Auspicious Debut

Yesterday afternoon pianist Lukáš Vondráček made a highly successful Vancouver recital debut under the auspices of The Vancouver Chopin Society. The fact that a sizable audience came out for the concert – even on Super Bowl Sunday - gives us the hope that the solo recital is very much alive and well.

The young artist began his formidable programme with Franz Schubert’s massive Sonata in B-flat major, D. 960. It has been a few years since every pianist seemed to be playing this sonata in recitals, and so I was eager to reacquaint myself with this old friend. 

The first thing I noticed with Vondráček’s playing is clarity of textures. His use of pedal was sparse, and he really allowed us to hear Schubert’s subtle harmonic changes in the left hand. The G-flat major theme was not played in the dreamy way as many pianists would. The crescendochords (mm. 34-35) that transitions back to the opening chorale theme was played with a sharper attack than I have heard, and the return of the chorale sounded almost heroic (Schubert’s marking was forte). I liked the balance between the left hand theme and the right hand harmonic changes in the F-sharp minor theme (m. 48). Vondráček chose to play the repeat of the exposition – I believe he wanted to maintain the balance and architecture of the movement - thereby allowing us to hear Schubert’s quite extended first ending to the section. The ffand ffz outbursts before the return of the exposition were very effectively done indeed. Schubert lavished the coda with an incredible number of dynamic indications, all of which were realized by the pianist. 

 

Vondráček’s playing of opening of the Andante sostenutomovement reminded me of a string quartet, with the violas and celli playing pizzicato notes while the 1^stand 2^ndviolins give us the main theme. Certainly he made this very clear for us with the clarity he lavished on the left hand staccatos. The A major section was played with a feeling of repose, and I liked the way he projected the theme with the sextuplet accompaniment. In the return of the C-sharp minor section, the pianist certainly painted a picture of bleakness that I feel was Schubert’s intention. 

The third movement was played with just the right degree of skittishness, and Schubert’s indication of delicatezzawas very evident in the playing, and Vondráček brought out the humour of the off-balanced, almost limping theme of the Trio.

 

I was interested in the way he played the left hand fpoctave G that opens the fourth movement. A true fpis almost impossible to achieve on the piano, since the sound could not be changed once it is made on the instrument. I think Vondráček tries to achieve this quasi-accent by deliberately playing it softer, thereby contrasting it with the theme that follows. The playing in this movement had the requisite brilliance the music calls for. In my mind, the coda and the almost triumphal nature of the ending should be played almost like a Pyrrhic victory – like the ending of Shostakovich’s 5^thsymphony. I do not think that was how Vondráček thought of this, because he certainly brought the sonata to a resoundingly brilliant conclusion. 

 

Throughout the performance, I found myself being fascinated by the pianist’s perspective even more than Schubert’s design. It was a fascinating look at this all-too-familiar work, bringing our attention to the amazing details within the score, rather than conveying the valedictory mood as most pianists would – a Toscanini rather than a Furtwängler approach to this music.

 

Our young artist began the second half with Schumann’s lovely Arabeske, Op. 18, and played it with a charm and disarming simplicity completely opposite to the Schubertian sound world of the first half.

 

The performance continued with the composer’s Carnaval, Op. 9. Once again, Vondráček’s conception of this work forced me to re-examine the details in Schumann’s score. 

 

Most pianists play the opening of the Préambulewith a full fortissimo, perhaps forgetting that there is a crescendoonly a few measures later. Vondráček seemed to underplay the opening I – IV progression, and then really took the crescendo that leads up to the end of m. 6. I also noticed that the composer indicated Quasi maestosofor this movement, quasibeing the operative word here. Again, in the Più moto(m. 25), he underplayed the brilliance and vividness of the music and then let it build – again a very Furtwängler-like approach, and one that Vondráček employed for many movements in the work. In Arlequin, the two-note rising motif is followed by a 16^th-note rest; Vondráček made use of this rest to give the music a sort of hesitation. 

 

In Valse noble(Un poco maestoso), Vondráček again allowed the music to build by underplaying the rising theme of the opening. The molto teneramentesection (Schumann indicated this twice within a few measures) was truly beautifully and indeed tenderly played. It was only at the return of the main theme that he really allowed the emotion to pour forth. He gave us a serious rather than dreamy Eusebius, and he really contrasted the impetuousness of the opening in Florestanwith the lyricism of the Papilliontheme (m. 19). Vondráček really observed the many LuftpauseinCoquette (and also in Réplique), indeed brining out the “coquettish” character of this movement. 

 

Vondráček conjured up a real storm in Papillons, thereby really contrasting it with the scherzandonature – played with amazing lightness – of the A.S.C.H.-S.C.H.A.(Lettres dansantes) movement. At the end of Chiarina, he held on to the final notes slightly, transitioning it without a pause to, and almost allowing the harmonies to “dissolve” into the first bass notes of Chopin(a devastating caricature of the composer). In Chopin, many pianists play the repeat with a contrasting dynamic, something not indicated by the composer. Vondráček played the repeat of the movement with the same dynamic level, but managed to lavish different details within the music. Reconnaissancewas played with amazing finger control, perfectly conveying Schumann’s sempre staccatoindication, something that can also be said about the Pantalon et Columbinemovement.

 

It came as no surprise that the Paganinimovement was played with a resounding virtuosity and note-perfect accuracy – normally playing all the notes is of secondary importance, but Vondráček’s incredible playing of this movement did remind me of Auden’s phrase, “Every high C accurately struck demolishes the theory that we are the irresponsible puppets of fate or chance.”

 

I liked how Vondráček brought out the hurrying-scurryingcharacter of Pause, effectively leading us, with a real sense of inevitability, into Marche des “Davidsbündler” contre les Philistins. Again, Vondráček did not “go all out” at the beginning of the movement, but allowed the music to build until its incredible conclusion. The pacing as well as the many shifts in mood within the music were done to perfection.

 

To those who are familiar with this music, Vondráček’s approach may seem very different at first hearing. I did, however, feel that his musical decisions were not arbitrary, being different for the sake of it. I believe that this young musician, still at the outset of his musical development, was really trying to offer us a re-examination of this very familiar music. It was only when I “hear” the concert again with the score that I found that he was really trying to play what the composer wrote. 

 

As an encore, Vondráček offered us a relative novelty – Josef Suk’s Piseň lásky(translated as “Song of Love” or “Love Song”), Op. 7, No. 1. It is a beautiful work, and was beautifully played. Vondráček obviously felt strongly about this music, and lavished it with a depth of feeling as well as a large palette of sound colours. 

 

All in all, a very auspicious debut by a major young artist; whether or not we agree with his interpretation, Vondráček is obviously a serious musician and musical thinker, and I believe that his artistic journey is one that we would do well to follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Young Virtuoso

The young keyboard sensation Nikolay Khozyainov appeared at the Vancouver Playhouse last evening and conjured up memories of a time when disciples of Liszt – names like Tausig, Rosenthal, Reisenauer, Joseffy, and Friedheim, to name just a few - roamed the earth. Khozyainov is a virtuoso, without apologies, and gave us a performance that left the piano limp and the audience exhilarated.

In the Berceuse, Op. 57, probably one of Chopin’s most subtle works, Khozyainov played with quite a lot more clarity that we are used to. I feel that this particular work by Chopin really foreshadows the Impressionists, but certainly the young artist’s view of it is quite valid. His use of pedal was subtle and sparing, and he used his fingers to conjure up a beautiful cantabile, somewhat like what Horowitz used to do.

In the first movement of Chopin’s Sonata No. 3 in B minor, Op. 58, he had ample control of all the disparate elements that make up the larger structure. His was a grand, sweeping, view of the music, and he approached the movement like a painter working on a giant canvas. In the scherzo, he again demonstrated his incredible finger control of this truly technically scary movement. I felt that the Largo movement was the highlight of the first half, with the pianist acting as a guide leading us through the very beautiful musical landscape. I also liked how he brought out the little countermelodies in the left hand, especially at m. 30 and m. 80. I only felt that the subito pianobetween m. 2 and m.3 where, without warning, Chopin changes from opening E’s to a C major 6/4 chord, a magical moment in the music, could have been done with greater subtlety. There seemed to have been some tempo shifts in the fourth movement, marked presto, but also non tanto, which took away somewhat the relentless quality that the music calls for. It goes without saying, though, that the playing itself was beyond reproach. 

The second half of the recital began with Debussy’s Suite bergamasque. Other than the justly famous Clair de Lune, the entire suite is not something we commonly find on recital programmes. The clarity Khozyainov brought to the music was perfect for the Menuetand Passepiedmovements. I think I would have preferred a more “liquid” sound for the Prélude. In the Menuet, his playing really observed Debussy’s indication of et très délicatement. I feel that perhaps there should not be quite so much rubatoin this very neo-classical movement. His playing of Clair de Lune was, again in Debussy’s words, très expressif, and there was a transparency in his playing that added an extra delicacy to the music. Khozyainov demonstrated incredible lightness as well as finger control in the Passepied.

Is there anything more difficult to play than Stravinsky’s Three Movements from Petrushka? I remember a stunning performance by Yefim Bronfman years ago. Certainly the visual aspect of watchingsomeone play this incredible music added to the experience. Khozyainov certainly rose well above the challenges laid down by the composer. I admired the performance very much, perhaps more for his bringing out the kaleidoscopic colours of the music than for highlighting music’s tragicomic character. Equally impressive is Khozyainov’s own transcription of the Sacrificial Dancefrom Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. 

This is clearly a performer who loves to play, and with the four encores he granted us, it seemed that he would have been happy to continue playing all night. His first encore, Grand Galop Chromatique, one of the composer’s many superhuman pianistic stunts, was done to perfection. Even though Khozyainov’s performance does not erase my memory of Georges Cziffra’s unbelievable performance, he certainly came close. He also played his own operatic paraphrases/fantasies from the operas Carmenand Marriage of Figaro. The other encore - Eric Satie’s GymnopédieNo. 1 - was, I think, played with too much rubato. I feel that the hypnotic effect of this music could only be conjured when played strictly in tempo. 

Whether or not you agree with Nikolay Khozyainov’s interpretations, this is clearly a young man overflowing with talent and musicality. As a pianist, he really is a throwback to the great 19^thcentury tradition of virtuosic piano playing laid down by Liszt. Certainly he conveys in his music making a sense of joy in sharing his art.

What a celebration of music it has been this November! Within a period of three weeks, we experienced the pianism and artistry of three of today’s outstanding young pianists – Igor Levit, Charles Richard-Hamelin, and Nikolay Khozyainov - three very different artists with very different taste and temperament; each having something unique to offer. Certainly to experience them in such close succession had made for a very interesting and rewarding musical experience. No one has the right to say whether one is “better” than another, but the process of comparing what each of them have to offer has already been fascinating. 

The Return of Charles Richard-Hamelin

The Vancouver Chopin Society presented pianist Charles Richard-Hamelin in recital last night, as part of the celebration of the 100^thAnniversary of Poland’s regained independence. 

Hamelin made his Vancouver debut two years ago, fresh from winning the silver medal at the 2015 International Chopin Competition in Warsaw. Ever since that stunning recital, I have been looking forward to have another opportunity to hear this talented young musician.

From the first note to last, it was quite obvious that Hamelin has matured as a musician. In the Schumann’s Arabeske, Op. 18, which opened the programme, Hamelin delivered this miniature masterpiece with all the charm and lightness the music calls for. He did not try to make the music bigger than it is, but played it with a disarming simplicity. Especially moving was the final section of the piece (m. 209: Zum Schluss), where he played with just a tinge of regret. The final diminuendointo nothingness was particularly beautiful.

Hamelin’s playing of Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 3 at his debut recital here amply demonstrated his affinity for and ability to handle large musical forms. This is very much in evident for the rest of his recital. I very much admire his pacing in Schumann’s Fantasie in C major, Op. 17, as well as his choice of tempi in the three movements. In the first movement, he infused the constantly shifting moods and colours with a sense of logic and purpose, thus giving the music a feeling of organic unity. Hamelin’s legatoplaying of the “long drawn out note” of the main theme must have been the envy of all the pianists in the audience. His playing of the final Adagio (m. 295), where Schumann quotes from Beethoven’s An de ferne geliebte, was very affecting.

In the very difficult second movement, Hamelin gave us a performance that certainly lives up to Schumann’s admonition: Durchaus energisch. Throughout the long movement, he managed to maintain an unflagging energy and forward motion, as well as a deliver playing that was technically impregnable. In the nail-biting coda (m. 232) - nail-biting for the pianists who have to play it, at least - Hamelin delivered it with absolute aplomb and confidence, all the way up to the rousing final chords.

The final movement was played as one long singing line. There was at m. 123 to 126 (right before nach und nach bewegter und schneller) a particular moment of incredible tenderness in Hamelin’s playing that was so beautiful and moving. 

Thinking back on Cho Seong-Jin’s playing of Chopin’s fourBalladesin his Vancouver debut recital, I can imagine the difficulty the judges at the Chopin competition must have had in deciding between him and Hamelin to be the winner of the gold medal. Cho and Hamelin are very different artists, and no one can, or should be able to really say who is the “better” musician. I suppose time would provide us with the answer to this question.

I found Hamelin’s interpretation of the four Ballades to be, for lack of a better adjective, more rhapsodic. At the same time, there was, in all four works, an evident awareness of the larger architecture in the music.

Robert Schumann was one of Chopin’s first admirers, and it would seem appropriate to recall his words on the works of Chopin. For Schumann, the Ballade No. 1 in G minor, Op. 23, is “one of [Chopin’s] wildest and most original compositions”. Hamelin’s playing of this oft-played work was truly epic from first note to last. I did not think that the all-too-familiar F major theme at m. 68 could move us again, as it did last evening. I loved the way he shaped the right-hand triplet motifs at mm. 82 to 89. The dramatic coda was played with a sort of controlled wildness, but without being bombastic. 

We turn again to Schumann’s words as we ponder the Ballade No. 2 in F major, Op. 38. According to Schumann, who heard Chopin play this very work, “He mentioned that certain poems of Mickiewicz had suggested this ballade to him. On the other hand, a poet might easily be inspired to find words to his music; it stirs one profoundly.” Charles Richard-Hamelin’s playing of this work also stirred me profoundly. He played the F major section, with utter tenderness and a palpable serenity, where chords float and where the music seemed to levitate forward. The presto con fuocosections as well as the coda were as “with fire” as the music demands, so much so that the brief return of the opening theme before the end, with the repeated A’s, sounded almost startling.

I personally find the Ballade No. 3 in A-flat major, Op. 47 to be the most musically elusive of the set, and this is the one ballade that I am fearful to approach. In Schumann’s insightful (if somewhat flowery) words, “It differs strikingly in form and character from his earlier ones, and must be counted among his most original creations. In it we may recognize the refined and intellectual Pole, accustomed to moving in the most refined and distinguished circles of the French capital.” Certainly this has to be one of Chopin’s most original creations. It has been said that every composition of Chopin started off as an improvisation. This work always strikes me as having that kind of improvisatory nature. Perhaps this is why it is so difficult to grasp. 

The great danger with playing this work is to make the music sound heavy. There was nothing of that last night, where Hamelin played the music with a grace and elfin lightness that Mendelssohn would have like in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Of the four Ballades, this one is perhaps the least overtly dramatic, but the most (again, for lack of a better word) musical. Hamelin understands this music perfectly, and he infused the music with a logic and sense of unity that is not always found. 

In the Ballade No. 4 in F minor, Op. 52, the two words that can be found throughout the score arein tempo. I think maybe Chopin is reminding us that pacing in this large work is the key to a successful interpretation. Under the wrong hands, this piece can very easily sound episodic, flowing from one beautiful idea to another. Not with Hamelin, who again captured the logic and overall architecture behind the music, and served as our expert guide in navigating its contrapuntal web. I very much liked his timing in the transition into the coda, with the five descending pianissimochords (giving the pianist time to panic) before launching into what might be one of Chopin’s most difficult coda. Hamelin’s playing of this wild coda was sweeping, and his pacing was impeccable, thereby avoiding the danger of sounds piling upon sounds. 

After what must have been an exhausting second half, Hamelin graciously granted us two encores. In Bach/Cortot’s Arioso from the Concerto in F minor, he played like a master weaver, spinning a long, never-ending melody, with an absolutely beautiful cantabile. Continuing on (quite appropriately) in a quiet mood, he then played Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Op. posth. Last season, we heard Janusz Olejniczak in his interpretation of this beautiful work. I thought Olejniczak brought more colours to the work; Hamelin’s interpretation perhaps brought out the more delicate beauty and shading of the music. The transition into the little mazurka at m. 30 was just beautifully done. With the final pppthat ended the work, we then reached the conclusion of an uncommonly satisfying evening of music making. 

I am grateful that we were able to witness the continuing artistic journey of this talented young musician. After last night’s performance, I am sure all of us in the audience would be very happy to invite Mr. Hamelin back to our city in the very nearest future. All the signs are telling us that he will continue to grow, not just as a pianist, but as a musician and artist.

Grand Finale

The Vancouver Chopin Society rounded out its 20^thAnniversary Season with a highly satisfying recital by pianist Alexander Gavrylyuk. The young pianist is no stranger to Vancouver audiences, as he is a frequent concerto soloist with the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra.

There was a time, not so long ago, when the name Bach was almost synonymous with that of Busoni. Today, Bach/Busoni transcriptions seemed to have fallen out of favour with pianists, and Bach’s music are most often played without the “assistance” of other composers. Gavrylyuk’s choice of Bach/Busoni’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor- yes, theToccata and Fugue that is so much a part of Hollywood horror films – makes for a most welcomed choice in programming.

Gavrylyuk’s interpretation of this majestic work is firmly rooted in grand style of the 19^thcentury, when pianists exploited (in the best sense of the word) the tonal resources and technical possibilities of the instrument. His pacing was excellent, and his pregnant silences in the opening of the Toccata were most effective. His playing of the fugue began simply, and his technical control of the instrument allowed the music to build in tension as well as intensity. 

In his essay, Must Classical Music be Entirely Serious, Alfred Brendel writes, “The combination of incongruous elements is generally regarded as a distinguishing feature of wit.” I had this statement in my mind as I enjoyed Gavrylyuk’s playing of Haydn’s Sonata in B minor, Hob. XVI:32. The composer’s juxtaposition of the “serious” key of B minor and the quirky nature of the music, especially in the outer movements, filled this work with a humour most characteristic of Haydn. The opening of the first movement reminds me of children playing hide-and-seek, tiptoeing around and darting in and out of hiding places. Gavrylyuk played this movement with lovely fingerwork, and a beguiling lightness. The Menuetmovement was played with a charming innocence, not trying to make the music more than a lovely intermezzo between the outer movements. The third movement is a typical example of Haydn’s rough and tumble sense of humour. Once again, the high drama of the key of B minor is set against the hilarity of the music. Gavrylyuk relished every bit of the composer’s wit, playing the music in the manner of a Buster Keaton chase scene. The resulting effect was breathtaking.

The pianist concluded the first half of his recital with a selection of Chopin’s Twelve Etudes, Op. 10. The justly famous Etude in E major, Op. 10, No. 3, was played simply but lovingly. Gavrylyuk has a keen sense of the cantabile, and he managed to bring a sense of freshness to this very familiar piece of music and to make it a moving experience. In the F major Etude(No. 8), he managed to draw my attention to the beauty of the writing for the left hand, and not his amazing fingerwork in the right hand. I have certainly heard more dramatic interpretation of the Etude in F minor(No 9), but the pianist’s playing of it was probably closer to the composer’s intentions. There are only two indications of fortissimo in the score, and most of the dynamic indications range from pianoto ppp. He played the Etude in A-flat major(No. 10) with an incredible lightness and effortlessness in the right hand, and a keen sense of Chopin’s legatissimomarking in the left hand. The Etude in E-flat major(No. 11) was played with a palpable beauty of sound. Gavrylyuk certainly conjured up a storm in the so-called “Revolutionary”Etude in C minor(No. 12). There was a real feeling of surge in the arpeggios. His playing, dramatic as it was, never lost the cantabilenature of the writing in the left hand. I thought it was very wise of him to have a brief pause between Etudes, allowing the audience to really savour the unique character of each of these remarkable miniatures. 

The artist launched into Scriabin’s Sonata No. 5, Op. 53 with incredible energy, and kept it up throughout the work. Gavrylyuk painted the work with the largest palette of tonal colours and the widest dynamic range. He obviously reveled in the sonority of the piano and brought out the sexual energy of the music. I did not think that he was trying to explore the mystical aspects of the music; rather, he took us on a musical and colouristic journey through the labyrinth complexity of Scriabin’s sound world. 

Alexander Gavrylyuk is known, and has a special affinity for, the works of Rachmaninoff. He presented three of the composers Preludes, and the 2^ndedition of the Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor. I remember the surging left hand of the Prelude in F-sharp minor, Op. 23, No. 1, as well as the dark colours that he managed to bring out. For me, the highlight of the set was his incredibly intense reading of the Prelude in G minor, Op. 23, No. 5. In the opening section of the work, he really conjured up in my mind the image of a troika speeding through the icy landscape of Siberia. The beautiful middle section had an emotive quality as well as a real sense of forward motion in the music. And I will always remember the shimmering quality, and the incredible evenness and lightness of his playing of the right hand figuration in the Prelude in G-sharp minor, Op. 32, No. 12.

The last work on the programme, Rachmaninoff’s Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minorwas simply magnificent. Less obviously “tuneful” than the second piano concerti or second symphony, this work already foreshadows at the stylistic and harmonic advances we would hear in the 4^thpiano concerto. Throughout the performance, there was not a moment that I felt that this was anything less than a master pianist at work. Technically impregnable and sonically resplendent, Gavrylyuk brought to the fore the bell-like sonority one hears time and again throughout the work, as well as the brooding melancholy of the more lyrical passages. 

Of course the audience clamored for more after that masterful performance, and Gavrylyuk graciously granted us two encores – Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise, in a transcription by Zoltan Kocsis, and Arcadi Volodos unbelievably virtuosic arrangement of Mozart’s Rondo alla Turca. In the Vocalise, he brought out the music’s many textures in Kocsis’ idiomatic transcription. Volodos’ Rondo alla Turca arrangement is not for the faint-hearted, and Gavrylyuk’s playing of it was nothing short of astounding, so much so that I wanted to laugh out loud, because it was simply such an incredible pianistic stunt. His technique alone certainly earns him a place in the stratospheric high of a Horowitz, a Lhévinne, or a Barere.

This past week’s recital certainly ended this year concert season on a very high note. The concert was my first encounter with the artistry and pianism of Alexander Gavrylyuk. With recitals such as the one he gave in Vancouver, it seems that his artistic and musical future will be bright indeed. I hope that he will return to us soon, and often.

May 24, 2018

Celebrating Twenty Years

How fortunate we are in Vancouver to have had the opportunity to hear performances from two distinguished pianists, one at the height of his maturity, and the other one still at the early stages of his journey in music. Early this month, Sir András Schiff gave a magnificent recital under the auspices of the Vancouver Recital Society. Yesterday afternoon, Rafal Blechacz gave an equally memorable performance to celebrate the 20^thanniversary of The Vancouver Chopin Society.

The common work between the two concerts was Mozart’s late masterpiece, the Rondo in A minor, K. 511. Like Schiff, Blechacz did not fall into the trap of lugubriousness, and wisely kept the impetus of the music. Uncommon in someone so young, Blechacz has a real sense of the architecture of the work, and his playing gave me the feeling of a connection between the first and last note of the music. This was apparent in every work, large or small, that he played yesterday.

Blechacz gave an inspired reading of Mozart’s great Sonata in A minor, K. 310, one of the composer’s most technically challenging and dramatic works. In the opening, the young artist managed to avoid making the left hand chords sound percussive, very difficult on the modern piano, by making those chords part of the larger texture of the music, rather than treating them as mere accompaniment. It is remarkable that so young an artist can infuse the music with a palpable simplicity and naturalness, as he did in this work. In the second movement, he perfectly balanced the contrast between the lyrical and the very dramatic. It is perhaps no accident that the pianist’s most recent recording was devoted to the works of Bach. In the third movement, there was a lightness and textual clarity in his playing that reminds me of how he approached the dance suites of Bach in his recording.  There was a real balance in the vertical and horizontal in the music in the way he approached this final movement. 

I am personally in awe of Beethoven’s Sonata in A major, Op. 101, one of the composer’s most original works. It takes any pianist real courage to tackle this musically and technically challenging sonata. Although regarded as one of Beethoven’s late sonatas, I feel that, conceptually and musically, it is closer to the “experimental” sonatas like Op. 81a. Blechacz availed himself magnificently in this incredible work. Once again, there was a sense of connection between the simple rocking motive of the opening measures and the triumphal final chords in the third movement. In the left hand octaves at mm. 7 to 11 of the first movement, he conjured an almost organ-like sound. The last time I heard a sound like that on the piano was from Alfred Brendel, when he gave an unforgettable performance of Beethoven’s Sonata in A-flat, Op. 110 (in the left hand octaves of the final fugue.) In the second movement, which almost foreshadows the march from Schumann’s Fantasy in C major, Op. 17, Blechacz was technically impregnable, and there was an effortlessness that came across in the music. His acute sense of rhythm served him well in the dotted-rhythmic figures throughout the movement. So wonderful was his sense of musical timing that the brief Adagio, ma non troppo, con affecttomovement became a perfect intermezzo, a sort of musical Segway, before the final movement. His playing of the brief return of the first movement’s opening theme, lasting only seven measures, was charged with meaning. In the final movement, there was a Glenn Gould like clarity in how he handled the musical texture. Blechacz’s playing of the fugue was exhilarating.

The second half of the recital began with Robert Schumann’s Sonata No. 2 in G minor, Op. 22. To me, this work often sounds like four beautiful but disparate character pieces rather than movements of a sonata. It is a credit to the artist that he managed to once again highlight the architecture of the overall work. Blechacz captured the fever, the sense of urgency and desperation in the first, third, and final movements. For me, the highlight was his playing of the gorgeous second movement, where he shone a light on the music like a precious gem. 

I am sure many people went to yesterday’s performance to hear Blechacz’s Chopin, and he certainly did not disappoint. In his performance of the composer’s Mazurkas, Op. 24, I was very much reminded of the playing of Arthur Rubinstein. There was again this feeling of simplicity and naturalness that was beguiling. His timing in each of the four dances was impeccable; as was his sense of rubato, not exaggerated or contrived, but giving the sense that it was just as the music should be. I was particularly taken with his interpretation of the Mazurka in C major, Op. 24, No. 2, where he took a slightly slower tempo than usual, but did not take away any of the music’s natural flow. 

Blechacz concluded his recital with Chopin’s Polonaise in A-flat major, Op. 53. Yes, under the hands of a great artist, it is possible to make this work sound fresh and original. He played the famous opening theme with great simplicity and lightness, but with no lack in the dignity and pride that are so inherent in this music. As in the mazurkas, his sense of musical timing was palpable throughout this performance. His playing of the octave passage in the B section was breathtaking, but not showy. 

It had been a very generous afternoon of music making, but after much urging from the audience, Blechacz granted us an encore of Brahms’ Intermezzo in A major, Op. 118, No. 2, a work that Schiff also played in his recital. Blechacz’s beautiful and thoughtful playing of this beautiful autumnal work by Brahms was a perfect ending to this very memorable of great performances of great music. 

In a world that is full of technically perfect pianists, it is refreshing to hear an artist, especially one so young, who does not make technical proficiency his primary concern. Throughout the afternoon, I never thought of how “well” he played the piano, but how beautiful the musicwas. Certainly I cannot think of a higher tribute to this supremely gifted young artist.

April 23, 2018

Janusz Olejniczak plays Chopin

To hear Janusz Olejniczak play Chopin is like hearing the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra play Johann Strauss. There is a beguiling naturalness in the music making that makes it sound so “right” – in every inflection, every accent, every rubato taken. While it is true that great Chopin interpretation has extended far beyond the Polish border, it was obvious from Olejniczak’s playing this weekend that this music is in his blood, his body and soul.

The two concerts this weekend has been a first collaboration between Early Music Vancouver and the Vancouver Chopin Society. Part of Early Music Vancouver’s interest in this presentation lies in the fact that part of the recital was played on a beautiful 1852 Broadwood piano, lovingly restored by local piano restorer Marinus van Prattenburg. The idea behind the concert was for the audience to experience two very different sound worlds – the sound of a period instrument (Chopin died in 1849) as well as that of a modern Steinway grand. Other than the pleasure I derived from listening to this much loved music, hearing these two very different instruments had been in itself a fascinating experience.

Olejniczak began both recitals with Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Op. posth., first on the Broadwood, then on the Steinway, just to show the acoustical difference between these two instruments. The Broadwood has a narrower dynamic range but, under the hands of an artist who knew what he was doing with the instrument, not a narrower range of colours than the Steinway. The Steinway naturally had a much more commanding sound as well as a larger projection. With the Broadwood, I had the impression that I was eavesdropping on someone’s playing. Olejniczak created that intimate sound, or rather, created that palpable mood of intimacy, throughout the evening, and on both instruments, just a little more so on the Broadwood.

Between the two recitals, Olejniczak performed a good cross section of his more than fifty Mazurkas – Op. 17, No. 4, Op. 24, Nos. 1 and 2, Op. 30, No. 4, Op. 41, No. 2, and Op. 68, No. 2. There is a Polish word – zal – a word that represents the soul of a Pole. The basic meaning of the word is a bittersweet melancholy. But it also encompasses the feeling of suffering, sadness, of losing everything – a feeling that one sometimes feel when there is no sun and one is alone in a cold house. According to Liszt, the word can also mean “rage”, which is not only interesting but also paradoxical. Chopin’s music, even the most intimate ones, can have a lot of anger. Chopin himself admitted that most of his music is permeated with zal, and Liszt added that the word colours the whole of Chopin’s compositions.

It is also the music of exile, perhaps the most powerful source of inspiration for any artist.

Olejniczak’s performances of the Mazurkas contained all the aforementioned qualities. He employed much rubato in his playing of the Mazurkas, but always with impeccable taste, as well as a sense of - for lack of a better word - rightness.

In the two Mazurkas in A minor, Op. 17, No. 4, as well as Op. 68, No. 2, two works that contain some of the most desolate music the composer ever wrote, there was a feeling of deep sadness recollected from afar. In the Mazurka in C major, Op. 24, No. 2, Olejniczak conveyed the exoticism of both the opening Aeolian mode melody, which could be a rustic dance, or the singsong of a Polish street peddler, and the more lyrical, Lydian mode melody at mm. 21 to 36. Throughout both recitals, but especially during the Mazurkas, I had the feeling that Olejniczak was improvising, almost re-composing these works as he played.

This feeling of melancholy was carried through in Olejniczak’s choice of Waltzes he played, both on the Broadwood – the Waltz in A-flat major, Op. 69, No. 1 and Waltz in C-sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2., the latter work being, for me, one of Chopin’s greatest works. In the difficult opening phrases of the Waltz in C-sharp minor, he had just the right amount of lilt as well as a beautiful inflection of those brief phrases. In the B section of the work, there was a gossamer lightness that was quite breathtaking. In Saturday’s performance, Olejniczak’s playing of the bass notes from m. 177 to the end, almost as a secondary voice, was particularly affecting.

In the Polonaise in A major, again played on the Broadwood on both evenings, there was a real feeling of dance in the opening measures, so often missing in performances bent on conveying the “bigness” of sound. In fact, Chopin expressly wrote only forte in the opening. I loved the way he played the opening trill at m. 41, with a palpable tension that immediately conveyed the drama of the entire section. In the tricky final measure of the Polonaise, Olejniczak added an extra bass octave before the A major chord to have more of a feeling of finality, something the composer may himself have done?

For the second recital, the artist played two of the Preludes, Op. 28 – the one in A major (No. 7) and the one in C minor (No. 20). In the C minor Prelude, Olejniczak beautifully but subtly brought out the middle register in the third iteration of the theme (m. 9).

O lejniczak’s playing of the Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48, No. 1, again perfectly embodied the seemingly contradictory emotions in the word zal. From the somber opening chords to the frightening outburst of the B section, and back to the restless return of the opening theme, the pianist played as if taking us through the composer’s stream of consciousness. As well, his performance of the Nocturne in E minor, Op. posth., gave us a glimpse of the gorgeous sound he elicited from the Steinway, and brought out the otherworldly beauty of this early work.

On both evenings, the balance of the second half comprised of three large-scale works. I had not been so moved by the Scherzo in B-flat minor, Op. 31, for a long time, as I was this weekend. In his last Vancouver recital, Murray Perahia played a note-perfect but, for me, emotionally ambivalent performance. It was nothing like the range of emotions and colours Olejniczak took us through in his playing. Every note in the opening triplets could be clearly heard, yet he managed to bring forth Chopin’s sotto voce marking, as well as conveying a sense of urgency with these few opening notes. And there was an ardent quality in his playing of the beautiful con anima section at m. 65.

The artist brought an uncanny freshness I did not think possible with the oft-played Ballade in G minor, Op. 23. As with all great Chopinists, there was a sense of totality, of organic unity, in Olejniczak’s approach towards the Ballade. The danger with a powerful modern piano is the possibility of an ugly or percussive sound, when someone “pushes” the instrument hard. Olejniczak can be a powerful player when he chose to be, but even at the most dramatic moment of this already dramatic work, the pianist’s tone was never forced – colossal, yes, but always round and musical. In the treacherous coda, his playing was utterly confident, and never betrayed even for a moment the possibility of failure. There was also an incredible lightness in the playing that intensified the excitement and tension of the music.

The Polonaise in A-flat major, Op. 53, perhaps the unofficial national anthem of Poland, his playing was simply thrilling. The dignity, pride, power, beauty, and rhythmic acuity of his playing reminded me only of Arthur Rubinstein, and I can think of no higher compliment. In the beginning of the E major section, there was a roar in the sound of the sforzando chord – a most interesting aural sensation. In the coda, Olejniczak built the music to such a pitch of excitement that the final chords at m. 179 became a catharsis.

Incredibly, this was the first appearance in Vancouver of this great artist, a charming and soft-spoken man who gave the impression, when he played, that he was merely playing for a few friends. Earlier this season, the Vancouver Chopin Society presented Seong-Jin Cho, a supremely talented young artist at the outset of his career. Now, we have a very different kind of artist, at the full maturity of his musical development. With Marc-Andre Hamelin, Rafal Blechacz, Andras Schiff, and Alexander Gavrylyuk still to play in the coming months, Vancouver audiences will have much wonderful music-making to look forward to.

February 5, 2018 

Canadian Debut - Cho Seong-Jin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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