The program contained masterpieces by Beethoven, Prokofiev and Poulenc, but in a way the hardest work to bring off was the opening piece, Saint-Saëns’ Caprice on Russian and Danish Airs for flute, oboe, clarinet and piano, since it may be the weakest work this prolific composer ever published. It begins with warm-up arpeggios, and lacks variety in the airs, or in the timbre of the three high wind instruments, and is not capricious enough to be called more than a medley. We heard some polished individual playing to whet our appetites, but this was not enough to rescue the work as a whole. 

The Beethoven Quintet Op.16 immediately moved us to a higher plane. This work was inspired by Mozart’s great K.452 for the same instruments – piano with wind quintet minus flute – and is even in the same key of E flat. The group got off to an excellent start in both dynamics and style. Pianist Pedja Muzijevic had such a light touch that he could play with the piano lid fully open without overwhelming the other instruments, and the unforced sound of the group helped show the connection of the style to that of Mozart, while making room for Beethoven’s more abrupt and noisy gestures to stand out without exaggeration. The melodious first movement was both clearly laid out and expressive, with a magical hush of the coda and a long trill perfectly finished. The Andante cantabile middle movement lived up to its billing, with each instrumentalist having a chance to sing and to shape phrases like a singer – Vogel with his sweet and stylish oboe, Jo-Ann Sternberg with mellow and subtle clarinet, Cynde Iverson blossoming on bassoon in the major solos, Alma Maria Liebrecht a full-bodied horn with a little brassy brightness, and pianist Muzijevic achieving a fine legato while the wind instruments echoed phrases that appealed to them. The Allegro finale was taken at a very brisk pace, only just succeeding in observing the ma non troppo marking out of respect for the pianist’s running sixteenths. There was a fine moment of suspense entering the coda, building up to a solid close. 

After the intermission, we moved into the twentieth century, beginning with Prokofiev’s Flute Sonata, Op.94, written in the dark days of the war in 1943. This is a fine work, and within a year the composer himself had made a violin arrangement for David Oistrakh. More recently, it has also been successfully transcribed for clarinet. On this occasion, flutist Susan Rotholz delighted us with the original version, displaying all the variety of color and the virtuosity needed to sustain this full-length piece. Muzijevic was an exemplary partner, using Prokofiev’s dissonances to spice his neoclassicism rather than to sound brutally aggressive. The Moderato first movement was taken rather slowly, but this had the advantage of allowing all the ideas in the first subject group to register, and the memorable second subject to pass through some more serious shades than usual. Emotion and intellect were nicely balanced, and the recapitulation was spellbinding. The charming scherzo began with a rhythmic tussle between the flute’s three groups of two beats against the piano’s two groups of three, won by the piano with a boisterous waltz decorated by the flute. The Trio section had a lovely melody, with the flute descending to some of its lowest notes.  The flute’s first theme in the Andante ends with a delicious resolution on the piano to C major, and leads to sinuous triplets in the middle section before the return of the seamless legato, whether moving stepwise or spanning wide intervals. The final Rondo has a bouncy march theme with a couple of interludes, and was delivered with panache by these two excellent musicians. Anyone who wishes to hear the work again, or who missed this live performance, could not do better than listen to the recording by James Galway and Martha Argerich (for example by streaming or downloading from www.classicalarchives.com). 

Finally all the players assembled for Poulenc’s Sextet, which they played with both warmth and precision, avoiding the traps in the quicker sections, especially in the interjections of the first movement, of sounding raucous or slightly out of control. The first two movements have the A-B-A form, the first with quick and witty outer sections enclosing a deliciously languid and sentimental center, while the second movement has slow outer sections surrounding a lively interlude. The brash start to the first movement was stopped in its tracks by a moving soliloquy on the bassoon, leading to the lush slow melodies soaring on oboe and horn especially. We heard flutter-tonguing on the flute, and radiant phrases on the clarinet, before bedlam broke loose again. All the instruments had their opportunities to shine in the second movement, and there was some pretty ensemble playing in the coda before the sad close on a minor chord. The finale is a kind of rondo with a rapid stuttering tune and a big striding one, which suddenly expires into a recall of the slow center of the first movement, before gathering itself for one final grandiose dissonance. 

Given the variable membership of the Wind Soloists of New York, they, and their pianist, produced remarkable unanimity, together with excellent individual quality of tone and phrasing – a testament to the wealth of musical talent that gravitates to the Big Apple. 

  [David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

 

Chamber Music Monterey Bay patrons were treated to a varied program at Sunset Center last night, Friday March 11, 2011, with the Amelia Piano Trio being joined by Wang Guowei, a virtuoso of the two-stringed Chinese violin, the erhu. An exceptionally good performance of the Ravel Piano Trio was a memorable climax to the concert, and earlier we had been fascinated and impressed by the sound of the erhu, unfamiliar to most of us – although there were at least two local players of this instrument present. 

The evening began with Debussy’s early Piano Trio, serving as a matching bookend for the Ravel, with the erhu works held between them. Although written before Debussy adopted the whole-tone scale and developed his distinctive style, this trio is more than a salon piece, and recordings such as that by the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center bring it alive as the work of a great composer in the making. (Try streaming or downloading, for example from www.classicalarchives.com). However, only cellist Jason Duckles seemed to take this more elevated view of the piece, expressive from his first entry, and he was unable to persuade his colleagues to commit more strongly until the appassionato finale. We could not have guessed that violinist Anthea Kreston and pianist Andrew Armstrong would later load the dice so much in favor of Ravel by producing spectacular intensity and range of dynamics and color after the intermission. 

Of the three works involving the erhu, much the most successful was the unaccompanied Song of Henan by Hua Wanjun, a wild dance where we were treated to a wide range of characteristic effects from glissandi to almost human vocal or sobbing or choking sounds, with frequent vibrato and portamento. Although based on folk tunes, this piece used a scale that sounded surprisingly close to a western one – perhaps it had been chosen for this reason to make it accessible to us. It was easy to appreciate Wang Guowei’s mastery of the instrument, and the boa-constrictor-skin soundbox gave him uncanny projection, much greater than that of a violin. Hence in an arrangement of Mozart’s early Violin Sonata K.7, the erhu held the attention even when playing an inner part, and came across beautifully, rather as an oboe would, in the solo of the central section. While we could reflect on the many similarities of true artistry on eastern and western instruments, the overall effect was too unbalanced to be satisfying. Similar problems arose in the River Song by Yang Yong, a duo for erhu and cello, in which the composer alternated sections where the instruments went their own sweet way, one in the eastern and one in the western idiom, with more enjoyable sections where they were allowed to cooperate in a lively melody. 

Within the first few seconds of the Ravel Piano Trio, it was clear that the Amelia Trio had a deep insight into the work and intended to make it an unforgettable experience. This was a great relief, since I have to admit that in a less inspired performance I can find the pervasive modal meanderings somewhere between boring and depressing. In the first movement, the quiet piano opening and the high violin entry were magical, as was the passage with violin and cello playing octaves apart, and the stillness of the closing bars. In between, we heard a wide variety of moods, including surprising passion and vivid angularity. The second movement is a striking scherzo with the mysterious title Pantoum, since Ravel followed the structure of this Malaysian verse form, and we heard enthusiastic contrasts between the two themes, one staccato and one with legato swoops. The slow Passacaille was most moving, the piano introducing the theme in the low bass, followed by somber cello and then rich violin on the G string, before all three combine in the impassioned heart of the movement. An eloquent cello solo led us back to where we began, with the bass line on the piano. The stage was thus set for the heroic finale, which came to resemble a piano concerto – Ravel had placed piano as first of the three instruments on the title page of the manuscript – and here the balance was excellent – kudos both to the pianist for his sensitivity, and to piano technician Jim Christopher for the voicing of the instrument. We heard thunderous playing of octaves, and yet the sound was never harsh or obliterating the strings, which could shimmer or play accompanying trills or join in the radiant melodies. At the other extreme, there were exquisite ripples and filigree decorations before the build-up to the triumphant ending. A fine performance indeed! 

As usual for CMMB concerts, the stage was enhanced by a flower arrangement, which on this occasion was one of the most magnificent.

  [David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

The Rossetti String Quartet, making a welcome return visit to the Mozart Society on April 30, 2010, reveled in the lively acoustic of All Saints’ Church, Carmel, and gave vividly characterized performances of quartets by Haydn, Mozart, and Dvořák. The audience amply compensated for what it lacked in numbers by the enthusiasm with which it applauded all three of the works, and the compelling quality of the playing was such that when I looked around to check on other listeners during the movements, I seemed to be the only one who was not one hundred per cent attending to the music.

This quartet is unusual in that all four players exhibit distinct personalities, and yet achieve well-integrated results thanks to unanimity of musical purpose and expressiveness. Henry Gronnier was a forthright leader throughout, with the most brilliance of tone, and also with a fine range of color, dynamics and articulation. Second violinist Sara Parkins displayed similar qualities when playing with the first violin in well-tuned thirds or in precise staccato and also had a warm tone for low solos or dialogues with the viola. The chosen seating arrangement, with viola next to second violin and cello at the front facing the first violin, seemed to suit the players. Violist Thomas Diener benefited by being able to project important passages without having to swivel towards the audience – often a violist is barely audible except for big solos when he turns as if with a placard saying ‘viola solo’.  Instead, Diener plays naturally and with subtlety as though he just has a larger violin. Cellist Eric Gaenslen then achieves gentle balance by facing across the stage and playing flawlessly without undue assertion – although coming out with rapid triplets or plummy pizzicato when needed.

It seemed in advance that the order of the program might present some difficulty, with the first two quartets, the Haydn, Op.20 No.5 and Mozart K.499, having so many similarities – each has a sonata-form first movement without strong contrasts, a short minuet with lively trio, an extended slow movement bearing most of the emotional weight, and a brilliant finale. However, the Rossetti Quartet made a satisfying distinction, mainly (and appropriately for a Mozart Society concert) by showing what Mozart added to what he had learned from Haydn. Rather than the teashop style sometimes adopted for Mozart quartets (and piano sonatas), we heard full-bodied incisive playing, together with gracious legato and lighter touches and hints of sadness, to remind us that Mozart was soon to embark on his late masterpieces for string quintet (with a second viola).

Right from the start of Dvorak’s Op.51 Quartet, we were in another world, with its idiosyncratic Czech decorations and dance rhythms.  The delightful first movement sets the stage for the two slow movements to follow – a passionate Dumka, with its alternating slower and faster sections, and then the more flowing legato of the Romanze.  The finale has an infectious gaiety, its main rapid melody beginning with a couple of pick-up notes, interleaved with some reflective moments, and even a kind of deconstruction leading to a pause before launching into the reprise, some more exciting arpeggios, and the conclusive E flat chords.

Although the audience could have gone on listening all night to playing like this, they, like the musicians, were content at this stage to settle for the traditional sumptuous refreshments provided by the Mozart Society.

[David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

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The English composer, pianist and conductor Thomas Adès made a welcome return to San Francisco on Thursday, March 16, 2010, confirming his exceptional gifts in the first two of those roles in a piano recital that included the US première of his Concert Paraphrase on Powder Her Face, derived from four scenes of his highly successful opera about the scandalous life of the Duchess of Argyll.  (The Herbst Theatre was two days ahead of Carnegie Hall on the schedule, although two days later than Vancouver.) 

Playing to a full house, Adès presented a program that was full of musical allusions – his own paraphrase of a work that itself included echoes of popular music, a Liszt transcription of Wagner, violent Prokofiev beginning with tritones which Liszt had exploited in his Dante fantasia, concise Schubert in the style of his lieder, and Janáček’s simple yet profound pieces paying homage to Beethoven’s bagatelles, which themselves contain many reminders of earlier Beethoven.  

These were clearly composers who meant much to Adès, and we were treated to interpretations that offered the insights of one composer into the works of others.  As a pianist, Adès places a flawless technique at the service of the music, whether in conveying the overall structure, or exquisite detail, or inner voices, or atmospheric sonorities.  He has a fine ear, and he invites the audience to share in his listening by moving his dynamic range down a notch below that of most solo pianists.  By employing several levels between p and pppp, often with the soft pedal, he can make sufficiently dramatic contrasts of loud passages without deafening the audience or losing tone quality.  As an opera composer who is also a pianist and conductor, he is sometimes compared to Benjamin Britten, and his piano style has something in common, being very precise rhythmically, slightly dry and cerebral – elegant, profound or witty, but not luscious or sentimental.  Adès, however, also appears sympathetic to the flamboyant dimension of the more serious side of Liszt, although without aiming to compete as a crowd-pleasing virtuoso. 

Beginning with the second book of Janáček’s On the Overgrown Path, Adès quietly conveyed his fascination with these five miniatures, mostly sad or poignant, although the fourth of them has noisy bravado interludes.  Already it was possible to appreciate Adès’ profound interest in musical development of simple motifs, and the true rubato of his expressive playing, giving back borrowed time in order to maintain the flow and the sense of architectural control. 

Liszt’s transcription of Isoldens Liebestod from the tragic ending of Tristan und Isolde was taken at just the right tempo for Wagner’s endlessly inventive chromaticism to work its magic – slow enough to honour this strange exultation of love in death, but not so slow as to outstay its welcome.  A wide variety of orchestral colour was on display, ranging from delicate washes of skillfully disguised tremolos and arpeggios, to the huge brassy climaxes.  What gorgeous music! 

We were quickly brought to our senses by the start of Prokofiev’s five Sarcasms, Op.17, written in his early enfant terrible style, with almost arbitrary wrong-note dissonances and driving rhythms. But soon we were enjoying the arabesques and dazzling final scale of the second piece, and the tender center section set in the ostinato third.  The martial energy was maintained in the fourth piece, becoming even more frenzied in the precipitosissimo finale until suddenly there was silence, broken only by pairs of notes like raindrops, which were gradually strung together to sound more like an anticipation of Bartók’s Page from the Diary of a Fly.  Then there was a marvellous sonority like the tread of an army dying away in the bass, before the last few notes descended to the catacombs on a bottom C.  This was fine Prokofiev playing, with the aggression tempered by a spirit of playfulness and tenderness never too far away. 

The Schubert C minor Allegretto, D.915, is one of those deceptively simple pieces that say multum in parvo – much in little – like the Janáček at the start of this program and the Beethoven to come, which served as bookends for the varied fare between them.  Here we heard Schubert at his most economical, as in the piano parts for so many of his lieder, with never a note unneeded, or failing to exert its emotional influence.  The playing was perfect. 

Barely pausing for a moment, Adès launched into his own work, a free concert paraphrase rather than a strict transcription from Powder Her Face – his opera that is in the nature of an English Lulu.  It was exciting to hear this US première of a work that may become established in the repertoire of virtuoso pianists – the technical demands at times are considerable, but of course Adès was masterly.  The chamber orchestra scoring of the opera contains many attractive ideas to nourish the paraphrase, and some of the spiky vocal writing may even sound better on the piano.  The influence of 1930’s popular music is heard at the beginning, and echoes of the tango accompany the sad ending.  In between are sections based on the scenes “Is Daddy Squiffy?” and “Fancy Being Rich”.  Melodies have to contend with irreverent commentary, and the variety of piano styles encompasses filigree decoration as in the Liszt Sonata, and thundering as in Ravel’s La Valse, romantic ripples almost as in Chopin, and staccato as incisive as in Prokofiev, before the widely spaced lines of the sombre close.  Among the orchestral effects was a spectacular evocation of the bass clarinet – an instrument that plays an important role in the opera.  The work was enthusiastically received by an attentive audience. 

The choice of Beethoven’s late Bagatelles, Op.126, to close the program was effective in linking back to the Janáček and Schubert, and revealing Beethoven’s stature even in these six short, mostly quiet, pieces.  There was an element of homage from a contemporary composer to the great master, who himself seemed to be musing mostly over his own earlier work, although in the second piece a Bach-like toccata briefly erupts.  In the last piece, the noisy start prepares us for something like the Rage over a Lost Penny, but it immediately gives way to a gentle Andante with Schubertian triplet decorations.  The return of the noisy start showed that it was only a joke, en route to a triumphant E flat major close. 

As a first encore, Adès gave a winning performance of Liszt’s Valse Oubliée, exhibiting both the shimmering delicacy and the magnificent glamour before the final deconstruction as the memory fades.

Next, we heard more Prokofiev, the charming 11^th piece of his Visions fugitives, Op. 22, and finally Couperin, another favourite composer of Adès, with his Mysterious Barricades to provide a serene conclusion.

 [David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

Thomas Hoppe, piano, Annette von Hehn, violin, and Stefan Heinemeyer, cello

Every two years, since Chamber Music Monterey Bay began its support of the international Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson competition for young piano trios, we have had the opportunity to hear the latest winners. This has always been an exciting event, both for the quality of the playing, and for the wide appeal of this combination of strings and piano, and the performances by the ATOS Trio from Germany at Sunset Center last night ran true to form.

Often the composers of piano trios have themselves been accomplished pianists, such as Beethoven and Schubert, who wrote correspondingly ambitious piano parts, but the centerpiece of the ATOS program was an exception, being by the celebrated cellist Gaspar Cassada, who was a pupil of Casals. On the evidence of his vivid C major Trio, published in 1926, he could equally well have made his name as a composer (having studied composition with Ravel and de Falla). The concert really came alive with the almost frenzied risoluto opening of the work, with jagged Spanish rhythms, and full tone from all the instruments. Similar passages alternated with gentler lyrical interludes, where the trio exhibited a remarkable variety of colors and expression at relaxed tempi. The piano was played with a wide dynamic range and fully-pedaled sonority, sounding the best it has in this hall for some time. The middle movement began with ghostly glissandi and violin harmonics, with pizzicato interjections, and some notably sensitive cello solos. The balance of the three instruments was sonically excellent throughout, but in terms of expressiveness, the pianist and cellist allowed themselves greater freedom than the fine violinist, who was rather more restrained. The finale was full of Spanish dance rhythms and the typical use of a triplet pickup to a note, laced with humor and sentiment. A bravura performance indeed, received with cheers from the audience.

The opening Beethoven Trio in G major, Op.1 No.2, had been efficiently played, but gave little idea of the true potential of the ATOS Trio. This seemed to be largely due to a conscious decision to aim for a “period” effect, paying homage to Haydn and Mozart, with the modern grand piano being used to simulate a 1795 piano, or even a fortepiano, by using little pedal and a narrow dynamic range with light bass. The string parts were also lightweight, and in pianissimo almost dead. An alternative approach would have been to use the modern piano as Beethoven might have done, with similar warmth from the strings, but still within the classical mould – for a compelling example of this, try downloading the recording made by the young Daniel Barenboim with Pinchas Zukerman and Jacqueline duPre  A performance of any of Beethoven’s Op.1 Trios ought to elicit wonder at the quality of his first published works.

By contrast, the performance of Schubert’s second Piano Trio, Op.100 D 929 in E Flat, was an extraordinary experience. The resources of the modern grand piano were used to the full (occasionally going slightly over the top), and the strings played with the warmth and charm that had been evident in the Cassada. This familiar warhorse of the repertoire was offered to us with new freshness and imagination, and quite early in the first movement, there were supple, gentle conversations between the parts that brought the true chamber music spirit to the stage. This gifted trio managed to communicate this to the audience more by drawing us into their world than by expressly aiming the music at us, and yet in pp and even ppp, there was a radiance about the sound that we were hearing. The haunting slow movement was played in lieder style, with the cello singing a melody of Swedish origin over the dry pulsing of the piano. Then came a beautiful legato violin line over piano triplets, and the violin and cello joining forces passionately to take the original melody. The Scherzo and Trio were nicely done, and the final major achievement was to hold the audience’s attention through the very long finale, in which Schubert could not resist reintroducing the Swedish tune from the slow movement, and even repeating it again in the coda, before the closing strong chords – as in all the previous movements, the ATOS Trio gave us a perfect ending.

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[David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

The St. Lawrence string quartet rounded out a strong Chamber Music Monterey Bay season at Sunset Center last night with impassioned performances of works by Haydn, John Adams and Mendelssohn. The homogeneity and warmth of their tone were remarkable, the quartet sounding like a single rich instrument expressing the musical ideas in a flow of liquid gold. Together with much brilliant passage work, this was virtuosity of a high order. The visual effect was also striking, not only for the fine floral display to the side of the stage, but for the footwork of the players which deserved some comments from a ballet critic. At times both violinists had both feet off the floor, the cellist went on his toes, and the viola rocked back on high stiletto heels. The first violinist also exhibited a wide repertoire of knee movements, and yet, closing one’s eyes, one could confirm that none of this display detracted from the pure musical quality of the sound produced.

Beginning with the second of Haydn’s Lobkowitz quartets, Op.77 no.2 in the pastoral key of F major, the players took a couple of movements to reach their best, the first movement being rather briskly efficient, and the unusual presto minuet being a shade too quick to make the most of its witty hemiolas, although the haunted tone color of the trio section was a harbinger of things to come. It was in the slow movement that the quartet relaxed and gave an outstanding account of the theme and Haydn’s effortless variations, reminiscent of his Emperor quartet, achieving divine simplicity with very sparing use of vibrato, and some magical ppp filigree violin decorations over the cello statement of the theme. The turns, which are such a feature of the melody, were played with elegance and consistency on the different instruments, and listeners were drawn into this intimate music making, with its moving final pianissimo occurrence of the theme. This high standard was maintained through the finale, with beautifully sprung rhythm and excellent intonation, nowhere more evident than in the delightful high pp violin comments near the end, leading to a convincing conclusion and an enthusiastic reception from the audience.

The new Quartet from celebrated San Francisco composer John Adams was written for the St. Lawrence Quartet, thanks to a commission from the Juilliard School, with generous support from the Trust of Francis Goelet, Stanford Lively Arts, and the Banff Centre. An astonishingly motivated and intense work, it would take more than one hearing to come to terms with it, but the St. Lawrence players left no doubt of their commitment and mastery – let us hope they are intending to record it. The only help we were given beforehand was to be told that there were two sections, both long. The structure of the work seemed to be that of a mystery whose secret was revealed only at the end, where a few distinct notes were played and then assembled into an unresolved dissonance. With this information, the plot should be much easier to follow at a second hearing. However, all that this reviewer can report at the moment is that within each section, there appeared to be an approximation to two linked movements, first a frenetic opening movement followed by a slow movement, then a scherzo running into a finale. There was undeniable momentum and emotional impact, with the first and third “movements” in particular exploiting ostinato rhythms while, as usual with Adams, introducing enough variety to avoid the near-boredom induced by the total minimalists.  Right from the start, the ostinato served only as an accompaniment to pizzicato and arco melodies on the cello, and legato phrases on the violins, even some bat-like squeaks, and a reproving comment from the viola (overall, this was a quiet night for the viola, who was however a flawless contributor to the ensemble). There was sweet high vibrato in the violins, virtuosity from the cello, and incessant underlying frenzy even in pianissimo, until suddenly the mood changed. The unaccompanied violin, then viola, led us into the slow “movement”, with the whole quartet coming together in something akin to Bartok’s “night music” effects, with quasi glissandi, trills and tremolos, and jagged rhythms accented with pizzicati. The whole first section closed with single notes on each instrument. The ensuing scherzo with its rapid chugging accompaniment was eerily like a twenty-first century take on Haydn’s presto minuet that we had heard earlier, and there was a great feeling that members of the St. Lawrence quartet all have rhythm in their bones, giving them a natural precision. However, the composer has a joke up his sleeve, inserting an interlude which sounds like a rehearsal gone astray, with the cello stubbornly insisting on his own rhythm and taking on the rest of the quartet single-handed for a while before everyone quietly restarts the chugging, and moves on to the finale with more special effects such as drones, working up to a fine climax before the eventual expository dissonance. The St. Lawrence quartet proved to be a brilliant advocate of this challenging addition to the repertoire.

By this stage of the proceedings, the St. Lawrence players were in fine shape to bring to Mendelssohn the extra fire needed  to bring his later compositions into the same league as his incomparable early Octet, and they did not disappoint. The Op.80 Quartet in F minor was written after the death of Mendelssohn’s sister Fanny (to be followed all too soon by his own death), and in it he seems both to rail against her early death, and to celebrate her life. We heard agonized dotted rhythms on the minor sixth, and moving espressivo phrasing without any loss of urgency, through to the dramatic accelerando that closes the first movement – this is a work of economical proportions, where none of the movements outstays its welcome. The opening phrases of the strangely yearning scherzo were perhaps a shade too turbulent, but the ending pizzicati were always wonderfully well done, and the trio had the viola and cello beautifully blended. The serene slow movement in A flat major again showed us how well this quartet can play in a semplice style, with gorgeous sound, restraint, and the clearly intended portamento across the wide intervals. The finale returned to the minor, and moved inexorably to the overwhelming ending. A memorable performance!

As an encore, we were treated to a movement from Dvorak’s “Cypresses”, a work that he had himself arranged for string quartet from an early set of songs. For this, the second violinist took the first chair, and played the innocent melody with ideal purity of tone.

[David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, and a music lover of broad experience and taste, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

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The well-established English pianist Imogen Cooper was warmly received by the Steinway Society audience at Le Petit Trianon, San Jose on Sunday evening, March 22, 2009. Her recital was devoted largely to the work of Schubert, preceded by Bach in the first half, and Schoenberg in the second.

The first half of the program would have been heard to better advantage in one of the large halls in which Ms. Cooper customarily plays. Bach’s Partita No.2 in C minor, BWV 826, was firm and fully pedalled. To a listener, the biggest problem with this work is that after an interesting three-section Sinfonia, the Allemande, Corrente, and even the Sarabande, do not find Bach at his most memorable – a little more contrast in tempo between the Allemande and Corrente might have helped. But the final Rondeaux and Capriccio showed why this work retains its place in the repertory, with their spirited rhythms and leaps, and here Ms. Cooper achieved an irresistible momentum, even through the cerebral fugal writing, complete with inversions.

Schubert’s six Moments Musicaux, D.780, also sounded too heavy, with few revelations until we came to the final Allegretto, which was played altogether more softly and with a subtlety that we could appreciate as we were invited into the pianist’s world. One remembers especially the magical modulation from A flat to E major, and the serene pp of the Trio.

Surprisingly, it was Schoenberg’s Six Little Pieces, Op.19, that inspired the most completely successful performance of the evening, with delicate and fastidious attention to detail in an affectionate presentation of these miniatures, poised in the atonal no-man’s-land between the composer’s early decadent romanticism and his eventual rigorous serialism. The first piece was quiet, with a few tender melodic phrases and ppp flutterings, while the second was notable for its insistent use of thirds in an otherwise atonal composition (Alban Berg used this as the model for the second of his Op.5 clarinet pieces). The legato third piece came over well, with its forte right hand over pianissimo left hand, and the lively fourth and fifth pieces lightened the mood. Ironically, in view of the high volume level we heard in other works, the last line of number four could have been more martellato, and the final fff note could have been louder! The work closed with the funereal homage to Mahler, with soft chords in fourths, and occasional chromatic murmurs, before the final expiry of breath on a bottom A flat. This left the pianist also in an apparently expired position over the bass notes.

As we waited to applaud, it was subito Schubert, and Ms. Cooper had launched into the posthumous C minor Sonata, D.958, of which she gave an assured performance. The louder parts still tended to be played rather concerto-style, but there were many tender moments in the best Schubertian spirit, such as in the meandering melody, eventually decorated by soft chromatic scales, before the first movement recapitulation, and in the infectious skipping melody of the finale, with its delicious switch to a B major interlude.

The encore was also notable for introducing us to not one, but sixteen less familiar works of Schubert, a set of German Dances in which Ms. Cooper reveled in the variety of slow, skittish, loud, quiet, rippling, hesitating, and so forth, before the rousing climax.

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[David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, is a music lover of broad experience and taste, and is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

Beginning with the only non-Russian work in the program, Schubert’s “short A major” Sonata, D.664 or Op.120, Ovchinnikov took the opening Allegro moderato very slowly and with unnatural rubato, although with warm tone and delicacy, and with a song-like melody floating over a soft accompaniment. However, the forte octaves were not fluent, and there were a few unexpected notes. The slow movement went better, with a sustained mood, and beautifully placed final chords, leading to a rippling account of the finale at a fast tempo. The descending scales were delightfully expressive, and the legato melody over staccato left hand was ideally presented. Another promising sign was the musical understanding of Schubert’s pianistic flourishes, transcending the mechanics of the notes used to achieve the effects.

 As soon as Ovchinnikov launched into Scriabin’s 5^th Sonata, Op.53, we heard his second incarnation, confident and virtuosic, the pianist who was a top prizewinner in the 1980s at the Tchaikovsky and Leeds competitions. There was great zip up to sf notes in the introduction, followed by extreme languor and dreaminess. The work, in a single movement, alternates between these moods, with a new, stabbing idea introducing some loud sections, and thunderous climaxes threatening to deafen us. Even Horowitz could sound clangorous in these sections, so we probably have to accept this as what Scriabin intended, and Ovchinnikov avoided going over the top, by means of crisp articulation of the melodic lines and some deft pedaling. Authoritative in the most demanding passages, including a huge chromatic outburst, he relaxed instantly into the stillness of the dreamy moods, before producing a dazzling conclusion with a zip up to the final note to match that of the introduction.

The chosen first four of Rachmaninov’s Moments Musicaux, Op.16, were equally compelling. Structurally, they even resemble the outline of a rather gloomy sonata, with a scherzo-like second movement, and the slow movement coming third, but all movements being in minor keys. Although Rachmaninov is reputed to have written these pieces mainly to supplement his income, they exhibit his extraordinary ability to express emotion and hold the interest while organically developing very simple, mostly stepwise and meandering, melodic material. The first piece began with Ovchinnikov reveling in the gentle two-against-three melody, leading to a delicious cadenza, and a ­con moto section over fluid and shapely groups of six notes. This was a nice warm up for the second piece, a rapid perpetuum mobile in triplets, which Ovchinnikov dispatched effortlessly, with a nice ending. The somber slow movement was rich and moving, turning explicitly funereal when the staccato bass octaves appeared in the accompaniment, and Ovchinnikov completed the set with commanding virtuosity in the presto finale.

After the intermission, we were introduced to a Mazurka, Polka, and Tarantella by Nikolai Rubinstein, younger brother of the more celebrated Anton. Nikolai’s main claims to fame are that he founded the Moscow Conservatory in 1866, and that he was highly regarded by Tchaikovsky, who wrote his first piano concerto for him – however, Rubinstein then refused to play it unless it was altered, which Tchaikovsky declined to do. Nevertheless, after Nikolai’s death, Tchaikovsky wrote his gorgeous and lengthy Piano Trio and dedicated it to him, “In Memory of a Great Artist”. In the three pieces that Ovchinnikov had chosen, we heard pianist number three, playing with an unvaried and heavy-handed hard tone. The Tarantella was much the best of the pieces, prestissimo with spirited triplets, but overall one couldn’t help wondering whether professors at the Moscow Conservatory dutifully programmed these pieces in homage to their founder.

Unfortunately, this style of playing carried over into the louder parts of Prokofiev’s own reduction of movements from his Cinderella ballet. There was lovely warmth with a slow pulse in the Valse Lente, and an affecting quiet pas de deux Cinderella and the Prince, but the finale was very noisy.

So it was remarkable that the superb pianist number two reemerged for Percy Grainger’s transcription of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers from the Nutcracker ballet, when we had feared that Grainger might have written one of his jaunty instructions such as “Louden lots”. Instead, we heard a tasteful arrangement, played with subtlety and great beauty in the familiar waltz theme itself, and with any echoes of Grainger’s Country Gardens quickly replaced by more Lisztian decorations. All the light and shade in Ovchinnikov’s touch had returned, together with his love of the music.

For his encores, Ovchinnikov happily gave us more Rachmaninov with the drowsy, summery Lilacs ( to hear Rachmaninov playing this, visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftD3yLAUexk ), and the witty Polka de W.R. ( for some Horowitz magic, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbF1HblkHFo ). Ovchinnikov achieved every pianist’s goal, departing with his bouquet and leaving an audience wanting to hear him again.

 [David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, and a music lover of broad experience and taste, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]

       The 2008 Young Artists Concert of the Steinway Society of the Bay Area was yet another stellar event in this series of annual concerts, which never fail to astonish with the musicianship as well as the dexterity of the seasoned young performers (all of them this year also A students in school). Taking place on Sunday evening, March 16, at Le Petit Trianon, San Jose, before a large and appreciative audience, this year’s program was notable for its variety (including a cellist and violinist as well as six pianists), and for the youthfulness of the artists (five of them being between the ages of 9 and 12, and the oldest perhaps 20). 

       The first two works on the program were rarities, both sets of variations that exploited florid display, and both uncharacteristic of their composers, although for different reasons – Chopin’s “Variations on a German National Air” because it takes a German theme and is largely in common time, and Schumann’s “Abegg” Variations because the piece is his Opus 1.   

       Alex Chien, neat and assured, played the Chopin with clean rhythm and nice rubato and tone. It was fascinating to watch his small hands immaculately dispatching the dazzling passagework, and he captured the lilt well in the mazurka variation. All of this was associated with strong musical instincts and a keen ear. 

       In the Schumann, based on a waltz theme beginning A, B flat, E, G, G, Laney Huang likewise reveled in flawless display, often with great rapidity, but always even and nicely shaded. Notable in different variations were her precisely synchronized hands when jumping around playing similar figurations, an elegant left-hand melody with hands crossed, a brilliant right-hand passage over bouncing left-hand accompaniment, and perfectly even trills. 

       Next we heard some mature and satisfying Bach playing from Hilda Huang. Offering three movements from one of the master’s most austere works, “The Art of Fugue,” she struck a fine balance between structure and expressiveness. The momentum was maintained throughout, without neglecting to point the fugal and canonic entries, and shape the decorative phrases and counter-melodies. The tone of the modern piano was used appropriately too, warm but still classically clean. After the opening Contrapunctus 1, stating the theme and its impressive development, reinforced by a gradual crescendo, we were treated to Contrapunctus 9 with its running eighths in cut time, and the Canon in Hypodiapason with its quick triplets, exhibiting some especially fluent left-hand playing. 

       Now it was the turn of the string players, who more than justified their inclusion with exceptional virtuosity and powers of communication with the audience – watch out, Yo-Yo Ma and Joshua Bell!   

       Travis Chen, the cellist, delivered Falla’s Ritual Fire Dance with all the fire and projection needed, and a fine sinewy tone. Dotted rhythms were given extra drama, and the slow interlude was luscious, with sonorous pizzicato. Next we heard a delightful performance of the Finale from Shostakovich’s Cello Sonata Op.40, one of the composer’s happiest inspirations. This takes the form of a spirited set of variations on a theme that sounds like a Russian folk dance gone astray, with the cello dashing around at high speed and joining in the witty by-play. Chen brought this off splendidly, and mention should also be made of the excellent contribution of Russian-born pianist Dmitry Cogan in both of these pieces, not least in the incandescent piano variation of the Shostakovich. 

       Mindy Chen then took the stage to perform two works for unaccompanied violin. The first of these, simply entitled “Watching White Wheat – Welsh Folksong arr. by Pwyll ap Sion”, turned out to be the biggest surprise of the evening, consisting of the innocent theme played with double-stopping, followed by four virtuoso variations and a short coda. A little research has revealed the explanation – this is a work newly commissioned as one of the set pieces for the junior section of the Yehudi Menuhin International Violin Competition to be held in Cardiff next month. (http://www.menuhincompetition.org/EVENTS-2008.html ) In fact, anyone who was as impressed as I was by the work and Chen’s performance of it need only follow the link http://www.thestrad.com/nStory.asp?id=959 to find the composer’s comments on the work and its interpretation, together with a link to a free download of the sheet music. The variations were all emotionally charged, while calling for techniques such as rapid arpeggios crossing strings, pizzicato on one string while playing arco on another, double tremolos, double pizzicato runs, and harmonics. All of these were played marvelously by Chen with the golden tone she produces from her 320-year old violin. If she has entered the Menuhin competition, let us hope she brings home first prize to the Bay Area. With equal excellence, she also gave us an old favorite, Wieniawski’s Etude-Caprice Op.18 No.4 (originally written for violin duet), its radiant up-tempo triplets leading to a delicate pizzicato ending. 

       The pianists then stormed back to complete the program – indeed, Jordan Ferrer rather overplayed the louder parts of Liszt’s Tarantelle, but otherwise displayed stunning technique, and much feeling for the poetry of Liszt’s idiom in the quieter passages. There was a beautiful soft melody over even softer accompaniment, and an ability to convey a quietly heroic mood. The section with rapid repeated notes was exquisitely handled, and the lovely ripples acted as a segue to the Ravel to come. A fine accelerando to the finish line closed a commanding performance of a fiendishly difficult work. 

       As a complete contrast, Emeline Oliphant brought the softest of touches to Ravel’s Jeux d’Eau, with just the right balance

between the ceaseless murmurings of the water and the melodic fragments emerging with more clarity from them. The occasional

more brilliant dramatic moments shone out, and then we returned to the subtleties of light and shade, suppleness, iridescence.

This was atmospheric playing of a high order. 

       For the grand finale, Angela Hwang gave an impassioned performance of Book I of Brahms’ magnificent Paganini Variations, with a fullness of tone reminiscent of the style of Claudio Arrau. The technical challenges had been thoroughly mastered, and there were many felicities along the way, such as the pretty trills and delicate filigree in variation 4, the crystalline innocence of variation 11, and the octave glissandi of variation 13. There were places, particularly in variation 7, where the playing had become too loud, but Hwang called on all her reserves of stamina in the extended final variation to bring this great work to a triumphant conclusion. 

       As always, all the young artists returned to the stage to take their final bow together, and receive a standing ovation from a moved and approving audience, who owe a debt not only to the performers, but to all who organized the event and to the parents and teachers who made this thrilling evening possible.

Schubert’s B minor Sonata, D.575, is rarely heard in recital, but the clarity of Schwartz’s playing made it easy to appreciate the structure and to follow the frequent modulations. Right from the start, there was a beautiful color in the introduction, and precision in the dotted rhythms which play an important role throughout this work. Within the first two lines, the dynamics range between ff and less than pp, and the initial B major swerves violently via C major into G major where it settles into the first of many beguiling melodies. Already it was clear that Schwartz had the gifts of portraying Schubertian drama without it sounding crude, of avoiding over-emphasis of accompanying figures, and of spinning out songful lines as though the piano were not a percussion instrument. There followed other themes in E major and F sharp major, and Schwartz observed the repeat of the exposition, which was welcome since this is by no means a long sonata by Schubert’s standards, and it also gave us an opportunity to notice the pianist’s relatively low wrist position and long fingers with which he achieves seemingly effortless subtlety. The short development has a little double-dotted excitement that is soothed away before the recapitulation which brings the whole exposition down a fifth, as though all the tunes were second subjects, with the ingenious result that the last theme is in the tonic of B major and the movement ends very softly and peacefully, its work done. The slow movement has a tastefully enlivened hymn-like tune for its outer sections, and an impressive storm in a teacup in the center, where Schwartz captured the passion without harshness, and relaxed into an especially felicitous trill as the storm subsided. His attentive ear was nowhere more in evidence than in the balance of the final E major chord. The scherzo had delightful light and shade, with a surprise modulation to B flat for its second strain, and the trio had a flowing accompaniment reminiscent of Gretchen at her spinning wheel. The 3/8 sonata-rondo finale had a nice bounce, straying into an innocent G major for a while, before deciding not to outstay its welcome, and recalling that it should be heading for a triumphant B major conclusion.This was a very satisfying performance, and made one hope to hear Schwartz play the posthumous sonatas, or indeed anything else by Schubert that he chose.Â

Prokofiev’s 4^th Sonata, Op.29. in C minor was completed in 1917, happily existing in a world independent of the Russian Revolution. Just as with the Schubert, Schwartz gave this relatively unfamiliar work a delightful airing, offering Prokofiev’s ‘wrong-note neo-classicism’ with a supple rhythm, warm tone, and delight in the dissonances. The sonata form of the first movement was clearly presented, beginning with the elusive pulse of two-beat phrases across the three-beat bar lines, and building via grace notes and more elaborate arabesques to a confident climax in the relative major of E flat. The development of all these ideas was fascinating, leading to an even bigger climax, and a quiet bridge to the C minor recapitulation which proceeded in best classical style, except for the two pairs of ff chords at the end, spiced with semitone dissonances. As Schwartz pointed out in his helpful and entertaining verbal introduction, the second movement has much in common with the Bydlo movement, conjuring up the old ox-cart, in Mussorgsky’s Pictures from an Exhibition. Prokofiev uses trudging thirds in the bass to accompany a slow fugue, and the whole long span of the movement was beautifully captured, with increasingly elaborate decorations and increasing volume, interrupted by a gentle middle section. Then comes a tranquil ending in which the gentle tune is played above the fugue theme until only the trudging thirds survive. The finale is a romp with the unusual marking of Allegro con brio, ma non leggiero (not lightly!), and fortunately we were given a gloriously spirited interpretation without being deafened. The rapid scales zip up to the first note of the melody like glissandi, but have to be fingered because their later incarnations are on a mixture of black and white notes. The bounding two-step gives way to a child-like dolce middle section, before returning in virtuosic form in a dazzling drive to the final deception of resounding C octaves in the bass being followed by the shock of an ff chord that is simultaneously in C major and C minor, with B natural added for good measure. The playing of this work had shown us the enfant terrible side of Prokofiev, and his dashing pianism, together with the seriousness and tenderness of which he was capable.Â

The program concluded with five of the twelve pieces from Albeniz’s magnum opus, ‘Iberia’. All five were in either 3/4 or 6/8 rhythm, reminiscent perhaps of Chopin’s Mazurkas in their imaginative variety within a limited compass of rhythmic and decorative devices. In fact, Albeniz is very sparing in the general outline of his melodies, using mainly stepwise arches, and repeated notes, with hesitations and triplet pickups as decorations, and yet he holds the attention with a combination of emotional expression, subtle variation, and highly ambitious and accomplished writing for the keyboard. Hence it was no surprise that Robert Schwartz had accepted the challenge (presented, he said, by a pupil) to play this music, so well suited to his strengths. The opening Evocacion (one of only a few works written in A flat minor – seven flats!) began with a rich and remarkable guitar timbre, and flowed smoothly and quietly, until rising from ppp to a brief fff outburst. Thereafter it was a wonderfully expressive couple of pages of pppp, even calling for ppppp at one point. The second selection, Rondeo±a, was a lively dance with alternating bars of 6/8 and 3/4 time, and Schwartz made the most of the contrasting middle section with its tenor melody of repeated notes and triplet flourish, and brought off the light 6/8 coda and the last two staccato chords delightfully. Malaga was notable for the strikingly clear and bright melodies over a shifting harmonic palette and for another rich tenor melody with repeated notes tugging at the heartstrings, before the rousing climax. The nonchalant 6/8 required by the composer throughout Almería came as second nature to Schwartz, even where the music is written on three staves, and he kept the music singing even when very soft. Triana provided a vivid bravura apotheosis, with spiky rhythms and dissonances, an affecting interlude, and a stormy finish.Â

After a prolonged standing ovation, Schwartz played as an encore Debussy’s prelude Les Collines du Anacapri with crisp and sensitive characterization, ending with those loud and very high notes that may have been the starting point for Messiaen’s extensive use of the extremes of the keyboard. But the choice of encore may have been to suggest some affinities between Albéniz and Debussy (two years his junior), such as the melodic arches and repeated notes in this prelude. As a footnote, we can look forward to a CD of Schwartz playing French music early in 2008.Â

Let us hope that we will not have to wait so long to hear Robert Schwartz at the Steinway Society again, and that he will record more CDs to bridge the gap. Â

[David Beech, an amateur clarinetist, pianist and clavichordist, and a music lover of broad experience and taste, is a frequent contributor as a guest reviewer in this column.]