Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man

Pianist Kevin Chen made a remarkable debut in Vancouver Saturday evening, with a programme that effectively highlights not only his not inconsiderable virtuosity, but his depth and musicality.

 

Bravely, I thought, Chen began his recital with Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 in G minor (Op. 23), and managed to bring freshness to a piece that is played almost too often. I have rarely heard the Meno mosso section (m. 68) played so beautifully. He was careful to build the piece to its shattering climax towards the end, carefully pacing the progression of the drama, and thoughtfully gauging the sound, that even the big chordal section at m. 106 - where far too many pianists tend to go “all out” - does not make the rest of the work feel anti-climactic. When it came to the cataclysmic coda, with the clashing octaves and ending of complete desolation, Chen played it at a tempo and with an intensity that was breathtaking.

 

It is truly impressive that an artist so young can have such a mature grasp of Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantasie (Op. 61). Personally, I find this to be Chopin’s greatest and perhaps most elusive works. By this time of Chopin’s creative evolution, he was no longer interested in those long bel-canto melodies that he was known for as a younger composer. The fragmentary, rhetorical nature of the melodic threads make it a challenge for any pianist to convey. From beginning to end, Kevin Chen has a complete grasp of the logic and structure of the work, and infused it with a palpable sense of cohesiveness and organic unity. More importantly, he grasps the desperation and heartbreak that is so inherent throughout the work.

 

On the other end of the musical spectrum, the composer’s Variations on “Là ci darem la mano”(Op. 2) is the product of a very young composer trying to showcase his compositional and pianistic skills. Chen’s stunning rendition of the work made me wonder if this was how young Chopin may have played it. This was the composition that led to Robert Schumann’s now famous preamble of his review of the piece in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, “Hats off, gentlemen, a genius!” It was a performance that dazzled Saturday’s audience with a truly unbelievable virtuosity. At the same time, it was not fast fingers that caught our ears, but always a feeling that technique is there to serve musical ends.

 

The second half of the recital consisted of the music of Franz Liszt, another composer Chen identifies with, with good reasons, as we would find out, in spades.

 

According to Vladimir Horowitz, Liszt’s Ballade No. 2 in B minor (S. 171) is one of his greatest works for piano. From first note to last, it was obvious that Chen identifies with the Lisztian idiom, as well as rises to the composer’s superhuman pianistic challenges. As in Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantasie, Chen understands and conveys the fragmentary, rhetorical nature of this music, and he gave a performance that underscored the beauty and drama inherent in the music.

 

Schubert’s Erlkönig is the terror for any pianist, so I could just imagine how intimidating Liszt’s transcription would be. Chen did not seem to bat an eye at the technical hurdles inherent in the music, but played it with a rousing virtuosity that was irresistible. I think Sergei Babayan was more vivid in making the characters in the lied come alive, but this will surely come with age for Chen.

 

The young pianist gave a deeply felt, beautifully shaped performance of the Sonetto 104 del Petrarca (S. 161, No. 5), from volume two of the Années de pèlerinage, giving the audience a dose of lyricism before the fireworks of the final piece.

 

And what fireworks they were! During Chen’s performance of the Réminiscences de Don Juan (S. 418), I marvelled not only at the incredible musical and pianistic display, but how the young artist was able to highlight and bring alive so vividly the absolute genius of Liszt’s design, something that happens rarely with this work. And no matter how fast the fingers were moving, and how cleanly the passages were executed, Chen never made us lose sight of the beauty and logic behind the notes.

 

After a well-deserved ovation, Chen granted an encore – the calm after the storm – Liszt’s masterful transcription of Schumann’s Widmung, in a reading that is ardent and filled with longing. The “Ave Maria” at the end of the song was stunningly beautiful.

 

From Chen’s playing and from my brief interaction with him before and after the concert, it struck me that this is not only a hugely talented young man, but a highly sensitive one, as well as a musician who is still developing his already considerable musical maturity. I can only wish for him a management who would not exploit his talents, but cherish this rare gift, and allow him the time and space to continue to grow as a musician.

 

From his performance in Vancouver, it seems that the sky is the limit for Kevin Chen.

 

 

Bruce Liu's Return to Vancouver

Even with the proliferation of music competition all over the world, the International Chopin Competition in Warsaw remains at the pinnacle in terms of the extremely high level of playing and its track record of being a career launchpad for some of today’s most legendary artists. That said, any artist is only as good as his or her last performance, and any artist would, every time he or she steps on stage, continues to have to prove him or herself. The greater the fame, the more the pressure for an artist to continue to develop and to play “well”.

 

Judging from Bruce Liu’s performance in Vancouver’s Orpheum Theatre yesterday, he has developed into a more mature and insightful artist since his sensational win in Warsaw two years ago, and the performance was, by every standard, very well played indeed. 

 

In Haydn’s Sonata in B minor, Hob XVI:32, Liu successfully highlighted the elegance as well as the mock pathos that is so unique to the composer. His fleet, stunningly accurate fingerwork and rhythmic acuity infused the performance with a breathtaking lightness. In the central Tempo di Menuetto movement, he very successfully contrasted the courtly elegance of the outer sections with the gentle sturm und drang of the minore section. Liu took a daring tempo in the presto third movement, with its canonic opening, giving it the feeling, fun and excitement of a cops and robbers chase, and highlighting the composer’s added layer of humour by setting it in the “serious” key of B minor. 

 

Liu played Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat minor, Op. 35, in his Vancouver debut recitals, and I was very curious to hear if and how his conception has changed in the intervening years. It was a stunning performance of great depth and feeling. I believe Liu feels the music even more than he did in his previous performance, both in Vancouver and in Warsaw during the competition. The sound is now deeper, and the drama and contrast more acute. I think, in time, he could bring out even more the violence and volcanic passion so inherent in the music. One hallmark in his playing – and this was true throughout the recital – is the utter clarity he brought to the playing no matter how thick or complex the texture. One thing that struck me two years ago, was the utter stillness he infused into the funeral march. This feeling of frightening stillness was even more apparent in yesterday’s performance. I was stunned by his sweeping and breathtaking playing of the “weird” (in the very best sense of the word) final movement, evoking so much Anton Rubinstein’s description of the “effect of wind over the graves” – a great achievement indeed for so young an artist.

 

As if to dispel the doom and gloom of the Chopin, Liu finished his first half with Kapustin’s Variations, Op. 41, with its influence of both jazz and popular music and, as Ruth Enns’ excellent programme notes indicate, “exploring styles ranging from swing to blues to bebop.” Liu did not pretend that the music was greater (or lesser) than what it was. Under his hand, it was a performance that was, for lack of a more sophisticated word, simply fun, and it was difficult to tell if the artist or the audience enjoyed the playing more. 

 

The young artist’s playing of the works from Rameau’s Pieces de clavessin showcased the pianist with all his Gallic charm and elegance. Liu made no apologies for playing these works on the piano, and infused the music with a generous range of colours. It may not have been “authentic” or “historically aware”, but it was certainly beguiling and gorgeous playing. In Le poule, Liu so successfully evoked the clattering quality of the harpsichord, as well as the lively pecking character of the work. 

 

It is the hallmark of a great work that every artist would bring something different to it. I am sure the presenters of the concert did not plan for two consecutive recitals to include Prokofiev’s Sonata No. 7 in B-flat Major, Op. 83, arguably the composer’s towering masterpiece. Let me say that I would not want to be without the experience of either Yefim Bronfman or Bruce Liu’s performance. Yesterday, Liu brought to the work a lightness in touch and a panther-like spring, a quickness in the changes of mood, without lessening the impact of the weight of the music. In the first movement, he did not fall into the trap of playing the opening too fast, thereby maintaining the rhythmic integrity of the work. He engaged a great deal of una corda pedal throughout, giving the music a wider range of colours than Bronfman did. Liu’s playing of the third movement was exciting indeed, played with absolutely rhythmic acuity, and he had to his advantage a young man’s energy and enthusiasm for the work not yet “seasoned” by experience. From beginning to its cataclysmic final chords, it was a performance that took one’s breath away, and got the audience to stand and cheer. 

 

And cheered they did, prompting Liu to grant three very different encores – a calm and reverential Bach/Siloti’s Prelude, a spirited Waltz in D-flat Major, Op. 64, No. 1 (the so-called “Minute Waltz”), and a performance of Erik Satie’s Gnossienne No. 1, with the artist’s hallmark beauty of tone and with some truly beautiful turn of phrases.

 

Looking at the hour-long lineup for autographs and photographs with the artist, Bruce Liu’s popularity has not lessened with time. While it is true that success at the Chopin Competition would almost guarantee many first opportunities for any young artist, but as conductor Zubin Mehta said, and I paraphrase, it is easy to get a first invitation, but to be invited back after that first performance is the real test. If Bruce Liu continues to develop as an artist and musician, there is every indication that he would be invited again and again in any of the musical capital of the world. 

A Wonderful Afternoon of Opus One's

There has been a great deal of press covering Yuchan Lim, gold medalist of the 2022 Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, and Mr. Lim had done so much performing since his win that he recently suffered a hand injury and was forced to cancel some performances. Such is the price to pay for today’s successful musicians, when air travel allows one to be in three or four different cities within the same week. The silver medalist of that same competition, Anna Geniushene has, perhaps as a result of the reality of the proliferation of piano competitions today, received far less notice in the music world. And so, it was a less-than-capacity audience that greeted Ms. Geniushene as she walked onto the stage of the Vancouver Playhouse for her debut in the city, which did not stop her for giving a scintillating performance of a generous and varied programme.

 

The young pianist began her recital with Muzio Clementi’s two-movement Sonata in E-flat Major, Op. 1. Ever since Horowitz brought the world’s attention to Clementi, this composer, normally known to piano students as the creator of some charming sonatinas, can now occasionally be heard in piano recitals. Geniushene gave a spacious and rhythmically flexible reading of the first movement, giving much room for the music to breathe, and highlighting the humour within the music. She played the charming second movement with disarming simplicity, giving the feeling of a child romping through a field.

 

Geniushene gave Chopin’s Rondo, Op. 1 all the charm and vitality the music calls for, bringing alive the dance rhythm in the score, and highlighting the gamut of emotions contained in this short work. Her fantastic pianistic abilities seemingly allowed her to take no heed to the work’s incredible technical demands.

 

In Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s Wiegenlied, Op. 1, Geniushene gave the work an incredible delicacy called for in the music, giving us an infinite palette of colours even within a relatively narrow dynamic range. She also brought out the fantasy-like character found in much of the music, and used her magical pedalling to create a mixture of colours. 

 

This element of fantasy carried over to her passionate performance of Schumann’s “Abegg” Variations, Op. 1, from the ardour she brought to the opening notes, to the brilliance and panache she played in some of the variations, she successfully wove together the disparate variations to create a beautiful whole. 

 

The first half of the recital ended with a real rarity, Tchaikovsky’s Two Pieces, Op. 1. From the tumultuous beginning of the first piece, with a lyrical middle section, to the boisterous scherzando-like second piece, she identified completely with this music, giving it a committed and utterly convincing performance.

 

The recital’s second half began with Alban Berg’s lyrical masterpiece, his Sonata, Op. 1. Again, Geniushene believed in the greatness of this work, giving it an idiomatic and impassioned reading, but without sacrificing the clarity in voice leading within the densely woven texture of the work, and infusing the music with the twilight-tinged colours inherent in the score.

 

She ended her concert with a truly magisterial performance of Brahms’ youthful Sonata in C Major, Op. 1. In her brief introduction before her performance, Geniushene spoke about how Brahms was very much thinking about Beethoven gigantic Hammerklavier (Op. 106) sonata. And indeed, the opening chords of the 1^st movement do remind one of the opening of Beethoven’s magnum opus for the piano. Geniushene has a thorough grasp of the Brahmsian idiom, capturing the composer’s youthful ardour, as well as the depth and “bigness” of the sound called for by the music. Her performance of this work reminds me of Robert Schumann’s description of Brahms as a “young eagle”. In the sonata’s second movement, she played the opening with depth of feeling, beautiful voicing of the chords, as well as a real sense of sombreness and solemnity that almost foreshadow the composer’s late piano pieces. The young artist played the 3^rd and 4^th movements with great ardour, a huge range of emotions and colours, and a technical command and assurance on the level of a Michelangelo. In the 3^rd movement, she really brought out the symphonic scope of the music, so akin to the gigantic orchestral scherzi in his symphonies. There was never a sagging in the music tension, and there was an incredible sense of forward motion, all the way to a triumphal ending that left the Steinway limp and the audience exhilarated. 

 

After a justly deserved ovation, Geniushene played Beethoven’s Bagatelle in E-flat Major, Op. 33, No. 1, giving the music all the charm and humour it calls for. 

 

In a recent conversation with a musician friend who enjoys an active concert career, he commented on how differently careers often turn out between the gold medalist of a major competition and the runner up’s. In today’s competitive music world, with competition winners emerging year after year, the lustre of winning even a major prize no longer has the same impact as it once did. It is too soon to tell if Mrs. Geniushene will enjoy a major career - she certainly has the requisite talent and pianism that a career demands. But in today’s highly commercialized music “business” (oh, what a terrible word to be associated with music!), talent rarely equates success. I do wish Mrs. Geniushene well in her musical journey, and hope that she would be appreciated by many in the music world, an appreciation that, judging from yesterday’s performance, she more than deserves. 

 

A Stunning Debut

There are many pianists who play Chopin. There are far fewer, in spite of the high level of piano playing today, who can really play Chopin. Happily, pianist Kyohei Sorita clearly belongs to this small second group, as he amply demonstrated in his all-Chopin recital yesterday, his Vancouver and Canadian debut. It was piano playing and music making that sought to move, rather than to impress, and he succeeded beyond our highest expectations. 

 

I don’t remember any pianist who would begin – or have the courage to begin - his or her recital with the Polonaise in A-flat Major (Op. 53), nor do I remember any pianist who made the great polonaise theme dance quite so vividly, or infused a lightness to the dance rhythm. And in the left-hand octave passage in the E Major section, Sorita tossed it off with nary of its demands, and managed the feat without pounding the piano. In the melancholic C section, he brought out details in the left hand that I had not noticed before. From there, he managed an incredible build-up of tension toward the incredible coda of the piece. 

 

Sorita played the Waltz in F Major (Op. 34, No. 3) with a breathtaking lightness, and managed it with a magical display of incredible finger-work. In the ascending series of grace notes (mm. 83-84) and the descend following it (mm. 87-88), he brought out the music with great charm and a true sense of humour. This was a masterful performance of one of Chopin’s most rhythmically challenging works. 

 

In the technically challenging Rondo a la Mazur, Op. 5, Sorita towered over the pianistic hurdles, and showed that he truly feels the mazurka rhythm, as well as bringing out the charming, almost music-box like quality of the music, that one felt like one was hearing the composer improvising on the piano. 

 

The opening section of the Andante spinato and Grande Polonaise, Op. 22 contains one of Chopin’s most beguiling melodies (and that is really saying a great deal), and Sorita played it with a most beautiful, most liquid legato. As in his performance of the “Heroic” polonaise that opened the recital, the young artist again brought to life Chopin’s dance rhythm. With a less-than-perfect realization of this work, the listener is sometimes made to feel that the theme comes back perhaps once too often. Not so with Sorita’s sweeping performance, which somehow made each appearance of the polonaise theme slightly different and renewed energy.  

 

Before the audience had an opportunity to catch its breath, Sorita returned after intermission with a performance of all four Ballades. To play a single ballade is a challenge, but to play the entire set takes an artist who possesses the technique, the stamina, the musicality and understanding, not to mention the courage, to attempt this feat. Sorita showed that he possesses all of the aforementioned qualities, in spades. In each of the four Ballades, very familiar music indeed, Sorita managed to find new ideas, and new beauty not heard before. 

 

Even the much played and much heard Ballade No. 1 in G minor (Op. 23) sounded fresh under his hands. Each of these four large scale works was played, not as a series of beautiful episodes, as it is so often done, but with an organic unity, with the sense of one idea melting into another, and yet being part of the larger design. 

 

With each of the pieces, Sorita was the master storyteller, a great bard regaling us with tales from long ago times and far away lands. In the Ballade No. 2 in F Major (Op. 38), I had rarely heard the bell-like sonorities of the opening chord voiced quite so beautifully, or with such a contrast to the Presto con fuoco section, that it was, in the best sense, a rude awakening from a beautiful reverie. 

 

The Ballade No. 3 in A-flat Major (Op. 47) was played with an overwhelming feeling of joy, and of elation, as well as a palpable musicality. The bell-like sonorities in the right hand that opens the Ballade No. 4 in F minor (Op. 52) was played as if coming from nowhere, giving us a feeling that the music had been going on long before we heard it. And the great coda was performed with sweep, but at the same time with clarity, as well as an obvious awareness of the contrapuntal complexities that is such a part of Chopin’s late works. 

 

The performance of these four great works certainly gave the audience a reason to cheer, and cheer they did, long and loud. Sorita graciously granted this appreciative audience three encores – Chopin’s Etude in C minor, Op. 25, No. 12 and Mazurka in C Major, Op. 56, No. 2, as well as Schumann’s Widmung – the composer’s great love song for Clara Schumann - as transcribed by Liszt. In the mazurka, Sorita brought out the fragrance of earthiness in the music. And in Schumann/Liszt’s Widmung, he downplayed Liszt’s invitation for virtuoso display, but gave the music a true sense of ardour and quiet ecstasy. 

 

The all-too-short afternoon was one that was filled with beauty and inspiration, leaving everyone with an overwhelming impression of communion into something very special. 

 

The performance confirmed my impression from the 2021 Chopin Competition in Warsaw, that Kyohei Sorita was and is the true artistic find from that very high-level competition. It was a real coup for The Vancouver Chopin Society to have engineered the Canadian debut of this outstanding young artist. Surely the sky is the limit in what will surely be an interesting artistic journey for this young musician. May he always reach for the stars.

Dang Thai Son in Vancouver

It had been many years since Dang Thai-Son performed in Vancouver, and so there was a keen sense of anticipation before he walked onto the stage of the Playhouse last Sunday.

 

Looking every bit like the seasoned artist that he is, very different from the photograph that graced the cover of his debut album some 43 years ago, Dang began his performance with Faure’s Nocturne in E-flat minor, Op. 33, No. 1 and Barcarolle No. 1 in A minor, Op. 26. Right from the first notes, he caught my ears with the depth and beauty of his sound, as well as the beautiful flow of the music. In both works, but especially in the Nocturne, still so heavily indebted to Chopin, but with Faure’s own unique harmonic progressions, every note from Dang’s hands seemed to project like an arrow straight to the last row of the auditorium. 

 

In the Arabesques by Debussy, pieces that are technically within reach of many competent pianists, Dang showed his mastery by the colours he evoked from the beautiful Steinway piano, as well as his impeccable sense of timing. His affinity for the music of Debussy continued to show in his interpretation of both books of Images. In these masterpieces, the composer takes us into the world of the Orient, not in the cheap stereotypical picture postcard version promulgated by Hollywood, but into the true aesthetics of the art of the Orient. Pianist Fou Ts’ong once commented that Debussy’s soul as an artist is that of the Orient. Dang struck a perfect balance between the mixing of the colours, so much like a Chinese ink painting, and maintaining an absolute clarity of texture. In Mouvement, Debussy’s study in line, Dang played this music with a bracing and stunning virtuosity. As well, he presented the most vivid and colourful Poisson d’Or I can remember. In Hommage a Rameau, he brought to the music an eerie stillness, and a feeling of bleakness and desolation. 

 

After the intermission, Dang gave us an exploration of the many dance forms used by Chopin as vehicles for his creativity. The Polonaise in C minor, Op. 40, No. 2 was played with great feeling as well as a palpable depth of sound. Dang evoked a sound from the lower register of the piano was nothing less than astounding. In his very stylish playing of the Three Ecossaises, Op. 72, No. 3, he highlighted the charm, the brimming high spirits as well as the youthfulness conveyed in this music. Dang went on to give characterful readings of three of the composer’s waltzes. The Waltz in A minor, Op. posth., was played with such profound feeling that it elevated this relatively simple work, so often relegated to young students as an “easy” Chopin piece, into a miniature tragic tone poem. The Waltz in F minor, Op. 70, No. 2 as well as the Waltz in A-flat Major, Op. 34, No. 1, were given readings that were stylistically impeccable, reminding the listener that these miniature masterpieces are really dances of the soul.

 

The performance continued with a delightful romp through Chopin’s rarely-played Tarantelle in A-flat Major, Op. 43, which makes one wonder why not more pianists would incorporate this work into their active repertoire. The set of four Mazurkas, Op. 24, demonstrated Dang’s absolute identification with these elusive miniatures, compositions representing the composer at his most profound and original. He invested into each of these pieces, none lasting more than a few minutes long, with great profundity and depth of feeling, as well as an acute stylistic awareness. The great Polonaise in A-flat Major, Op. 53, played to the manner born, rightly brought the audience to its feet. 

 

After the thrilling performance of the Polonaise, and at the behest of the enthusiastic audience, the artist graciously granted us an encore – Bach/Busoni’s great Adagio, from Busoni’s transcription of Bach’s Toccata in C Major. Dang’s performance of this great work served as a fitting close to this very special afternoon, almost as a form of a benediction. I felt that everyone in the audience knew that they were sharing something very rare and special.

 

In his playing of Chopin, Dang Thai Son reminded me so much of Arthur Rubinstein – and I can think of no higher compliment. There was the same lack of affectation, the same simplicity, the same directness in his music making that makes the interpreter a perfect conduit between composer and listener, and the results are both disarming and moving. It is playing that strives to move, not just to impress, for me the highest form of music making.

 

I am grateful that Vancouver had the opportunity to experience the artistry and musicality of this sovereign artist, at the heights of his maturity. One could only hope for many more opportunities for him to share his art with us in the very nearest future.

 

 

A Most Welcomed Return

When an artist made a staggering first impression, as Zlata Chochieva did when she first played in Vancouver, expectations are high when she or he makes a return appearance. I am happy to report that Chochieva’s recital last Sunday confirmed that her artistry is still as wondrous as ever. Indeed, she has, if anything, matured as an artist and as a musician.

 

Her recital programme is a re-creation of the works she recorded on her most recent CD of works by Mozart and Scriabin – two very different and contrasting sound worlds. None of the works played were pieces that appear time and again in piano recitals, which makes for a very refreshing change from the sameness that we sometimes see in programming. 

 

In the two sets of variations by Mozart – Nine Variations on a Minuet by Duport (K. 573) and Ten Variations on “Unser dummer Pobel meint” (C. W. Cluck) (K. 455) – she played Mozart with a firm grasp of the operatic nature of the composer’s music. Figaro, Susanna, Leporello, Despina, and a host of other characters came alive in front of our mind’s eyes. There was nothing “pretty” or precious about her approach to this music, as every phrase was filled with energy and colour. Every phrase, every musical gesture, was delivered with the grace and panache of a prima ballerina. Moreover, she has an uncanny sense of timing both within each variation, in the evolution from one variation to the next, as well as each variation within the context of the entire structure.

 

Stylistically, the two sets of Preludes by Scriabin, Op. 15 and Op. 16, were still composed with a firm nod to the past, most notably to the music of Chopin, whom Scriabin adored. Chochieva approached these miniatures like a visual artist, painting before us the infinite variety of sound colours that the composer must have had in mind when putting notes to paper. One is reminded that Scriabin had a great interest, indeed obsession with, colour and sound. This wonderful artist was able to coax a gorgeous range of sounds from the piano, very much highlighting the sensual beauty of Scriabin’s music.

 

It is truly astounding to hear Scriabin’s evolution as a composer when a work such as the Sonata No. 3 in F-sharp minor (Op. 23) was juxtaposed against the truly forward-looking Sonata No. 10 (Op. 70). While the large-scale, highly dramatic third sonata is still firmly rooted in the 19^th century, the chromaticism and tonal ambiguity of the tenth sonata truly looks far beyond the 20^thcentury. Pianistically and musically, Chochieva delivered both works with great panache. She infused the third sonata with a sense of unity in the four disparate and contrasting movements, and highlighted the concentration of expression of the tenth sonata. In both works, she gave us all the sound colours the composer must have had in mind when composing these works. 

 

As if trying to dispel the ambiguous atmosphere of Scriabin’s tenth sonata, Chochieva brought her recital to a far more lighthearted conclusion with Mozart’s Gigue in G major (K. 574) which, along with the K. 522 A Musical Joke, are probably two of the composer’s most hilarious works. It is often easier to convey sadness than joy in music, but Chochieva succeeded in communicating to the audience all the humour inherent in this brief work.

 

This mood of charm and joy continued in the encore she played, the Toccata by French pianist, teacher and composer Pierre Sancan. The young artist delivered with stunning pianism – and at the most daring tempo – as well as with the Gallic charm and flavour called for by this music.

 

All in all, a truly spectacular showcase of pianism and musicianship. Along with Vadym Kholodenko’s stunning debut, we had truly been fortunate to have experienced two of today’s most interesting young artists within a fortnight. I am of course mindful of Sir Andras Schiff’s recent pair of masterful recitals, but with performances such as we had from Kholodenko and Chochieva’s, we are reminded that the future of great music is indeed in very good hands.

An Astounding Debut

In his Vancouver debut, Vadym Kholodenko played a magical performance for an enthralled audience last night.

 

The concert began with Prokofiev’s rarely played Four Pieces, Op. 32, the composer’s whimsical look at baroque and classical dance forms. Right from the first notes, I realized that we were in for something special. Kholodenko highlighted the composer’s gentle, sardonic humour in the four miniatures, but also drew from the Steinway colours, timbre and sounds rarely heard. Throughout the evening, there was a sense of fantasy, of incredible imagination, in his playing.

 

In Schubert’s Sonata in E-flat major, D. 568, Kholodenko brought out all the songfulness called for by the music with an overflowing and palpable musicality. In this work, and in all the pieces he played last evening, there was a glow and a luminosity in his sound that I do not often hear. In the Andante molto movement, the sadness and heartbreak of the music was very much evident. 

 

More Schubert followed after the intermission, with the composer’s beautiful Drei Klavierstucke, D. 946. While bringing out the unique character of each of the three works, the artist also managed to convey a sense of unity, as if the three pieces constituted part of a larger construction. I have to say once again that Kholodenko drew truly wonderous sounds from the piano. To my mind, I have not ever heard such pianissimos as we did last evening – no matter how softly he was playing, every note was projected to the very last row of the hall. Moreover, it was a sound that drew the listener in, drawing him or her into a very private sound world. In the second work in E-flat major, the artist played it almost like a lullaby, with a gently rocking quality and, toward the end, allowing the music to drift away almost to nothingness. It was truly imaginative, courageous, daring playing, but it was, again, sheer magic.

 

Kholodenko saved the fireworks for the last work of the evening, Prokofiev’s 1942 Sonata No. 7 in B-flat major, Op. 83, one of the composer’s so-called “war sonatas”. It was a performance that brought out the kaleidoscopic colours of the piano, and more. From the scintillating opening of the 1^st movement, to the bleak and desolate soundscape of the middle movement, to the almost delirious joy of the third, the artist took us on a thrilling and breathtaking ride through an incredible soundscape. In some of the massive chords of the 1^st movement, his voicing of these chords gave them a sense of massiveness. The element of fantasy I mentioned earlier was again palpable here. In the third movement, Kholodenko’s sense of the pulse of the music was uncanny. When pianist Vladimir Howowitz sent the composer of his recording of the 7^th Sonata, Prokofiev sent in return a copy of the score, inscribed, “To the miraculous pianist, from the composer.” It would no exaggeration to say, after last evening’s performance, that we were in the presence of a miraculous pianist.

 

The pianist graciously spoke to the audience after the performance and announced his one encore, a bagatelle by Ukrainian composer Valentyn Silvestrov, and proceeded to give a moving performance of this gentle work, perhaps a very personal response to the great tragedy that had befallen his home country.

 

Vadym Kholodenko’s performance last night was a truly auspicious debut by any artist in a long time. The sounds he drew from the piano will haunt me for a long time to come.

The Inner World of Eric Lu

 Eric Lu’s performance at the Vancouver Playhouse yesterday reminded me of what Leschetizky said to Artur Schnabel, “You will never be a pianist, you are a musician.” I would only amend that statement by saying that Lu is also an exceptional pianist, but an even finer musician.

 

The recital opened with Robert Schumann’s gem of a miniature, the Arabeske in C Major, Op. 18, a performance that betrayed the luminous sound Lu drew from the Steinway. The final section of the work, Zum Schluss (m. 209) was achingly beautiful.

 

I am grateful to Lu for playing, with great inspiration, Schumann’s relatively rarely performed Waldszenen, Op. 82. Once again, he drew us into the composer’s most intimate thoughts and emotions, at the same time highlighting the individual character of each piece. For me, the delicacy he brought to Einsame Blumen, as well as the almost psychedelic colours he painted in sound, the famous Vogel als Prophet, were particularly endearing. And how movingly he played the final Abschied, taking us through a wondrous sonic journey to the two soft final chords. 

 

The first half of the concert ended with a rousing but thoroughly musically satisfying reading of Brahms’s Theme und Variation, a transcription (written for Clara Schumann) of the movement from his String Sextet No. 1, Op. 18. Lu managed the no small feat of threading his way through Brahms’s texture with astounding clarity and beauty.

 

Lu began the second half of the concert with Schubert’s heavenly Impromptu in G-flat Major, Op. 90, No. 3, beguiling us again with the beauty of his sound, making the long melodic line float, and allowing us to hear the harmonic progression of the arpeggiated accompaniment. 

 

The young artist’s rendition of Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat minor, Op. 35 was truly overwhelming. He managed to highlight the absolute wildness of the opening theme, which makes the contrast with the lyrical second theme even more stark. Throughout the movement, Lu played the music in the manner of a titanic struggle. He played the opening repeated-note figure of the second with great weight, giving this opening a real sense of occasion and a feeling of substance. The waltz-like second subject once again reminded us of Lu’s gift for lyricism. In the funeral march, the gloom of the A section was, under Lu’s hands, not dispelled by even the incredible beauty of the D-flat Major section. Indeed, to my ears, he played this section not with a sense of consolation, but more with a feeling of shared grief. The petrifying final movement was indeed frightening. Two measures before the final outburst, Lu dramatically slowed the momentum of the music, giving it an almost unbearable tension, making the final B-flat minor chord all the more dramatic.

 

Lu’s single encore of Chopin’s Prelude in D-flat Major, Op. 28, No. 15, reminded me of pianist Byron Janis’ words about Chopin music, that it “pierces our ears and breaks our hearts.” From the lyrical opening, to the funereal middle section, and to the truncated return of the opening theme, Lu infused the music not only with beauty, but also with the logic of its arch-like structure. 

 

Hearing Lu’s playing yesterday, I had the feeling that he was allowing us into his very private world with his music making. I felt that I was eavesdropping on someone playing through an open window. Indeed, Lu’s music-making betrays a maturity and sensitivity well beyond his years. With his luminous playing at yesterday’s concert, I felt that we had in our midst, an old soul, one who illuminated the wonders and beauty of this timeless music that he shared with us. Eric Lu had indeed given us a precious gift with his playing – a window, a glimpse into his inner world. 

Jakub Kuszlik - Canadian Debut

As the cliché goes, life is indeed full of wonderful surprises. I thought I knew the works performed at last night’s recital backwards and forward, and then someone comes along playing these same pieces, and sweeps you off your feet and captures your heart.

 

Which was how it was with the Vancouver recital debut of pianist Jakub Kuszlik, in an all-Chopin recital. He commenced his performance with the three waltzes, Op. 34, a spritely performance of the Waltz in A-flat (No. 1), a deeply felt reading of the Waltz in A minor (No. 2), and a performance of the Waltz in F major (No. 3) that highlighted the rhythmic quirkiness of this very original work.

 

Perhaps more than any of his other creations, the mazurkas of Chopin most embody the element of zal, that almost untranslatable Polish word that contains a whole host of meanings, but can be generally described as a bittersweet melancholy. Kuszlik’s performance of the Four Mazurkas, Op. 30, captured the essence of this elusive quality. I was especially touched by his performance of the Mazurka in C-sharp minor, Op. 30, No. 4, with its combination of deep sadness, anguish, and defiance. 

 

Kuszlik’s beautifully played the Nocturne in E major, Op. 62, No. 2, with an almost cinematic unfolding of the evolving stream of consciousness, from the calm, stately opening, to the agitato middle section with its complex polyphony, and to the flowing cantabile of the closing.

 

The young artist gave a masterful performance of the Scherzo in C-sharp minor, Op. 39, immediately conveying the restless quality of the music in the opening bars, as well as highlighting the stark contrast between light and shadow throughout the work. Amazingly, Kuszlik shaded the chorale theme and made it different with each appearance. The rippling descending broken chords that follow the chorale theme were played with a beguiling lightness, like shafts of lights shining through the clouds. The tempestuous and fiercely difficult coda was absolutely thrillingly played.

 

The second half of Kuszlik’s recital began with the Fantasy in F minor, Op. 49, the only work of Chopin’s with this particular title. For me, a successful performance of this work has to have a storytelling quality, a feeling of, “Long ago, and far away…” To my ears, Kuszlik’s performance had this quality of a continuing narrative through the music many disparate episodes, but also a feeling of wholeness, or organic unity.

 

Kuszlik’s performance of the Sonata No. 3 in B minor, Op. 58 was simply masterly. It had nobility, beauty and a sense of freshness, of discovery, all the more remarkable given our familiarity with this music. In the first movement, the sense of urgency in the opening flowed very nicely into the beautiful D major theme. Indeed, he made the move from one of a wealth of melodic ideas to the next completely natural and logical, and gave the movement a sense of cohesiveness, rather than meandering from one beautiful idea to another. In the brief scherzo, the enharmonic change that marked the transition from E-flat major to B major was absolutely magical. Kuszlik made this short scherzosounded like a logical intermezzo that took us from the opening movement through to the Largo that follows. This Largo movement was played with much attention to detail, beauty of sound, but with a flowing quality that again took us through Chopin’s many melodic ideas. I was particularly taken with the pains Kuszlik took to highlight the beauty of the composer’s writing for the left hand. He gave the presto non tanto movement an incredible urgency (without any feeling of rushing), a relentless quality, with almost a feeling of desperation, all the way until the work’s cataclysmic ending.

 

At the conclusion of the sonata, the audience gave Mr. Kuszlik a rousing and well-deserved ovation, whereupon he granted us two encores – Brahms Rhapsody in E-flat major, Op. 119, No. 4, which he played with brimming enthusiasm, an infectious vigor and youthful ardour (different from my own view of this work), and the same composer’s Intermezzo in A minor, Op. 116, No. 2, highlight the grey-tinged autumnal colours of the work.

 

In additional to the many of the aforementioned musical qualities of Mr. Kuszlik’s performance, it was, above all, music-making that moves. There is a depth of quality as well as an emotive quality in Mr. Kuszlik’s playing that drew me into his, and Chopin’s, sound world – a rare gift indeed.

 

Illness prevented Rafal Blechacz from fulfilling his engagement in Vancouver, but The Vancouver Chopin Society scored a real coup here in having found Mr. Kuszlik. We look forward to being witnesses to the many subsequent chapters in his artistic journey.

 

 

Vancouver Recital Debut - Bruce (Xiaoyu) Liu

Bruce Liu, the young pianist from Montreal who captured the hearts of the Varsovian audience at the 18^th International Chopin Competition, made his Vancouver recital debut in two recitals this past weekend. Hearing the same programme two days in a row, in different venues, and with two beautiful but very different Steinway pianos, make for some interesting comparison.

 

The excellent acoustics of the Chan Centre for the Performing Arts gave great warmth to the sound of the piano. At the Orpheum Theatre, in spite of its size, the Steinway there had greater projection and a bigger sound, thereby allowing the music to create a greater visceral impact and giving it more clarity of texture. I am grateful to have heard this young artist twice in such different surroundings, and I wouldn’t want to have to choose one from the other.

 

It is evident from the first piece on the programme, Chopin’s ethereal Nocturne in C-sharp minor (Op. 27, No. 1) that Liu understands the shaping and projection of phrases in this difficult work. From the mysterious opening with the widely spaced broken chords of the left hand, to the high drama of the almost mazurka-like middle section, and back to the slightly unsettling beauty of the opening theme, Liu made the music float. Phrases melt from one to the next, and I was stunned by his ravishing pianissimos. 

 

In my conversation with him, Liu said that he is interested in playing some of the lesser played youthful works by Chopin. His affinity for the more overtly virtuosic early works of the composer was evident in his performance of the Rondo a la mazur in F major, Op. 5. His playing of this youthful work was utterly filled with charm as well as a youthful, carefree sense of playfulness. Moreover, he captured the elusive rhythmic hurdles of the mazurka, to the manner born, as the saying goes.

 

In the larger works, like the Ballade in F major, Op. 38 and the Ballade in A-flat major, Op. 47, Liu was clearly at home with these larger-scale compositions of Chopin. In time, perhaps he will create greater contrast between the calm of the opening of the F major Ballade and the storm of the B section. For me, the highlight of the recital’s first half was the Ballade in A-flat major, where the sheer beauty of Liu’s sound on the Steinway was truly something to behold. He played this A-flat Ballade with breathtaking lightness and a disarming gracefulness. It was truly a remarkable achievement for so young an artist.

 

In Liu’s performance of the Sonata in B-flat minor, Op. 35, he brought to the work a sense of organic totality, from the high drama of the opening to the cataclysmic end of the final movement. In the Doppio movimento section of the first movement, there was a sense of desperation in Liu’s playing of the unsettling right-hand theme. Liu’s effortless virtuosity in the Scherzo was truly astounding. In the middle section of the Scherzo, he not only played the rocking theme with great beauty, but he made us aware of the intricacies of the composer’s writing for the left hand. The iconic funeral march was played with an overwhelming sense of stillness, making it truly a frighteningly relentless march of death. In the final movement, I “saw” with my ears the phantasmagoric and spookiness of the wind blowing across the deserted graveyard. A stunning performance indeed.

 

Liu’s ability to create a beautiful – not a superficial kind of beauty, but one with great substance – was evident in his playing of the Andante spianato, the last work on the official programme. It was utterly, meltingly beautiful, with one note dissolving into the next in the long-breathed melodic line. The fanfare that opens the Grande Polonaise was played with a great sense of occasion and rhythmic acuity. Because the theme of the Polonaise returns so often, this work can sometimes feel long, under the wrong hands. Not so with Bruce Liu, who managed to infused each return of the theme with different inflections and colours. His virtuosity towers over the blistering technical and musical demands laid down by the composer. 

 

In both recitals, the audience clamored for more at the end of Liu’s performance. The artist obliged with two encores on the first day, and three after his second recital – the Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Op. posth and the Etude in G-flat major, Op. 10, No. 5 (“Black key”), which he played on both days, and one of the three Ecossaises the composer wrote. I am certain the audience would have been happy with many more.

 

All in all, a highly successful debut by a major young artist at the beginning of what promises to be a brilliant career. At this time, I only wish him continuing artistic and musical development, and that he would successfully navigate through the challenges and temptations of sudden fame. It would now be very interesting to hear Bruce Liu in other repertoire. From the evidence of this weekend’s recital, there is no reason to doubt that this young man can become one of the great artists of the next generation. 

 

I wish him Godspeed in his artistic and musical journey.

 

 

Performer as Re-creator

 Federico Colli made his rescheduled Vancouver recital debut under the auspices of The Vancouver Chopin Society yesterday. It was an astounding musical experience, a stunning display of much more than pianism and virtuosity – although they were there, in spades - but musical sensitivity, original thinking, and an acute awareness of the infinite palate of colours afforded by the piano.

 

Colli began his recital with a group of seven Scarlatti sonatas, playing them as a group without interruption. The young artist has been much praised for his interpretations of Scarlatti, and reason was immediately apparent. Right from the first note, he sets an almost religious atmosphere with his unbelievably beautiful sound and his wonderfully leggieroplaying. I do not think I remember hearing such pianissimos – it was otherworldly – he drew the enthralled audience into his magical sound world. 

 

For the next work on the programme – Mozart’s Sonata in B-flat major, K. 333 – I found myself almost more fascinated by Colli’s ideas than the composer’s design.  Although the composer is very sparing in dynamic and articulation markings throughout the score (the composer was a little bit more specific with dynamics in the third movement), Colli’s interpretation nevertheless gave us some very new and fresh insights different from what we often hear. From first note to last, it was not a performance of great drama and contrast, but rather like a meditation on the score. Like a master curator, Colli illuminated this great work with new insights and invited us to behold this masterpiece in an entirely new light.

 

After intermission, the pianist gave us the Canadian premiere of Maria Gringber’s arrangement of Schubert’s chamber music masterwork, the Fantasy in F minor, originally written for piano, four hands, written in the incredible fertile annus mirabilis of the composer’s last year. What is remarkable about this arrangement is that none of the details in the original musical texture is lost in the transcription, which means that the arrangement requires a performer of transcendental pianism, of which Colli is one. Under his hands, it really did at times sound like there were not one but two artists playing this work. 

 

The final work of the afternoon’s concert, Busoni’s reworking of Bach’s monumental Chaconne in D minor, from the second partita for solo violin. In our age of obsessiveness with performance practice, this work could seem like something from a different age, which I suppose it is. That said, Colli’s playing of it compelled us to listen to it as a great piano work from the romantic age of pianism, not as a mere transcription. In this performance, he once again demonstrated his superhuman command of every facet of piano playing, as well as an uncanny awareness of and sensitivity to the infinite dynamics and colours he commanded from the Steinway.

 

As an encore, the mood lightened considerably as Colli took a delightful romp through Turkish pianist Fazil Say’s arrangement of Mozart’s Rondo alla Turca, bringing the audience to its feet one final time before the young artist had to rush to the airport to continue on the next leg of his musical journey.

 

Bravo Federico, and kudos to The Vancouver Chopin Society for arranging this major debut, I think we can safely say, one of today’s outstanding musical “stars”. Come back soon!

 

 

 

 

Virtual Recital - Eric Lu

I had been looking forward to Eric Lu’s recital in Vancouver, especially after hearing his stunning performance of Beethoven’s 4^thpiano concerto at the finals of the 2018 Leeds International Piano Competition, where he emerged as the gold medalist. Lu’s performance of that elusive concerto gives the impression of an old soul, in spite of his tender age. 

 

For this virtual recital, recorded after his recital here had to be cancelled because of the Corona virus, Lu’s main offering is Schubert’s Sonata in A major, D. 959, one of the many miraculous works written in the Annus mirabilis of the composer’s final year.

 

Lu’s luminous tone and beautiful touch at the piano are apparent from the outset of his performance. He wisely chooses not to over-dramatize the opening of the first movement – Schubert’s indication is only forte – but, like a good storyteller, allows the drama to develop on its own. Lu deftly prepares our ears for the emergence of the tranquil E major theme at m. 55, which he imbues with a palpable spiritual quality. There is another magical moment towards the end of the exposition (m. 121), where Lu gives us a true pianississimo. In the extended development, the pianist leads us on an exploration of the myriad of tone and sound colours, as well as all the harmonic changes, the shifts between light and darkness, laid down by Schubert. In contrast with the opening of the movement, the first chords of the recapitulation is imbued with a sense of majesty and drama. That said, Lu never loses sight of the intense lyricism that is the underlying thread of this sonata. In the final appearance of the opening theme, now to be played pianissimo, there is kind of a veiled quality in the sound. 

 

In the astounding second movement, Lu understands the madness that lies beneath the fragile beauty of the music, and the feeling that the music is just hanging on to the remnants of sanity by a thread. His handling of the buildup to the veritable storm of the middle section is quite masterful. With the C-sharp major theme at m. 148, Lu’s playing fills the music with an intensely reverential quality. 

 

The young musician plays the scherzo with palpable lightness, as well as with an impish quality. His sense of timing is impeccable. In the trio, Lu gives the music a great deal of breathing room. He is not a rigid-tempo man – more of a Furtwängler than a Toscanini. Lu plays the opening of the 4^th movement simply, with a feeling of complete contentment and happiness. He plays this music with a great deal of naturalness and masterful timing, allowing the surprises to unfold on their own, and acts as an expert guide taking us through Schubert’s ever-changing sound colours, as well as the myriad harmonic and melodic landscapes.

 

It is only at the conclusion of Lu’s performance that I realized that I have been living with this sonata a great deal lately, by way of Krystian Zimerman’s very beautifully played performance, and one of the most beautifully recorded album I had heard in a long time. Zimerman’s interpretation is that of a master musician, looking at the music at the height of his artistic powers and maturity. Lu’s view of this sonata is one of a young artist, albeit a supremely talented one, at the outset of his artistic journey. There is indeed a feeling of wonder and discovery with Lu’s playing. In time, his view of the music would change (I do not want to use the word depth here, because it would imply that only older artists can have “depth”, a oft-made statement that is both meaningless and unfair) and that would surely be something to look forward to.

 

In spite of, or perhaps because of its brevity, the challenge that lies within Chopin’s Prelude in E minor (Op. 28, No. 4) is to have this continual buildup of the music, from its very understated opening to its shattering climax. Lu acquits himself very well in this work indeed, and he beautifully shapes the ebb and flow of the melodic line, as well as Chopin’s subtle and continuous harmonic changes. In the Prelude in A-flat major (Op. 28, No. 17), a perfect foil to the intense tragedy of the E minor prelude, Lu plays with great depth of sound as well as beauty of this unique key colour. He plays the A-flat pedal note towards the end like distant tolling bells, and allows it to underscore the harmonic changes above.

 

I hope that Eric Lu returns to Vancouver with a live performance. This is clearly a young man that we need to keep our eyes on. I pray for continuing growth in his artistic journey and we, the listener, will be eagerly waiting for the next chapter.