Dispatch from Warsaw, October 18, 2021

Four performances of Chopin's 1st piano concerto tonight, all very different.

Kamil Pacholec gave a straight forward performance of the concerto, with some moments of beauty. I find that he revels in the more overtly virtuoso passages of the concerto, rather than the lyrical ones.

I'm afraid Hao Rao's extroverted brand of showmanship (musically, not physically) was not my cup of tea. Brilliant as it sometimes was, it was, for me, short of poetry and subtlety. He seems to have two sounds- very loud and not very loud. Once in a while he used the una corda to get a softer sound, but it didn't work very well. There were some inexplicable things musically. At m. 573 of the 1st movement, when Chopin marked a tempo, Hao took a considerably slower tempo, I suppose to highlight the composer's dolce con expressione marking, but it hampered the musical flow considerably. At m. 103 of the Romance, I felt that he overdid the rallentando, once again halting the impetus of the music. Let me apologize here to his many fans, of which there seemed to have been many in the audience tonight.

The poet of the piano tonight was Kyohei Sorita, playing with an infinite variety of sounds within each phrase. In much of the passagework, he was playing chamber music with the orchestra, blending his sound within the orchestral texture. His turn of phrase at m. 601 of the 1st movement was absolutely moving. It was an absolutely ravishing, poetic, emotionally overwhelming performance of this great work. Whether or not he wins of the top prizes, there is no doubt in my mind that this is a great artist, a generous soul, and one of the most sensitive musicians in this competition.

Leonora Armellini's performance of the concerto also had much to offer. Her playing was not short on poetry, but I did find some of her phrasing a bit angular and brittle. For me, the highlight of her performance was the third movement, which was brilliantly done. 

A great deal of credit has to be given to the Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra under Andrey Boreyko, who were sensitive and supportive collaborators in all four performances. Tonight's performance highlighted for me once again the absolute beauty and sensitivity of Chopin's orchestration. The writing for woodwinds is especially beautiful. 

This concerto marathon continues tomorrow and Wednesday, after which we would find out the long awaited results of what has proven to be a very interesting few weeks.

Dispatch from Warsaw, October 17, 2021

To commemorate the 172nd anniversary of the death of Chopin, there was a special performance of Mozart's Requiem, K. 626, tonight at the Basilica of Holy Cross in Warsaw, where Chopin's heart is reposed. The outstanding quartet of soprano Simona Saturova, alto Sara Mingardo, tenor Maximilian Schmitt and bass Jan Martinik, the Collegium Vocals 1704 and Collegium 1704, under the direction of Vaclav Luks, gave an emotionally charged performance of this towering work.

It seems pointless to discuss the merits - of which there are many - or problems in tonight's performance, suffice it to say sitting in that great basilica, hearing this heaven storming music, Mozart's prayer for the dead, was at times almost too much to bear.

As we slowly emerge from this global pandemic, I could not help but think that this was a Mass for all those who perished as a victim of this man-made global disaster. Every member of the audience was there as a part of the human family, hearing music that asks for eternal rest for those who died.

Beginning tomorrow, the 18th International Chopin Competition enters the final phase. Nine pianists will perform the composer's 1st piano concerto, and 3 brave souls will give their heart and soul in the 2nd piano concerto.

Who will be the new crown prince or princess of the music world? We will soon find out.

Dispatch from Warsaw - October 16, 2021

Every pianist in this morning session had something unique to offer. Competition veterans Nikolay Khozyaninov and Su Yeon Kim both delivered memorable performances.

For me, the revelation today was Aimi Kobayashi, who played the Op. 30 Mazurkas pitch perfectly, with impeccable rhythm in the C minor mazurka (No. 1), capturing the quirkiness of the rhythm and having a real sense of movement in the B minor mazurka (No. 2), bringing a multitude of colours and a strong rhythmic sense to the mazurka in D-flat major (No. 3), and beautifully handling the tricky triplet rhythmic figures in the mazurka in C-sharp minor (No. 4), bringing to this elusive work a beguiling wistfulness.

Instead of one of the sonatas, Kobayashi elected to play the complete set of Preludes (Op. 28), giving us a ravishing performance from beginning to end. In the C major prelude (No. 1), she does not overplay the agitato aspect of the music, but making it just quietly surging. She brought to the A minor prelude (No. 2) a very subtle sense of menace. Her playing of the G major prelude (No. 3) was exhilarating, joyous and breathtaking. The build up to the shattering climax in the E minor prelude (No. 4) was deftly handled. The prelude in D major (No. 5) was played as a single breath, and she infused the prelude in B minor (No. 6) with a effective sense of movement. The famous A major prelude (No. 7) was, simply, irresistibly charming. In the F-sharp minor prelude (No. 8) she does not overplay the storminess of the music, but brought to it a quiet sense of unrest. The E major prelude (No. 9) was played with great dignity and a rock solid tempo. She played the C-sharp minor prelude (No. 10) with breathtaking lightness and she brought out the euphonious beauty of the prelude in B major (No. 11). This was effectively contrasted with the wildness she brought to the prelude in G-sharp minor (No. 12). 

In the F-sharp major prelude (No. 13), the music floats above the beautifully played accompaniment figures in the left hand. There was real substance in the sound of the prelude in E-flat minor (No. 14), but the music never sounded heavy. In the justly famous D-flat major prelude (No. 15), she displayed a truly gorgeous singing tone, and beautifully transitioned into the relentless, almost compulsive funeral march. Kobayashi gave us a terrifically wild roller-coaster ride in the prelude in the B-flat minor prelude. In the prelude in A-flat major (No. 17) she beautifully shaped the arch-like melody in the beginning, and she highlighted the rhetorical nature of the prelude in F minor (No. 18). In the E-flat major prelude (No. 19) the music really took off as a bird in flight, and she infused the work with a beautiful lightness. She played the prelude in C minor (No. 20) with utter seriousness and solemnity, with some absolutely gorgeous voicing. She brought a truly beautiful cantabile to the prelude in B-flat major (No. 21), and contrasted it with the storminess of the G minor prelude (No. 22). The prelude in F major (No. 23) - always conjuring for me a picture of a sailboat on a calm sea - was light, breezy, and her pianissimos were beautiful. She certainly conjured up a veritable storm with her big bold sound in the D minor prelude (No. 24), but the sound was always round and rich, never percussive.

It is truly amazing that after repeated hearings of these so-familiar works, a great artist can still come along and move one to tears. For as long as our world exists, there will be great artists who can move us beyond the realm of everyday existence. On top of her pianistic attributes, Aimi Kobayashi's playing touches us in the deepest recess of our hearts. 

As a postscript, Canadian pianist Bruce Liu apparently received a standing ovation from the audience tonight. As we now await the results of the pianists who move into the final concerto round, let me just say once again what a privilege it has been to be witness to this episode of music history. I am certain that the concerto performances will again bring many emotional highs.

Dispatch from Warsaw - October 15, 2021

Even with missed flight, security check, jet lag and continuous mask-wearing, I was wide awake as I sat in Warsaw's Philharmonic Hall to await the beginning of this evening's session of the 3rd round of the 18th International Chopin Competition.

Italy/Slovenia's Alexander Gadjiev started the evening off with the Polonaise-Fantasie (Op. 61), in a performance that is filled with many beautiful episodes, but somehow lacking a coherence, an organic whole. The young artist has a gorgeous sound, perhaps in time he will penetrate more greatly the inner sorrow and heartbreak so inherent in this great work.

The Mazurkas (Op. 56) were elegant rather than soulful. In the C major (No. 2) Mazurka, I wished that there could have been more feeling of earthiness in the music.

The Sonata in B-flat minor (Op. 35) seemed to have been the favourite this evening. Gadjiev played up the urgency of the opening theme, but I wish that the repeat of the exposition could have more varied ideas. The scherzo was pianistically impressive with some interesting ideas in voicing. For me, this was his most moving playing this evening. I missed the dark sound that is so important in the opening of the famous funeral march, but he did play the middle section with a beautiful liquid sound. The finale was pianistically impeccable, but for me it could have even more of the feeling of the "cold wind blowing across the cemetery". 

American pianist Avery Gagliano created a completely different impression with her thoroughly moving Chopin playing. She has a smaller sound than Gadjiev, but that did not matter in the least. In the opening of the Sonata in B-flat minor (Op. 35), she conveyed much more of a sense of urgency, even crisis, a feeling of palpitation. She had some beautiful ideas in the left hand accompaniment figures in this first movement, and she gave the lyrical second theme a quiet dignity. I appreciated the ruggedness she brought to the opening of the scherzo. Her B section did not have quite as beautiful a sound as Gadjiev, but it was somehow more moving. She took me much more into the inner world of this music. In the funeral march, she again penetrated into the composer's creative soul. The middle section of the funeral march was played rhythmically strict, but she conveyed a quiet, hushed beauty that demanded our attention. It was intensely moving. In the finale, she did achieve the feeling of the chill wind sweeping the cemetery, and her little surges of sound added to the cries of anguish. 

To my ears, Gagliano's playing of the same Op. 56 set of Mazurkas were rhythmically, musically and stylistically superior to Gadjiev's. In the first mazurka she captured the quirky rhythmic quality of the opening as well as the intricate counterpoint. I did smell the smell of the Polish earth with her playing of the second mazurka, and she played the third mazurka with a quiet sense of melancholy, as well as with magical transitions from one musical idea to the next.

It is incredible that Gagliano managed to bring something new and fresh to the much played Scherzo in B-flat minor, Op. 31. Most importantly, she brought to this work many shades of sound and drew from an infinite palate of tone colours. 

Martin Garcia Garcia (Spain) is a young man with strong musical instincts and interesting ideas. He opened his recital with the Prelude in A-flat major (Op. 28, No. 17) with strangely stiff phrasing, failing to convey the arch-like quality of the melody. I appreciated the lightness he brought to the Prelude in E-flat major (Op. 28, No. 19). In the Prelude in F major (Op. 28, No. 23), I would have worried less about the details, about trying to bring out every musical nuance, but trying to convey more the flow of the music. 

In the only performance of the Sonata in B minor (Op. 58), he played the opening of the 1st movement in an arresting manner. The second theme, which was beautifully played, sounded to me far too loud on the Fazioli, his instrument of choice. For me, the transition of musical ideas could be infused with greater meaning. He played the scherzo absolutely beautifully, with a breathtaking lightness and a whirlwind-like quality. The Largo was again beautifully played; personally I yearn for greater penetration into the emotional core of the music, but he did handled the transition of musical ideas very nicely indeed. Somehow the brief pause between the 3rd and 4th movement broke the spell of the gorgeous slow movement, but he did immediately capture the molto perpetuo, relentless quality of the movement. It was impressive, even glittering playing indeed, in much of the passagework. 

In the first two of the Op. 50 mazurkas, there was almost a waltz-like quality which isn't (to me) quite right for playing of mazurkas, and the C-sharp minor mazurka (No. 3) lacked the wistful feeling in the beginning. In the Prelude in C-sharp minor (Op. 45), he missed the Faure-like harmonic transition that gives this piece such a special beauty. However, his playing of the Waltz in F major (Op. 34, No. 3) with absolute charm and panache, relishing every turn of phrase with the same eagerness of a kid waiting his turn at cops and robbers.

Russia's Eva Gevorgyan is very obviously a big talent. She opened her recital with the Fantasy in F minor (Op. 49) with an interpretation of utter seriousness, which is of course one possible and very valid interpretation, but for me there could have been more of a sense of storytelling to this piece, a feeling of a tragedy unfolding.

Kudos to her for having the courage in playing the earlier set of Mazurkas (Op. 17), opening with a stylistically sound interpretation of the first mazurka. In the second and third mazurkas, I had a bit of trouble with the accents she applied to the music, but she did play the A minor (No. 4) mazurka with the perfect sense of wistfulness, of quiet sadness, looking very much inwardly into the music.

Her aggressive, take-no-prisoner approach to the opening of the Sonata in B-flat minor (Op. 35) was actually very effective, and it contrasted quiet nicely with the beautifully played lyrical second theme, although I found that the first statement of this theme could be played in a more straight forward manner. It was, on the whole, a performance that demanded our attention. I did again wish for more different dimensions in her sound. The scherzo was played with quite a bit of tempi changes, which for me hampered some of the natural flow of the music. Gevorgyan's playing of the funeral march, especially in the middle section, was in many way more beautiful than Gagliano's. Emotionally, I did still find Gagliano's interpretation more moving. Even her brilliant playing of the finale was more glittering than frightening. That said, Gevorgyan's pianism was truly impressive, and in time, the sky could be the limit for this very gifted young artist.

As I sat in that hall, I was suddenly overcome with feeling, thinking of the great pianists who had played in that hallowed hall. What a privilege it is to be present and be witness to music history in the making.

Until tomorrow.

Zubin Mehta's Recorded Legacy in the City of the Angels

Founded as early as 1919, the Los Angeles Philharmonic has had a series of very distinguished music directors – Georg Lennart Schnéevoigt, Artur Rodzinski, Otto Klemperer, Alfred Wallenstein and Eduard van Beinum. Bruno Walter, a distinguished Los Angeles resident, had also conducted the orchestra regularly. 

 

Nevertheless, the orchestra never really established a profile as one of America’s major orchestras. At the time, the talk was always about the “Big 5” orchestras of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Cleveland and Chicago. 

 

Then Zubin Mehta arrived in Los Angeles.

 

Originally invited as a last-minute substitute for guest conductors Fritz Reiner and Igor Markevitch, Mehta established an immediate rapport with the orchestra and a connection with the audience. The circumstances surrounding his appointment as music director is well known and does not need another retelling. Suffice it to say that in 1962, Mehta was appointed music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, a marriage that would last until 1978. 

 

On top of Mehta’s many innovations in the city, the most long-lasting legacy of Mehta’s tenure in Los Angeles has to be the many outstanding recordings he made with the orchestra with Decca records. Now Decca has reissued all these fine recordings in a generous 38-CD box – Zubin Mehta/Los Angeles Philharmonic – Complete Decca Recordings.

 

Having heard all the recordings in this sumptuous box, the first thing one could say is the absolutely beautiful recorded sound, capturing every nuance of the orchestra’s playing. The Decca team of engineers decided early on that the Dorothy Chandler pavilion, while being a fine hall for live performances, was completely unfit as a recording venue. After much scouting, they decided that seemingly unremarkable Royce Hall, on the campus of the University of California, Los Angeles, would suit their purpose more than adequately. I cannot say this more emphatically – the orchestra sounds spectacular in these recordings. 

 

The first recordings of Mehta and the Los Angeles Philharmonic appeared in 1967. It was the first time an American orchestra would be recording for a European recording company. This presented some problems for the orchestra management at the time, as the recording company would only pay the orchestral players according to European and not American (unionized) scale. The management had to look for financing for these recordings in order to make up the difference. 

 

Mehta made the wise decision not to push the orchestra to record until he felt it was ready, and that explains the lag time between his taken over the music directorship in 1962 and the first batch of recordings in 1967. By 1967, the Los Angeles Philharmonic had already become a very fine orchestra, as can be attested in these first recordings. By the time Mehta left, judging from recordings of the late 1970’s, the orchestra had become the world class orchestra it is today. 

 

Listening to these recordings, I was struck by the imaginative and musical conducting of both very familiar repertoire as well as more unknown works of the orchestral literature. There is also a palpable love and passion in the music making in every recording. What is more, I felt that every member of the orchestra was really putting his or her heart and soul into these performances. None of these recordings came off as “routine” studio sessions. 

 

There are some recordings that were and are welcomed additions to the catalogue. There are deeply committed performances of Liszt Symphonic Poems – Hunnenschlacht (S105), Orpheus (S98) and Mazeppa(S100), a convincing recording of Stravinsky’s 8 Instrumental Miniatures for 15 players, an absolutely gorgeous reading of Charles Ives Symphony No. 1, with some outstanding playing from the orchestra principals, a wonderful recording of the same composer’s relatively more popular Symphony No. 2 that stands up to the fine recordings by Bernstein and Tilson Thomas, exciting performances of William Kraft’s Concerto for Four Percussion Soloists and Orchestra and Contextures: Riots – Decade ’60, masterful and convincing readings of Schoenberg’s Chamber Symphony No. 1, Op. 9 and the thorny Orchestral Variations, Op. 31, thrilling performances of Edgard Varèse’s Arcana, Integrales and Ionisation, a performance of Carl Nielsen’s Symphony No. 4 (“The Inextinguishable”) that brings out the rugged beauty of the music, and a beautiful reading of John Williams Suites from the films, Star Wars and Close Encounter of the Third Kind that I find superior to the composer’s own recording. None of these works are, even today, hugely represented in the recording catalogue. 

 

Some of Mehta’s Los Angeles recordings have become acknowledged classics of the phonograph. I had not been a great fan of Saint-Saëns’ Organ Symphony, but Mehta’s recording of the work made a convert out of me. He minimizes the bombast of the music, and infused the work with not only a sense of grandeur, but a quiet dignity, bringing out the inner beauty of the music that performances sometimes lack. 

 

Listening to the orchestra’s 1967 recording of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, I was struck by how Mehta highlights the contrast between the dramatic sections like Gnomus with the more lighthearted ones like the Ballet of the Unhatched Chicks. In a movement like Gnomus or Bydlo, there is a weightiness of sound that bring out all the drama of the music. Mehta’s pacing and sense of timing in The Great Gate of Kiev is also impeccable; he holds the orchestra back from the explosion of sound until the very end of the work. 

 

Mehta’s recording of Gustav Holst’s The Planets suite, an iconic recording not only for music lovers but audiophiles as well, was certainly exciting and beautifully played. But what caught my ears was the lack of bombast (excitement, certainly) and a great beauty of sound throughout the performance. Again, in the final Neptune movement, Mehta draws us into the mystical and magical sound world created Holst created. The same observations apply to his recording of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, Op. 35, and kudos to the London engineers for capturing the sound of the orchestra so vividly and beautifully. 

 

There are only two concerto recordings – a magisterial performance of Beethoven’s Emperor concerto with Alicia de Larrocha from 1979, apparently Mehta’s final recording with the orchestra, and an absolutely delightful disc titled Concertos in Contrast, featuring four principal players from the orchestra. Other than Haydn’s very familiar Trumpet Concerto in E-flat major, Hob. VIIe/1, the other works certain warrant outstanding performances such as these – Vivaldi’s Flute Concerto in A minor, RV445, Weber’s Concertino for Clarinet and Orchestra in E-flat, Op. 26, Wieniawski’s Polonaise No. 1 in D major, Op. 4 and his Scherzo-Tarantelle, Op. 16. Throughout his tenure in Los Angeles, Mehta had been responsible for hiring most of the musicians as the older players retired, probably the most long-lasting aspect of his legacy. These 1974 performances by the players from the orchestra certainly gives us a hint of the extremely high level of playing by the orchestra. 

 

A 1973 disc – Virtuoso Overtures – gives us, among other things, an absolutely gorgeous and darkly brooding performance of Weber’s Der Freischütz Overture, with perfect intonation and ensemble by the horns at the beginning, as well as an echt Viennese reading of Strauss’ Die Fledermaus Overture. Even the recording, Hits at the Hollywood Bowl, no doubt a project they did for the recording company, receives committed and beautiful performances. 

 

In one instance, we hear two recordings, from different time periods, of the same work – Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4 in F minor (Op. 36). The earlier recording was one of the orchestra’s first discs for Decca, done in 1967. The second was part of a complete cycle of the composer’s symphonies – a great addition to the catalogue of Tchaikovsky recordings, unfortunately neglected by critics - taped in 1977. As much as the 1967 performance was a fine one, we hear in the 1977 recording what an absolutely great ensemble the Los Angeles Philharmonic had become.

 

The magnificent recordings of Bruckner’s 4^th and 8^th symphonies, Mahler’s 3^rd and 5^th symphonies, Strauss’ Sinfonia domestica (Op. 53), Eine Alpensinfonie (Op. 64), and the tone poems, show Mehta’s affinity for painting large canvases, an absolute grasp of the overriding structure of the works from first note to last. In a record of Mahler Lieder with the incredible Marilyn Horne, I was almost more captivated and fascinated by Mehta’s design of the orchestral writing than even Horne’s unbelievably rich voice. In these recordings especially, we can hear the successful results of Mehta’s efforts to elicit a central European sound from the orchestra. Even in the biggest climaxes and the most dramatic passages, there was never any coarseness in the sound.

 

Since Mehta’s departure from Southern California, the orchestra has had some highly distinguished music directors, from the dignified Giulini to one of today’s hottest conductor, Gustavo Dudamel, every one of them putting his individual stamp on the orchestra’s sound. The ensemble had moved from its fine home at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion to today’s architecturally stunning Walt Disney Concert Hall, where I had the good fortune to attend a concert by Mehta with the orchestra last year. Hearing the orchestra today, I feel that Mehta must be given major credit for creating the world class orchestra we have today. 

 

Zubin Mehta/Los Angeles Philharmonic – Complete Decca Recordings is a testament of the work of one of today’s most honest and dedicated musicians, working with musicians that were sympathetic to his music making, and well served by knowledgeable and musical recording engineers. It has been a richly rewarding musical experience listening to these fine performances once again.

 

 

 

Sergei Babayan's Rachmaninoff Recital

For a while, Sergei Babayan was the best-kept secret in the music world. Everyone knew him as a great teacher, mentoring an entire generation of distinguished pianists. Thankfully for music lovers, Mr. Babayan has recently been much more active on the concert stage. A few years ago, in a recital in Vancouver, I was moved and stunned by his beautifully idiomatic Chopin and his incredible pianism in Bach’s Goldberg Variations.  With his new recording contract with the Deutsche Grammophon label, I am certain that his name will soon become a household word in the music world, as he deserves to be.

 

In this latest album of the music of Sergei Rachmaninoff, Babayan has chosen a wonderfully diverse recital of the composer’s solo miniature works. In the opening Prelude in A-flat major (Op. 23, No. 8) and G-sharp minor (Op. 32, No. 12), as well as the composer’s own transcription of Lilacs (Op. 21, No. 5), the pianist plays like a master painter, drawing from his incredibly wide sound palette, and his magical pedaling, painting for us a multitude of sound colours. In hearing these pieces, one “sees” splashes of colours in front of our eyes, and hears a sort of “liquid sound”. In his playing of Lilacs, Babayan acts as both singer and pianist in a perfect blend of vocal and pianistic colours. Indeed, throughout this entire album, the word “colour” keeps returning to my mind. 

 

We then hear a different side of the composer, when Babayan’s plunges into the Prelude in F minor (Op. 32, No. 6), where he not only towers over the not insignificant technical demands of the work, but underscores the forward-looking harmonies that the composer is not often given credit for.

 

In three Études-Tableau, Babayan draws upon the darker harmonic colours in the composer’s music. In the Étude-Tableau in C minor (Op. 33, No. 3), he underscores the contrast between the drama of the opening and the lyricism of the middle section. His playing of the Étude-Tableau of the same key (Op. 39, No. 1) is, in a word, sweeping. Babayan has an incredible sense of the horizontal aspect of the music, no matter how dramatic the playing is, or how big the sound, the playing never becomes heavy. In the Étude-Tableau in A minor (Op. 39, No. 2), he highlights the composer’s unique melodic inventiveness, as well as the gently swaying melodic figures of the accompaniment, and gives us a performance of intense lyricism. 

 

The towering Prelude in B minor (Op. 32, No. 10), for me the climax of this recital, is given a very memorable performance indeed. From the pale colours of the opening, Babayan masterfully builds the music to its shattering climax before the tension abates once again. His ability to bring out the lyricism of Rachmaninoff’s music is also evident in the Volodos transcription of the composer’s Melody (Op. 21, No. 9), where he manages to keep the melody afloat amidst the pianistic figurations swirling around it. With an uncanny sense of programming, Babayan gives us the brief Morceau de fantaisie in G minor, serving as a perfect palate cleanser before the balance of the recital. In the justly famous Prelude in D major (Op. 23, No. 4), the pianist brings out the incredible sensuality of the music, and stunningly plays off the beautiful melody with the almost as beautiful counter melody, or descant, the two floating around each other in an ocean of sound. 

 

The final part of the recital is a contrast between the lyrical and the dramatic. In the Étude-Tableau in E-flat minor (Op. 39, No. 5), Babayan highlights the composer’s penchant for bell-like sounds. The Volodos transcription of the Andante from the composer’s Sonata for Cello and Piano (Op. 19) received an interpretation from Babayan that made me forget the cello. He ends this Rachmaninoff recital with masterful playing of two contrasting works, the Moment musical in E-flat minor (Op. 16, No. 2) and the triumphant Moment musical in C major (Op. 16, No. 6). 

 

In Babayan’s own words that he shares with us in the programme notes, he writes, “Only a composer of the highest gifts can have a craftsmanship of the level where music sounds like an improvisation, born spontaneously.” I believe he might as well have been describing his own playing in this album, because only a pianist with the highest gifts can make the music sounding so spontaneous, like an improvisation. So closely does Babayan identify with Rachmaninoff’s music, I feel that he almost takes on the identity of the creator.

 

Mr. Babayan’s first album on Deutsche Grammophon was one dedicated to the two-piano music of Prokofiev, where he shares the recording studio with Martha Argerich. As much as I admire and love the art of Argerich, I am grateful that we get to hear Babayan on his own, in music that he so obviously loves. I hope that this incredible album will acquaint many more people to the art of this master pianist and artist.

Chopin Preludes with Charles Richard-Hamelin

The 2015 International Chopin Competition in Warsaw introduced to the world some truly unique artists, who are now all forging their own unique paths in music. Seong Jin Cho, the gold medalist, has been branching out to music by composers other than Chopin, as well as active in collaboration with other musicians. Prizewinner Eric Lu went on to win first prize at the 2018 Leeds International Piano Competition, impressing judges and audience members with the depth and maturity of his interpretation. Charles Richard-Hamelin, silver medalist from the competition, has been continuing his exploration of the music of Chopin and committing to them on disc, in addition to maintaining a busy performing career. The fruits of this young artist’s artistic growth are evident in this latest recording of Chopin’s Preludes, Op. 28 as well as the Andante spianato et Grande polonaise brillante, Op. 22 (Analekta).

 

From the Prelude in C major, it seems evident that Hamelin chooses to let the music speak for itself. There is great naturalness in his approach, and he does not “stretch” or pull the music too much in this brief work. He aptly conveys the relentless sense of gloom in the Prelude in A minor, one of Chopin’s darkest works, as well as faithfully observing the composer’s slentando indication. His playing of the chords in the final bars evokes a calmness and religiosity, as well as giving a much needed resolution. Hamelin plays the G major prelude with elfin lightness, highlighting the quicksilver quality of this music. The contrast with the Prelude in E minor that follows is startling. He achieves the buildup of musical tension through the composer’s subtle harmonic changes, and he quite deliberately avoids a cataclysmic climax at m. 17, as the composer indicates only a forte here. In the Prelude in D major, Hamelin’s subtle rubato gives the feeling that the work is made up of one long-breath phrase. He achieves a beautiful cello sound in the left hand in his playing of the Prelude in B minor, giving us a true legato by his magical pedaling. 

 

In the miniature gem that is the Prelude in A major, Hamelin really takes time to bring out the beauty of each phrase, but managing to give the work an overall arc in its structure. He highlights the dark colours and undercurrent, as well as the swirling harmonic change in the Prelude in F-sharp minor. In the Prelude in E major, he chooses not to bring out the relentless, almost obsessive quality, in this music, but rather its nobility, achieving it with a richness of sound in his playing, as well as by not overdoing the dotted and double-dotted rhythmic figures that recurs over and over again. He plays the Prelude in C-sharp minor with a breathless quality, as well as highlighting the playful, glittering quality of the right hand melody. The beautiful Prelude in B major – my own sentimental favourite – is played with a euphoniousness of the melodic line and an acute awareness of its shape.  Hamelin certainly brings out the absolute wildness of the music in the Prelude in G-sharp minor.

 

The pianist plays the Prelude in F-sharp major with a real sense of buoyancy in the right hand chords and with great beauty in the left hand accompaniment figures. The transition into the Piu lento D-sharp minor section is magical. He plays the Prelude in E-flat minor with greater clarity than many other pianists, highlighting not so much the dark swirling harmonies (which are there, but just not the focus), but taking us through the contours of the melodic line. In the Prelude in D-flat major, I feel that he is highlighting the obsessive quality, with the repeated notes in the left hand, that pervade the entire work. He achieves effective contrast between the tranquility in the opening section and the funereal middle section. Hamelin’s playing of the Prelude in B-flat minor takes my breath away. He underscores the surging quality of the music, and conveys the feeling of a wild chase with the music. His performance of the Prelude in A-flat major gives me the feeling of a complete happiness and contentment. I find his playing of the repeated A-flat pedal notes very beautiful indeed, so beautifully evoking the sounds of distant bells. In the Prelude in F minor, Hamelin plays out the rhetorical nature of the right hand melody as well as the feeling of a brief but violent outburst in this music.

 

In the Prelude in E-flat major, Hamelin effective pedaling highlights the subtle beauty of the harmonic changes. He underscores the sense of broadness Prelude in C minor, and I find the final pianissimo phrase particularly affecting and beautiful. His playing of the Prelude in B-flat major invites us to hear the harmonic changes in the left hand, providing a cushion of sound to the “Chopinesque” right hand melody. The pianist conjures up a little storm in the Prelude in G minor, playing up the composer’s Molto agitato indication to the hilt. The Prelude in F major is played with a beguiling smoothness that evokes the tranquility of the surface of a lake on a beautiful morning.  If the G minor prelude evokes a little storm, the Prelude in D minor is a veritable hurricane – pianist Fou Ts’ong refers to this piece as “Genghis Khan”. Hamelin certainly plays out the utter storm-tossed wildness and abandon of the music, and maintains the almost unbearable tension until the three sonorous low D’s that end the piece, and the set. 

 

In his performance, Hamelin manages to convey the unique character of each prelude, but also a sort of organic unity that ties the pieces together as a set.

 

The artist is utterly convincing in the Andante spianato et Grande polonaise, Op. 22. In the opening andante, one of Chopin’s most lovely melodies (and that’s saying a lot), he spins out the long and smooth legato line like an opera singer. This opening andante serves as a perfect foil to the brilliance of the Grande polonaise. For me, this is one of the composer’s trickiest compositions to play. On top of the considerable technical demands, the even greater challenge is to play the theme, which returns many times, in a way that captures the listener every time. Hamelin succeeds in all counts here, with his uncanny ear and musical instincts bringing out each recurrence of the theme with different colours and inflections. On top of all this, he delivers a performance of this work that is beguilingly stylish.

 

Charles Richard-Hamelin’s latest recording drives home a belief that I have, that every generation will have great Chopin interpreters that will bring fresh and new ideas to the composer’s creations. Like all timeless music, the music of Chopin will continue to beguile, challenge, inspire, and, ultimately, move both musicians and listeners with its otherworldly beauty and a startling originality, no matter how many times we have heard or play these same works. Even in the very crowded catalogue of great Chopin recordings, there is, or should be, room for this one addition. I am certain that this would make a very welcomed addition to your Chopin discography.