Chloe Chuyue Zhang Recording in Review
Chloe Chuyue Zhang, piano
Orpheus Classical, 2022
Fans of piano music, particularly Russian piano music, have a new collection to enjoy, the solo debut album of pianist Chloe Chuyue Zhang, released by Orpheus Classical. Listed at some sites as released in 2022, it was recently made available through multiple music platforms (Spotify, Apple Music, and more) and so is listed in some places as a 2025 release. Whichever the date may be, it is definitely worth a listen. It includes Prokofiev’s Seventh Piano Sonata, Op. 83, Rachmaninoff’s Variations on a Theme of Corelli, Op. 42, and Tchaikovsky’s The Seasons, Op. 37a.
It is not easy in this age to release something “new” from these three composers. There are countless excellent pianists who have played and recorded Prokofiev’s Seventh Sonata and many who have played the Rachmaninoff Corelli Variations (actually based on a theme called La Folia once attributed to Corelli). For just the Prokofiev, the options are great, including Sviatoslav Richter, Vladimir Horowitz, and a virtual pantheon of greats. A search for those who have recorded the Prokofiev and Rachmaninoff yields another formidable list including Mikhail Pletnev, Vladimir Ashkenazy, Valentina Lisitsa, and too many others to name, though in most cases one would need to buy two separate recordings; a striking feature of Chloe Zhang’s release, however, is the juxtaposition of both of these giants along with Tchaikovsky’s set of twelve miniatures, The Seasons. Although there is also a large catalogue of recordings of the Tchaikovsky set, this reviewer has never encountered the set alongside these two monuments.
It is a fascinating listening experience to hear all three in a row, in reverse chronological order as they are offered here. It is like experiencing a war ending with a cataclysmic battle (not a stretch, with the Prokofiev being one of the three “War Sonatas” from 1942), then collapsing into tearful and cathartic reverie about it all (Rachmaninoff’s Op. 42 dating from 1931, with shadows of war and loss never far) – and, to recover, spending months looking out a window, watching the world go by at a safe distance (from the rural Russia of Tchaikovsky’s The Seasons, 1875). To play all three requires a pianist of excellent technique and a wide range of expressivity, and Chloe Chuyue Zhang has both.
Dr. Zhang, who hails from Shenzhen, China, has achieved quite a few distinctions in music, including numerous concerts and broadcasts in the US, China, and Europe, and several prizes, notably First Prize in the Bradshaw and Buono International Piano Competition. Her studies include an MM degree from The Juilliard School with Jerome Lowenthal and a DMA degree from the Eastman School of Music, with Natalya Antonova. In addition, she has worked with Robert Levin, Joseph Kalichstein, Alexander Kobrin, Alexander Korsantia, Matti Raekallio, Boris Slutsky, and Martin Canin.
Dr. Zhang’s recording starts off with a strong account of Prokofiev’s Seventh Sonata. She clearly has all the “nuts and bolts” well in hand, and she gives a performance of great clarity and detail. She shifts easily from sharp attacks to muted colors, from rapid repeated notes to stomping bass chords – the whole range. She does tend, overall, to favor staccato articulations where not notated, such as in the opening, but there are naturally varying interpretations possible here. One of my favorites is a performance by Horowitz (Carnegie Hall 1951), who by contrast has a rather slithery legato to start, setting a sinister tone for the movement. Richter’s is more detached – and many have considered him the last word, as Prokofiev entrusted the premiere to him. At any rate, Dr. Zhang’s clean detached approach works well and is intensified by the recording quality, which is exceptionally clear as well.
The second movement begins movingly, with warmth of sound, as marked, caloroso, and its dramatic arch is also built skillfully. One was a bit perplexed by the delivery of some triplets in the poco agitato section (as they seem to resemble a different rhythm), but then again, rhythmic interpretations are not always literal, and without multiple conceptions we wouldn’t need multiple recordings. The overall effect is persuasive.
Dr. Zhang also handles the infamous last movement with dispatch. There seems to be no challenge in it that she cannot handle with ease – and one’s only reservation relates to the fact that it seems almost too easy. It is quite exciting, without question, but this listener wants even more ferocious, unbroken energy (even when in lower dynamic levels). Naturally this is easier to transmit in live performance. In a recording studio, the focusing on details (marking phrase ends, tapering of motives after accents, etc.) can detract a bit from the inexorable drive of the piece. At any rate, she gives the piece an impressive powerhouse finish.
Few works could be more welcome after the Prokofiev than Rachmaninoff’s Op. 42, and this pianist gives the haunting opening theme just the right transparency of tone. Though your reviewer prefers a more gentle, gradual unfolding afterwards in the first variation – and more leggiero feel in the second – it is, all in all, beautifully done. Dr. Zhang in her program notes points out that the Op. 42 is unlike Rachmaninoff’s “more overtly virtuosic” compositions in its nuance and intimacy. That is true, though it has some deceptively difficult technical challenges. She is on top of nearly all of them – from the registral shifts in Variation V to the rather awkward leaps in Variation XX, which are exemplary in her hands. Only in Variation X, with a slight slowing of the parallels, does she betray any hints of strain, but she re-establishes her command with force in Variation XI. Especially captivating are the harmonic twists and turns in Variation VIII and quixotic changes in Variation XII. To this reviewer, there could be more care in the shaping of phrases in the meltingly beautiful Variation XV – as well as a bit more freedom in the Intermezzo – but overall, the great beauty of this masterpiece comes through.
After the blistering brilliance of the Prokofiev and heart-rending pianism of the Rachmaninoff, the Tchaikovsky character pieces seem almost like playthings, but they are admirable in their own right. They were commissioned in 1875 by Nikolay Matveyevich Bernard, editor of Nouvellist magazine, to be released one per month to the readership, with each piece representing a month of the year (and subtitled by Bernard). If they strike one as salonish, it is because they hearken back to the days when there were pianos in so many homes that a player of moderate ability might have played them (hence amplifying Tchaikovsky’s income). They are worlds away from the Tchaikovsky most of us know for his symphonies and concerti – but several of them, treated as singular gems, have attracted programming by virtuosi – including by Rachmaninoff himself.
To perform the whole set requires special patience, and where Dr. Zhang stands out is that she does not overdo anything. Though these pieces have been used by teachers to cultivate expressiveness in young pianists (resulting sometimes in miniature dramas), Zhang’s playing is notable for its simplicity and restraint. This quality is particularly appropriate in pieces such as January (“By the Hearth”) where, upon repetition of the same phrase – largely the same way – one can envision the recurrence of almost workaday winter pastimes.
February (“Carnival”) is festive in her hands, with ringing clarity, and her March (“Song of the Lark”) follows with melancholy. In April (“Snowdrop”) there is a sparkling, balletic quality, reminding one that Tchaikovsky was just finishing Swan Lake as he composed this – and her stretching at the end is graceful and lovely. May (“Starlit Nights”) conveys both brooding to reveling.
The June movement (“Barcarolle”) is one of the more popular ones in which it is hard to “unhear” the magic of a century of artists who have played it, but Dr. Zhang captures much of its beauty. Perhaps the melody could transcend the meter more at times, but again, this is personal. The pastoral calm and eventually more bustling feeling of July (“Song of the Reaper”) take us to an August (“Harvest Song”) of frenetic, Schumannesque energy, contrasting with its gentler, more intimate middle section. Shades of Mendelssohn color the prancing September movement (“Hunter’s Song”) and the perennial favorite, October (“Autumn Song”), exudes special tenderness. The set concludes well with the pianist enjoying the ride of November (“Troika”) and the lilting waltz of December (“Christmas”).
Classical musicians will undoubtedly choose their own favorites to listen to from the entire collection, but it is also worthwhile to hear everything in a row and experience it as a recital. Kudos to Dr. Zhang!
