First Lady of the Piano

Even with the large number of excellent pianists in today’s musical world, the number of artists who are true Chopin players constitutes a far smaller number. After her performance in Vancouver last Friday, I am happy to report that Ewa Poblocka is a true artist as well as a true Chopin player.

Madame Poblocka opened her performance with Mozart’s Fatansie in D Minor, K. 397, a curious work that the composer left unfinished. Within a mere 107 measures, Mozart manages to lead us through a myriad of moods and colours. Poblocka led us through this brief musical journey with great technical ease and musicality. The final Allegretto section was played with delectable lightness.

The recital continued with Franz Schubert’s Four Impromptus, D. 899 (Op. 90), written in the final annus mirabilis. Poblocka is not a pianist with a big sound, but everything she plays she does so with consummate taste and musicality, as was the case with these four Schubert works. It makes sense to play these pieces as a set, because as a whole they convey the feeling of a larger work, in the sense of the key relations between pieces as well as the contrasts in mood between them.

I always find it interesting to hear how different pianists observe Schubert’s staccato (m. 5) marking at the beginning of the Impromptu in C minor. Poblocka pedaled these chords, but gave them a short attack and much lightness, confirming for me that staccato addresses the articulation of the note as much as the duration. As in the Mozart, this Impromptu conveys the feeling of a journey, especially with the “walking tempo” (Allergo molto moderato) maintained throughout the work. Poblocka handled the journey beautifully, and I felt that she played especially effectively the tricky transition from triplets to groups of four 16^th-notes (m. 125), with the offbeat left hand notes in the bass. The second Impromptu was played with a great sense of joy and zest, and wonderful finger work. In the heavenly third Impromptu, Poblokca conveyed the necessary sense of peace and repose. I personally would have liked to hear the broken chords in the middle layer a little more clearly, rather than having it as a blend of sound colours. I loved the sound she drew from the instrument in the fourth Impromptu, especially in the descending rippling chords in the opening of the A section. The transition into the C-sharp minor Trio section was also magically achieved.

Ms. Poblocka announced from the stage that she was adding two more pieces before the interval – two miniatures by Ignacy Jan Paderewski, a Nocturne in B major and the Minuet in G. She did not try to make these pieces greater than what they are, but played them with great charm, and with much beauty of sound.

Poblocka devoted the second half of her recital to the music of Chopin, and opened her second half with the two Nocturnes, Op. 55. Both Nocturnes were beautifully played, but I especially appreciated the way she approached the Nocturne in F minor, Op. 55, No. 1. Under the wrong hands, the opening melody could easily sink into lugubriousness. Poblocka successfully maintained the impetus of the music, and kept my interest from first note to last. In the Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 55, No. 2, her expert pedaling really underscored the exquisite beauty of the harmony in this work.

She continued her programme with the justly famous Ballade No. 1 in G minor, Op. 23. From first note to last she very successfully conveyed a sense of totality, as opposed to a meandering through a series of lovely episodes. Her playing of the composer’s Impromptu No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29 was beautiful, with the beguiling lightness in the rapid finger work of the opening section. In the F minor middle section, she did not get bogged down by the attractive melody, but kept a sense of forward motion in the music. In the A section, she shaped each small phrase exquisitely, but amazingly made those small phrases part of the larger phrase structure.

The recital continued with a set of six of Chopin’s Waltzes, beginning with a charming interpretation the very rarely played or recorded Waltz in A-flat major, Oeuvre posthume, a work not published until 1902. The rest of the Waltzes were much more familiar. I wasn’t sure which version of the Waltz in B minor (Op. 69, No. 2) she played, since it has elements of the Oxford edition of the work. In the version she played, there is an “exotic” element in the melodic writing. In the “Minute Waltz”, Poblocka did not fall into the speed trap that so many pianists succumb to, but managed to bring out the beauty of the writing, especially in the middle section. I think I heard one of the most satisfying Waltz in C-sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2 under Poblocka’s hands. She managed to discover for me something fresh into the return of every section. Her playing of the Waltz in F minor (Op. 70, No. 2) and Waltz in F major (Op. 34, No. 3) gave us a glimpse into how Chopin could infuse an infinite number of ideas into the smallest musical canvas.

Madame Poblocka’s recital ended with Chopin’s Scherzo No. 1 in B minor, Op. 20, a work that, in the words of Vladimir Horowitz, shows both the demonic and angelic sides of the composer. I could not help but think how absolutely original, even strange, this music must have seemed to 19^th century audiences. The opening of the work already foreshadows the much later Scherzo No. 3 in C-sharp minor, Op. 39, with its hallucinatory outbursts. Her playing of this challenging work was technically impregnable, and she effectively conveyed the meltingly beauty of middle section, where Chopin borrowed from the Polish Christmas song Lulajże Jezuniu.

After much urging from the enthusiastic audience, the artist graced us with a performance of Chopin’s Mazurka in C-sharp minor, Op. 6, No. 2, one of the composer’s earliest published works. Her interpretation of the work was pitch perfect, and highlighted the exotic beauty of the Chopin’s mazurkas.

There is a beautiful true story about a man who was about to commit suicide, and heard one of Ewa Poblicka’s Bach recordings. The beauty and power of her playing were such that it changed the man’s idea about taking his own life.

It is a strange phenomenon in the music “business” that an artist and musician like Ewa Poblocka is not more of a household name, at least in North America, when far inferior artists are receiving so much of our attention. Her performance left me with the impression that she is not a flashy player, but a musician that practices her art with integrity and solid musicianship. Let us hope that she will grace our stage with more of her musicianship in future years.

Schubertiade continued...

The Vancouver Recital Society’s Schubertiade continued last evening with more heavenly music by Franz Peter Schubert.

The concert opened with what I feel to be the greatest work written for piano, four hands, the composer’s Fantasie in F minor, D. 940, with pianists Inon Barnatan (primo) and Jonathan Biss (secondo). I have long noticed that the main theme of this work shares many similarities to the theme of Haydn’s Variation in F minor, Hob XVII:6, and Barbarina’s aria from Act IV of Mozart’s Le Nozze de Figaro (“L’ho perduta…me meschina!”) Not only are the pieces all in the identical key, the melodic outline as well as affect of the music are all very similar. Living in Vienna, Schubert would have been very aware of music by Mozart and Haydn. Obviously we will never know if he was, consciously or subconsciously, influenced by the aforementioned works.

The two young artists were completely in sync with each other in every aspect of their performance. At the beginning, Biss played the main theme with a simplicity that is quite appealing, and Barnatan used the pedal sparingly, giving the music a clear texture. The pianists gave us a magical pianissimo when the theme returns at m.91 (with triplet accompaniment in the secondo). I appreciated Barnatan’s sense of direction and his lightness in his playing of the chord sequences in the Largo section. The dance-like Allegro vivace section was played with great energy and relish. The section at m.273, marked con delicatezza, was played with incredible lightness and charm. Biss and Barnatan’s pacing and build-up of that incredible fugue beginning at m. 474 were impeccable.

After that incredibly intense first work, Barnatan returned alone and gave us the Sonata in B-flat major, D. 960. I find much to admire in his interpretation of this iconic work. In especially the first and second movements, Barnatan was a Furtwängler rather than a Toscanini, giving the music slight shifts in tempo according to its ebb and flow. His playing of the opening bass trill (m. 8) was filled with tension and purpose. He did not overplay the G-flat major theme at m. 20, letting it come out with a beguiling simplicity. The Andante sostenuto movement was also wonderfully done. I thought his voicing of the right hand at the beginning was done especially beautifully. In the A major middle section, Barnatan gave the music a choral sound.

The artist played the Scherzo movement at a terrific clip, but with a lightness that prevented the music from feeling breathless. He took the Trio section at a slightly slower tempo. I personally feel that the two sections should be played at the same tempo, but certainly his interpretation is valid. Barnatan’s playing of the fourth movement was pianistically stunning, and his timing impeccable. I really loved the way he played those off-beat “pizzicato” notes in the left hand while the right hand was playing the rapid broken chords. And he successfully built the music from the first notes to a rousing finish.

I would like to hear the artist play this work again in a decade or so. At this point, I can’t help feeling that, at times, he is slightly over-interpreting the music, trying a little too hard to discover the inner beauties of the score. If he were to let the music speak for itself more, I believe his music making would be even more moving.

After the intermission, Barnatan returned with violinist Benjamin Beilman and cellist Gary Hoffman in another Schubertian masterpiece, the Trio in B-flat major, D. 898. It was, overall, a very successful performance. There was unanimity in the interpretation that was noticeable from beginning to end. For me, the most moving was their playing of the Andante un poco mosso movement, as the music came off the most naturally. In the other movements, I again got the feeling that perhaps the performers pushed the music a little too much, which results in an edge in the music making. I think Beilman and Barnatan have brighter, more soloistic sounds, which can be problematic in a chamber music setting. When Beilman played with Lio on Tuesday, there was much more of a sense of ensemble, rather than individuals playing together. Perhaps the fact that the three artists have such radically different sounds did not give the performance a feeling of an organic whole.

To be sure, it was a very exciting performance, and the audience certainly roared its approval at the end. As in the sonata, if the musicians had let the music speak for itself, the music making would have been outstanding.

As I was driving home, I could not help but wonder how it was possible that so much beauty could have been conceived by one mind, especially considering the brevity of time. Any argument that our existence on earth is a mere result of chance, of genetics, has probably not heard the music of Franz Schubert.

First Schubertiade Evening

What a treat this week will be, to have some of my favourite pieces of music performed within the space of four days! The Vancouver Recital Society’s inspired Schubertiade, featuring the composer’s late works of Franz Schubert, began last night.

And what a start it was! I was particularly anxious to hear pianist Kuok-Wai Lio, who gave a remarkable recital on the Playhouse stage a few seasons back. Mr. Lio did not disappoint last evening. In fact, I believe that he has matured even more artistically since we last heard him. He began the concert with one of Schubert’s most dramatic, most Beethovenian work, the Sonata in C minor, D. 958. There were many magical moments in Lio’s playing of the work, but more than many artists, he really highlighted for me the kinship of Schubert’s instrumental works to his lieder. The spiritual and emotional world of this sonata is really that of Winterreise.

The artist navigated us through the many harmonic changes of the 1^st movement with great mastery, making them moving musical moments, as in the transition into E-flat major beginning at m. 27. In those mere two-dozen measures, the composer took us from the desperation of the opening chords to hope, and Lio really highlighted for me that magical transformation. The many pregnant pauses, especially in the first and second movements, were charged with meaning. Also remarkable was how he played the development of the opening movement, bringing out the absolute bleakness of the chromatic line in the left hand, and the restless broken chords in the right. The writing in this section is very much like the piano writing in Erstarrung, the fourth song from Winterreise.

In the second movement, marked Adagio, Schubert, through Lio, brought us into the emotional world of Das Wirtshaus, again from Winterreise. And again, the pianist acted as knowledgeable guide, taking us through the dramatic middle section before bringing us home (briefly) to the wistful opening theme. It was a remarkable journey. In the 4^th movement, I was reminded of Schubert’s early masterpiece Erlkönig. As in that earlier song, this movement is once again a wild ride through the forest. In the sudden appearance of the theme in C major at m. 67, Lio’s playing reminded me of the voice of the Erl-king, luring the child into his kingdom of death with his suave words.

Almost as a bit of an emotional relief, the next piece on the programme was the Fantasie in C major for violin and piano, D. 934, the composer’s attempt at virtuoso writing for the two instruments. If this work does not have the same emotional impact as the sonata, it is still a remarkable composition. The incredible collaboration between Lio and violinist Benjamin Beilman was stunning The two artists were together in every nuance of the piece. Although the violin part is slightly flashier, the piano part is much, much more than mere accompaniment. Both Lio and Beilman were at one from beginning to end, and it was a truly satisfying chamber music performance.

I had been really looking forward to the performance of Schubert’s String Quintet in C major, D. 956. The performers in this concert were the Doric String Quartet and cellist Gary Hoffman. I believe that in this incredible work, Schubert had already “crossed over” to the other side, and was staring at death in the eye. The performers last night were certainly in sync with the composer from the first note to last. The pacing in all four movements was impeccable. In the first and second movements, the hushed quality of the true pianissimos as well as the many moments of portentous silence were breathtaking. In the second movement - the emotional core of the entire work, the performers created the feeling that the music is only hanging by a thread, and found it difficult even to breathe, lest I break the magic of the moment. The explosion of sound in the third movement, and the almost wild dance of the fourth, although no less incredible musically, serve almost as a catharsis after the almost unbearable emotional intensity of the first two movements.

At a time when the recital season is winding to a close, we are so fortunate to have this mini-chamber music festival. I am certainly looking forward to the continuation of the musical journey in the next two concerts.

Patrick May

April 13, 2o16

Lieder Afternoon

There are two kinds of singers in the world, those who overwhelm us with the sheer beauty and power of their voice, and those who, although not blessed with a naturally beautiful instrument, move us with the power of their intellect and the interpretative insights they have into the music.

Baritone Christian Gerhaher appears to be blessed with both voice and brains, as was evident in the recital he gave in Vancouver this past Sunday with pianist Gerold Huber, his longtime musical partner. Their recital marked the opening of the Vancouver Recital Society’s 2014 – 2015 concert season. The performance consisted of lieder by Franz Schubert and Wolfgang Rihm, on poems by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Gerhaher alternated sets of songs by Schubert and Rihm, ending the concert with an extended lied each by the two composers. As the singer noted in his own programme notes, Schubert’s lieder is not merely poems set to “more or less suitably affective music”, but “appropriate musical equivalents for the texts of the pre-existing poems.”

The artistry of the performers was apparent in the first of a series of eight Schubert lieder. The quality and power of Gerhaher’s voice, the beauty of his diction, and his interpretative strength, reminded me of a younger Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. In Sehnsucht (Longing), Gerhaher’s pacing was impeccable, building tension and changing moods by subtly changing the quality of his voice. Throughout, Huber proved an equal partner, musically and technically. The voicing of the chords at the beginning of the line, “Auf einmal erschein ich, Ein blinkender Stern” (“All at once I appear, A glittering star”) was magical. In An den Mond (To the Moon), Huber beautifully echoed the vocal lines, especially in the final two stanzas. And the pianist sensitively supported Gerhaher’s singing in the gently relentless piano part in Geheimes (Secret).

In Schäfers Klagelied (Shepherd’s Lament), Gerhaher had the remarkable ability to shape the musical and emotional arch of the song, allowing the emotion to gradually open up until the dramatic line, “Und Regen Sturm und Gewitter” (“In rain and storm and tempest”). It was truly a masterful performance.

Like Schubert, German composer Wolfgang Rihm exploits the beauty of the solo voice, and the vocal lines of his song settings are lyrical. It is in the piano figurations and the harmonic language that we view Goethe’s poems with 21^st century eyes (or ears.) Compared to Schubert, Rihm's songs have a wider vocal and dynamic range, as well as greater technical challenge. As in the Schubert songs, Gerhaher, consummate artist and musician, sing these songs like a masterful storyteller, leading us through the ever-changing emotions of poems, confiding in the audience the innermost secrets of the poet’s soul.

In spite of the sophisticated harmonic language and the intricate piano writing, I must confess that, for me, Schubert is far more successful in underscoring the language of the poems, using far more economical means. To me, there is, to borrow the words of Yehudi Menuhin in describing the music of Arnold Schoenberg, a curious discrepancy between the word and the gesture. Unlike even the simplest Schubert lieder, I do not feel that the vocal lines of the Rihm songs really convey, or underscores, the emotions of the words being sung.

Schubert’s Gesänge des Harfners, three songs that closed the first half of the programme, are harmonically and musically darker than the preceding songs by the same composer. Again, Gerhaher drew us into Schubert’s incredible sound world, with Huber’s piano playing sometimes setting the stage, sometimes creating the atmosphere, sometimes commenting on the poem, and always sensitive to the drama unfolding before our ears. The dramatic and harmonically unresolved piano postlude to the second song was especially memorable.

The songs in the second half of the programme were larger in scope, poetically as well as musically. The first of the four Schubert songs, Prometheus, was almost operatic in style, with the music juxtaposing between the highly dramatic and declamatory to the emotionally intimate and subdued. Once again, Gerhaher captivated the audience like a master storyteller. With the beginning of the final stanza, “Hier sitz’ich, forme Menschen, Nach meinem Bilde” (“Here I sit, making man, In my own image”), the singing took on a regal air. In Ganymed, both pianist and singer conveyed the sense of urgency and feeling of movement in the stanza, “Ich komm! Ich komm!” (“I come, I come!”), making the audience feel that the heart of poet and composer was indeed beating faster.

The penultimate song of the programme, Wolfgang Rihm's setting of Harzreise im

Winter (Winter Journey Through the Harz Mountains) is a severe test of the musicians’ stamina with its huge range of emotions. In this particular setting of the Goethe poem, I did feel more of a connection between the words and the music. Strangely enough, I feel that the composer was more effective in mirroring the emotions of the words in the piano part than in the vocal lines. Both in this and the final song, Schubert’s Willkommen und Abschied (Greeting and Farewell), Gerhaher rose to the challenges set by the two composers, writing music almost two hundred years apart from each other.

At the end of the programme, both artists acknowledged the warm applause of the audience. It was not the kind of performance that sought to garner rollicking ovations. Rather, everyone in the audience seemed to feel a sense of communion with and gratitude toward the artists. It was an afternoon of intimate music making, even in the large space of the Chan Centre of Performing Arts, intimate in the sense that each member of the audience felt that the musicians were addressing him or her alone.

We must thank Christian Gerhaher and Gerold Huber for giving Vancouver such an auspicious start to the year’s concert season.