The Return of Nelson Goerner

Nelson Goerner’s last Vancouver recital of Bach and Beethoven left a deep impression on me, and so it was with eager anticipation that I attended his concert yesterday afternoon.

The recital began with Brahms’ autumnal Klavierstücke, Op. 119. Goerner’s conception of the Intermezzo in B minor(Op. 119, No. 1) was one that stressed textual clarity of the voices, rather than the richness of the harmony. Perhaps it is because of this approach that conjured in my mind’s eyes a sparse and desolate musical landscape. The Intermezzo in E minor (Op. 119, No. 2) was played with a very good forward motion, and just a hint of the agitatothe composer calls for. His playing of the E major theme at m. 35 brought out the inner beauty of the music. I loved the breathtaking lightness and gracefulness with which he played the Intermezzo in C major(Op. 119, No. 3). Goerner’s account of the Rhapsodie in E-flat major(Op. 119, No. 4) stressed, I believe, the horizontal rather than the vertical aspect of the music. It was playing that was impassioned and impetuous, but never at the expense of textual clarity.

Goerner set a high bar for himself with his magisterial interpretation of Beethoven’s HammerklavierSonata (Op. 106) in his last Vancouver appearance. No less bracing was his account of the composer’s Sonata in F minor, Op. 57. There was and is something titanic about Goerner’s approach to Beethoven, which led me to wonder if this might have been how pianists like Busoni or Eugen d’Albert played these works. The artist towered over any technical demands the composer calls for, and was in control of every element of the vast canvas. In the brief theme and variations, there was an organic flow from the theme to the variations and then back to the theme again, as well as a sense of inevitability in the logic of the flow of the music. There was no doubt in my mind that this had been the most convincing playing of a Beethoven sonata I have heard in Vancouver in recent memory. 

I last heard Schumann’s Papillons(Op. 2) in a recital by Murray Perahia a few years back. Fine as that interpretation was, it paled in comparison with Goerner’s much more imaginative and vivid playing. The pianist succeeded in bringing out the unique characteristics of each of the movements. His playing of the rapid mood changes in movement ten (vivo) was simply thrilling. In movement 11, I loved how Goerner ravishingly shaped and voiced the phrase at mm. 6-7, mm. 18-19, mm. 54-55, and again at mm. 62-63. In the Finale, he succeeded in bringing out the slightly whimsical character of the music, and ended the work, as the saying goes, with a whimper and not with a bang.

Knowing the awesome technical ability of the pianist, it was not surprising that his playing of Schumann’s Toccata(Op. 7) would be technically impregnable. What was amazing was that he managed to make this somewhat awkward and technically almost cruel work sounding musical. It was brave of the pianist to have programmed this work. Certainly he carried it off with no less than absolute aplomb and confidence. 

I had slight reservations about Emanuel Ax’s Chopin interpretation from last week’s recital. I can say unreservedly that Nelson Goerner is a genuine Chopin player. In the Nocturne in C minor(Op. 48, No. 1), the opening section was played with a frightening stillness, and even more so in the Poco piu lentosection (m.25) – really giving the impression of the calm before the storm. His playing of the demanding middle section was epic. The Nocturne in E-flat major(Op. 55, No. 2) was simply stated, and was played with a tinge of beautiful sorrow, a sense of regret, as well as a real sense of organic unity from first note to last. 

Even in today’s world full of young keyboard titans, not many can truly capture the elegance and style of Chopin’s Andante spinato et Grande polonaise brillante, Op. 22. Nelson Goerner certainly did bring off this work brilliantly yesterday. The opening andantewas played with a ravishing sound as well as a beautiful flow. The difficult polonaisewas played not only with technical assurance – something many of today’s pianists have in spades – but with panache, and with a real sense of rightness stylistically. It was a performance that deservedly brought the audience to its feet.

Goerner gave us two encores – Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Op. Posth., played with an otherworldly beauty, and Francis Poulenc’s Caprice Italien(from the Napoli Suite), played with utter charm and a breathtaking disregard for the work’s technical demands. 

Nothing in yesterday’s recital distracted me from my thought that Nelson Goerner is one of today’s major pianists. For those who had not heard him play, or do not own one of his many fine recordings, I urge that you remember this name, and try to experience his artistry as soon as you can.

Musical Experiences

Saturday, March 23^rd

Taking advantage of our niece’s Times Square apartment, we spent a week in New York City to sample the riches of its cultural offerings. And what offerings they were!

Arriving early in the morning, we rested for much of the day and attended the evening performance of the Metropolitan Opera’s Tosca. Sir David McVicar’s production, with John MacFarlane’s sumptuous sets, take advantage of the MET’s vast stage and aim for absolute realism. The Church of Sant’ Andrea della Valle, the Palazzo Farnese, and the Castel Sant’ Angelo were as close to “the real thing” as can be imagined. This makes perfect sense because no other opera is more tied to its setting than Tosca– Rome. The locations of all three acts are actual places in Rome anyone can visit today.

Jennifer Rowley’s (Tosca) and Joseph Calleja (Cavaradossi) were vocally and dramatically a good match for each other. But for me it was Wolfgang Koch’s portrayal of Scarpia, as well as his interaction with Tosca, that captured my attention. In spite of this opera’s title, the work could just as convincingly be called Scarpia, for it is the evil spirit of this character that pervades the entire drama. Indeed, the very first thing we hear in Act I is the dramatic and manacing Scarpia motif. 

Koch’s singing and acting of the role of Baron Scarpia is indeed masterful, in turn menacing, fawning, and lustful. At the conclusion of Act I, when Puccini’s ingenious theatrical instincts combines the height of the Te Deumwith Scarpia’s line, “Tosca, mi fai dimenticare Iddio,”, Koch’s Scarpia knelt and, in an exaggerated gesture, struck his breast three times, the Catholic sign for “Mea Culpa”. The end of this first act also afforded us the opportunity to experience, alas too briefly, the power and beauty of the MET chorus. 

Saturday’s performance of Tosca’s Act II had to be the dramatic highlight of the evening. The lighting of Scarpia’s richly appointed office, with his underlings surrounding him, gave the impression of a scene from The Godfather, and the interaction between Tosca and Scarpia gave the impression of two archetypes, two strong emotions pitted against each other. In Tosca’s Vissi d’arte, Rowley paced the aria beautifully. Before her final line (“perché me ne rimuneri cosi?”), she took a very pregnant pause (Puccini indicates a luftpausehere) – perhaps not what the composer had written, but it worked in this instance. The scene between Scarpia and Tosca was electrifying, and genuinely frightening.

Carlo Rizzi conducted the MET orchestra with a real sense of urgency and drama throughout. In Act II, when Tosca intoned the line, “Questo è il bacio di Tosca”, the orchestra’s electrifying playing of the chords made the entire scene all the more horrifying. At the beginning of Act III, Rizzi evoked a wonderful atmosphere from the orchestra, and the clarinet solo at 11 was filled with a real sense of despair. 

With all the dramatic tension, it is all too easy to forget about poor Cavaradossi. Indeed his “E lucevan la stelle” was beautifully shaped and paced. Calleja sang the line “le belle forme disciogliea dai veli” with an incredible, and incredibly controlled, diminuendo.

Toscadoes not tug at the emotional heartstrings like La Bohemeor Madama Butterfly, it doesn’t thrill us with vocal pyrotechnics like Turandot, and it is not harmonically innovative like La fanciulla del West. But a great performance of Tosca, such as the one I witnessed last Saturday, can leave us gaping in horror at the battle between these emotional archetypes. 

For me, all the elements came together on that Saturday performance - the absolute commitment and incredibly high level of singing, great playing by the orchestra, as well as the dramatic involvement of all the principals – it made for the most affecting and riveting ToscaI have experienced. It is great to be back in this great opera house.

Monday, March 25^th

In 1853, upon finishing a scene in one of his Ring operas, Wagner wrote to Liszt, “My friend! I am in a state of wonderment! A new world stands revealed before me…everything within me seethes and makes music. Oh, I am in love!” I experienced some of the composer’s feeling of exaltation after attending the MET’s season premiere performance of Die Walküre. For me, this performance was the most theatrically and musically overwhelming experience I have had in a long while. 

Conductor Philippe Jordan drew truly beautiful playing from the orchestra. He led a performance that was nuanced, passionate, and one that had a sense of totality of Wagner’s vast canvas. The strings and woodwinds really shone in the beauty of sound they produced throughout the evening. 

There has been much attention on Christine Goerke’s Brünnhilde. For me, her dramatic involvement in the role was even more compelling than her vocal prowess (which was considerable). She really captured the transition from a boisterous warrior, dedicated solely to doing her father’s will, to someone touched by love, having witnessed the passion between Siegmund and Sieglinde.

For me, the voice that caught my ear had to be Eva-Maria Westbrock’s Sieglinde. She sang with an emotive quality that I found absolutely compelling. The brief passage she sang after she was told that she was carrying Siegmund’s child was simply thrilling, certainly the vocal highlight of the evening. Westbrock was well matched in vocal beauty and dramatic ability by Stuart Skelton’s Siegmund. Günther Groissböck made for a manacing Hunding, much more physically abusive towards Sieglinde than we are used to seeing. Greer Grimsley was a commanding Wotan, and successfully portrayed the god’s feeling of helplessness as his plans unraveled one after another. His farewell to Brünnhilde was filled with both compassion and humanity. 

The stage machinery functioned without a hilt the night of the performance. I feel that Robert Lepage’s concept and design for the operas was truly ingenious. Using a simple series of metal beams as well as extremely effective lighting and projections, we see before our eyes the transformation from forest to Hunding’s home, from rocky mountain heights to Brünnhilde’s place of magical sleep. I believe that only with the MET’s awesome technical capabilities could this production be carried out. 

After the performance, I could not help but think how Wagner’s tale of gods and men remain relevant today as it did when it was first performed. How like Wotan are we today, when we think we have the ingenuity to control every element of our lives, not seeing the many other elements that are unraveling beyond our control.

Tuesday, March 26^th

I was happy to learn that Jaap van Zweden, the New York Philharmonic’s music director, would be conducting during our week’s stay. I had long admired Maestro van Zweden (along with a long line of distinguished conductors) for his work with the Hong Kong Philharmonic, elevating it to a truly world class orchestra.

The programme is one that showcases the Philharmonic’s many strengths. The evening began with Charles Ives’ Central Park in the Dark. It is difficult to believe that so many of Ives’ groundbreaking works are now more than a century old. The Philharmonic under Leonard Bernstein had begun championing the work of this very original American composer. I believe van Zweden’s conception of this work was a sound one, taking the audience through a series of sound pictures, or dreamscapes, like a stream of consciousness. He allowed the music to build towards the climatic cacophony of band music and street noise.

It is not difficult to understand why John Adams is today’s most popular – and perhaps most performed - contemporary operatic composer. His sensitivity to the text when writing music is apparent in The Wound-Dresser, for Baritone Voice and Orchestra (1988), performed by the great baritone Matthias Goerne. This is a musical setting of a fragment from the poem by Walt Whitman, a poem that describes the horrors and tragedy of the American Civil War, seen through the eyes of a battlefield nurse. Adams sensitivity in setting music to words is apparent in many instances throughout this short but intense score. For instance, with the words, “I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that could save you”, the strings took on palpable warmth and played an emotive, upward sweeping figure. In the line, “Hard the breathing rattles”, there were faster moving figures in the strings, and the music took on an almost disjointed quality.

Adams’ work highlighted the many outstanding instrumentalists of the orchestra. Concertmaster Frank Huang played a beautiful violin solo to the words, “The hurt and the wounded I pacify with soothing hand.” The score also called for heroic trumpet work throughout, and principal trumpet Christopher Martin raised magnificently to the challenge. 

Matthias Goerne sang with great sensitivity to the text – no surprise here since here is one of the great lieder singers of our time. In the climatic moments, most notably with the words, “Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive”, Goerne’s voice soared above the sound of the orchestra. Van Zweden conducted the score with great authority and feeling.

Van Zweden’s reading of Brahms’ Symphony No. 1 in C minor, Op. 68 was very much in a Toscanini rather than a Bruno Walter vein. From the ominous strokes of the timpani in the beginning to the triumphal ending of the 4^thmovement, van Zweden and the orchestra gave a performance that was highly dramatic, taut, intense, almost driven, and with utmost awareness to the architecture of the large work. The tricky transition from the Un poco sostenutointroduction to the allegrowas expertly handled. The strings played the opening theme of the Andante sostenutomovement with great warmth. The pacing of the movement made me feel that the music was leading inevitably to the beautiful violin solo at letter E. The third movement somehow felt like, for the first time, a very brief intermezzo. Van Zweden drew magnificent playing from the players throughout, but especially in the final movement. 

Sitting in Row 3 of David Geffen Hall (I still secretly think of it as Avery Fisher Hall), I felt not only the incredible power of this orchestra, but I noticed the incredible level of involvement of every member of the ensemble. This is van Zweden’s second season with the Philharmonic, and I hope that he can keep the musicians on this level of inspiration during his tenure. 

Wednesday, March 27^th

We ended our musical journey in New York in Carnegie Hall, with a recital with Emanuel Ax. Ax has reached the stage of his musical journey when he has nothing to prove. It was not a recital that sets out to “impress”, but just very beautiful and natural music making. 

I liked Ax’s pacing and the rich sound he evoked from the piano in Brahms’ Two Rhapsodies, Op. 79. I appreciated his pacing of these large works, and how he was able to weave through the composer’s thick textures.

The programme continued with Piano Figures, a set of very short pieces by George Benjamin with evocative titles such as Spell, Knots, Hammers, Mosaic, Around the Corner, and Whirling, to name just a few. Ax rose to the considerable technical challenges set out by the composer in every one of the pieces, and managed to highlight the unique character of each number. 

Other than the aforementioned work by Benjamin, the programme of Brahms, Schumann, Ravel and Chopin made me think of Arthur Rubinstein, for this was the kind of programme Mr. Rubinstein loved to perform. Indeed, the next two works in the programme were ones that the great pianist played until the end of his career. 

Emanuel Ax ended the first half with Robert Schumann’s Fantasiestücke, Op. 12. The pianist played the suite of pieces with great imagination and beauty of sound. The opening DesAbendswas played in a songful manner, and the pianist projected the melodic line like a giant arch. Aufschwungwas, appropriately, impetuous and soaring, with beautiful voicing of the calmer middle section. In Warum, Ax played the short work simply, clearly delineating the musical texture. He played the opening chords of Grillenwith great energy and a real feeling of forward motion, as well as voicing each chord beautifully. There was a wonderful balance between the vertical and horizontal aspects of the music, as well as a real sense of logic in the transition through the different episodes. In der Nachtwas played with a real sense of Schumannesque “fever”, and with the middle section beginning like an apparition. The beginning of Fabelwas played in a disarmingly simple manner, alternating with the considerably faster moving episodes. Ax’s playing of Traumes Wirrenwas exhilarating and breathtaking, conjuring up a whirlwind of sound. In Ende von Lied, he played it with almost a feeling of mock seriousness. The B section was rhythmically impeccable, and the end of the work had just a tinge of regret.

The pianist revealed in an interview that he had studied Ravel’sValses nobles et sentimentaleswith Arthur Rubinstein, and that the older pianist had something insightful to say about every single chord. Ax’s own playing of this fin de sièclework of Ravel was truly masterful, and for me, the highlight of the evening. He managed to bring out the unique characteristic and sound world of each waltz. In the opening chords of the first waltz, Ax certainly observed the composer’s indication of très franc, with a suitably dry sound. The chords in the Assezlentwere wonderfully voiced. Ax played the third waltz (modéré) with a caressing tone and subtle pedaling. The technically challenging seventh waltz (Moins vif) was technically impregnable. In the Épilogue, he conjured from the instrument an otherworldly beauty of sound. 

The recital ended with a group of Chopin. Ax played the Nocturne in B major, Op. 62, No. 1 with great beauty of sound as well as depth of feeling, and with a sense of organic unity. The coda was played almost as a single breath. The Three Mazurkas, Op. 50 as well as the Andante spinato and Grande Polonaise brillante, Op. 22 were also played with musicality. I did feel that, in the mazurkas and in the polonaise, it was a cosmopolitan kind of Chopin playing. I did miss the Polish flavour, the smell of Polish earth, and the indescribable feeling of żal, a combination of sadness, suffering, a feeling of passing, and of having lost everything. Beautiful as they were played, the uniquely Polish flavour, the essence of Chopin, was somehow missing. 

That aside, it was a highly satisfying evening of music making by one of today’s most loved pianists. I feel grateful for this week of memorable musical experiences, ones that I will be carrying with me for a long time to come.

Patrick May

Sir Andras Schiff and the Seattle Symphony

Sir Andras Schiff spent this last week in Seattle, conducting and playing with the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, as well as giving a solo recital. I missed Sir Andras’ solo recital, but I had the pleasure of attending his appearance with the orchestra. 

The concert opened with J. S. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto No. 3 in D major, BWV 1054, a reworking of the composer’s Violin Concerto in E major, BWV 1042. It is apparent in this concerto how much the period instrument practice has seeped into performances with modern instruments. The strings played with minimal vibrato, and there was a lightness in the string playing that kept the musical line taut and buoyant. Schiff’s playing was, not surprising, a marvel to behold. In the faster passages, every note is beautiful and expressive, like a precious pearl within a perfect string of pearl. The lightness of his playing matched that of his colleagues in the orchestra. In the slow movement (Adagio e sempre piano), I was amazed at the beautiful legato and the sound he was able to achieve without any use of pedal (I sat on Row 1). The third movement (Allegro) was filled with a joyful spirit that this music calls for. Throughout the performance (and even in the performance of the Beethoven concerto), Schiff almost subsumed the sound of the piano within the texture of the orchestra, making it almost like a piano obbligato. This, for me, is concerto playing at its finest, a sort of glorified chamber music.

Equally memorable was Schiff and the orchestra’s presentation of Beethoven’s miraculous Piano Concerto No. 4 in G major, Op. 58 – a Dionysian presentation of one of Beethoven’s most Dionysian works. The piano playing was expressive and expansive. It was not a Toscanini-like metronomic Steeplechase, but more of a Bruno Walter, stopping-along-the-way-to-smell-the-flowers approach to this great work. Schiff took time to let the music speak for itself. The opening phrase of the 1^stmovement had a recitative-like, confiding quality to it. Throughout the movement, I was reminded of the beauty of Beethoven’s writing for the winds, especially the bassoon. At six measures after letter H, the piano playing had an extra depth of feeling, almost an ecstatic quality to it. Schiff is a conductor who reminds us that conducting really involves the power of suggestion. He coaxes rather than demands in his approach to directing the orchestra. As in the performance of the Bach, Schiff did not come off as the “famous soloist” playing against the orchestra, but integrated his playing within the orchestral texture. It was only during the cadenza that he rid himself of the orchestral shackles and allowed his considerable virtuosity to shine through.

In the slow movement, Schiff set a tempo a little faster than most performers, with sharper articulation in the strings. This is actually in line with the composer’s Andante con motomarking, con motobeing the operative word here. That said, there was no lacking in tension or tautness in the music; there was, however, very much a sense of forward motion – it was a perfect balance between the horizontal and vertical aspects of this music. I appreciated the space Schiff allowed between each orchestral outburst and the piano entry. The long passage of trill at the end of the movement was filled with urgency and a pleading quality, an appropriate contrast with the silence that followed.

I had always thought that this particular Beethoven concerto could not do without a full-time conductor. Well, Schiff and the orchestra obviously rehearsed this work very well, because the ensemble between pianist and orchestra, as well as all those tricky entrances, was done to perfection. This was especially apparent in the 3^rdmovement. I liked the way Schiff played all the sforzandonotes in the right hand (the passage at Letter A, for instance), giving it a feeling of surprise, but never forced or hammered. 

At the end of the Beethoven, soloist and orchestra received a deservedly rousing ovation from the audience, whereupon he returned with Menuet I and IIas well as the Giguefrom Bach’s Partita No. 1 in B-flat major, BWV 825. Schiff’s brief performance was musical in every note, as light and breathtaking as one could hope for, and he really highlights the quirkiness of Bach’s melodic writing. 

Schiff returned as a full time conductor in the second half, and led the orchestra in a deeply felt reading of Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra, Sz. 116, BB 123, yet another miraculous masterpiece, this time from the 20^thcentury. It never fails to amaze me that this beautiful, optimistic and life-affirming work should come during such a dark time not just in human history, but in the composer’s life as well.

He beautifully shaped the melodic idea in the celli and basses at the outset of the work, and really allowed the music to build towards the Allegrovivace(rehearsal number 76) main section. I liked how he shaped the angular melody in the violins, really giving it a great deal of character. There was a real sense of grandeur and excitement in the canonic passage for brasses at rehearsal number 313. Throughout this long first movement, there was an organic unity that led to that final F for the entire orchestra.

In the Giuoco delle coppiemovement, Schiff infused the opening music with real humour, and inspired the bassoonists in some inspired playing. There was heroic and very beautiful trumpet playing in the extended passages for the instrument by the Seattle musicians. The conductor painted a real picture of varying shades of grey (certainly more than fifty) in the Elegia movement. The“outburst” by the strings at rehearsal 34 had a desperate quality to it, almost like a cry for help. Leonard Bernstein once said that a lot of Bartok’s melodic writing is related to the unique sounds of the Hungarian language. This passage, and the way the musicians played it, reminded me of Mr. Bernstein’s statement.

Schiff highlighted the almost Mahler-like sense of irony in some of the music in the Intermezzo interrotto movement. The violas played their beautiful theme at rehearsal 43 with great warmth as well as a depth of feeling. Conductor and orchestra pulled out all the stops in the very exciting final movement. The opening horn solo had a real sense of occasion to it, and conveyed the feeling of the beginning of something momentous. The rapid passage by the first and second violins had a real Hungarian, almost gypsy, flavour, to it. Yesterday afternoon, every musician in the orchestra rose to the occasion responded to Bartok’s technical and musical challenges with aplomb and absolute assurance.

From first note to last, yesterday’s performance by Schiff and the Seattle musicians made for a rich and rewarding musical experience. It was a performance of total commitment on the part of the musicians, as well as one where all the elements came together to make for a very memorable afternoon.

Patrick May

Remembering André Previn

In those pre-historic days of the late 1970’s, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and when serious music was very much part of television programming, I came upon this wonderful series of programmes called “Previn and the Pittsburgh”. I watched those shows and marveled not only at the beauty of the music being presented, but also at the incredible talents of André Previn.

When I learned of the death of Mr. Previn, I realized that even though I had never seen him perform in person, his music making loomed large over my formative years as a music lover and student of music.

Other than Leonard Bernstein, I cannot think of a musician who was so multi-talented, and whose career touched upon so many facets of music – composer, conductor, pianist (classical and jazz), educator, and presenter of music. 

Previn started in Hollywood as an arranger and composer when he was sixteen, out of economic necessity more than anything else, and ended up composing and arranging music for some fine (and some not so fine) films – Invitation to the Dance,Gigi, Porgy and Bess, Irma La Douce,My Fair Lady, and Thoroughly Modern Mille, to name just a few – winning four Oscars for his work. 

At the same time, he discovered jazz, and became a fine pianist in that genre. One of my favourite Previn albums includes the “My Fair Lady” record, made within a single evening, and became a very big seller (for a jazz record). He “jammed” with such luminaries as Ray Brown, Red Mitchell, Bill Perkins, Jerry Mulligan and Shelly Manne.

He played chamber music with musicians from the MGM studio orchestra, and studied conducting with Pierre Monteux. He conducted the studio orchestra in his own film compositions, but also had the occasional opportunity to conduct “serious” repertoire. In one of his first rehearsals with the studio orchestra, the musicians decided to test him by tuning a semitone lower. Previn heard it and said nothing. Right before he gave the downbeat, he said, “Everyone, transpose a semitone up.” The musicians were impressed.

When he tired of the lack of challenge in film work, and began to shift his focus to conducting full time, all the critics held his years in Hollywood against him. Previn said that all the reviews would begin with the words, “Last night, Hollywood’s André Previn conducted….” He often said that critics would have forgiven him if he had been a serial killer, but not for having been a “film composer”. 

Gradually, Previn won them over as he gained experience as a conductor. He took over the Houston Symphony Orchestra briefly, and then there were those honeymoon years as principal conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra, where he made some of his finest and most memorable recordings. Then there were tenures in Pittsburgh and Los Angeles, both of which ended unhappily. In his last years, he devoted his time mostly to the occasional guest conducting stints, and to composing. I was very much looking forward to his scheduled appearance with the Seattle Symphony, but he had to cancel that concert because of ill health. 

I believe his television programmes on music can be judged the same way as Bernstein’s work on television. He talked about music intelligently, without talking down to the audience. I am certain that many people owed their interest in music because of Previn’s programmes. His one appearance on the British television show of Morecambe and Wise (“Mr. Preview!”) is still remembered and talked about today.

Previn often talked about composing as something he could do easily, because of his training in Hollywood. He often said that he could compose “with the World Series on”, but that he didn't expect his music to last. I believe he underestimated his work as a composer. His film scores rank along those of Korngold, Rózsa, Walton, and Hermann. And I particularly love his guitar concerto, written for John Williams, and his piano concerto, written for Vladimir Ashkenazy. In his later years, his operatic adaptation of “A Streetcar Named Desire” contains some truly memorable music. 

I will always be grateful to Previn for his many wonderful recordings, introducing me to works that remain close to me today. I love Rachmaninoff’s second symphony because of his great recording with the London Symphony Orchestra, the first time the work was recorded uncut. His recording of Elgar’s Enigma Variationsis still one of the finest in the catalogue. I still adore his Vaughan Williams records, especially the one of the fifth symphony, where the feeling of “Englishness” overflows in the slow movement. His Mahler fourth introduced me to that charming work; I wore out the LP listening to his recording of the incidental music to Mendelssohn’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” There were also albums where Previn doubled as pianist and conductor – Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and Concert in F, many Mozart concerti, and lots of chamber music. 

In his witty and clever memoirs, No Minor Chords – My Days in Hollywood, Previn said, “Since leaving Hollywood, I have had the healthy and sobering experience of constantly working with music that is invariably better than any performance of it can be.” Using that as a yardstick, I think Previn had had a pretty rewarding life.

So rest in peace, André Previn. Thank you for all you had done for music, and, as Bob Hope said, “Thanks for the memories.”

Patrick May

The Polish Romantics

Last evening, Tobias Koch played the second of his two recitals in Vancouver. While his first recital featured music extremely familiar to everyone, last night’s recital highlighted composers, I would venture to guess, few in the audience had heard about.

The title of the recital indeed describes it all – The Polish Romantics – a concert of 19^th century Romantic piano music from Poland. Rather, music from the Poland in people’s heart. As Professor John Glofcheskie writes in his excellent programme notes, “The programme of keyboard music by Polish Romantics might also be called Music of Stateless Poland.” Poland lost her independence in 1795, and the arts; music, in particular, became a point of refuge for stateless Poles, living in their own land perhaps, but under the subjugation of other empires. Composers, both professional and amateur, wrote mazurkas and polonaises, quintessentially Polish dance forms, as a sublimation of their patriotic feelings as well as a lament for Poland’s tragic history.

Michal Kleofas Oginski’s 1794 Polonaise in A minor, subtitled “Farewell to the Homeland,” was the first such piece performed last night. All the pieces Koch played last night were charming, sentimental, and melancholic, especially interesting was Jozef Elsner’s Rondo à la Mazurka in C major, an utterly simple and charming piece – the word “cute” almost comes to mind. Elsner was Chopin’s composition teacher, and hearing that piece by the older composer really highlighted the difference between mere talent and towering genius. In the first half, Koch also performed the earliest polonaise by Chopin, the Polonaise in B-flat major, KK IVa-1, written in 1817 when he was seven. Hearing that early work was almost like hearing the earliest symphonies and concerti by Mozart. The forms may be simple, and the scope may be small, but the seeds of genius were already present.

Edward Wolff’s Hommage à Chopin: Rêverie-Nocturne was beautiful, and came close to capturing the mood of Chopin’s own masterful Nocturnes. In Glofcheskie’s notes, he writes that Wolff was for a time Chopin’s copyist, but he would “pinch something and print it” as his own composition! Perhaps he did learn a thing or two from the master in all his “borrowings”.

The pianist-composer Maria Szymanowska, whose reputation extended beyond her native Poland, was represented by a Polonaise in F minor, written 1820. Chopin heard and apparently admired Szymanowska when he attended one of her Warsaw concerts.

In the second half of the concert, Koch played pieces by composers that came after Chopin, but had obviously been influenced by him. The two mazurkas, one by Karol Mikuli, Chopin’s own student, and another by Ignacy Friedman, were for me the largest in scope and inventive. The two pieces by Paderewski were charming examples of the famous pianist-composer’s many miniatures.

By way of contrast, Koch played a small sampling of works by Chopin; the first half ended with the Mazurka in C-sharp minor, Op. 50, No. 3, and the evening ended with the monumental canvas of the Polonaise in F-sharp minor, Op. 44.

Koch bid farewell to Vancouver with a generous four encores – a polonaise by J. S. Bach, from the Anna Magdalena Notebook, Egon Petri’s transcription of Bach’s Sheep May Safely Graze, and two more Chopin – the Waltzes in A minor and F minor {Op. Posth.)

In general, Koch seemed a little more restrained in his use of rubato last night. While I found his playing on Friday evening beautiful indeed, Koch’s playing of these morsels equally valid and justifiable. Throughout the evening, his playing of the mazurkas and polonaises was idiomatic and filled with genuine feeling for the music.

We must thank Tobias Koch for giving us this very interesting and important programme, and for introducing us to works that are new to us. This was not just a concert of charming salon music. Hearing music by precursors of Chopin, his contemporaries and near-contemporaries, as well as composers who were influenced by him, really highlights Chopin’s own unique and inimitable genius and places his compositions within historical perspective.

I certainly look forward to Mr. Koch’s next appearance in Vancouver.

Chopin's Last Concert

For the second year in a row, Early Music Vancouver and The Vancouver Chopin Society jointly host a period piano specialist in a Chopin recital. This year, pianist Tobias Koch graced the stage of Christ Church Cathedral with two programmes. Last night’s recital was a “reimagining”, or recreation of the last recital Chopin played on October 4, 1848 in Edinburgh. Appropriately, Koch played on a restored 1852 Broadwood Boudoir Grand piano, as did Chopin (not the same Broadwood obviously), the same programme that was on that last recital.

Even though there were no “big” works presented – no “Heroic” Polonaise, noSonatas, no Scherzi– the programme was a formidable one, especially considering Chopin’s extremely weakened state. The composer was apparently so weak at this point that he had to be carried up the stairs. For a man with such delicate health, the evening must have presented an enormous physical challenge. 

Mr. Koch appears to be a man of robust health, but his playing throughout the evening recalled for me the delicacy of how Chopin must have played. Mazurkastook the pride of place in last night’s concert – Mazurkain A-flat major, Op. 7, No. 4, 3 Mazurkasfrom Op. 7, and all three Mazurkasfrom Op. 59. Koch’s playing of the Mazurkas was, to my ears, idiomatic and completely convincing. The artist plays these “dances of the soul” with much rubato, probably more than we are used to today. In many ways, his playing of Chopin probably harkens back to the days of Cortot and Paderewski, in the freedom of expression, as well as the generous use of breaking the notes between the hands, something that is frowned upon by some today. In these Mazurkas, Koch also made us aware of the element of silence, and the idea of punctuating the music with it. He brought out the heartbreak in the Mazurka in A minor(Op. 59, No. 1), the Gallic elegance in the Mazurka in A-flat major(Op. 59, No. 2), and the robust energy of the Mazurka in F-sharp minor(Op. 59, No. 3).

The artist’s playing of the Impromptu No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29 gave the impression of one long breath from beginning to end. In the Op. 25 Etudes(Nos. 1, 2, 7 and 5), the legato playing was quite remarkable, with one note seemingly dissolved into, or fused with, the next. Under Koch’s hands, I heard, especially in these Etudes, completely new colours. In the E minor Etude(Op. 25, No. 5), the opening 16^thnote-8^thnote motifs sounded like splashes of colours. The gorgeous left hand melody at m. 45 was played with palpable warmth and a glowing beauty in the sound.

In the Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 1, Koch really gave the sense of the music floating and the melody gliding along with it. The dynamic at the passionate outburst at m. 49 (marked fff) sounded less forceful because of the limited dynamic, but no less passionate. In the two Op. 27 Nocturnes, the Nocturne in B major, Op. 62, No. 1, as well as the Berceuse, Op. 57, there was truly remarkable legatoand cantabileplaying throughout.

It was said that Chopin never gave two performances that were the same, and that he would always give the impression that he was improvising. In the 19^thcentury, pianists would sometimes interpolate notes into certain passages when they played Chopin. Koch observed this tradition (again, something almost no modern pianists would attempt, or would have the know-how to do so) in his playing of the Grand Valse Brillante in E-flat major, Op. 18 as well as in the Nocturne in D-flat major, Op. 27, No. 2, but doing so always very much within the bounds of good taste, and with a sense of appropriateness. 

In the Prelude in E major, Op. 28, No. 9, the dynamic range was a little narrower than what we are used to with performances on a modern instrument, but without sacrificing the sense of drama or grandeur. The Prelude in C-sharp minorthat follows was played with a breathtaking lightness.

Koch’s playing of the Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op. 45 really highlighted the inner beauty of this remarkable and very forward-looking miniature. In the Ballade in A-flat major, Op. 47, he brought out the intricate design, as well as many inner voices that are so often buried. I really liked his pacing in this long and tricky work, as well as the characters he brought to each section of the music. I was first surprised by the relatively subdued way he played the coda and ending. However, when I examined the score, I noticed for the first time that the composer only marked fortethroughout.

Throughout the evening, Koch’s playing was imaginative, idiomatic, soulful and always musical. The relatively soft sound of the Broadwood piano made me feel as if I was eavesdropping on someone’s playing for oneself. Through a combination of the much-darkened hall, the beautiful sound of the Broadwood, and Koch’s playing, the result was a truly magical evening. 

In the pre-concert talk, Koch spoke about his choice of playing with the printed music, indicating that it really had been the tradition until Liszt, who started playing “by heart”. In addition, Koch shared with the audience that he always learns something, even in the middle of a performance, when he has the score in front of him. Indeed, playing from the heart is always more important than playing by heart. 

While we would, regretfully, never know how Chopin really played, Koch’s magical performance made me feel that we had been transported back in time. Judging from the inspiring silence throughout the evening, I have a feeling that the audience felt the same as well.

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.