Pianist Liam Kaplan in Review

Liam Kaplan, piano
Mannes College, The New School for Music, New York
September 28, 2013
Liam Kaplan

Liam Kaplan

Bach-on-the-piano activism is not the eyebrow raiser it once was. The tenet that J. S. Bach’s lifetime of keyboard works dealt only marginally with a plinky-hammered, Lilliputian forebear of a concert grand has been superseded, even among retro-fashionable harpsichordists and clavichordists, by the iconic status of the music and the deferential acknowledgment of equal access, if not equal temperament, to all performers who wish to claim it as their own. Now that the activists are at peace, the spotlight has shifted back to its original point, a discussion of the tuning systems which unlocked music forever when Bach composed his eloquent and sprawling “Well-Tempered Clavier.”

Temperament is a deliberate sweetening or souring of ordinarily pure consonances by a keyboard tuner, who distorts certain intervals slightly in order to retain the usable intonation of all twelve different notes in the octave. The choices of notes to mistune would determine the most aesthetically permissible keys through the centuries, but pieces had to stay near the keys related to the sweet notes or the instruments would have to be retuned around new keys. The search for a single operating system which could service all keys at once was so hotly argued that eventually the whole case was settled by the discovery of the twelfth root of the number two, an all-purpose multiplier for each note’s pitch in order to reach that of its northern neighbor, and no one has ever looked back. Meanwhile, on the sly, Bach safeguarded the family heirloom temperament and displayed the sacred formula not as a Wall Street pie chart but as a doodle on the title page of his book, according to the musical cryptographer Bradley Lehman and his supporters. Simple and harmonious, tuned in fifteen minutes, centered around B major, Bach’s Good Temperament distributed the tartness little by little en route to the brighter keys, stressing the recognized Affekt or emotion inherent to each of the twelve major and twelve minor tonalities. (Modern expense prohibits the use of Bach’s temperament in a usual recital setting.) The live demonstration in 1722, a prelude and fugue played in every one of twenty-four keys, landed Bach a teaching job in Leipzig and a demand for a spin-off collection of twenty-four even more complicated preludes and fugues. Chopin liked to warm up with them.

Fifteen-year-old Liam Kaplan is the latest candidate to have traversed Book One of “Das Wohltemperierte Klavier” in a single concert, at the Mannes College on Saturday evening. An unavoidable intermission bisected the majesty of the marathon but refueled the artist’s prodigious memory. Young Mr. Kaplan, a composition and bass student as well as a pianist at Mannes Prep, is finding his adult voice in a milieu rich with possibility. His inborn gifts of Swiss-watch rhythmic pulse, polyphonic lightness, and formal proportion were obvious from the start. Mr. Kaplan hears like a composer, albeit a rare composer who tells time and who communicates motives as well as harmony. He relishes excursions and surprises, layered balances, extended sequences and coda sections. Many of his performances could be lifted directly into a music history survey with complete satisfaction. Mr. Kaplan draws the listener into his world, a place of discipline and dignity, of sunny and attainable ideals. Although he seems as yet untouched by sorrow or even the theatrical portrayal of darkness, suspended in his refined atmosphere of feathery pointillism and trotting tempos, Mr. Kaplan is eminently likable. Some questions ensue if we fall captive to the cerebral perfection of his fugues in C-sharp minor or A major, or the expertly tailored articulation of his whirlwind preludes in G major and frothy B-flat: at the end of the day, Mr. Kaplan prefers to coax only a mezzo-piano out of a nine-foot Steinway. He seems not to need power or tragedy, to distinguish a poignant tonality from a soothing one, or to play a piano like an organ. He spreads chords ahead of their beats and crushes his leaning grace notes without spice. He is humble and happy not to show off.

Time will tell, of course. To evince such an abundance of fundamental musicianship at fifteen is no small feat. The self-control in Mr. Kaplan’s work is a proven predictor of success and a quality that few performing artists can hang on a shingle. In comparison with the rowdy boys in Bach’s charge at the St. Thomas School in Leipzig (some of whom burned mice over a candle and left them as trophies for the professor), Liam Kaplan might have made Bach a very proud mentor.

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by Emily White  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Seunghee Lee, Pianist in Review

Presented by MidAmerica Productions
Alice Tully Hall, New York, NY
November 24, 2012

The arts are in a jumble, but America remains the coveted destination for those who seek higher education and a head start in a classical performance career. As college costs aspire to reach the stars, so do many of our foreign students, who are being trained superbly, and increasingly, outside of the typical metropolitan capitals of the country.

On Saturday, November 24 at 2:00 pm, the Korean pianist Seunghee Lee gave a recital at Alice Tully Hall presented by MidAmerica Productions (now in its 30th season of forging concert liaisons here and abroad). A graduate of SangMyung University in Seoul, Ms. Lee chose to make her next stops at Ohio University and the University of Kentucky, whence she has emerged in the spring of this year, fully equipped to join the profession as instructor at SangMyung University in Seoul, with a doctoral dissertation on Korean contemporary piano music in hand. Ms. Lee’s biography cites a number of prizes and credits, including concerts in Brazil and a master class coaching with Kimura Park (presumably the pianist Jon Kimura Parker).

Ms. Lee established her porcelain signature sound from the outset on Saturday in a pair of unrelated Scarlatti sonatas, the tender K. 197 in B Minor and the top-ten favorite K. 159 in C Major, with its stuttering staccato thirds and cheery grace notes, deftly enunciated. Consistently attentive to clarity and polished treble, Ms. Lee prefers to butter her Baroque textures lavishly, but her sound retains its characteristic simplicity and integrity at all times.

If Ms. Lee is discovering a personal statement independent of the common sincerity of all music-making, this statement may be in its germinal phase: Saturday’s recital was a heavenly musical pot-luck. Its major works were the Bach-Busoni Chaconne and Brahms’s Variations and Fugue on a Theme of Handel (listed familiarly as “Handel Variations”). The Bach-Busoni was a late substitution for the “Corelli Variations” by Rachmaninoff, publicized on the outdoor marquee. A penchant for Baroque themes with their sets of full-blown Romantic variations would be an intriguing specialty, but the association would warrant an architectural perspective as well as an effervescent one. Ms. Lee’s cultivated sound and beautifully proportioned sense of rhythm did much to compensate for the absence of tragic declamation or exhilaration, respectively, in Bach-Busoni and Brahms. To decrease the cumulative effect of repetition and downplay the arrival of the fugue, Ms. Lee showed the courtesy to keep things moving and omitted nearly every repeat in the Brahms, as if for a timed audition. The through-composed Variation 13, in which Brahms extravagantly reiterates phrases in the upper octave to prolong the sway of the Hungarian lassan, contrasted noticeably with the compactness of the piece. After a dozen progressively thornier segments, the expected main course fugue proceeded as a blip on the radar, proficiently executed but minimally histrionic.

Partial responsibility for this non-starter of a cultural event should fall to the MidAmerica audience, which seemed especially papered with musical novices. Just as we were getting to know Ms. Lee and her lithe, violinistic style in the Bach Chaconne, the handsome crowd erupted into intermittent applause as if to cheer a home run every time she traversed the keyboard with razzle-dazzle. The offending persons did not stay beyond the first half, but we were treated to security ringtones, flash photography, electronic chimes, and exiting audience members during the remainder of the concert.

The most successful aspect of the recital was the grassroots parallel Ms. Lee drew between Samuel Barber’s Excursions and two atmospheric Korean dances by the composer Young Jo Lee, who is lucky to have such a devoted interpreter of his new piano works. Barber’s ostinato figures were comfortably controlled and his violin square dance full of fun, while the octatonic barcarolle and sicilian rhythms in Young Jo Lee’s Korean Dance Suite extended throughout the piano’s range and began to resemble Henri Duparc’s L’Invitation au Voyage gone to the dark side. Christian Sinding’s Rustle of Spring was a fluent and colorful encore.

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by Emily White  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Park Avenue Chamber Symphony in Review

Park Avenue Chamber Symphony
David Bernard, Conductor
Terry Eder, Piano
All Saints Church, New York
October 28, 2012

David Bernard conducting the Park Avenue Chamber Symphony

Where do musically inclined Manhattanites go to exorcise their day-job demons when they would prefer following a conductor to watching one through binoculars? The City offers a handful of choices compared with the array of amateur and semi-professional groups one can find in, say, London, where a hidden world class talent might be launched on the collective buoyancy of an auspicious gathering. Here, our community social life facilitates contact and much-needed creative entertainment for the worn out; a conductor’s role is one part music educator, one part maître d’, one part recruiter/fundraiser, and one part Toscanini-tempered-with-David-Letterman. Concerts, presented after about six weeks of growing hubbub, can be the highlight of a participant’s week or month, as many instrumentalists do what they can at home and save their all for the show. The decision to enroll in one ensemble or another can hinge on the location or ambience of rehearsal space as much as the season’s repertoire or the conductor’s acceptance of an unburnished riff.

The first-rate Park Avenue Chamber Symphony holds its rightful place at the forefront of New York’s handful. Chamber seems a misnomer when one surveys seventy musicians, counting a hefty corps of low brass, packed into the apse of All Saints Church, the orchestra’s home for the past four or so of its thirteen years. On the eve of devastating Hurricane Sandy, with nary a hint of low pressure rattling its large wooden doors, the church saw a loyal and jubilant tide of admirers within as conductor David Bernard directed a program of German standards. The Sunday concert was the second of a weekend pair titled “Wit and Radiance.”

Maestro Bernard cuts a benevolent figure on the podium, more Cheshire cat than tyrant, but his musical instincts (and memory) are superb and his subjects are with him at every lift of a finger. Schubert’s mysterious but ubiquitous “Unfinished” Symphony was surprisingly fresh and limpid, with gracefully shaped song floating atop a securely anchored cushion of bass. Indeed, texture can be a tricky issue when balancing such an abundance of reedy and dark-hued instruments, as was evident in Strauss’s enormous Till Eulenspiegels lustige Streiche. An ambitious undertaking for any orchestra, this virtuosic, cackling tone poem calls for quick reflexes to capture the dash of vinegar in Strauss’s mock-Tristan chords, the sudden reliance on sumptuous strings, or the treacherously ironic French horn and E-flat clarinet solos. All effects were met with resources of confidence and precision.

The conundrum arrived after intermission in the form of Beethoven’s “Emperor” Concerto, with accomplished artist Terry Eder unwittingly cast as miracle worker for the afternoon. This frustration she shouldered with an angelic smile and a healthy dose of rubato. Attempts to coax glistening scales and shimmering trills from a piano less than imperial were moderately successful and unforced. The solidity of orchestral bass was a salvation here: apart from some ragged close calls in the first movement development, Maestro Bernard expertly filled in missing low fundamental frequencies and pulse, providing a generous gift to the soloist’s left hand. A muted and evocative slow movement erupted into a romping, slightly girlish rondo whose Viennese syncopations took on a rather dance-hall quality.  Ms. Eder was clearly playing with abandon,  and the final runs of the concerto shone with taut facility in the pianist’s seamless inflections.

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by Emily White  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

CD in Review- Sophia Agranovich, piano

Liszt: Un Sospiro; La Campanella (arr. Busoni);
Rhapsodie Espagnole; Sonata in B Minor
Sophia Agranovich, piano
Armonioso ($25.24)
www.sophiagranovich.com
61 minutes
Engineer: Sean Swinney
Recording Dates: October 13 and 22, 2011

Sophia Agranovich

Franz Liszt needs few plugs to keep his name alive. Arguably the most comprehensive virtuoso performer, composer, charismatic stage personality, career strategist, and altruistic pedagogue to have shared our planet, Liszt the pianist represents the historical development of our genre, and a bit of him persists in the daily keyboard regimen of each of us whether we like to pay tribute to him or not. Tribute is paid, however, with full-scale explanation of the artist’s pedagogical pedigree for those willing to read the fine print, by the Ukrainian pianist Sophia Agranovich in her 2011 Liszt bicentennial CD, self-released on the Armonioso label. (There is no identifying number on the cover or spine.)

The CD’s packaging states: “Recorded on Franz Liszt’s birthday, this dedication to his Bicentennial features his most profound and virtuosic compositions.” Ms. Agranovich chooses conservatively from the plethora of possible recitals, opting for the tried-and-true “Un Sospiro” and B-Minor Sonata, with additional vorspeisen including the “Rhapsodie Espagnole” and piano transcription of Paganini’s violin caprice “La Campanella.” The latter is heard not in Liszt’s most virtuosic edition but in Busoni’s re-transcription.

Requisite athleticism notwithstanding, Ms. Agranovich displays finesse in the recurrent, introspective sighs of high treble filigree and chromatic runs throughout her program (she might have considered “Un Sospiro” a befitting title for the release). Coy pacing in the “Follia” variations of the “Spanish Rhapsody” and crisp articulation in the Sonata add supportive touches to her ardent portrayal of the sentimental-irascible “soul divided against itself.” To be sure, Ms. Agranovich possesses capable hands, facility, and authentic schooling, as documented, and her affinity for double notes and octaves takes us through landscapes of occasionally cautious, sometimes all-out exciting, and predominantly incident-free Liszt. At the far end of the spectrum, however, Ms. Agranovich’s instincts have led her to intersperse sour chords in moments of climactic import (homage to the one-take masters?) as well as extravagantly distorted phrases which give fresh meaning to the concept of rhetoric. “La Campanella” never loses itself in zigeuner-caprice but does lose pulse and thunder in a veritable collage of outtakes. Not working in the pianist’s favor is a studio sound deprived of nine-foot bass resonance. The curiously boxy quality necessitates sweep and strength from the performer for satisfactory fulfillment of Liszt’s larger-than-life message, and Ms. Agranovich’s transcendental attitude does help her break even, yet the volume controls still need adjustment mid-Sonata to avoid obscuring the end of the piece altogether. This recording could use some attention in order to be made suitable for broadcast, but the attention should probably include a few more tries at difficult passages.

Is the chaff inseparable from the wheat by design? One can see the exhilarated artist rushing to complete a marathon production on Liszt’s special day, cutting corners for expediency, budget rapidly dwindling with the setting sun. Recordings do outlive their occasions, and an overdue commemoration with a producer (and copy editor) on board would have been preferable to a flawed, prematurely delivered one. Ms. Agranovich deserves a more strategic spotlight.

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by Emily White  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Hilda Huang, Pianist in Review

Hilda Huang, Pianist in Review
Presented by The Rosalyn Tureck International Bach Competition
Faust Harrison Piano Salon, New York, NY
October 15, 2011
Hilda Huang

Hilda Huang

When the young Rosalyn Tureck submitted “The Well-Tempered Clavier” (in place of the single prelude-and-fugue Bach requirement, as her sister Marge used to tell) for her Juilliard entrance examination, she was prematurely aware of her life’s calling and her indefatigable dedication to Bach performance. A career path forged with determination and more than an ounce of friction helped to provide a smooth ride for many of the world’s future single-genre repertoire specialists, men as well as women.

The young Tureck withstood recalcitrant managers and presenters, staid record producers, inattentive sound engineers, prudish musicologists and opportunists alike, with a sense of ownership and oracular prophecy for the perpetuation of her ideal. Tureck’s message, conveyed on a piano and occasionally on other keyboard instruments through meticulous finger articulation and dynamic control, an unwavering sense of rhythm (coupled with an avant-garde Baroque rubato), stylized ornamentation, and faultless memory, was nevertheless Old World: at its heart, her motivation for the mastery of Bach pianism stemmed from a fear of comparison with her harpsichordist archetype, Wanda Landowska. As her detractors called for more spontaneity or parodied her reported séances with the composer, Tureck (who lived until 2003) wrote and edited pedagogical texts and branched out into Busoni and contemporary music, while remaining “the high priestess of Bach,” with a lifetime decoration from the German government (a decoration which she once left behind in my room after a stay, despite her faultless memory). Her legacy took hold in the adulation of audiences, record collectors, university scholars, and, from her point of view, imitators who similarly devised their own mystical personae and interpretative fetishes. Having captured the mantle of Landowska, Tureck was increasingly wary of the eclipsing notoriety of Glenn Gould, which threatened to usurp her unregistered patent on articulation and eccentricity.

With the younger generation (as well as the afterlife) in mind, Tureck laid the groundwork for an international Bach competition which has succeeded in gathering an ardent following of the highest caliber. The Grand Prize Winner of the 2010 session (the competition’s second cycle) is Hilda Huang, now 15, who gave an all-Bach recital at the Faust Harrison Piano Salon on Saturday evening. Performing to a filled room on a pair of beautifully restored pianos at close range, Huang sailed with supreme comfort and assurance through some of the most intricate and eclectic of Bach’s keyboard works, building to a consummate rendition of the Sixth English Suite, BWV 811. (The latter was a last-minute substitution for the originally programmed No. 5, on the advice of her San Francisco mentor, John McCarthy.) Huang already holds title to a Bach prize from Wurzburg, Germany, and would be any jury’s first choice; her flair for counterpoint and understanding of harmony are displayed with ebullience and such crisply designed fingerwork that, for stretches of the concert, I thought I was hearing Her in reincarnation.

There are subtle differences, of course. Unincorporated into Huang’s style are the pointed agogic accents that Tureck used so frequently to dramatize facets of the score; absent are the elegantly meditative lilts of allemande and courante, the poignant whispers of the sarabande, the quarter-pedals with sliding fingers. Rolled chords anticipate their beats neatly, rather than announcing the thumb in a sardonic moment of Tureckian glee. Huang is so upbeat and refreshing—lest one forget her age—that we strain to hear bittersweetness in passages of free rhythm or chromaticism. A fugue subject is a fugue subject—albeit one with a descending tenor foreshadowing the inexorable—but that will certainly come later, perhaps when Huang is sixteen. Her extroversion is alluring for its boldness of sonority and arching crescendi, which Tureck shunned, but which create such a satisfying concept of formal structure in Huang’s playing. This young artist will be thrilling to watch as her perfection extends to embrace the audience, as she experiments with triumphant endings and risky sound effects. For now, she is a phenomenon.

The Bach scene has undergone revisions since Tureck broke new ground. The path is familiar, and modern Bach players may virtually dial-an-approach according to their respective tastes. Indeed, the irregularity of the Baroque “oddly shaped pearl” is out of place in a competition setting and difficult to reconcile with our need for quantifiable elements in a society obsessed with order. But Rosalyn cautioned against too much order: too much perfection is Bach’s hereafter—Mozart.

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by Emily White  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY