Ian Hobson, piano

Judy and Arthur Zankel Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

March 11, 2019

Pianist Ian Hobson played a wide-ranging, difficult recital at Zankel Hall on March 11th, which made me answer the following questions in the affirmative: Can a pianist with immense bravura technique also, 1) be intellectually probing, 2) be poetically sensitive, and 3) create imaginative, thoughtful programs? It was in those areas where Mr. Hobson truly surrendered to his pensive, lyrical impulses that he created true magic, though I realize, even as I write those words, that such areas were set-off even more by what was around them. I reviewed Mr. Hobson’s heroic survey of the complete piano music of Debussy and Ravel elsewhere in these pages – Ian Hobson- Debussy/Ravel: April 18. 2018, Ian Hobson- Debussy/Ravel: February 28, 2018, Ian Hobson- Debussy/Ravel: February 7, 2018, Ian Hobson- Debussy/Ravel: November 29, 2017.

The evening began with Beethoven’s two-movement sonata in E minor, Op. 90. The first movement, in the minor, is a study in contrast and concision, with anger, melancholy, and even a nostalgic wistfulness, which Mr. Hobson brought out beautifully. Then the falling minor third is transformed into a rising major third for the second movement, a rondo that captures Beethoven in rare Schubertian expansion. Rather than a love-song for all humanity, I’ve always thought it quite personal, possibly even to the “immortal beloved,” whoever she might have been. Here, I wish Mr. Hobson had followed the nicht zu geschwind (not too fast) indication, giving a bit more gemütlichkeit, time spent allowing the music to unspool. Nevertheless, it was well-played.

He then followed with some Mendelssohn that had a Beethoven connection, the Variations sérieuses, Op. 54, which was part of the general fund-raising initiative for the Beethoven monument in Bonn (unveiled in 1845), to which Chopin, Liszt, and Schumann, among others, also contributed. The work is a set of evolving accelerations (primarily) on an original, chromatic, sober theme in D minor, called “serious” to differentiate it from the many sets of variations brillantes based on existing popular tunes or opera arias that composers were expected to churn out for the growing amateur market. The somber minor key is broken only once, about three-fourths of the way through with a D major, hymn-like moment of calm amid the storms. Mr. Hobson organized all the furor with his mighty skills, though I wished for more quiet at the outset, lower dynamics and more contrast in places, so the journey could “go farther.” It was an exciting rendition of a piece I wish was played more often.

The first half concluded with Schumann’s third sonata (the first to be started, however), in G minor, Op. 22. Here Mr. Hobson was truly magnificent. He was right in his element, handling all the manic rhythmic dislocation and busy-ness with complete command. He brought out the many polyphonic felicities in the first movement, but it was in the slow movement, based on an early song of Schumann, that he created spellbinding magic with his quiet playing. The rondo finale, marked Presto, was a wild ride that delighted the entire audience, justly so, yet he phrased the contrasting lyrical theme with greatest sensitivity, varying it through its many repetitions.

After intermission came an old chestnut that one rarely hears these days, Ernő Dohnányi’s Rhapsody in C major, Op. 11, No. 3. I have heard the legendaries (think Annie Fischer or Shura Cherkassky) sport with this four-and-a-half minute madcap, antic piece just as a kitten would play with a ball of string. Mr. Hobson added an element of substance to the piece without losing the humor entirely; that seemed to say he was making it a “more important” piece, and why not.

Then came a world premiere from American composer/conductor/pianist Robert Chumbley, titled Brahmsiana II (Brahmsiana I is an orchestral ballet score). As the composer states, this is no pastiche and no quoting of Brahms takes place; rather it was inspired by certain compositional techniques of Brhams. The three “new intermezzi” were in Chumbley’s characteristic lush neo-Romantic style, and they used the piano gratefully, even if I wasn’t really feeling much about Brahms per se. Chumbley doesn’t quite possess Brahms’ austerity or motivic unity. I sensed that in the first two pieces, the endings came too quickly, they didn’t feel organic and inevitable; but the third made a satisfying conclusion indeed. Mr. Hobson’s detailed and lavish colorations really added value to this group.

The recital concluded with Chopin’s masterful third piano sonata, Op. 58 in B minor. Here Mr. Hobson’s magic occurred in the elfin-light Scherzo and its heartbreaking contrasting middle section; his funereal song third movement was stately and gorgeous too. My only quibble was with the outer movements, which were played too fast—the first (Allegro) is qualified by maestoso (stately, dignified, majestic), it was pushed; the finale is marked (admittedly odd): Presto non tanto (not too presto). Here, for me, it was “too,” causing a lot of details to fall by the wayside, and reminding me of the early 20th century curmudgeon Henry Krehbiel, who I believe referred to this movement as “the parade ground of the virtuosi.” Still, it was an astonishing display of digital ability, fiery and completely involved emotionally, and it thrilled the audience to no end.

Mr. Hobson offered two (strongly earned!) encores: Tchaikovsky/Rachmaninoff’s Lullaby, Op. 16, limpid and full of elegant sorrow. The second was the Mendelssohn/Rachmaninoff Scherzo from the incidental music to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, more than enough for four, let alone two, hands. (Did I even hear some extra notes added, via Horowitz or perhaps Hobson?) Mr. Hobson’s presentation of the major-key lyrical theme that occurs twice was breathtakingly light, as was his “vanishing” conclusion.

Ian Hobson, piano

SubCulture, New York, NY

February 28, 2018

Ian Hobson continued his six-concert epic presentation of the complete solo piano works of Debussy and Ravel with his fourth installment. By now (I’ve covered the first and third), I recognize repeat attenders in the audience, and plenty of fresh, young faces, due partly to the “edgy” downtown location, no doubt. I wish more people could hear this immense achievement, because while household names, Debussy and Ravel aren’t really programmed as often as one would hope.

Mr. Hobson’s opening work, Debussy’s resolute but sad little Berceuse héroïque, allowed me to ruminate on the terrible toll exacted by World War I. France lost at least 1,320,000 men in their prime, with a quarter of those lost in the first months of the war. Ravel, despite repeated unsuccessful attempts to enlist, finally joined the Thirteenth Artillery Regiment as a lorry driver in March 1915 at age forty (!), serving for two years—afterward he was never the same, either in physical or mental health. Debussy, already ravaged by the cancer that would take him in 1918, became intensely nationalistic, signing his works “Claude de France,” and contributing many short, bleak works to the many charity efforts that were pleading for funds. Thus, the Berceuse, destined for a Belgian war effort.

Mr. Hobson immediately relieved the gloom with a stylish peek into several of Debussy’s unjustly neglected early works: Valse romantique, Mazurka, and Nocturne. While each of them contains some tidbits of the progressive harmonies Debussy would become famous for, they lie squarely in the Romantic genre field, as one might expect from a student of a woman named Marie Mauté de Fleurville, who claimed to have studied with Chopin.

Mr. Hobson then gave us Ravel’s true first piano composition (though unpublished until 1975), the Sérénade ‘grotesque’ from 1893. The guitar-like pizzicati and other brief melodic figures would be put to much better use in the Alborada del gracioso (heard later on this program). Mr. Hobson was stylish in it, but did ignore the indication, so unusual for Ravel, très sentimental.

Then came one of Ravel’s masterpieces, the five-piece set Miroirs, in which Ravel sought to evoke not things themselves, but their reflections. Each piece is dedicated to a fellow-member of the avant-garde Apache artist group. Here, Mr. Hobson’s extraordinary fluency gave what was for me the most successful performance of the evening. He is able to “put things together,” the only downside being that many details get lost. Nevertheless, all the movements were great (including the astonishing, callous-building, double-third and double-fourth glissandi of Alborada), with the exception of La Vallée des cloches, which was way too fast! In Ravel’s conception, there was no valley, only the varied contributions of the many Paris church bells tolling at noon on a sultry day.

I hoped not to end this review on a down note, but Mr. Hobson’s concluding presentation of Debussy’s first book of Préludes was the most unsatisfying, despite a few jewel-like refined moments (La Danse de Puck was near perfect). His penchant for rushing disturbed the mysterious calm that underlies many of the works, and there was definitely a shortage of the pp and ppp dynamics, without which Debussy can seem like a terrible mistake. Particularly, he almost never observed when there was a crescendo immediately followed by a subito (sudden) pp. There was a great deal of rhythmic alteration too, in short note values. In this recital, Mr. Hobson used the scores for all his performances, I don’t object to that at all, but it seemed to lead to a kind of sight-read quality, but of course I know he wasn’t sight-reading. Putting together a marathon series like this is truly daunting. I did think that two preludes, La Fille aux cheveux de lin and La Cathédrale engloutie, were the best. I was surprised that they were these two. The others were rather manhandled, with rough patches intruding on one’s contemplation.

I’m sure the next two recitals will be well-attended and wonderful.

Ian Hobson, piano

SubCulture, New York, NY

February 7, 2018

Ian Hobson continued with the third of his six-concert complete presentation of Debussy and Ravel works for solo piano, and on this occasion it struck me that his spirit was much more aligned with the material than it had been back in November. He created many ravishing moments, mainly due to his excellent fleet technique. My “wish list” for him would be that he explore the pianissimo (and lower) dynamics more—I didn’t feel like I really heard enough utterly soft sounds; and that he take more time, don’t push every tempo (this I had said previously). Where this need for speed succeeded brilliantly however, was in the final piece of the Images triptych: Mouvement (which is French for tempo, after all!). This was given a wonderful clear reading, and the whole-tone “disappearance” at the end was stunning.

The hall was full, so word is getting around what an achievement this cycle is, and the average age of the audience was substantially lower than one customarily sees at “classical concerts.”

The recital opened with two (of the six) pieces commissioned by the Revue musicale to be composed on the musical spelling of the name HAYDN: 1909 was the Haydn death centenary year. A fine rendition of Ravel’s poignant Menuet, with all its clever permutations of the name (upside down and backward), preceded Debussy’s Hommage, a wistful melancholy waltz followed by a scherzo-like dash, all using the name theme. Mr. Hobson followed this with Ravel’s groundbreaking Jeux d’eau, which when performed by the composer for his fellow-Apache artist group was described as “iridescent fire.” The title is often mistranslated as The Fountain, but really means Water Games, or The Play of Water. The manuscript bears an epigram by one of Ravel’s favorite authors, Henri de Régnier: “Dieu fluvial riant de l’eau qui le chatouille…” (River god laughing as the water tickles him), and Ravel was very strict with his few piano students about the piece sounding happy and playful, never sad. Mr. Hobson dispatched it very well in all its glory.

Then came one of the beloved “early” Debussy works, the famous Rêverie, which wasn’t quite dreamy enough for my taste.

A major work of Ravel was next: the Valses nobles et sentimentales, a suite of seven waltzes and an epilogue, inspired by certain sets of Schubert dances. It was premiered at a notorious “anonymous” concert in 1911, at which all the names of the composers were blacked out on the program, and the audience had to guess whose work was whose. Even Ravel’s previously ardent supporters had a hard time recognizing the author of the Valses, so obsessively was the work focused on strong dissonances. Ravel himself, when describing the piece, always analyzed it in straightforward harmonic terms with “passing notes.” The brash opening (which must have seemed really radical, with Sacre du printemps still two years off) was beautifully conveyed by Mr. Hobson. I wish the “sentimentales” had been more leisurely. The seventh waltz, described by Ravel as the “most characteristic,” lacked lift and lilt. There seemed to be quite a few errors or memory lapses- audiences really need to know what a high-wire act being a pianist is!

The evening closed with the two major Debussy groups: Images (first book) and Suite bergamasque. Reflets dans l’eau craved more pianissimi, but the fluidity was perfect. Hommage à Rameau was appropriately regal and somber, and as I mentioned above, Mouvement was perfection. Three of the four movements of the Verlaine-inspired Suite have been overshadowed by the once-ubiquitous Clair de lune, which is a shame, since they are excellent. The Prélude was a bit hectoring, lacking delicacy, but the Menuet was beautifully crisp, if too loud, in Mr. Hobson’s hands. He avoided the trap of over-sentimentalizing the Clair de lune, and his Passepied was very good.

This cornucopia of French variety passed by in a too-quick hour, and we look forward to his next installment on February 28, 2018.

Ian Hobson, piano

SubCulture, New York, NY

November 29, 2017

Esteemed pianist Ian Hobson opened his six-concert series of the complete solo piano works of Debussy and Ravel with his first installment on Wednesday at the edgy SubCulture location in New York’s East Village. Having made his reputation with insightful performances of everything from German standards to neglected Romantic masters to contemporary music written specifically for him, he now reveals another aspect of his curiosity: French so-called “Impressionism.” By the way, can we all stop using this term? Debussy and Ravel despised it, for it was applied as a pejorative, borrowed from the visual arts where it was used the same way.

The recital was a success, if one gauged by audience response to this sometimes diffuse music. I feel that it was more of a mixed success. Mr. Hobson inhabited the general atmospheres of all the works very well, with enormous technical fluency, but there were far too many flaws in the presentation: dropped notes, wrong notes, notes that didn’t sound, dynamics ignored, rhythms distorted (I couldn’t really tell if memory problems were perhaps a factor in some of this), and nearly every tempo too fast. Yikes! I’m going to attempt to temper this harsh verdict by saying that he appeared hamstrung by the piano in SubCulture, an inferior small Steinway that managed to sound completely wooden, almost pitchless at times in the bass, and out-of-tune. Please, SubCulture, when presenting an artist of such stature, doesn’t that warrant a full-size concert grand, especially when sonic splendor is a large part of the esthetic of the period of music being played?

Mr. Hobson began with what for me was a bit of a turn-off: “Ravel’s” Menuet in C-sharp minor (1904). I know this has been recorded recently, in pianists’ desperate search to add uniqueness to their Ravel canon, but just because a work is in a composer’s handwriting does NOT make it a work BY that composer. (As was the case for decades with some of Bach’s sacred cantatas now known to be spurious, he was merely copying out other composers’ works for his own use.) In this instance, the Menuet was found on the reverse of a sheet of exercises by Ravel’s composition student Maurice Delage. I have it on very good authority that either (1) Ravel was taking oral dictation from Delage, thus making the piece by Delage, or (2) that he was making fun of Delage’s maladroitness in the lesson, making it “sort of” Ravel. Ravel was such a fastidious technician, certainly in his master period by 1904, and I’m sure he is turning in his grave over this bad piece, which even a casual listen would demonstrate sounds nothing like Ravel at all. Sorry, Ian!

The entire recital was played without intermission, with only a slight pause between Gaspard and the Debussy Préludes. Mr. Hobson followed with a charming account of Debussy’s first surviving work for piano solo: Danse Bohémienne, which Madame von Meck sent to Tchaikovsky for evaluation. Pyotr Ilich said: “Your little Frenchman is charming, but perhaps the piece is a bit too short,” a pithy, accurate observation. Debussy was already demonstrating his unconcern with “development.”

After that came the two well-known and well-worn Debussy Arabesques, so beloved of adult amateur piano students everywhere. They were given a rough rendering that de-emphasized charm in favor of tempo. Most opportunities (in the score) for moins vite, ritenuto, diminuendo, were either not observed or minimally so.

He then gave us a truly unusual miniature, composed for a music magazine competition, called Morceau de concours (1904). It uses two fragments from one of Debussy’s many abortive opera projects, Le Diable dans le beffroi, based on Poe. This was very well played.

Next up were the Images oubliées, three pieces from 1894, portions of which were re-used in later works. These were first published (1 and 2) in the Piano Quarterly in 1977, and they really should be heard more often. The first is marked Lent (mélancolique et doux), but it sounded impatient in Mr. Hobson’s rendition. The second piece “In the tempo of a Sarabande . . .” (which later became the Sarabande in Pour le piano, with harmonic changes), worked its hypnotic magic and was a highpoint of Hobson’s evening for me. The third piece “Some aspects of Nous n’irons plus au bois” (a children’s song, later used in Jardins sous la pluie) was also played effectively, its rapidity uniting well with Mr. Hobson’s strengths.

Now we come to the first true masterpiece of this program, Ravel’s Gaspard de la nuit, “three poems for piano (Ravel’s own designation) after Aloysius Bertrand.” Mr. Hobson’s rippling accompaniment figure at the beginning of Ondine, the spiteful mermaid, was gorgeous, giving me high hopes for the rest of the piece, but in the middle of the first page, he played a notorious misprint where the figure appears to change (but is not supposed to!). I suppose he learned it that way, and such things are very difficult to change. His fluidity (in this ultimate water piece) was still gorgeous throughout, though I wish he had breathed more, and left her little “naked” solo without pedal, as indicated. Le Gibet, the story of the body of a hanged man swaying on the gallows in the red light of the setting sun, with bats bumping into it and insects abounding, simply was way too fast. It could not work its mesmerizing spell of dread at such a tempo. If Ravel had been present, he would have had the same falling out with Mr. Hobson that he did with Ricardo Viñes, over the same piece! Scarbo, the imp who tortures the insomniac by scratching at the bedsheets, bursting into flame, then vanishing, suited Mr. Hobson’s impetuousity. You must have that sort of fearlessness to attempt this monster, and he did. I do wish more details had been audible, and softer dynamics (when indicated) had been observed.

Mr. Hobson closed with the second book of Debussy’s Préludes, which still manage to sound really modern despite a lifetime of study and performance. Again, in terms of atmospheres Mr. Hobson nailed them. But there are so many subtleties that went by the wayside. Let me dwell on the best of his: La puerta del Vino (with brusque oppositions of extreme violence and passionate gentleness), Les fées sont d’exquises danseuses (rapid and light), “General Lavine”-eccentric (one of Debussy’s send-ups of then in-vogue cakewalk), Ondine (playful, less menacing than Ravel’s for sure), Les tierces alternées (really Debussy’s “thirteenth etude”), and Feux d’artifice (with its concluding broken, faraway evocation of La Marseillaise). Hey, that’s a pretty good average, six out of the twelve. What I missed in the others was the same as previously mentioned: whenever the music said Lent, it wasn’t, he seemed in a hurry to get through the material.

Of course, presenting the complete (and complex!) works of these two is a huge project: I hope Mr. Hobson will find the time to breathe more and enjoy the beautiful sounds he is capable of making, and transport his appreciative audiences even farther into the French soul.

Ian Hobson, piano

Merkin Concert Hall, Kaufman Center, New York, NY

April 13, 2016

Ian Hobson has unusual stamina. He plays with an uncanny virtuosity. His interpretations are nuanced and fresh. Of those elements, the stamina aspect cannot be overstated here. He opened with Fauré’s Theme and Variations, Op. 73, then proceeded with Chopin’s Etudes, Op. 10, followed by Schumann’s Symphonic Etudes, Op. 13, and then concluded with none other than Rachmaninoff’s Preludes, Op. 32. There was exceptional pacing within each work, and he never tired technically or emotionally.

Mr. Hobson’s interpretation of the Fauré had the usual simplicity and delicacy of the French master, but also the extroverted tenderness of a young Brahms. There was beauteous and varied tone here, exquisite balance of the hands–featuring supremely delicate high notes, and the phrasing was also unique, with a favorability for stretching musical lines into very long phrases. The Chopin had a fleet-fingered leggiero (lightness of touch) when called upon, as in the opening Allegros, but also a profoundly warmer tone quality as needed–like No. 3, the E major Lento. No. 5, the G-flat major Vivace, had expert timing, with the subtlest of rubato. Even more endearing tempo fluctuations were evident in No. 8, the F major Allegro. No. 4 was facile and precise, especially in the left hand. It was only in No. 11, that a few phrases were glossed over.

The Schumann Etudes, really a Theme and Variations, which Brahms would also master, is symphonic in ways that Schumann’s symphonies tried to be but couldn’t. Brahms achieved in his symphonies what Schumann lacked: varied colors and depth in the orchestration. Mr. Hobson performed this Schumann evoking an orchestra, seemingly turning left hand dotted rhythms into cellos and basses, sometimes a low brass section. In the fourth etude, the punctuated chords were pungent in a way that a woodwind section can pierce through a tonal fabric, and the lyrical right hand was reminiscent of violas, clarinets, and silky smooth violins on top. Emotionally speaking, there was a wonderful mix of relaxed moods and stormy agitato befitting Schumann’s inner torment. The memorable finale was fiery and propulsive–emotionally obsessive at times–with a welcome, exaggerated attention to harmonic detail, like when the chord pattern climactically changes to the major key–as in the end of Bolero, when it surprisingly shifts to E major. Hobson’s Rachmaninoff contained both soul and a soul-searching quality. The peaks were timed beautifully; during grandiose moments, the bass was powerful but never distorted or over-pedaled, as sometimes is the case. His encore was Rachmaninoff’s last work–from 1941, an arrangement of a Tchaikovsky Lullaby: the A-flat “Cradle Song” from Six Romances, Op. 16.