conductor Justin Bischof.  In a program entitled “The Glory of Vienna: An Evening of Mozart and Beethoven,” they showed that not only can local orchestras flourish again, but audiences are ready and eager for them. St. Mary’s Church in Long Island City, a large, beautiful, and acoustically live venue, was packed for this concert. It was so packed that the front ticket desk was overwhelmed, and the concert started twenty minutes late. This listener, often needing to watch the clock, grew actually fairly impatient about that (and there ought to be some measures in place to prevent it), but as the conductor Justin Bischof announced “it is the price of success.” A success it was, on all fronts.

With an excellent conductor and corps of fine musicians – twenty-eight strings, plus healthy winds, brass, and timpani – they had the spirit, skill, and energy they needed to bring to life a program that included Beethoven’s Coriolan Overture, Op. 62 and Symphony No. 7, as well as Mozart’s Symphony No. 35 (“Haffner”). In addition, with guest soprano Laura Léon, they performed Mozart’s Exsultate Jubilate, K. 165, and No, no che non sei capace, K. 419. Their promotional material announced that the concert would “celebrate the riches and majesty of works that either premiered in Vienna or that have a strong connection to this glittering European capital city,” and that celebration was palpable.

Justin Bischof introduced each work with the spoken equivalent of program notes, and though this listener at first thought “Oh, no, more waiting,” his comments were brief and illuminating. Maestro Bischof strikes the perfect balance between high-level professionalism and the ability to reach out to the non-musicians in the audience. His comments were simple and entertaining enough for the many young listeners present but also held valuable information for the adults (such as noting that Mozart’s “Haffner” Symphony manuscript can be found right across town at the Morgan Library). His comments on the Coriolan Overture highlighted the contrasting themes of war and peace in it, and the audience was rapt from its dark dramatic opening to its whispering close. 

Mozart’s Symphony No. 35, the “Haffner,” was opened with energy and precision. One could close one’s eyes and easily imagine oneself in any of the major symphony halls of the world hearing a more renowned orchestra. One followed each theme, each voice, and each entry with the excitement that was meant to imbue the “ennobling” ceremony of the Haffner for whom the work was commissioned (despite further transformations before the work became the Symphony No. 35). The Andante movement spotlighted the expressive unity of the orchestra, and the Menuetto enjoyed its characteristic restraint. The Presto finale impressed as unusually clear, especially given the brisk tempo. It closed with rousing ebullience.

The famous solo motet, Exsultate Jubilate for soprano and orchestra, followed. Maestro Bischof gave a glowing introduction to Laura Léon , and she lived up to it fully. Her melismatic singing in the first section  – and the final Alleluja section –  was dazzling, but it was the sublime softness and expressivity at the end of the Tu virginem corona section that had me thinking we will be hearing much more from this talented musician. Following the Exsultate was the “insertion” aria (written to insert into an opera by Pasquale Anfossi) No, no, che non sei capace. It is an angry aria of disappointed love, with its anger made manifest in ridiculously difficult high notes – yet thanks to the uncanny gifts of Ms. Léon, one still heard in it the transcendent beauty of Mozart rather than mere shrieking. She sang with amazing ease and fluidity. One occasionally had trouble matching the diction with the printed text, but that may have been the overwhelming reverberation obliterating consonants. Brava to this young talent!

After the obligatory pitch for funds from Maestro Bischof, the program proceeded with Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7. He also set the scene historically by describing the orchestra that played it as having included Meyerbeer, Hummel, and Salieri. That warrants a few moments of awe, but the playing lived up to this awe. The first movement projected a jubilance enough to overcome the late hour. The flutes shone particularly in the movement’s big transition, but the winds in general shone throughout. The Allegretto movement, one of the divine miracles in music, held the audience rapt, as one noticed strikingly in the soft fugal section. It was partly striking because there were such very young children held spellbound throughout as if watching an action movie. With worries over attention deficits and smartphone addictions, this heightening of sensibilities in young audiences represents a success that will bear fruit in the generations to come. Thanks to the enveloping reverberations of St. Mary’s church, those children tapping on air drums and parents rocking little ones on laps were barely noticeable – except for what they added to the overall joy. A rare few minor glitches occurred, but all was always controlled. The Presto movement offered many opportunities for the horns to shine, even if the upper strings seemed more “caffeinated” than the lower (as often happens – and there were only four celli and three basses listed at that), but by the final exuberant movement, there was hardly a soul able to keep from dancing.

Check the MOO website to add future concerts to your calendars, but (for now) perhaps make allowances for an extra twenty minutes. Bravi tutti!

Bradley Ellingboe, composer/conductor; Robyn Woodard, piano

Russell L. Robinson, composer/conductor; George Hencher, piano

Kenney Potter, guest conductor

Diana McVey, soprano; Teresa Bucholz, mezzo-soprano; Chad Kranak, tenor; Damian Savarino, bass; Gabriel Evans, organ

Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

April 29, 2023

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) presented a concert entitled Mozart’s Requiem at Carnegie Hall’s Stern Auditorium on the evening of April 29, 2023. In addition to the Mozart, the world premiere of Bradley Ellingboe’s A Place Called Home and the music of Russell L. Robinson were also featured. The Distinguished Concerts Singers came from Massachusetts, New Mexico, North Carolina, South Carolina, Oregon, Florida, Oklahoma, Nebraska, Washington DC, Australia, Germany, and “individual singers around the globe. “

Bradley Ellingboe took to the podium to open the concert. He spoke to the audience about his new work A Place Called Home. The theme of his work is climate change and its impact on our world. In his written notes, Mr. Ellingboe states “[I believe] people respond better to stories than a recitation of statistics.” A Place Called Home tells this story with the goal of spurring people to action before it is too late. The text is by Charles Anthony Silvestri, whose name many regular readers of New York Concert Review will recognize due to his frequent collaborations with Eric Whitacre. The ten-movement work is scored for chorus (with soloists), violin, cello, oboe (doubling on English Horn), piano, and a battery of percussion.

The text portrays a highly idealized “everytown” (think Grover’s Corner with a splash of Norman Rockwell) and its gradual degradation into a polluted victim of the local factory amid the economic wreckage wrought by the wheels of progress. There’s obviously more than just climate change in there, but I am not going to wade into the social debates- that is far beyond the scope of this review. However, on a musical level, any commentary on socioeconomic issues is an ambitious undertaking, and I am not entirely convinced on this occasion that it was completely successful.

The chorus filed onto the stage “in street clothes, as if attending a town meeting.” I’m sure this was to accentuate the “everyman.” It would have been a bit more meaningful if the people had interacted (handshakes, hugs, “conversations”) instead of just taking their places on the risers.

Enough of that, let’s get to the music and the performance. Mr. Ellingboe is a skilled composer, who has both a sense of dramatic flair and a use of harmonic language that is accessible without being cloyingly sweet and simplistic. He is also an excellent singer, as his powerful voice filled the hall in the fourth movement I Wonder. He brings energy to the podium, which in turn is reflected back to him by the chorus. My main objection was that there were many instances of weak vocal projection, mainly with the various soloists. One should not have to strain to hear from any part of the hall, certainly not in the closest seats to the stage, where this listener was situated. The diction was excellent (when the sound itself could be heard clearly) and the ensemble was commendable. Highlights for this listener were I Wonder, Birdsong, My Hometown (soloist Alexandra Martinez-Turano), and the anthem-like final movement A Place Called Home. Kudos to the unnamed members of the orchestra for their outstanding work. The soloists were Susie Tallman Yarbrough, Bonnie Pachanian-Finch, Robert Finch, Richard Macklin, Shelly Ley, Solveig Nyberg, Curtis Storm, Jennifer Coleman, Shiyah Serna, Alexandra Martinez-Turano, Quynh Truong, and Sharlotte Kramer. The audience gave Mr. Ellingboe and the performers enthusiastic applause.

After a short pause to reset the stage, Russell L. Robinson took the podium to conduct “The Music of Russell L. Robinson” part of the evening. That title is something of a misnomer, as only two works were composed by Mr. Robinson- the remaining six were arrangements of his (three of which were “world premieres”- while factually accurate, was a bit hyperbolic). The chorus consisted of Middle and High School students.

The reviewer knows he is not dealing with professionals here, so there will not be any pointed criticisms that would be inappropriate for singers at this level. That’s not to say “anything goes” – issues can and must be acknowledged. We are going to address those issues straightaway. As is common for this age set, the ladies outnumbered the gentlemen in a ratio approximately 3:1, and the ladies’ voices are better developed and project with greater resonance, which often can (and did) cover the male voices. The soloists all needed to be microphoned – it was an unreasonable hope to think that these young voices could somehow fill the hall without amplification. The piano often overwhelmed not only the soloists, but the chorus itself (and the pianist was not overplaying by any means), until Mr. Robinson was able to cue the pianist to dial it back a few notches.

Also Sprach Grinchathustra. Now to the good stuff. Mr. Robinson knows how to write for young singers. His arrangements are effective and lend the singers the veneer of sounding more advanced than they are. He is an avuncular presence on the podium, which is ideal for younger singers. It’s easy to conduct the pros and bask in that, but it is a person with a special gift that works with the youngsters to help them grow and develop their talents. Who knows what stars of tomorrow were on the stage tonight? Highlights were Carrickfergus (Traditional Irish) with an angelic voiced (and sadly, unnamed) young lady, Yesu Ni Wagu (traditional Swahili), complete with African drumming and swaying and hand gestures, and the anthem-like When I Sing (text by Charlotte Lee), written by Mr. Robinson and given its world premiere. It’s always touching to see young performers giving their all and having the time of their lives on one of the most famous stages in the world. It’s something I never tire of, regardless of how many times I witness it (and it’s been a lot!). Their supporters gave their stars a loud and extended ovation.

After another break, the final work of this marathon concert, Mozart’s Requiem, K. 626, was led by guest conductor Kenney Potter. Commissioned by Count Franz von Walsegg as a memorial to his late wife, it was unfinished by Mozart at the time of his death in 1791. His student Franz Xaver Süssmayr completed the work, using various sketches Mozart had left and his claim of being familiar with Mozart’s wishes about the composition. The question of how much of the work is Mozart and how much is Süssmayr is still being debated to this day. Tonight’s performance had, in lieu of a full orchestra, two violins, one viola, one cello, one bass, and organ (more about that later).

Much praise is due to the directors of the individual choirs that comprised the full chorus. They came prepared, and it showed in a dynamic performance. The projection was strong and clear, the diction was precise, and the ensemble was top-notch. The soloists, Diana McVey (soprano), Teresa Bucholz (mezzo-soprano), Chad Kranak (tenor), and Damian Savarino (bass) were all at the top of their game, with perhaps some extra kudos for Mr. Savarino, who was a powerhouse!

What detracted from this otherwise wonderful performance was the meager sound of the “orchestra,” though through no fault of the players, who are obviously fine musicians. A prime example was the “burn it all down” of the Confutatis. It was rendered more like the flickering of a Zippo lighter than the stoking of flames from hell. The Carnegie “organ” is never going to strike terror in any hearts, being a portable electric model that can be wheeled on and off the stage. Even with all this, the Requiem was still far and away the highlight of the evening. Mr. Potter led with meticulous attention to detail in an understated manner. The audience roared its approval, capping off the night.

Sharon Chang and Mateusz Borowiak, pianists

Merkin Hall, Kaufman Music Center, New York, NY

April 23, 2023

A fascinating concert took place this Sunday at Merkin Hall, featuring music by composer (and presenter here) Louis Pelosi, whose 76th birthday it was on this occasion. I had a few years ago heard some of Mr. Pelosi’s piano music championed persuasively by the pianist Donald Isler, a thoughtful musician who also writes for New York Concert Review, and it had been an intriguing introduction to an equally thoughtful composer, inviting further study. Mr. Isler’s label, KASP Records, also released several CDs of Mr. Pelosi’s music, including one 2012 disc by pianist Mateusz Borowiak who performed half of Sunday’s program. The other half of the program was performed by pianist Sharon Chang. 

Born on April 23, 1947, Mr. Pelosi has taken an unconventional career route for a composer, his biography stating that he “declined to work in academia or the commercial music world” and so has earned his livelihood as a self-employed piano technician. He received several degrees (BA from the University of Notre Dame, English, BM in Composition from Hartt College with Arnold Franchetti, and MM in Composition from the Manhattan School of Music under Charles Wuorinen), but it was clear from everything about this Sunday concert’s that he prospers by carving out his own unconventional path, composing with his own tonal language, often within structures such as fugues and inventions which one might call Bachian (to allude to another composer who followed his own heart, far from more fashionable musical pursuits). Mr. Pelosi has nonetheless amassed an impressive array of performances and recordings to his credit.

One big plus of Sunday’s concert was the format, with works of two other composers included, Bach (via Busoni) and Beethoven. It was refreshing to hear world premieres alongside familiar masterpieces rather than relegating new music (as often happens) to “quarantined” status, but beyond that, each piece illuminated the next. Another big plus was the presentation of two excellent young artists to perform all of it, both of whom impressed as worth hearing in any repertoire.

Mateusz Borowiak, a powerhouse pianist with substantial credentials (including being laureate in several important competitions such as the Queen Elisabeth of Belgium), opened the first half with a World Premiere of Mr. Pelosi’s Piano Sonata No. 7 in D (2016-17). Consisting of several mostly attacca movements of contrasting tempi and moods, connected by six transitional sections entitled Scorrevole (translated roughly as “gliding”), it was bursting with ideas and sometimes with chromatic lines intertwining quite closely, requiring extremely keen listening from the performer and audience alike in addition to some pianistic wizardry. Mr. Borowiak was more than up to its thorny challenges. 

One wondered at times, with such a flood of ideas, whether Mr. Pelosi might have overestimated the average listener’s ears in this work. He states his credo on his website as, “What the sensitive ear can follow, so can the mind accept and the soul be moved and enlarged” – a refreshing expression of regard for one’s audience. Somehow though, despite Mr. Borowiak’s skill at sorting out and projecting the many rapidly entwined chromatic lines, this listener (with a half-century of ear-training experience of all kinds) was still at sea, wondering which of so many ideas to focus on, or –  if the answer is “all of them,” wondering just where they were headed and what I was missing. Perhaps program notes would have helped. Thankfully, this was a concern that did not persist past this piece.

Mr. Borowiak followed with Bach’s “St. Anne” Prelude and Fugue in E-Flat major BWV 552, played absolutely brilliantly in Busoni’s virtuoso transcription. Mr. Borowiak navigated the whole gamut of fierce pianistic demands, drawing attention not to himself but to the grandeur of the music, interpreted with mastery. He is an artist one looks forward to following.

Returning to the music of Mr. Pelosi, his Sonata No. 8 (2019-2020) closed the first half with fewer of the issues that this reviewer had felt in Sonata No. 7. Perhaps the intervening Bach had helped a bit to sharpen up this listener’s contrapuntal acuity, but the Sonata No. 8 seemed also much simpler and more accessible in rhythm and affect. It seemed to stay with ideas a bit longer, introducing more discernibly repeating patterns and dancelike elements and giving the listener time to absorb them. One could hear a fine mind behind it but also enjoy it. (We mortals enjoy the reassurance of a bit of repetition or continuity now and then). Also, there was more of a sense of tonal grounding. Mr. Pelosi’s penchant is for creating a pull towards a key (in this case E-flat) without seeming quite IN a key. His endings – as here – are as far as I’ve seen on the key a piece is listed to be in, but even with his endings there is some ambiguity as to mode. (On the topic of keys incidentally, the composer’s shunning of key signatures can make his scores appear as a daunting barrage of accidentals, so one admired still more the perseverance of tonight’s pianists.)

The evening’s second pianist, Sharon Chang, proved to be outstanding as well. She brought her keen listening, coloristic skill, and superb control to Louis Pelosi’s Twelve Fugal Metamorphoses (2020) and Twelve Inventions (2018 – dedicated to Donald Isler), which bookended Beethoven’s great Sonata in A major, Op. 101. 

The Twelve Fugal Metamorphoses, like the Sonata No. 7, overflowed with ideas, but each one here felt (perhaps from being compartmentalized as individual pieces) highly assimilable. I enjoyed the set thoroughly. My favorites were the dreamlike No. 5 in E-flat, the nicely arched No. 6 in G, the lovely No. 7 in A-flat, the short, agitated No. 8 in C, the No. 9 in E with its pervasive fifths and octaves giving it an open quality, and the fascinating four-part No. 10 in F. Suffice it to say that the whole set, which had loomed formidably on the program, simply flew by.  Certainly, this was in no small part thanks to Ms. Chang’s abilities, but one also felt that Mr. Pelosi has a particularly special gift for these forms. Perhaps another set of fugues or inventions is in order – it would be a commissioning project well worth considering for some fine pianist.

Beethoven’s Op. 101 came next, and with all its fugal writing it fit right in. To start, Ms. Chang established a serene measured tempo for its introspective opening. It is never easy to carry the second half of a program (irrespective of whether the first half’s soloist is celebrating or atoning backstage), but here we had the added stress of two world premieres with the composer present. In following the Fugal Metamorphoses with late Beethoven, a large work now played from memory, there was much switching of gears required (as with Mr. Borowiak’s Bach-Busoni). Ms. Chang gave herself time to breathe in Op. 101’s opening and was rewarded for it. The alla marcia moved to a decisive, bracing spirit, and the subsequent melting into its pedaled D-flat section was perfect.  There were some glitches here and there, but overall it was an admirable performance. Her marked skill in delineating voices boded well for the Inventions to come.

Once again, the placement between new works of a classic with fugal writing served everyone well. A listener grew increasingly sensitized from one piece to the next. (In this case, even the octaves in Mr. Pelosi’s Invention No. 2, descending by emphatic thirds, had one jump at the near déjà vu from Op. 101). Ms. Chang chose to order the Inventions as follows:  C, F, Bb, Eb, E, A, D, G, Gb, B, Ab, and Db (four sequences of descending fifths, in one case enharmonic). Highlights included No. 1 in C, vaguely reminiscent of Shostakovich (who in his own way also followed Bach’s example), and No. 4 in F with its gentle streaming sixteenths. Some, like No. 11 in E, felt more rigorously imitative, while others, like No. 6 in E-flat, with its prevalence of open-sounding fourths and sevenths, swept up the listener in the wash of resulting harmonies and colors. This reviewer’s very favorite, chosen by Ms. Chang to be the final one, was No. 10 in D-flat, bringing to mind (in key and in its rocking bass) Chopin’s Berceuse. The absence of what one expected as a full “resolution” of preceding chords made the final single D-flat all the more poignant, and Ms. Chang concluded the concert beautifully with it. 

One reads that Mr. Pelosi married artist Rosemarie Koczÿ in 1980, and after her untimely death in 2007 has created numerous works in her honor and memory. That labor of love aspect is very much in evidence in much of the music we heard. One wishes Mr. Pelosi not only a very happy birthday week but many more years of continued fruitfulness. 

Ian Hobson, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

April 20, 2023

Don’t let his modesty and British understatement fool you – pianist and conductor Ian Hobson is a titan. Among the flurry of artists with press releases billing them as “renowned,” there are those who actually are renowned such as Ian Hobson, with a discography of over 60 recordings (on labels such as Arabesque, EMI, Albany, Hyperion, and his own label Zephyr), performances with the world’s major orchestras (Philadelphia, Chicago, Baltimore, London Philharmonic, Hallé Orchestra to name a few), conducting work as well (Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra, English Chamber Orchestra, and others), and appointments as teacher and adjudicator for decades (Florida State University, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign). The abundant skill and unflappability that won Mr. Hobson the Leeds Competition in 1981 have had staying power, serving him well through decades of complete cycles of numerous composers (live and recorded) –  and judging by his all-Schumann program at the Tenri Cultural Institute this week, he is still going strong. 

It is extremely inspiring to hear Mr. Hobson play live, especially as one who spent college and grad years in the eighties and early nineties listening to numerous recordings by him. Young musicians who grow up now taking the Internet for granted might not appreciate what a gift it was then (without YouTube, etc.), that when one needed to hear a work in a reliable, thoughtful, and technically top-flight performance without eccentricities, there, in various libraries, were usually voluminous sets by Ian Hobson. Given the relative rarity of live all-Schumann recitals, Mr. Hobson is still filling a void, particularly in recitals placed within a historical framework (with helpful program notes by Richard Dyer ensuring this ). His Tenri program offered Humoreske, Op. 20, Nachtstücke, Op. 23, and the Drei Romanzen, Op. 28. The concert was entitled “Love and Nature II” (“Love and Nature I” having been covered here Schumann: Love and Nature I). Almost a musical counterpart to some reality series that one might “binge-watch,” it invites the title “Schumann: Season 1839,” offering an amazing window onto the breathless mania, grief, and romance that saturated that year for Schumann, programmed from latest to earliest. The Romanzen closed the year 1839 telling of an imminent marriage to Clara, but only after a turbulent journey in earlier months.

Before opening with the Romances, Mr. Hobson explained that due to the size of the hall and the desire to avoid stridency from the piano, the piano lid would be lowered onto the half stick. In keeping with this spirit of comfort and intimacy of musical gathering (despite having the music committed to memory), he would also be using the score. The half stick was a wise decision, because the sound was still quite robust as it was, as one heard from the first Romanze onward. As for using the score, there is almost always a certain unsettled quality that comes with that, perhaps partly from the unpredictability of having a page-turner nearby, so though it is hard to believe that this Luddite writer is advocating digital tablet page-turning (having never tried it), it might be worth a shot if playing with the score will become the norm. A few turns had perilous moments (the Humoreske‘s Intermezzo octaves section for example), and most glitches through the evening might also be chalked up to that unsettled feeling. Beyond that, there is perhaps nothing quite as conducive to inspired solo playing as solitude onstage. 

At any rate, the famous second Romanze was lovely with its full singing duet melodies, and the third found the spirit of Schumann’s Florestan alive and well. Interestingly Mr. Hobson commented on the influence on these of William Sterndale Bennett’s Romances (not just Clara Schumann as is often repeated). Being unfamiliar with those, this reviewer went to look for them and immediately found – you guessed it – recordings of them by Ian Hobson. One can only envy the lucky students of this professor who has such a large repertoire!

Moving backward in time from the December 1839 Romanzen, the Op. 23 Nachtstücke, composed in late March of that year, express presentiments of death as Robert was losing his brother Eduard. Originally entitled “Corpse Fantasy” (and renamed on Clara’s recommendation), its four pieces are fraught with rhythms of funeral marches, clashing uneasily with the boisterousness of the living.  Mr. Hobson brought clarity to the madness. The first movement (Mehr langsam, oft zurückhaltend) did emerge as quite hardy for Schumann at his most neurotic (and a tad brisk for its funereal subject), but because of ultra-clear thematic statements, it made one more keenly aware of the theme as transformed later, with Schumann’s poignant omission of several melody notes to symbolize loss. The second piece (Markirt und lebhaft) had just the right frenetic energy to suggest the original title of the piece “Strange Company,” and the third piece (originally “Nocturnal revelries”) had special high points for this listener, such as where the chordal playing cedes to streaming sequences – played with perfect balance and a singing tone. The fourth piece closed the work admirably with a final return to a more pensive spirit. This whole set is a work in which one can get lost between extremes of almost catatonic grief and nervous surface energy, but somehow Mr. Hobson balanced it all with the mastery of a storyteller. Often his storytelling verged on matter-of-factness, with no heart-on-sleeve projection or pained empathy, but he kept the momentum going in this problematic work, and that went a long way for this listener (who, for full disclosure, never loved this set, despite loving most of Schumann’s output). Thankfully this performance brought me closer to embracing it.

After intermission, we heard Humoreske, composed earlier in that March of 1839, before Schumann lost his brother. It is bursting with joyous creativity, as Schumann’s letters from that time to Clara also describe. In it lies the full spectrum of Schumann moods in rapid alternation, and Mr. Hobson played it with masterful grasp of each one. His first fast theme (Sehr rasch und leicht) was irresistible, and the seemingly premature repetition mid-theme, as if Schumann is interrupting himself in his excitement, was perfection. He even somehow managed to evoke the famous (unplayed) “inner voice” of the hastig section (which I like to call the “hastig situation”- no tomatoes please), through skillful emphasis of outer voices. Later in this section before the move to D minor, he achieved amazing bell-like sonorities, and the return to pianissimo was quite special. I have to echo here the words of my New York Concert Review colleague in the feeling that there could be more of these special moments, but I did love the ones we had. Meanwhile, it was a joy to behold the mastery of a pianist for whom so much comes so easily with minimal motion or commotion – and seemingly not a drop of sweat.

All in all, it was a memorable concert and a privilege to attend, as those present were undoubtedly aware. A standing ovation was rewarded with Liszt’s well-known transcription of Schumann’s song Widmung, dedicated on this occasion to Mr. Hobson’s wife who was present and whose recording of it was played at their wedding a year ago – a heartwarming personal touch. 

Qian Yin, violin; Po-Chuan Chiang, piano

Recorded June 18 and 21, 2018, at Foellinger Great Hall, Krannert Center for the Performing Arts,

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Kevin Bourassa, Producer; Sam Gingher and Kevin Bourassa, Recording Engineers; Russell Baker, Editor

Dr. Gary Lemco, Program Notes

MSR Classics: 2022 release

A 2022 debut release of a recording of the violinist Qian Yin with pianist Po-Chuan Chiang landed in my review assignments this week, and it was a joy to find that there are simply two works on it, the Sonata in G major, Op. 78, of Johannes Brahms and the Sonata in A major of Cesar Franck, both slices of nineteenth-century musical heaven. For the repertoire pairing alone, a collector might want this CD, but the performers proved to be excellent as well, and the recorded sound has the listener feeling almost present in the room.

Some might ask, “Why do we need yet another Franck or Brahms Sonata recording?” but my feeling is “the more the merrier.” The dreaded day when violin-piano duos stop sharing their passion and energy for such masterpieces would be a sad day indeed – and amazingly, many people on this planet have not heard these pieces even once. Though I am fond of renditions of Perlman, Zuckerman, Heifetz, Dumay, and many others, there are as many interpretations of this music as there are musicians – each with a different sound, different balance between players, different pacing, and different feeling. Beyond interpretation, there is the necessity for living artists to keep the living aspect of a piece of music alive, as one can feel during an “in the moment” realization; sadly this is less the case with a CD than in live performance, but this recording certainly whets one’s appetite to hear the Qian Yin/Po-Chuan Chiang duo play it in concert.

This duo’s Brahms “had me at hello.” From the very first notes, they pulled me into its nostalgic spirit, something that is not so easy with music of such depth – and with no introductory works to warm up the listener’s ears. Dr. Yin and Dr. Chiang capture its indescribable mixture of comforting warmth and bittersweetness immediately, and one is reminded why Clara Schumann, who played it with the great violinist Joseph Joachim (on the late Robert Schumann’s birthday no less) wrote a letter to Brahms saying, “I wish that the last movement could accompany me in my journey from here to the next world.” (To me it is all there in the first movement, but vive la difference!)

Dr. Yin’s playing in the Brahms has a mellow sweetness of timbre that is truly special. Her ensemble with Dr. Chiang is precisely together, and her intonation is always sure. It is a special joy to hear how seemingly effortlessly she navigates its more challenging aspects, because even in these days of technical firebrands, many players still have squawks and screeches here and there in such a piece. Nothing can ruin a Brahmsian spell like such sounds of strain, but there was no such issue here.

Incidentally, Dr. Yin plays an Italian Stefano Scrampella violin from the year 1830 with a French Violin Bow by Alfred Lamy from the year 1920, courtesy of the Guadagnini Violin Shop in Chicago. One is reminded here of the story of a legendary violinist, who when receiving praise for the sound of his instrument held it up to his ear saying, “funny, I don’t hear anything” – because naturally it is the violinist who deserves the praise – but a fine instrument and bow can certainly help!

Recording-wise, the violin is clearly front and center throughout, almost as if recorded in a separate room from the piano (except with excellent synchronization). Though it has been said that the violin always leads in this piece, I disagree with such extremes, so a minor quibble I had was that I didn’t hear a fuller piano part. A listener wants to imagine the duo close enough to react to each breath and twitch of an eyelash. Dr. Chiang is an excellent pianist so this comment is merely to say (to the recording engineers and editor?) that one wanted to hear more of him – and also to know that the violinist was responding to him, not merely being superbly accompanied. The piano sound itself sometimes verged on a distant glassiness where one wanted richness, and even, for example, where the piano has the melody and the violin has just accompanying sixths and sevenths (for example, m. 29) there was room for more piano sound to lend the interpretation a spirit of true collaboration. That comment may betray this listener’s pianocentric perspective, but then again, Brahms was also a pianist. All in all, the Qian-Chiang version is a compelling one, so reservations are fairly minor. (On a side note, I loved that the violinist is not afraid of an occasional slide, such as a delicious one at m. 172 – though nothing here is overdone ever.)

The Adagio movement of the Brahms is soulfully played as well. The beginning of it is hard in terms of establishing a measured nobility without woodenness – and at first this performance seems in danger of being metrically stiff – but it thaws beautifully as it develops. Again one wants a bit more bass in the piano part (m. 111 as an example) for the burnished Brahmsian glow to emerge.

The third and final movement, Allegro molto moderato, finds the pianist emerging in a more formidable role. Dr. Chiang is admirably precise and reliable –  flawless really –  and the violinist is so dazzling at times (m. 106 as just one example) that one almost laughs in amazement. My main quibble in this movement is that when the piano has a special look back at the opening theme from the slow movement (the Adagio‘s E-flat major now in G major – m. 142) the violin still overpowers the piano. The piano needs its turn.

Perhaps this little seed of objection planted itself in my mind to subsequently dull my enjoyment of the Franck Sonata, but the tone of violin part seems also noticeably different in the Franck. One becomes more aware of an edge to the sound that one doesn’t hear in the Brahms. One analysis is that there may be such focus on each tone that the listener after a point starts to feel strain from it – and the other possibility is that the violinist is the one who, perhaps through the absence of relaxing, is actually developing more of an edginess to the sound here. In any case, my favorite performances of this piece possess in the phrasing the ability to relax at dramatic low points, endings, and subsidiary passages (there are always some to be found!), to let the music breathe a bit more.

It would be an exaggeration to pull out the old saying, “if everything is important, nothing is important,” but the general idea is applicable when performances are unceasingly high voltage in energy or tone. The great violin masters of yesterday had a way of keeping excessive reverence for each note in check and looking at the big phrase and the big picture. It’s always easy to say this with hindsight – and unfair to players who have spent probably a decade micro-managing every nanosecond of every note for, say, “perfection” in a competition. It thus seems cruel to tell a young musician “Perhaps don’t try so hard” (when the life of a young musician is harder than ever and no amount of trying seems enough) – but paradoxically the music needs a bit of that.

In conclusion, one will just say that this violinist is superb, and may she be rewarded with the golden touring life that her predecessors had rather more easily – and may the relaxation come! The same goes for the pianist. We read that both have been extremely busy earning degrees, competing, collaborating, performing, teaching, coaching, and much more. Their impressive biographies may be found on the following websites: Qian Yin and Po-Chuan Chiang.

More importantly, their beautiful recording is available to hear or purchase through Apple Music, Spotify, and MSR Classics (Brahms and Franck Violin Sonatas), but my recommendation would be the actual physical CD with illuminating liner notes by Dr. Gary Lemco.

Eric Whitacre, composer/conductor; Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Kelly Yu-Chieh Lin, pianist; Jake Charkey, cellist

David Geffen Hall, Lincoln Center, New York, NY

April 17, 2023

Composer Eric Whitacre, in another fruitful collaboration with Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY), conducted a powerful program of his choral works this week at David Geffen Hall. The concert was what Mr. Whitacre announced to be his 21st concert with this organization, and it was his first time presenting his music in the newly renovated space, which – as Avery Fisher Hall until 2015 and after that David Geffen Hall – had hosted many of his earlier DCINY performances. He praised the beauty of the sound in the hall, and though much of that beauty could be attributed to the compositions themselves and the singers, it is hard to disagree with his reaction.

Many of the works were familiar to this listener, who reviewed Mr. Whitacre’s performances for New York Concert Review first in 2009 and several times since (The Music of Eric Whitacre 2018 and The Music of Eric Whitacre 2022). Three of Mr. Whitacre’s now ubiquitous works were included, Cloudburst (1991)  Lux Aurumque (2000), and Sleep (2000), and for those unfamiliar with the music of this composer, these reflect his signature choral style of close harmonies and shimmering textures. Introducing a touch of his humorous side were Animal Crackers, Vol I (2002-2006) and Vol II (2009), set to poems of Ogden Nash, and little man in a hurry from The City and the Sea (2009-2010), set to poems of E.E. Cummings. In addition, there were newer offerings, which showed this composer to be ever-expanding in range and depth, including six movements from The Sacred Veil (2018) a cycle composed for his friend and poet/collaborator Charles Anthony Silvestri. Newer still were two songs, Sing Gently (2020) composed during the pandemic (with text by the composer), and perhaps the most uplifting of the program, All Seems Beautiful to Me (2022) to a text of Walt Whitman.

Lux Aurumque opened and was as lustrous as one recalled but with perhaps an even more polished soprano section than usual in this particular combined chorus. They delivered their early high notes with clarity and made what one might call an upper pedal point ring out above all the other voices more than I can recall hearing. Each time I hear this piece I hear something new like that in it, which makes it always a discovery even after hearing it over and over.

The City and the Sea followed, listed as a set of five songs (though it seems they omitted the fourth – unless it was short and I blinked). It employs what Mr. Whitacre refers to as his “oven mitt technique” – piano clusters on strictly white keys – in the accompaniment. This piano part was played admirably by Kelly Yu-Chieh Lin, who was a pillar for the entire evening (interestingly reading from actual pages rather than a digital tablet as is so prevalent these days). The jaunty opening, i walked the boulevard, set a light-hearted spirit, and was followed by the mesmerizing movement, the moon is hiding in her hair. The text of the next, maggie and milly and molly and may, hovers between innocence and heartbreak, something Mr. Whitacre conveys extremely well, and the final one, little man in a hurry, was delightfully vivid under Mr. Whitacre’s precise and energetic conducting. 

Three movements from The Sacred Veil followed, the first two, In a Dark and Distant Year and Home, set to texts by poet Charles Anthony Silvestri, who lost his wife Julie Lawrence Silvestri to cancer when she was just 35. The third song, Magnetic Poetry, was set to a text written by his wife Julie from her poems using refrigerator magnets. The entire 12-movement cycle centers on Mr. Silvestri’s wife and their love, and we heard half of it. The first three (heard in the first half) expressed the pre-diagnosis life together with joy and love, and the later three (in the second half) addressed the illness and loss. Particularly beautiful in the first half were the second and third songs. Home, set to the simple line “You feel like home” as Mr. Silvestri first articulates his feelings for Julie, and Magnetic Poetry, a text for which there could not be a more ideally suited composer than Eric Whitacre. The words “Sleep-swimming through sweaty summer Dream mists” found the listener musically “swimming” through some sort of harmonic nebula, to stunning effect. With fine solo cellist Jake Charney sending his singing lines soaring through it all, the three songs cast a unique spell.

The first half of the program closed with the famous Cloudburst, in which the chorus makes clapping sounds (augmented by audience snapping later), collectively evoking the sounds of rainfall. The thrill of that one never gets old.

After intermission, we heard the Pembroke College Chapel Choir (UK) singing Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine under the direction of Anna Lapwood. We are told it was a relatively late entry, but it certainly added much to the program. Along with Mr. Whitacre’s unique integration of sound effects into his harmonies to convey a sense of flying, we heard some stylistic hints of Renaissance music to place Leonardo’s dreams in history, and the fusion evoked a great overview of time, from DaVinci’s days forward. Mr. Whitacre’s text setting is expert here, as usual. Between imitative music set to the release of “pigeons one by one” and the vocal “tolling” of a clock, the story came magically to life.

An unexpected note of humor came before the Ogden Nash songs as a microphone mishap left us hearing Mr. Whitacre’s voice backstage (and other extraneous noises) through part of the Leonardo piece. After the composer emerged to congratulate Ms. Lapwood and the chorus, he asked the audience, “Did I leave the mic on?” – and all were more than happy to sing out a “yes” with a unison force that would put any chorus to shame – everyone’s a critic, but all in fun.

The mood was then just right then for Animal Crackers, Vol I (2002-2006) (The Panther, The Cow, and the Firefly) and II (2009) The Canary, The Eel, and The Kangaroo). These were hilarious settings of Nash’s poetry, demonstrating a mastery of the musical equivalents of poker face and punchline. The timing had to be brilliant, and it was, in the pieces themselves and the delivery. There was respect for each poem’s brevity – the “soul of wit” after all – yet where prolonging was called for, it was ingenious, such as in The Canary (the song of canaries never varies”), with its incessant repetition of the line “never varies” – a hilarious touch that Nash would surely have applauded.

In addition to the humorous poems, the running commentary by Mr. Whitacre himself was entertaining throughout, from the story of his piece Seal Lullaby (orphaned by a studio’s decision to create Kung-Fu Panda instead) to the legal troubles in attempting to publish Sleep with its original Robert Frost text (replaced later with a Silvestri text).

Particularly inspired and inspiring was the new piece, All Seems Beautiful to Me (2022), set to a text by Walt Whitman (from “Song of the Open Road”) and commissioned by the US Air Force Band. I confess that I had already heard a rendition of it by Voces8 online so was already captivated by it with a small ensemble – but it worked for a large chorus as well. Whitman’s text is a perfect match for Whitacre’s spacious musical style, some of it seeming too heaven-sent to be true, such as the line “I inhale great draughts of space.” If Whitacre had not chosen this text, I would have chosen it for him, to suit the ethereal quality of much of his part-writing. The text-setting throughout was again inspired, including, as one example, the accelerating polyphony set to the words “I will scatter myself.” 

Sing Gently (2020) followed, set to the composer’s own text. As the composer’s notes on it state: “Ten years ago we created the Virtual Choir with a simple question: is it possible to make beautiful music together, no matter how far apart we are? After multiple virtual choir projects featuring over 20,000 singers from 124 different countries, the answer is a resounding yes. We continue the journey with a new piece I’ve written especially for the Virtual Choir during these challenging times, Sing Gently.” It was given a devout and sensitive reading.

Three more songs from The Sacred Veil followed. The first two, set to texts by Julie Lawrence Silvestri (from her blog during treatment) told stories of bravery and joy in the face of illness (in Delicious Times) and a desperate will to live and plea for prayer in the face of a terminal diagnosis (in Dear Friends). The final piece, Child of Wonder (text by the composer), served as a blessing and farewell. It was at once poignant, personal, and universal. Fittingly the evening closed with Sleep (2000), beautifully sung up through the last repetition of the impossibly soft final word “sleep.” 

Participating Groups included the Pine Crest School Select Ensemble, Mississippi School Of The Arts Chorale, Summit Ensemble Of The Colorado Springs, Children’s Chorale, Blue Hawk Singers, Wagner College Choir, Montclair State University Chorale & Alumni Affiliates, Newton County High School Choir, Singspirations, Ozarks Technical Community College: Chamber Choir, Saint Edward’s School Choirs, and The Pembroke College Chapel Choir.