Marc-André Hamelin - Recital at the Chan

In the music world, there are pianists, and then there is Marc-André Hamelin. This incredible musician has the ability to make the most difficult, complex music sound easy, even effortless. Yesterday’s recital by the great Canadian pianist was one of the greatest feats of piano playing I had heard in a long time.

The first half of Hamelin’s recital was devoted to the music of Franz Liszt. In the opening work, the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 13 in A minor, Hamelin conveyed the improvisatory feeling of the opening measures (malinconico). It was in the vivace section that we first witnessed Hamelin’s effortless virtuosity, tossing off the runs (e molto leggiero) and the repeated notes (leggiero molto) with a lightness that was breathtaking. Hamelin’s technical abilities were so far above the challenges of the music that the closing octave and chordal passages sounded positively exhilarating.

The third work in Liszt’s Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, the Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude is, for me, one of the composer’s most profoundly beautiful works. In the opening, Hamelin made the awkward right hand accompaniment sound smooth and floating, at the same time projecting the gorgeous left hand melody. More importantly, the artist conveyed the spiritual core of the music. The climatic passages sounded absolutely exultant, but never forced.

The Fantasy and Fugue on the Theme B-A-C-H once again reminded us of Hamelin’s awesome command of the keyboard as well as his awareness of the architecture of the work. Under his hands, this somewhat loosely constructed work took on a logic that is sometimes missing. In the more dramatic passage, Hamelin conjured up such massive sonorities that the sound of the piano took on orchestral qualities. It reminded me of the incident when Liszt himself played his transcription of Belioz’s March to the Scaffold, from his Symphonie Fantastique. Under Liszt’s hands, the work became more effective on the piano than even the orchestra.

In all three Liszt works that made up the first half of his recital, Hamelin held the music within a tight rhythmic framework, thereby giving the music an appealing restraint and a sense of nobility.

With any Hamelin recital, there would always be the new and unexpected, and the discovery in the second half had to be Samuil Feinberg’s Sonata No. 4 in E-flat minor, Op. 6. A Russian pianist and composer who lived between the years 1890 to 1962, Feinberg’s work is stylistically reminiscent of Scriabin. A one-movement work of about 10-minute duration, there is, within that relatively short time, a myriad of moods, textures, and tempi. Once again, Hamelin was able to make sense of, or allow us to see the logic behind, this complex work. Regardless of how dense the pianistic forest is, this remarkable artist always seemed to see his way clearly through.

Hamelin continued the second half with Claude Debussy’s Images, Book 1. The entire performance was ravishing, in a cool, objective kind of way. It was not the kind of beauty with great splashes of colour, like a Monet or a Renoir, but one of absolute textual clarity, and an unerring evenness of touch and tone. He played Reflets dans l’eau with little of the rubato that the composer indicated. Hamelin seemed to be operating within a rather narrow range of sonorities. Even the big transition to E-flat major was somehow underplayed. That said, it was a performance that has its own logic and exquisiteness. In Hommage à Rameau, Hamelin conveyed the feeling of emptiness and nothingness in the opening of the work. He evoked beautiful sonorities from the piano in Commeneer un peu au dessous du mouvement, building the music up to its incredible climax before returning to the desolate landscape of the opening. In Mouvement, Hamelin played the triplets with the most incredible lightness and evenness that took one’s breath away. The decrescendo towards the end of the work (presque plus rien) was the most beautiful I had ever heard.

Not surprisingly, Hamelin pulled out all his pianistic stops with the final work on the programme, Leopold Godowsky’s Symphonic Metamorphosis of Wine, Women and Song. Hamelin is one of the few contemporary pianists with the courage, not to mention the superhuman pianistic chops required to play these Godowsky “reworkings” of Johann Strauss. Needless to say, the playing was both musically impeccable and pianistically stunning. My only quibble was that it was a little lacking in a sense of fun, or the feeling that he was pulling an incredible stunt (which he was).

Under the urging of the appreciative audience, he gave us what would probably have been the Vancouver premiere of his own Toccata “L’Homme armé”. Written as the commissioned piece of the 2017 Van Cliburn Competition, Hamelin’s work tests to the limit every pianist’s technical and musical ability. Throughout the recital, I had the feeling that Hamelin approaches each work with the insight of a composer. Here, we were witness to a composer giving us his take on his own composition. It was a satisfying end to an incredible afternoon of piano playing and musicianship.

Patrick May

March 5, 2018

An Afternoon of "Might Have Been"...

Pianist Joseph Moog came to town yesterday to make his debut with a highly unusual but always interesting programme. The young artist has been making a name for himself for rediscovering rarities and gems from the early 20^th century, virtuosic transcriptions as well as concerti by less-than-household names such as Scharwenka and Moszkoswki.

While there is nothing surprising for us to hear Beethoven’s popular Sonata in C Minor, Op. 13 (Pathétique), the work has been appearing less regularly in piano recitals, mainly because artists have lately been gravitating toward the profundities of the later sonatas. It is easy for us to forget what an original and startling composition this sonata is – the extreme dynamic contrasts of the introduction, the stormy 1^st and 3^rd movements, as well as the heavenly slow movement, an early example of the “three-handed effect” (the right hand having to play both melody and accompaniment) so favoured by later composers (Chopin employs the exact same texture in his celebrated Etude in E Major, Op. 10, No. 3). While the work was extremely well played, the artist seemed to have been somehow inhibited, as if he was emotionally ambivalent about the music. I missed the contrast in sounds and colours called for in the outer movements, and even the beautiful slow movement was lacking in a sense of repose, of transcendence. One admires the pianism, but there was a curious lack of conviction in the music.

I had the same impression in Moog’s performance of Liszt’s Réminiscences de Norma. I admired the craft of piano playing in his performance, for it was extremely well played, but there was missing a sense of fun, of joy, of élan.

One almost never finds Chopin’s Sonata No. 1 in C Minor, Op. 4 in recital programmes. I had heard it once before in a recital by Lilya Zilberstein. It is a work that has much beauty and originality. What is missing is a sense of organic unity so evident in the later works of Chopin. It is remarkable that the composer’s Op. 6 and 7 Mazurkas, the Op. 9 Nocturnes, and the groundbreaking Op. 10 Etudes, are so far ahead of this sonata, in terms of both compositional skills and originality. Still, we must be grateful to Joseph Moog for performing this rarely heard work for us. I thought that his playing of the Larghetto movement, remarkable for its 5/4 time signature, was especially beautiful, the kind of beauty missing in the slow movement of the Beethoven.

Gabriel Fauré’s elusive Theme and Variations in C-sharp Minor, Op. 73, is also a rarity in piano recitals, probably partly because of its extreme difficulty and an inner beauty that is difficult to convey. It made perfect sense, as the pianist told us after his recital, to combine Chopin and Fauré in the same programme, for Fauré really is a spiritual descendent of Chopin. In spite of the pianist’s skill in navigating the many difficulties of the work, one misses the glow, the aforementioned inner beauty, of this music.

The recital ended with a blistering performance of Anton Rubinstein’s Fantasy on Hungarian Melodies, arranged by the pianist himself. Once again, I had the impression that the playing was incredible, but, as in the Liszt, there was missing a sense of élan, flamboyance, and flair.

Incredibly, all the things that were missing in the “planned” part of the recital, I found in the two encores - a transcription by 19^th century virtuoso Carl Tausig of Scarlatti’s Sonata in D Minor, as well as a transcription of Charles Trenet's En Avril, a Paris by Bulgarian-French pianist Alexis Weissenberg. In these little gems, the pianist, to me, came alive, and was completely in his element. What was missing in the Liszt and Rubinstein, were there, in spades, in these two performances. There was also a charm, and a sense of joy in the playing of these two miniatures.

The Vancouver Recital Society website quoted a statement from the Denver Post, saying that, “This is a pianist with all the ingredients for a significant career.” Playing a solo recital is an act of courage that should be applauded. Joseph Moog does have a great deal of talent, and he is still at the beginning of his journey of discovering both the music and himself as a musician. I would like to hear this young pianist again in a few years, to see what time and experience would do for his music-making.

Simon Trpčeski

After their presentation of the Doric String Quartet last Sunday, the Vancouver Recital Society brought to the stage of the Chan Centre for the Performing Arts the young Macedonian pianist Simon Trpčeski.

I had first heard Mr. Trpčeski years ago, when he played Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 with the Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra. It was a hot and humid July evening, as I remember it, and the hall’s air conditioning broke down the day of the performance. But that did not prevent the pianist from giving a sizzling – pun quite intended – performance of the old warhorse. Since that time, Trpčeski has been going from strength to strength, playing with the most prestigious orchestras and in major music centres the world over.
Last night, in an unseasonably cold and wet evening in Vancouver, he opened his recital with Franz Schubert charming 16 German Dances, D. 783. The relative lack of major technical hurdles in these miniatures belies the depth behind the music, and the difficulty in bringing them across with conviction. As with the waltzes and mazurkas of Chopin, these Schubert dances are really dances for the soul. Trpčeski brought out the character and lilt in each dance in his utterly musical playing, mustering all the gemütlichkeit inherent in every note of this music.
In complete contrast, Trpčeski rounded out the first half of his programme with the same composer’s Fantasie in C Major, D. 760, more popularly known as the Wanderer Fantasy. If the German Dances represent the intimate face of Schubert’s music, the Wanderer Fantasy surely reveals the virtuosic, the Lisztian, even the demonic side. Technically probably the most difficult of Schubert’s solo pianistic output, the work calls for both strength and delicacy, both brains and brawn. Trpčeski possesses both qualities in abundance.

I was surprised that he almost underplayed the dramatic opening chords, but then I realized that he was pacing the work, and saving the “fireworks” for later on. The transition from the opening of the work to the sombre and dark slow Adagio was impeccably handled, as was the transition between the Presto and the final Allegro. I find his playing of the beginning of the final fugue particularly arresting. The opening chords of the great Adagio was played magnificently – he voiced the chords to give them the darkest possible tone colours - as was the rest of the movement, and again reminded me of Arthur Rubinstein’s statement, that Schubert was the only composer that could stare directly at death.The second half of Trpčeski’s recital was devoted to the music of Franz Liszt, beginning with the composer’s transcription of J. S. Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543, originally written for the organ. Last season, we had the incredible recital by Andras Schiff where he played Book One of Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier, so it was particularly fascinating to hear Bach through the 19^th century eyes of Franz Liszt. This was thoroughly romantic Bach, exploiting, in the best sense of the word, all the resources of the piano. A master transcriber, Liszt was able to evoke the sound of the organ on the piano, and what a sound it was under the hands of Trpčeski!
Trpčeski followed with three of Liszt’s Soirées de Vienne, Valses-Caprices d’aprés Schubert, S. 427. Taking off from the various dances for piano that Schubert wrote, including three from the set of dances we heard at the beginning of the evening, Liszt wrote miniature tone poems for the piano using these dance themes. Trpčeski can create a beguiling sound on the piano, and this sound suited these pieces perfectly. At the end of the last piece of the set (No. 6 in A Minor, the same piece played by Vladimir Horowitz in his now legendary Moscow recital), the audience chuckled with delight before rewarding the pianist with warm applause. It is quite telling to realize that Schubert’s relative modest little dances for keyboard should serve as raw material for Liszt, as well as for Maurice Ravel in the 20^th century in his masterpiece, the Valses nobles et sentimentales.
The final piece on the programme – the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 in C-sharp Minor – is so famous that it has been played by pianists from Liberace and Victor Borge on one end to Horowitz on the other end of the pianistic spectrum, and almost everyone in between. Trpčeski certainly played the famous work with all the glitter and excitement it calls for, but never losing sight of bringing across the character inherent in each unique section. Never was beauty and depth of sound sacrificed for surface excitement, and never had the gypsy influence on this music been made clearer than in last night’s performance.

After thunderous applause and a well-deserved ovation, Trpčeski rewarded the audience with three encores – Schubert Moment Musical in F Minor, Chopin’s Prelude in D Minor, the last of his set of twenty-four, and Schubert’s beautiful Ständchen, as transcribed by Liszt. Once again, every one of these works was played as it should be. I was particularly moved by the quiet eloquence that Trpčeski afforded the Schubert / Liszt Ständchen. For me, that final piece captured the mood of the entire evening, and sent the audience home elevated by the beauty of the music played.
I have now heard Simon Trpčeski with orchestra and as a recitalist. Next season, he will once again grace the Vancouver stage with his presence, in a chamber music recital with cellist Daniel Müller-Schott. Doubtless this will give us another opportunity to enjoy another facet of the talents of this young artist.

Suffering and Beauty

We live in an age where whatever it is that we do, suffering is underrated, minimized or even trivialized. In general, we want to do away with suffering. Listening to pianist Janina Fialkowska in recital last Sunday, I am reminded how an artist must sometimes go through tremendous suffering for his or her art.

After an auspicious beginning as a concert artist, launched by no less than Arthur Rubinstein, and promoted as Rubinstein’s protégée, Fialkowska went through a period of crippling depression and anxiety, so much so that she had to stop playing and seek professional help. It was only through the help of her doctors and the encouragement of Mr. Rubinstein that she gradually resumed her concert career. In 2002, a tumour was discovered in Ms. Fialkowska’s left arm. Only after surgical removal or the tumour and muscle-transfer procedure was she able to resume playing again.

I cannot presume to know the effects these experiences must have had on Ms. Fialkowska’s spiritual and musical - I very much believe that the two are very much connected - growth, but I cannot help but guess that such challenges must have deepened her insight into her art.

Ms. Fialkowska opened her recital with Schubert’s Sonata in A Major, Op. 120, D. 664. A pensive and songful middle movement is framed by two outer movements that are gentle and joyful. The pianist made much of the expressiveness called for by the music and the beauty of sound. Many years ago, I attended Vladimir Feltsman’s much anticipated Carnegie Hall recital debut, where the pianist began his recital with the same Schubert Sonata. I must say that Ms. Fialkowska brought out the depth of the music much more than Mr. Feltsman did.

The pianist continued with three pieces by Franz Liszt, the Valse-caprice No. 6 from the Soirées de Vienne, S. 427 and the transcription of the Waltz from Gounod’s Faust, S. 407. In between these two pieces, Ms. Fialkowska played what I feel to be Liszt’s greatest piano work: the Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude, from the composer’s Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, S. 173. For the Valse-caprice and the Waltz from Faust, Ms. Fialkowska unleashed all her considerable powers as a virtuoso, bringing out all the pianistic fireworks one associates with pianists like Horowitz – her performances were on that level.

In the Bénédiction, it was more than beautiful playing that distinguishes her performance, but a lyricism and depth of feeling, as well as an absolutely magical use of the pedal that remained with me long after the concert.

The second half of the concert was devoted to the music of Chopin. Ms. Fialkowska was one of Arthur Rubinstein’s favourite students, and she must have received many valuable insights from the great pianist. But Ms. Fialkowska’s performance of Chopin was very much her own. For me, the highlight of this portion of her recital was her playing of two mazurkas, the early B-flat Major, Op. 7, No. 1 and the later C-sharp Minor, Op. 50, No. 3. From the high spirit of the early Mazurka to the piercing sadness of the C-sharp Minor, Ms. Fialkowska captured the essence and the soul of the composer in these elusive dances. We must be grateful to Ms. Fialkowska for playing the less frequently played Polonaise in E-flat Minor, Op. 26, No. 2, which is less flashy but no less great than some of the more popular Polonaises.

Vladimir Horowitz said that the Scherzo in B Minor, Op. 20, calls for the pianist to demonstrate his demonic as well as angelic sides. Ms. Fialkowska certainly brought out both aspects of this stormy work, and her playing of the middle section, when the composer quoted from the old Polish Christmas song Lulajże Jezuniu, was as beautiful as one can imagine it to be.

We are thankful that the Vancouver Chopin Society for bringing an artist as distinguished as Ms. Janina Fialkowska to share her artistry with us. Although she appears to be in the best of health, I could not help, while hearing her play, thinking of the pain artists go through for the sake of their art. It is a cruel twist of fate that an artist endowed with talent should be afflicted with ailments that would potentially cripple them. What is it about great music that draws us to continue to probe its many depths, in spite of great suffering and difficulties? The mystery in our search for beauty is that the journey may be one of many impediments. But the rewards, if not the promise, of the music, makes it a worthwhile journey.