Vancouver Debut - Kate Liu

Pianist Kate Liu made her much anticipated recital debut yesterday. In case you haven’t heard, she was the bronze-medal winner of the 2015 International Chopin Competition in Warsaw, as well as the Polish Radio prize for best performance of a mazurka. Those who came expecting an avalanche of Chopin may have been disappointed at the programme, but it has been almost four years since the Chopin competition, and we should not be surprised that any artist would want to expand her repertoire. She had certainly not chosen a programme for the faint-hearted, but one that challenged every aspect of her musical and pianistic abilities. 

Liu began her performance with Brahms’ Ballades, Op. 10. These are unusual for Brahms’ early music because unlike the sonatas or variations, these are not virtuosic works by any means, but almost foreshadow those wonderful late opuses that Brahms was to write at the end of his life. Liu played these pieces almost like a series of ruminations, looking very much inwardly at the music. To be sure, there was drama when drama was called for, such as in the shattering climax of the Ballade in D minor, Op. 10, No. 1. At the return of the A section, Liu played the left hand triplets that conjured the disquieting nature of the original ballad, evoking in my mind an impression of one injured. 

I was very taken with the beauty of her sound, and how she voiced the octaves and chords at the beginning of the Ballade in D major, Op. 10, No. 2. There may be those who wish for greater drama in the Allegro non troppo section, but an examination of the score reveals that Brahms only wrote a single, very brief fortissimo indication. Even in the relatively stormier Ballade in B minor, Op. 10, No. 3, the dynamic indications range from pianississimo (ppp) to forte only, with many more indications in the softer dynamic ranges. In the beautiful Ballade in B major, Op. 10, No. 4, with the descending figures in the opening foreshadowing the late Intermezzo in B minor, Op, 119, No. 1, Liu really achieved a sense of repose. In the Piu Lento section, there was real depth of sound, and a feeling of absolute stillness. She certainly paid much more than lip service to Brahms’ indication of Col intimissimo sentimento. These are perhaps very personal interpretations to these early Brahms works. That said, Liu was doing no more than working (hard) to bring out what the composer asks for, a really remarkable achievement for someone so young. 

Of all of Chopin’s works, I believe that the mazurkas invite the greatest range of interpretative views. The inevitable question is whether the artist penetrated the composer’s soul with these, Chopin’s most personal and original works. The answer here was and is a resounding yes. Kate Liu painted Chopin’s Mazurka in A minor, Op. 59, No. 1, on a large canvas. She played this large-scale miniature in a spacious manner, and lavished her attention to the many pauses and spaces within the music. At times, it almost sounded as if she was improvising. Her playing of the Mazurka in A-flat, Op. 59, No. 2, brought out the elegance of this music, and her phrasing here was truly magical. She brought us back to the world of the Polish countryside with her idiomatic performance of the Mazurka in F-sharp minor, Op. 59, No. 3. I also liked her slightly wistful approach to the F-sharp major section.

Two short works concluded the first half of Liu’s recital. Liu is not a pianist with a big sound. That said, her playing of Rachmaninoff’s Etude-tableaux in E-flat minor, Op. 39, No. 5 and Liszt’s Transcendental Etude No. 10 in F minor(“Appassionata”) revealed the richness of the sound she evoked from the piano, a sound that is never ugly or percussive. Certainly these works, which most pianists would use as a mere vehicle to demonstrate his or her technical abilities, made me feel that she had thought through these works carefully. In the Liszt especially, there was an easy elegance that I found appealing. It is interesting that it was in these relatively virtuosic works that showed her to be very much a thinking musician.

The second half of the recital was taken up with one very large-scale work – Prokofiev’s Sonata No. 8, the last of the three so-called “war sonatas”. Liu successfully navigated through the bleak soundscape of the first movement, giving it a sense of coherence and totality. The second movement (Andante sognando) once again highlighted the beauty of her sound as well as the lyricism of her playing. Liu more than rose to the technical challenges laid down by the composer in the third movement, and her blistering, almost orchestral, playing of the third movement left the piano limp and the audience breathless. We would of course forgive her for not wanting to play any encore after such a performance.

Sunday’s recital confirmed my view that Kate Liu is not “just” another fire-breathing virtuoso with steel fingers, but a musician and artist with a carefully considered view to whatever she is playing. She is of course only at the outset of her artistic journey. For now, I only hope that she is “done” with the competition circuit, because I believe that what she needs is to strike out on her own path and find her place within the artistic firmament.

Canadian Debut - Cho Seong-Jin

Pianist Cho Seong-Jin made his Canadian recital debut in Vancouver yesterday afternoon, and gave one of the year’s most satisfying concerts.

Obviously not one to shirk from a challenge, Cho set a high bar for himself by presenting a programme that is daunting in its musical and pianistic challenges. The end result was a sense of complete musical satisfaction.

Today one rarely hears Beethoven’s popular Sonata in C minor, Op. 13 (Pathétique), except in performances of the complete sonata cycle. Perhaps because of its popularity, it makes it especially difficult for a young artist to make an impression with this work, particularly as an opening piece. In the solemn introduction, Cho makes the many portentous silences charged with meaning. I did like the sound of the dotted rhythmic chords rubbing against each other like tectonic plates, adding to the tension of the music. That said, Cho does not overplay the feeling of pathos that is so often overdone with this work. This is especially apparent in the Allegro di molto e con brio section of the first movement as well as in the third movement. The artist seems to be reminding us that, forward-looking as it is, this is still a work very much steeped in the 18^th century sound world. Under the hands of this talented pianist, all those explosive accents and sudden shifts of moods can still startle us. In the coda, I appreciate the fact that Cho did not start the crescendo too early, but exactly where Beethoven intended, at m. 303. In the heavenly Adagio cantabile, music so popular that we can all too easily take it for granted, Cho reminds us what a sublime and profound movement this is. It is the sign of a true artist that he allows the beauty of the music to unfold naturally. At mm. 19 to 22, Cho makes the left hand chords float while the right hand melody unfolds. And the brief coda was played simply and directly, with just the right hint of regret.

We have had many wonderful performances of Beethoven’s Sonata in E major, Op. 109 in the last couple of seasons, including a memorable one by Andras Schiff in Seattle, as an encore to his performance of Bach’s Goldberg Variations. Cho’s performance of this late Beethoven masterwork is convincing, and can, to my mind, stand alongside any other interpretation I can remember. In the first movement, Cho deftly handled the many sudden shifts between the rippling figures in the Vivace, ma non troppo and the more rhapsodic Adagio espressivo. Under Cho’s hands, the music speaks to us, reminding me of Goethe’s saying that, “Music begins where words end.”

In the energetic and technically challenging Prestissimo movement, Cho was right on top of every challenge Beethoven presents. In the brief dialogue between the two hands, he observed Beethoven’s marking – un poco espressivo – to the letter, with poco being the operative word. In spite of its relative brevity, the third movement reminds me, structurally as well as the way some of the variations are written, of Bach’s Goldberg Variations. As well, in Variation 2, Beethoven is, to me, almost foreshadowing what Anton Webern does in his Variations, Op. 27. The impression I got from Cho’s interpretation of this incredible movement is one of completeness, and of an organic unity from first note to last. His playing of the technically daunting Variation 3 as well as Variation 6 was nothing short of breathtaking. At the arrival of the fortissimo at m. 109 (Variation 4) – for me the emotional climax of the movement – Cho sounded positively exultant. I also appreciate his pacing in preparing us for the return of the theme at the end. It was a sign of the high level of music making that the first half felt all too brief, even with the inclusion of two such monumental (in scope if not in length) works.

Cho’s playing of Debussy’s charming La plus que lente was just that – utterly charming. He injected just the right degree of schmaltz into this music, and did not make it more than what the composer intended it to be – and this is not meant as a criticism in any way, shape or form - a little piece of divertissement. The pianist was obviously at home with this idiom, as well as in producing exactly the right sound for the music.

Incredible as it may seem, Debussy originally intended for L’Isle joyeuse to be a part of the Suite Bergamasque. I guess the composer must have later realized that the work should have a life of its own. This, one of the composer’s most large scale works, has been associated with Debussy’s “flight” with Emma Bardac to the Isle of Jersey, thus its title, even though pianist Ricardo Viñes recorded in his diary of the composer performing this work as early as June 13^th, 1903.

The young pianist’s interpretation of L’Isle joyeuse was stunning, blistering, and above all, moving, and was perhaps the highlight of the afternoon. This is saying a lot, considering the incredibly high level of music making yesterday. To say that the performance was technically impregnable would not do it justice. Under Cho’s hands, Debussy’s notes ceased to be notes, but sound colours. It was a performance that went far beyond eliciting merely a visceral excitement. In fact, Cho’s playing was so beautiful and rapturous that I find my eyes misting with tears of joy at the end of the all-too-brief experience.

I had to admire the pianist’s courage in following Debussy’s towering pianistic challenge with the four Ballades of Chopin. I know that Cho has been living with these pieces for the past years, in concert as well as in recording it for his successful debut studio recording for Deutsche Grammaphon. It was obvious from the first note of the Ballade in G minor, Op. 23 that his conception of these works have ripened and matured. In each of the Ballades, there was an epic arch from the first note to last. I believe that this is only possible when an artist has lived with and thought about these pieces for a long time. I didn’t think that this familiar G minor Ballade could sound fresh and beautiful, but it did. Indeed, There are pianists who play Chopin, and then there are Chopin players. Cho obviously belongs to the much smaller second group of Chopin players. He did not fall into the trap of making each section of the work a disparate episode, but gave the entire work a unified logic.

In listening to his recording of the Ballade in F major, Op. 38, I had admired the way Cho makes the chords of the Andantino float. In his performance yesterday, there was even more of a dramatic contrast to the aforementioned Andantino and the fiery Presto con fuoco sections. In addition, Cho’s handling of the frighteningly difficult coda (Agitato) was so assured and secured that it truly beggars the imagination.

The pianist’s interpretation of the Ballade in A-flat major, Op. 47 was one of great beauty of sound and of gossamer lightness. As in the previous two works, Cho made one section of the music flow naturally into the next, thus injecting it with a sense of totality. To me, Cho Seong-Jin and Charles Richard Hamelin, who played the same work in his Vancouver recital last year, each brought their own individual stamp on this marvelous work, and I would not want to have to choose between the two.

Cho Seong-Jin’s performance of the Ballade in F minor, Op. 52 is one of a master storyteller. Throughout the score, Chopin makes numerous markings of in tempo, even at the very outset of the work, suggesting probably the importance of tempo in this piece. To my ears, the tempo set by Cho is very natural and logical, not rushing the music along, but also keeping the flow from one episode to the next. In m. 202, I agree with Cho’s decision not to lengthen the last of the three chords before the fermata, something that not a few pianists tend to do.

This wonderful artist has given Vancouver a generous programme, and he could be forgiven for calling it a day at the end of the Chopin, but after the urging of an unusually enthusiastic audience, with its many roars of approval, Cho ended his afternoon at the Chan Centre for the Performing Arts with a subtle and gorgeous performance of Debussy’s Clair de Lune, a perfect dessert after the substantial works of the recital.

There are two kinds of musical performances, one that impresses and one that moves.  Cho Seong-Jin’s performance was one of the much more rare performance that moves, that touches us in the deepest recesses of our souls. It was also a performance of completeness, of artistry, of musicality and a palpable love of the music he plays. From yesterday’s performance, it would appear that the sky is the limit for Cho. If he continues to play the way he did yesterday, success – in the worldly sense of the word – would not be beyond his reach. But if he continues to develop as an artist and a musician, it seems to me that he might be one of the rare artists that would be remembered in the annals of music beyond his own time.

And that is my fondest wish for Cho Seong-Jin.

Poet of the Piano

Charles Richard-Hamelin’s debut recital last night went like a dream. I had previously admired and enjoyed his all Chopin CD, made shortly before the Warsaw competition. In the relatively short time since that eventful competition, he has already matured into a different artist. It was a performance that set out to move, and not to impress, and what a moving performance of Chopin’s music it turned out to be. Hamelin included in his programme (with one exception) late works of Chopin, pieces that show the composer at the height of his compositional powers, music so original that it had no predecessors and no successors.

It is quite common to hear in Chopin that the key of a work is not established right away. In the Nocturne in B major, Op. 62, No. 1, the composer begins with a cadence that establishes the dominant of B major. It is not until measure 4 that one hears the melody in the supposed key of B major. Hamelin cast a spell on us immediately, with his playing of the opening cadence. Even compared to the high standards he set in his recording, his legato is now meltingly beautiful. This is apparent even in the tricky descending scale at m. 68, outlined by trills that mark the return of the main theme. Later on, in the coda, he made the long phrase from m. 81 to 89 sound like a single breath. It was almost as if his fingers melted into the key to create the singing tone. I appreciate his pacing of the work, never hurrying, and letting the music speaks for itself. In the three cadences that end the work, he made each one sound slightly different. And at m. 93, where the right hand reaches from D-sharp to B, he shaped it such that the final cadence that follows had a plaintive quality to it. It was a magical beginning to a magical evening.

Hamelin playing of the Ballade No. 3 in A-flat major, Op. 47 reminded me of Busoni’s statement that during a performance, an artist should lose and find himself at the same time. He played this work like a beautiful dream, but at the same time seeing clearly the way before him. Rather than sounding like a series of lovely episodes, the transitioning from one section to another was seamless and logical, and the work had this quality of the first note connecting with the final note as part of a larger plan. I also loved the way he weighed and voiced each chord. Throughout the evening, no matter how big the sound was, or how dramatic the music happened to be, his playing never felt ponderous. Nowhere was this more evident than in his playing of the Ballade, where a sense of lightness and grace pervaded the entire performance.

There is nothing more difficult for pianists than the opening of the Polonaise-Fantasie, Op. 61, which sounds so seemingly formless and without direction. Hamelin obviously grasped the overall structure and logic of Chopin’s design, and he made the arrival of the Polonaise at m. 22 seem so natural, as if it grew out of the silences of the previous measures. Throughout the performance of this difficult work, his instincts and timing for this difficult music was impeccable.

As if to lighten the mood before the second half, Hamelin ended his first half with a glittering performance of the Introduction et rondo in E-flat major, Op. 16, a rarely played work. This was music of Chopin’s youth, when he was still trying to make a name for himself as a virtuoso, and the writing is reminiscent of that of the final movement of the Piano Concerto in E minor. Hamelin went far beyond overcoming the pianistic hurdles, but actually made it sound effortless and fun, much more challenging on a modern piano than on the instruments from Chopin’s days, with their lighter action. It was the perfect sorbet between more substantial courses of music.

Hamelin’s playing of the Mazurkas, Op. 59, was idiomatic, and captured the essence of the three very different works – the melancholy of the first, the grace of the second, and the strength and energy of the third. Always, it was playing that draw us to the beauty and genius of the music, and to the inner spiritual world of the composer, rather than a mere pianistic display, which seems to be all one hears today in so many of today’s young keyboard titans.

Considering the high standards Hamelin had set throughout his recital, it seems hard to believe that the highlight of the evening really was Hamelin’s performance of the Sonata in B minor, Op. 58. From first note to last, there was never a doubt in my mind that Hamelin is a pianist of the first order. He played the work with a sovereign’s command of every musical and pianistic detail. I imagine that Hamelin had had to play this work quite a lot this past year, because his interpretation of this work has really matured, something only possible with repeated performance and rethinking. His pedaling of the difficult transition from the Scherzo to the trio (mm. 60 – 61) was masterful. In the Largo movement, Hamelin really entered the emotional core of the music, and conveyed for me the otherworldly beauty of Chopin’s melodic genius. In the return of the theme at m. 99, there was an extra dimension of feeling, a feeling of regret that one is hearing this for the last time. In the last movement, Hamelin’s sense of propulsion, and his impeccable sense of timing and rhythm, made the performance an indelible experience.

In his performance of his first encore, the Polonaise in A-flat major, Op. 53, Hamelin did not try to overwhelm the audience with surface excitement, or even with the sheer sound this music can produce. It was a performance that stressed the grandeur of the music. Even in the B section, with its frightening (for pianists) left hand octaves, sounding like the Polish army marching against her enemy, one never gets the sense that it was a virtuoso display. That said, Hamelin’s managed to make this work that we all know too well sound fresh, original, and indeed thrilling.

The young artist ended the evening with the Mazurka in B minor, Op. 33, No. 4, one of the composer’s more extended work in the genre. As in his playing of the larger works of the evening, there was a sense of logic in his transition from one section to another, and the playing was never arbitrary. (So often one hears pianist play Chopin like a sleepwalker, wandering from one episode to the next.) His Mazurka playing infuses the music with great dignity and pride, and shows his uncanny feeling for rhythm and timing. It is also stylistically impeccable.

I am quite certain that the four hundred odd pianists who entered the 2015 International Chopin Competition all have technique to burn. I am quite sure that members of the jury were not looking for glittering technique. From his performance last evening, I am certain that Hamelin owed his success to his musicianship, the maturity of his interpretation, as well as the sincerity, ardor and poetry of his playing. In last night’s concert, one felt that the artist was baring his soul in front of us.

Charles Richard-Hamelin. Remember this name; because it won’t be the last time you hear it. If he continues to develop as an artist and as a musician, this will be a name that will go down in the annals of music.

Welcome to Vancouver, Charles. And see you again soon.

Charles Richard-Hamelin, Canadian Pianist

When Van Cliburn returned to the United States after winning the first Tchaikovsky Piano Competition, he was given a ticker tape parade in New York, as well as an avalanche of publicity. Well, the world has become a very different place since 1958, and we Canadians do things a little more quietly, except when it comes to hockey. When pianist Andre Laplanté came home with the silver medal in the 1978 Tchaikovsky competition, or when Jon Kimura Parker won the Leeds Piano Competition in 1984, the responses had been relatively mute, except within the small circle of classical music lovers. (To be fair, Parker’s win in Leeds was greeted with some jubilation in Vancouver, the artist’s hometown.)

Last year, my Canadian heart again sang with pride when pianist Charles Richard-Hamelin returned to Canada with the silver medal at the 2015 International Chopin Competition in Warsaw. Even with the hundreds of piano competition taking place all over the world, a win at the Chopin – probably one of the most prestigious competitions today - remains the Holy Grail for pianists.

Yesterday, I put down my impressions of the debut CD of Georgijs Osokins. This morning I had a chance to listen to Charles Richard-Hamelin’s CD, also of music by Chopin, made before his triumph in Poland last year (Analekta AN 2 9127). Like Osokins, Hamelin included in his recording Chopin’s Sonata No. 3 in B minor as well as the Polonaise-Fantasie, but Hamelin rounds out his CD with the composer’s Nocturnes, Op. 62.

I started listening first with the two Nocturnes, which is placed at the end of the CD. Right at the outset of the Nocturne, Op. 62, No. 1, I noticed Hamelin’s very emotive sound, one that catches your attention immediately. He plays the opening theme beautifully, but simply, directly, and does not overindulge in rubato. It is not until m. 53 that he allows a little flexibility to the unfolding melody. There is a beautifully intimate pianissimo at the brief passage from m. 62 to the key change at m. 68. Hamelin effectively observes Chopin’s poco piu lento with the descending trills at m. 68. In the coda he evokes a gorgeous sound from his instrument and achieves a magical mood of the sound coming from afar.

As in the previous work, Hamelin plays the opening of the Nocturne, Op. 62, No. 2 simply, allowing the music to build up gradually and naturally. Beginning at m. 36, there is a very effective buildup of tension towards the agitato section at m. 40. He is very cognizant of the fact that Chopin is far from being a “right handed composer”; he makes us aware of the role the left hand plays in the harmonic as well as contrapuntal design of the music. At the return of the theme at m. 58, there is brief but dramatic moment of bleakness in the sound.

I very much like Hamelin’s atmospheric opening of the Polonaise-Fantasie, Op. 61. He allows for a lot of space in this opening, and does not rush the ascending broken chord notes (mm. 1, 2, 7 and 8) after the solemn chords. Unlike Osokins, Hamelin thinks of this work, I sense, more as a Polonaise than a Fantasie. He effectively highlights the dance-like aspect of the work in the left hand Polonaise rhythm at m. 22, and uses it as a rhythmic underpinning as the music unfolds. His timing with the two fermatas at mm. 62 and 63 is impeccable. At m. 66, there was a shift in mood, a surge of energy, achieved by the surging left hand ascending scales. The interplay between the two hands is extremely well done, and again highlights the intricacies of Chopin’s contrapuntal design. Hamelin achieves with his pedaling a beautiful blending of sounds in the return of the opening Polonaise melody with broken chord accompaniment in the left hand (m. 94), and there is an absolutely gorgeous turn of phrase in the right hand at mm. 123 to 124. I agree with his choice of tempo at the poco piu lento at m. 148, and I thought that his voicing of the chords is lovely. At mm. 168 to 179, Hamelin once again draws my attention to the beauty Chopin’s writing for the left hand. He achieves a beautiful blending of sound in the long passage of trills at mm. 200 to 204. With the brief return of the introduction at mm. 214 and 215, he manages to highlight the contrast between the two statements. Overall, I feel that Hamelin’s view of the score is one of epic grandeur rather than one that is more dreamy, or fantastic. Therein lies how Chopin’s works can and will always accommodate an infinite number of approaches.

Hamelin’s approach to the Sonata in B minor, Op. 58 highlights the drama of this large work and clearly demonstrates his awareness of the work’s overall architecture. In the first movement, the arrival of the second theme at m. 41 sounds so logical and natural that we then realize how the pianist must have been allowing the music to build and to develop up to that point. Hamelin’s playing of the brief octave melody at mm. 61 and 62 has a quietly ardent quality to it, and he beautifully plays the two descending statements in the left hand at mm. 131 and 132. During the statement of the 2^nd theme in the recapitulation, there is a sudden moment of intimacy at mm. 158 to 160 that is beguiling.

In the Scherzo, the artist is aiming for more clarity rather than a dizzying blur of sonorities. The notes in the right hand are more clearly etched, but the music never sounds heavy-handed. Hamelin’s awareness of the work’s architecture is being made aware again in how he effectively transitions into the Trio. His buildup towards the end of the Scherzo is simply breathtaking.

The opening of the third movement is played with great dignity, almost in a Beethovenian manner. Hamelin’s playing of the theme is rhythmically tight. I believe that he is trying to let the beauty of the music speak for itself. He achieves the transition from B major to E major (mm. 28 to 29) beautifully. In the return of the main theme at m. 99, Hamelin achieves a rocking motion in the left hand, almost like a Barcarolle rhythm, which gives the melody a different feel to it.

Hamelin manages another incredible buildup of tension in the brief opening of the fourth movement, a portent for things to come. Hamelin highlights the perpetual mobile aspect of the theme, and gives the entire movement a sense of unflagging and unrelenting energy. The playing of this difficult movement is truly epic. In spite of this, Hamelin wisely leaves the fireworks until the end of the work, and really unleashes the powers of his virtuosity only at m. 262. From beginning to end, this is a truly masterful reading of this great late work of Chopin.

Listening to the two CD’s by Georgijs Osokins and Charles Richard-Hamelin, we should be glad to know that in this age of image over musicianship, we still have in our midst young artists who are in search of the truth in music, and seeking the meaning of what lies behind the written notes. To listen to these very different interpretations of Chopin’s late works has been a most rewarding experience, and I find myself being fascinated by these two different viewpoints, as much as I am by Chopin’s design.

Charles Richard-Hamelin makes his Vancouver recital debut on the evening of Sunday, November 6^th at the Vancouver Playhouse, under the auspices of the Vancouver Chopin Society (http://chopinsociety.org/charles-richard-hamelin.html).

Perhaps Mr. Hamelin does not need a ticker tape parade down West Georgia Street, but I hope there will be a large and enthusiastic audience at the concert for this young artist who has made history and brought glory to Canadian culture.

An Unexpected Debut

It is easy to forget that musicians, like the rest of us, labour under vicissitudes of life such as illness or fatigue. When pianist Nelson Friere cancelled his North American tour on the advice of his physician, the Vancouver Chopin Society scrambled to find a suitable replacement for him. They, and we, the concert audience, were extremely fortunate to have been able to secure the services of Georgijs Osokins, a young Latvian pianist who created quite a stir at the 2015 International Chopin Competition in Warsaw.

In my thirty plus years of concert attendance in the wilds of Vancouver, I could count perhaps a handful of concerts where a young artist created an overwhelming first impression. After last evening’s performance, I am happy to add Mr. Osokins to that list.

Osokins began his performance with the very intimate Sonata in D minor, L. 108, by Domenico Scarlatti. With the first notes, I was immediately captivated by his crystalline sound, the range of colours, and the spaciousness of his playing. This young artist dared to take the time to allow the music to emerge, never was there a sense of anything forced or artificial. While his playing was filled with personality, there was always a feeling of naturalness in his music making. The audience must have felt it too, because there was no applause at the end to break the spell of the music, allowing him to launch immediately into his next piece.

It is perhaps a curious coincidence that Beethoven’s Sonata in A-flat major, Op. 110, had been part of at least half a dozen recitals in the last couple of seasons. Osokins’ interpretation was noteworthy, and could be counted as one of the most memorable. With the quiet opening chords of this great work, he immediately conjured up a reverential atmosphere that set the tone for the entire performance. His playing of that opening, with the sublime melody that emerges at m. 5, was richly detailed and intensely musical. I liked the clarity he achieved with his lightly pedaled and fleet fingered playing of the broken chord passage (m. 12 to 19). His tempo relationship between the first and second movement was, to me, most logical. He voiced the chords beautifully in the beginning of the second movement, and his timing of the left hand off beat notes in the middle section (m. 40 to 95) was impeccable, highlighting the quirky humour of the composer’s late works.

Osokins really got into and brought out the emotional core of the Adagio ma non troppo movement, no small achievement for a young artist. Once again, the reverential atmosphere returned with even greater intensity. Beethoven must have thought a great deal about this movement since, within a mere 26 measures, he lavished the music with more than a dozen tempo and interpretative markings. Osokins really conveyed through his playing the unbearable inner sorrow of the Arioso dolente theme (m. 9). In the concluding fuga, this artist seemed to be able to allow the music to emerge in layers, as if he was peeling off one layer of sound to reveal another. The clarity of lines he was able to achieve within this complex fugue reminded me of the playing of Glenn Gould. In this age when every young deemed himself or herself worthy of playing late Beethoven, it is not easy to find an interpretation that gives new meaning to this music, but he did on Thursday evening. Osokins made me feel that he was guiding us through an incredible journey of sound, and succeeded in letting us hear this familiar music with freshness and incredible musicality.

The intimacy of the recital’s first half continued with Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G major, Op. 32, No. 5. In conversation with Mr. Osokins the day after his recital, I discovered that Rachmaninoff is this young man’s pianistic hero. His playing of this prelude certainly showed the extent of his affection for the composer’s music as well. He played the melody with a gorgeous liquid sound, and he somehow made the music float into our ears. The timing of the return to the main theme at m. 28 was impeccable, and he infused this return of the opening theme with even greater beauty and meaning.

Before the interval, Osokins concluded with Alexander Scriabin’s Sonata No. 9, Op. 68, “Black Mass”. Once again, it was a masterful performance of this complex score, and he brought out the kaleidoscopic range of sound colours called for by the composer, as well as the sinister atmosphere that pervades throughout.

From the little bit that I read about Georgijs Osokins, he was deemed too much of a revolutionary to have won the top prizes at the Chopin competition. Yet, throughout the evening, I never once felt that his interpretations were in any way idiosyncratic. Original and full of personality, to be sure, but never did I feel that he was trying to play differently for the sake of being different. His playing of the Chopin’s magnificent Barcarolle, Op. 60, is a case in point. It was a performance that was richly varied in terms of texture and articulation. And the rower of this boat allowed himself to be carried by the waves of the water, and the music ebbed and flowed along with it. In his Chopin playing, Osokins highlighted for me the beauty of his writing for the left hand. I noticed this particularly in the brief passage beginning at m. 78 that leads up to the double trill at m. 84, as well as the left hand chords leading up to the end of the work at m. 113 to 114. Overall, it was an interpretation that was spacious, yet with a keen sense of direction as well as a strong sense of the rhythm.

With Chopin’s music, it is all too easy to be reveling in the beautiful sound world, and losing track of the structural integrity of the work’s design. In Osokins’ Chopin playing last night, I felt that in spite of the beauty of the music, the sense of architecture, of logic, was never lost.

This was especially apparent in Osokins’ masterful interpretation of Chopin’s Sonata No. 3 in B minor, Op. 58. In his playing of the sprawling first movement, there was clarity of texture and a palpable sense of an awareness of the structure of the music. As I said earlier, he never allowed the beauty of the music to overshadow its logic. His playing of the scherzo was truly breathtaking, with a beguiling lightness of touch, and a clear display of his awesome pianistic ability. The largo movement was infused with a quiet dignity and a mesmerizing beauty of sound. I felt that the E major section (m. 29) had a special glow to it, almost as if a bright light was shining upon a beautiful diamond. Osokins’ stunning playing of the final movement had a relentless quality to the music, partly achieved by his sense of rhythm in the left hand. From the opening octaves to the build-up toward the triumphant ending, there was never any doubt in my mind that I was witnessing an amazing musical mind at work here.

Under the enthusiastic urging of the audience, Osokins launched into one of two encores, the work that most people associate with Chopin – the Polonaise in A-flat major, Op. 53. There was a real sense of drive in his interpretation of this justifiably famous work, but balanced by a lightness and a real feeling for the spirit of the dance. In the famous octave B section, Osokins did not, like many other young keyboard demons, get carried away with excessive speed, but managed to convey a real sense of mounting excitement. It is not how I think of the work, but his viewpoint of this iconic work was both valid and interesting.

The artist once again demonstrated his understanding of and affinity for the Rachmaninoff idiom in his second encore, the Prelude in G-sharp minor, Op. 32, No. 12. Right from the shimmering right hand broken chords at the beginning, Osokins revealed to us the subtle beauty of this oft-played work. In the return of the theme, now in open chords, at m. 35, there was an even greater feeling of bleakness in his playing. With the ascending right hand notes, where the music floats away into nothingness, we came to the end of an unforgettable musical journey.

In conversation with Mr. Osokins, I find him to be a young man with definite ideas about music as well as what it is to be a musician, and artist. He has a deep knowledge of the piano literature as well as our heritage of great pianists from the past. He hails from a family of pianists, and told me that he literally grew up “under the piano”, listening to his father’s playing. His brother is also a pianist who has distinguished himself in international competitions, and is currently living in London. We also spoke of his experiences in the 2015 Chopin Competition in Warsaw, and the challenges and intense pressure he faced during those weeks. During that time, he developed a rapport and friendship with Canadian pianist Charles Richard-Hamelin, silver medalist in the competition, who will be playing in Vancouver this coming November.

I asked him if he sometimes feel lonely when he is touring. He said that he loves to travel and to visit new places, and does not mind being alone, since it gives him time to think. The distinguished pianist and teacher Gary Graffman said that he found it strange when someone tells him that he or she wants to become a concert pianist. He said that one can study to become a pianist, or a musician, but to be a concert pianist entails being asked to give concerts. If Thursday night’s concert was any indication, he should be well on his way to becoming a “concert pianist”.

As much as I would have loved to have heard Mr. Freire, we can now claimed that we were at the Canadian debut of Georgijs Osokins. On top of his limitless pianistic ability, Mr. Osokins has a fertile musical mind that lets him make anything he plays at least interesting and worth hearing. I think we have not heard the last of Mr. Osokins, and I will be watching his continuing musical development with intense interest.