Zlata Chochieva's re(creations)

There was a time, in the first half of the 20^th century, when concerts hall would resound with the resplendent sonorities of transcriptions of music from earlier times.  Of course we can immediately think of Leopold Stokowski’s orchestral transcriptions of the organ music of J. S. Bach, the most famous of which would have been the Toccata and Fugue in D minor, so thoroughly exploited – in every sense of the word – by Walt Disney in his film, Fantasia. We can also remember a time when piano recitals would inevitably open with Bach-Busoni, Bach-Siloti, Bach-Liszt, Bach-Tausig - the list goes on.

 

In more recent times, with our awareness of, or obsession with, performance practice, or historically informed performances, transcriptions have been almost frowned upon as dated, if one is kind, or wrong, if one is not.

 

We forget that transcriptions have been regular practice since the time of Bach, who had no compunction in borrowing materials from other composers and rewriting it for a different medium. From a practical standpoint, we also must remember that in centuries past, the only way one gets to hear any piece of music is to play it yourself, which led to piano, four-hand, transcriptions of symphonic and operatic works. Franz Liszt was prolific in transcribing a plethora of works by other composers for solo piano – the nine symphonies of Beethoven, excerpts from Wagner and Verdi operas, and Schubert Lieder. Of course, many of these incredibly technically challenging works, goes far beyond the ability of most amateurs, and have found their ways into the repertoire of performing artists.

 

Zlata Chochieva has done music a great service with this latest recording – (re)creations – where she performs with great aplomb piano transcriptions by a range of composers. Some of the works in this album will be very familiar, at the same time giving us some real discoveries as well.

 

As she is such a great interpreter of the compositions of Sergei Rachmaninoff, it is perhaps no surprise that many of the works represented here are by that great composer and pianist. Indeed, on the very first track we hear Rachmaninoff’s astounding transcription of J. S. Bach’s Violin Partita No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006. If there needs to be a justification for a transcription, this is it. Rachmaninoff took Bach’s composition for a single melodic line and transforms it into a rich and pianistic masterpiece. Chochieva plays this music without apologizing for the richness of the modern piano sound, but respecting at the same time the quicksilver lightness that the violin could achieve. Her playing of the Gavotte brims with charm and good humour, while the Prelude and Gigue shows her understated virtuosity as well as her complete identification with Rachmaninoff’s pianistic idiom.

 

The album continues with more Bach – the first movement of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G major, BWV 1048, the Siciliano from the Flute Sonata in E-flat major, BWV 1031, and the Tempo de borea from the Violin Partita No. 1 in B minor, BWV 1002, all in transcription by Ignaz Friedman. Again, Chochieva plays these works as piano pieces. That said, in the Brandenburg, she effectively highlights the interplay between the ripieno and concertino of Bach’s Concerto Grosso. In the familiar Siciliano, known to me only in the transcription by Wilhelm Kempff, this reworking by Friedman is much more in the 19^th century vein. Chochieva identifies with this, and plays it, not so much in a perpetual motion kind of way, but more highlighting the beauty of the piano’s sonorities and harmonies implied. In Tempo di borea, the little dance bounces to life under her fingers, and her interpretation takes on a perfect balance between the vertical and horizontal.

 

Chochieva then turns to transcriptions by Franz Liszt of Lieder of Schubert and Mendelssohn. Her playing of the Schubert Lieder especially moved me; to my ears she really highlights the character and affect of each lied. Hearing these songs, I was drawn, not to the superhuman technical demands set down by Liszt, which of course is considerable, but towards the melodic genius of Schubert. Her playing of Wohin (S. 565, No. 5) conveys the sense of wide-eye wonder and innocence of our wanderer, not yet disillusioned by love lost. Litanei (S. 562, No. 1) was played with an apt sense of reverence. Under her hands, the water ripples in Auf dem Wasser zu singen (S. 558, No. 2), while the little trout dances in the rippling water in Die Forelle (S. 564) before meeting its final fate. In Ständchen (S. 560, No. 7), she plays the lied with a simple ardent quality, at the same time maintaining the buoyancy and forward motion of the music - a quality, forgive me, missing in the Horowitz recording.

 

The transcriptions of the three Mendelssohn Lieder are played with a disarming simplicity and directness. I feel that her playing of the beautiful Auf Flüfein des Gesanges (S. 547, No. 1) – translated in countless children’s piano books as “On Wings of Song”, is particular deeply felt. 

 

One of the most difficult pianistic “stunts” has to be Rachmaninoff’s transcription of the Scherzo from Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. When recording this work, Rachmaninoff himself reportedly did more than forty takes before finding one that satisfied him. Chochieva transcends Rachmaninoff’s pianistic hurdles, with nary a thought of its difficulties, and gives us a breathless and breathtaking performance of great flair and beguiling lightness – yes, one could almost see the fairies dancing. I heard Ms. Chochieva play this work in recital, and yes, it is just as electrifying.

 

The recording follows with more Rachmaninoff – his transcription of the charming Minuetto from Bizet’s L’Arlésienne Suite No. 1, Op. 23bis, WD 40, where Chochieva highlights the composer’s melodic inventiveness, and squeezes out every ounce of Gallic charm from the music. 

 

Chochieva then gives us a real rarity – Friedman’s transcription of the Tempo di Menuetto, the second movement from Mahler’s monumental Symphony No. 3 in D minor. One of Mahler’s most charming creations, Friedman’s ingenious transcription makes it sound completely like an idiomatic piano composition. In her deeply felt recreation, Chochieva gives us all the gemütlichkeit the music calls for, as well as guiding us into the many darker harmonic corners as well as quasi-hallucinogenic moments set down by Mahler.

 

We have two further transcriptions by Rachmaninoff – Tchaikovsky’s Lullaby, Op. 16, No. 1, and Mussorgsky’s Hopak from his comic opera, The Fair at Sorotchintsy. Chochieva’s performances really showcases Rachmaninoff’s uncanny understanding of the resources of the piano, as well as her own identification with the composer’s piano writing. Her comic timing in her playing of Hopak is impeccable. 

 

The recording concludes with two transcriptions by Friedman. We hear first the beautiful Adagio in G minor by Giovanni Battista Grazioli, played with great style, depth of feeling, grace and simplicity. This thoroughly enjoyable disc ends with the first of Friedman’s own Six Viennese Dances, Tempo de Valse lente, after Gärtner, a perfect dessert after this delectable pianistic feast. 

 

I have always been fascinated with the art of transcription – this transference of the same musical material from one medium to another. As much as it is necessary to have new interpretations of Beethoven and Schubert sonatas, this disc certainly makes a welcomed addition to the recorded literature, and Chochieva’s artistry makes a very strong case for the validity of transcriptions as a musical art form.

 

Zlata Chochieva played one of the best recitals of the concert season in Vancouver before life was put on hold because of the pandemic. I am certainly grateful for this new recording of “recreations”, which allows us to enjoy her pianistic art, as well as the musicality of her playing. Let us pray for an end to this manmade catastrophe so that we can once again join with each other to experience the joys and excitement of live music making.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ending on a High Note

It is always sad every year to realize that the concert season is winding down. The Vancouver Recital Society’s season ended a couple of weeks ago, and the Vancouver Chopin Society presented its final concert of the 2016-2017 season this past Sunday with a recital by the Armenian-born, Russian-trained, American pianist (and famed pedagogue) Sergei Babayan. I had never before heard him in concert, and so it was certainly a treat to have experienced the artistry, musicianship and pianism of this wonderful pianist.

Babayan began his performance with, I am guessing, the Vancouver premiere of Russian composer Vladimir Ryabov’s Fantasia in C minor, in memory of Maria Yudina, Op. 21. This is an incredibly intense and challenging work inspired by the repertoire and life of the great Soviet pianist Maria Yudina. I doubt that many people in North America had heard of Maria Yudina, since she didn’t – or couldn’t – play outside of her native Russia. But she was a pianist in the same order of a Richter or a Gilels. In the piece, there were allusions, or quotes, of themes from pieces that Yudina frequently played, as well as references to Orthodox Chants, because of the pianist’s Christian faith. Babayan’s performance of this demanding work was stunning, capturing the rapidly shifting moods and colours of the work. The work ended, as indicated in the programme notes, with “a dream-like perpetual motion punctuated by bell tones that seems to disintegrate into shattered silence.” The silence and attentiveness of the audience indicated to me that Babayan was successful in conveying the essence of this music.

The pianist continued with the rest of the first half with music by Chopin and Rachmaninoff, playing the pieces without a break. Indeed, Babayan created such a mood of intimacy, especially in the Chopin works, that I felt that he was playing for himself, and that the audience was almost eavesdropping upon this incredible performance. In the Polonaise in C-sharp minor, Op. 26, No. 1, Babayan captured the contrast between the drama and heroism of the outer sections with the lyricism and longing in the middle section. In the great Waltz in C-sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2, I thought his playing of especially the descending scale at mm. 13 to 16 to be meltingly beautiful. The challenging B section of this waltz sounded as effortless and light as it could possibly be.

The pianist’s playing of the Barcarolle in F-sharp major, Op. 60, was very different from the performance given by Georgijs Osokins last season. Osokins brought out all the colours of this great masterpiece, while Babayan’s interpretation was more inward looking, more intimate. He did not try to make the Waltz in B minor, Op. 69, No. 2, bigger than it is, but played it with just the right degree of melancholy and an intense musicality. The Impromptu No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29 was stunning in its gossamer lightness and breathlessness.

Instead of the Ballade No. 3 that was originally programmed, the artist decided on a last minute programme change, playing instead three short works by Sergei Rachmaninoff – the Etude Tableaux in E-flat minor, Op. 39, No. 5, the Moment Musicaux in E-flat minor, Op. 16, No. 2, and the Moment Musicaux in C major, Op. 16, No. 3. The programme change showcased Babayan’s affinity for the music of the Russian composer. His performance of these works highlighted not only his awesome pianistic abilities, but also the beautiful sound – especially in the lower register of the piano – that he evoked from the instrument (this was also evident in his performance of the Ryabov), a sound that is so well suited to Rachmaninoff’s music.

Ever since hearing Glenn Gould’s stunning first recording of Bach’s monumental work, I have always had a personal bias that the Goldberg Variations as something that Canada owns. An artist like Babayan would obviously have its own interpretation of the work, one that really can lend itself to so many different views. Rather than, to paraphrase Gould’s words, looking for some kind of mathematical correspondence between the theme and the 30 variations, I believe Babayan was trying to convey the character of each individual variation. That said, I thought that his playing of the variations had a logical and natural flow from one to the next, as well as a palpable sense of totality that eludes many artists. In the 25^th variation, he did not fall into the trap of wearing the tragedy of the music on his sleeve, but infused it with just the right degree of pathos. Babayan told me afterwards that he was inspired by the attentiveness of the afternoon’s audience.

After hearing Sergei Babayan, I understood why artists like Martha Argerich, Danil Trifonov, and Valery Gergiev regularly sought him out as collaborator. I am already looking forward to his next appearance in Vancouver.

In Search of an Artist's Soul

In the musical world, there are artists who draw listeners into the inner spiritual world of the musical masterpiece, and there are others whose sheer abilities on his or her instrument draw our attention to the potential of that instrument. Pianist Olga Kern, I think, firmly belongs to the latter category of instrumentalists.

Kern made her Vancouver Chopin Society debut last night in a mammoth programme of Schumann, Alkan, Chopin, and Rachmaninoff. I found it curious that the pianist chose to open her programme with Schumann’s Carnaval (Op. 9), a work that many pianists would end their concert with. In fact, opening the concert with Carnaval, and closing off the first half with Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor, Op. 35, made Alkan’s Etude in G Major, Op. 35, the work performed between the two major works, superfluous, and nothing more than a vehicle to demonstrate the pianist’s dexterity.

I found Kern’s interpretation of Carnaval, well, uncomfortable. Her excessive use of rubato throughout the work seriously hampers the flow of the music. Moreover, rather than conceiving the set as a whole, I felt that she treats each of the twenty sections as individual pieces, and I missed the sense of organic unity that the work calls for. In Chiarina, her distortion of the rhythm almost completely obliterates Schumann’s passionato indication. In the final Marche des “Davidsbündler” contre les Philistins, there was a lack of a sense of inevitable drive towards the end, in spite of the pianist’s blistering virtuosity.

I was also surprised that Kern decided to play the Sphinxes section. I know that pianists as great as Rachmaninoff had included these few notes in his recording, but I really believe that Schumann intended this section as a riddle, an enigma or a puzzle for the player, and that these notes really shouldn’t be played.

Alkan’s Etude in G Major was well played, and amply demonstrated the young pianist’s considerable ability around the keyboard. Alkan had written many fine and original works, but this piece is really nothing more than a showpiece, not worthy of being in the company of Carnaval and Chopin’s Sonata.

The first moments of Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor began promisingly enough, with great drama, and plenty of drive. Came the second subject and Kern’s excessive rubato again destroyed the intricate structure of the first movement. In the left hand octave passage of the coda (mm 230 to 235), she slowed the tempo to such an extent that the impetus of the music was completely gone. In the scherzo, the dramatic A section came off better than the lyrical (Piu lento) B section. I got the sense that Kern was playing from climax to climax. When it came to the lyrical sections of the music, she somehow felt that she had to highlight the music to accentuate its beauty, thus robbing the music of naturalness.

After the intermission, Kern was much more in her element in a selection of three of Rachmaninoff’s Etude Tableaux, as well as a selection of nine Preludes from Op. 23, Op. 32 and Op. 3, ending with a take-no-prisoner performance of the Prelude in B-flat Major, Op. 23, No. 2. The performances here were much more idiomatic and, strangely enough, more natural and flowing.

If I had any reservations about the evening’s performance, I was obviously in the minority. The audience rewarded the pianist with an ovation, and she in turned rewarded the audience with four or five encores. Vladimir Horowitz, a master of pianistic thunder, often played more lyrical pieces in his encores.  Kern would do well to emulate this. All of her encores appeared to be more and more virtuosic. Yes, it was impressive, but I found my ears getting very tired toward the end of the evening, and I yearned to get away to some Bach and Schubert.

In spite of the high volume of Olga Kern’s playing, there was surprisingly a lack of variety in her pianistic colours. Things were either soft or loud. She obviously reveled in passages of great passion and brilliance. Perhaps, like Horowitz, she will mellow in her old age. Looking at the pianist’s face as she brought off another pianistic feat is like looking at the face of a child as he or she speeds down the lane on the new bicycle.

For now, Olga Kern remains, for me, a brilliant instrumentalist that delights in showing off her abilities at the instrument. What I kept wishing for was for her to bare her soul to us through the music that she plays.