Insider Interview with Violinist Maya Magub

During the global pandemic, the British-American violinist Maya Magub – like so many others – turned to music for solace. Her recording of Six Consolations by Franz Liszt (five of which were arranged by her, and recorded here for the first time), with the pianist Hsin-I Huang is on a new album, “Consolations” (CRD 3540, release date June 3, 2022). In anticipation of the June 3 album release, singles are released on April 22 (Consolation No. 5) and May 13 (Consolation No. 3).. We recently spoke with the violinist and asked her about her arranging these iconic works, the recording process, her career in Hollywood, and more!

You’ve said that, because the album was made during the pandemic, you had quite a unique recording process - and that sometimes it was a more “democratic” process. How did that work? 

Yes. Hsin-I and I had been playing together before the pandemic, and one of the things I was most sad about losing out on at the beginning of it all (alongside the global toilet paper shortage anxiety!!) was the ability to play chamber music. The idea for this project came to me very early on, and I think it was my way of feeling connected. I never feel isolated if I have my violin with me! So, after recording several film scores from my newly-assembled home studio, I realized it could be possible to make a violin and piano album this way, with lots of discussion and collaboration but recording separately. 

Of course it is always ideal to play together in the same space, but we did find some really surprising silver linings in the process of recording remotely. We couldn't begin by playing through the music, but in the early stages of rehearsal that often results in one person imposing their vision on the other (ok, yes, often the violinist...!!). This time we had to begin with discussion.  

Before any recording could happen, it was necessary to map out which of us had the part with the most momentum at any point (either a whole piece or sometimes sections within a piece) and let that person record first. In the transcriptions of piano pieces, it sometimes felt right to give Hsin-I the freedom to record first without any prior discussion, as she would choose to play the solo piano version. There were times when her recording would be a surprise to me, because I had envisioned an entirely different tempo.  

With the Bach/Gounod ‘Ave Maria’, for example, I had imagined playing it slower with long drawn out legato lines, suited to the violin’s greater ability to sustain. If we had been rehearsing in a conventional way I would probably have stopped early on and suggested a slower tempo, and she instinctively would have followed my rubato in certain places. In this case, her recording was so beautiful, sincere and profound that, though I had imagined it differently, I hated the idea of changing anything. Because of our unusual recording process, I had the chance to listen and play through with it many times and, over time, I found small ways to use rubato in its original definition - robbing time but then giving it back. I found that it was possible to feel free enough without stretching the overall tempo, and came to feel that I had made it 'my own'.  

Later, I discovered that the piece first came to life while Gounod was improvising over someone else’s rendition of the Bach (the piano line). So perhaps this unusual process had actually allowed us to approach the music in the same way, by honoring the Bach and adapting to that rather than treating it as an accompaniment.  

We had a similar experience with one of the Liszt Consolations - No. 5. Again, Hsin-I's vision was faster than I had imagined, but sounded beautiful. I just had to rethink and keep an open mind. After living with her recording for a while I realized that slurring more notes together made a huge difference, and I now can't imagine the piece any other way!  

Of course there were also times when one of us felt strongly about a passage after it had been recorded, and that we couldn’t play it that way with enough conviction to make it our own. These were times to take advantage of the ability to re-record after more discussion (without needing to rebook a studio!). All in all it took a LOT of time, but was very much a musical collaboration, just as it would have been recording conventionally.   

How did you approach creating the arrangements of Lizst’s Consolations for violin and piano? How are they different from the original score for piano solo? 

In thinking about music as consolation, I remembered that Milstein had transcribed the wonderful ‘Lento Placido’, Liszt’s Consolation No 3, and I wondered what the other 'Consolations' would sound like for violin and piano. It was so exciting listening to them, because it was so easy to imagine them this way, and that's how this whole project evolved. 

Much of Liszt's Consolations have obvious melody lines perfectly suited to the violin, and there are often musical echos that work well as a piano ‘answering phrase’. Tempting as it was to steal all the best melodies for the violin(!), an important part of the transcription process was to find moments where the violin should rest and the piano answer. After that, it was a question of making the new piano part flow logically in its own right, sometimes adding and sometimes  taking away so that the voice-leading made sense in its own right. 

I was lucky with the keys: The set of six Consolations oscillate between the contrasting keys of D flat and E major, both of which lie very well on the violin. The key of E major uses the brightness and natural resonance of the E string, and D flat has a contrasting richness. In Consolation No. 4, which has a prayer-like quality, I realized I could introduce another color by introducing the mute - 'con sordino'. 

It felt important to make use of the full pitch range of the violin, and it was natural to use two different registers for a repeated melody, or to play in octaves. Liszt uses a lot of thirds and sixths in the melody of Consolation No. 5, and they translated well. Occasionally the original voicing felt awkward on the violin, and it was fun to find the most violinistic way to keep the original harmonies by inverting some of the intervals. This one felt a lot like a Kreisler encore by the time I'd finished!  

The mini 'cadenza' in Consolation No. 6 was another fun moment to transcribe: the notes had to be changed to make them lie well on the violin, but within Liszt's original contours, and it was exciting experimenting with different patterns until it felt 'right'. I tried to think about what Milstein may have done, an my inspiration was his transcription of No. 3 with it's mini cadenzas. 

The album is aptly titled Consolations – not just because the works by Liszt are the focal point of the album, but the whole collection is meant to console. What music did you listen to during the last two years when you needed consolation? 

Like so many people, I found myself listening to all sorts of different music during the pandemic. And sadly, with war and inequality rife in the world today, we are no less in need of consolation now. Sometimes we need upbeat music to cheer us up, but I often find that slower, more nostalgic music brings consolation by making me feel understood, in a way that more precise verbal language can’t.  

The other pieces on the program came from piles of my father's old albums for violin and piano, full of the best loved tunes - some written for violin and piano, and others transcribed from operas or the piano repertoire. I had performed many of these over the years for the wonderful UK charity, 'Everyone Matters', which brings concerts to care homes and hospices. The audiences there are so appreciative of a really great melody, especially one they remember from their past; but these short pieces are so well known that musicians tend to look down on them.  

Somehow the pandemic gave me back the ability to appreciate them for what they really are and draw on them for my own consolation. Choosing the selections for the album was a great opportunity to frame every piece within this theme of consolation, and I realized afterwards that this had made me approach and play them differently. Certainly listening to them as a collection feels very different from hearing one in isolation as an encore, and gives them an extra weight and profundity. I hope that's something that other listeners will feel on some level and take away from the album. 

In addition to your own albums, you have a career in Hollywood, featured on countless movie soundtracks and pop recordings. Out of all these projects, are there any that stand out from the others as favorites, or ones you were most excited to take a part in? 

Oh so many...! I really feel so lucky to be doing what I do, and to be immersed in it here where it all happens. I love walking into a studio - Fox, or Warner’s or Sony - where they are busy building sets for a movie, and knowing that Clint Eastwood can just wander into our recording at any moment! Every time we play for John Williams is a dream: the music is sublime and he hears everything. From Star Wars to his solo violin album with the wonderful Anne Sophie Mutter, it has been amazing just to be in the same room as him. I've had many exciting moments with icons like Burt Bacharach; Bono at the Hollywood Bowl (where Bill and Hillary Clinton asked to meet the musicians afterwards!); and Adele at the Grammys. We have worked with Alan Menken, Hans Zimmer, Danny Elfman... many legends and many exciting times! 

Insider Interview with Variant 6

On May 20, the vocal ensemble Variant 6 releases New Suns (Open G). The Philadelphia-based group’s debut full-length album celebrates a widely diverse range of styles and sounds of 21st century vocal music, with works by Joanne Metcalf, Jeremy Gill, Bruno Bettinelli, Benjamin C.S. Boyle, and Gabriel Jackson. We spoke Variant 6’s Elisa Sutherland, mezzo-soprano, about the album, choosing repertoire, collaborating with composers, and so much more.

How did you all meet, and at what point did you know you wanted to pursue a path forward as the ensemble Variant 6?

I met James Reese at Northwestern University - I was in my fifth year of a double degree program, voice and poetry, and he was a freshman voice major. I met the rest of the members of Variant 6 when I started singing with The Crossing in 2014. It was only a year and a half later, in the fall of 2015, that the six of us decided to form a one-on-a-part vocal ensemble. At that time, we had no idea what this ensemble would become; our only goal was to program and plan for one concert, and as soon as it was over, start planning for the next. 

Vocal ensembles of your size seem to either be specialists in contemporary music, or early music – and you seem to have your feet squarely in both worlds. Why is this? What is the throughline between the two periods and chamber-sized vocal ensembles? 

Our love of both early and contemporary music stems from the wide range of specialization that each of our singers has. James Reese and Jessica Beebe both have degrees in early music, and Rebecca Myers is becoming very well known across the country as a Bach interpreter. I have always loved complicated contemporary music, and I frequently perform solo chamber contemporary music, as well as with my other vocal sextet, Ekmeles, which specializes in microtonal tuning. We all bring our own interests and skill sets, and because we are all encouraged to put forward ideas, Variant 6’s programming reflects this. 

What qualities do you look for in a composer when searching for potential collaborators to commission?

I personally look for someone who is going to be interested in learning how our ensemble sings together. We have a unique voicing - we have two high sopranos, and two very high tenors, as well as an alto and a bass who are comfortable in their higher registers. We love singing music that allows us to use the meat of our voices – much of the music on New Suns features our bright, ringing singing. 

What do you hope listeners take away from the album? 

I’m excited for listeners to hear the complexity and beauty of one-on-a-part a cappella singing. I’m also interested to hear people’s reactions about the recording style; we purposely chose a closer, intimate sound, as opposed to a roomy, super reverberant aura. Our recording engineer used close mics to record us, and at any point during the recording you can pick out all six of our individual voices. You feel very exposed, but I also think listeners will feel like they get to know us individually over the course of the album!

Composer Margaret Brouwer's new album featured in Gramophone

Gramophone Review: BROUWER Reactions: Songs and Chamber Music

By Donald Rosenberg

Margaret Brouwer covers a lot of emotional territory in the music on her new CD, ‘Reactions’, which comprises works composed between 2005 and 2020, including one written in the throes of the pandemic. The American composer has the expressive skills to evoke the passions she sets out to describe – love, ecology, racism, even being trapped in telephone hell.

Read the full review HERE

Variant 6 in Philadelphia Inquirer: "No conductor. Few tuning forks. A sound all their own."

No conductor. Few tuning forks. A sound all their own. Philly’s Variant 6 choir is breaking out.

By David Patrick Stearns

Variant 6, Philadelphia’s emerging, enterprising chamber choir, is best defined by what it doesn’t do — or have. No leader. No conductor saying what to sing. Or how to sing it. Or where: Traditional concert halls aren’t among their favorite things. 

None of the six members in this ensemble of busy Philadelphia freelance singers has perfect pitch. Tuning forks are seldom used. Yet chords are so perfectly tuned that their blends almost sound electronic on the group’s first full-length album New Suns, which is being released in conjunction with its concert 8 p.m. May 21 at University Lutheran Church and shows what, amid so many “nots”, Variant 6 does do.

Read the full article here.

Insider Interview with Pianist Ana-Marija Markovina

On January 7, 2022, Pianist Ana-Marija Markovina released a massive and comprehensive set of solo piano works by Felix Mendelssohn (Hänssler Classic, HC18043), twelve discs in all. In this insider interview, we spoke to the pianist about embarking on such a task, why the composer is underrated, her love for literature, and so much more!

What inspired you to record the complete solo works for Mendelssohn?  

Mendelssohn is, in my opinion, one of the most underrated composers ever. Some pieces, such as the Variations Sérieuses, have become quite famous and are present on concert stages and in musical institutions. The Songs without Words - Lieder ohne Worte - also enjoy great popularity. But otherwise? One knows hardly anything about Mendelssohn's vast oeuvre. I was interested in the reason for this lack of presence in people's consciousness. One of the reasons is certainly to be found in the dark times when Jewish music was forbidden or at least frowned upon. And it wasn't just the 12 Nazi years here. There were always anti-Semitic attitudes, just think of Wagner. Wagner despised Mendelssohn because he was Jewish. He wrote nasty things about him, what was terrible.  This attitude is certainly one reason why Mendelssohn could not occupy the same space in the general consciousness as, say, Chopin or Brahms. I find that tragic and want to change it. 

And the reason why it is a complete recording is that I am trying to make only complete recordings. I'm always interested in wholeness in every sense. I am more fascinated by becoming than by being. The fascination for me is the path of life, the development, the growth. And I experience that only if I identify completely with the work, get to know everything, explore every corner of a composer’s life and work, and don't "cherry-pick".  

What does your box set bring to the Mendelssohn canon that was previously missing? 

First and foremost, I would like to mention the sketches, the fragments. They give us an important new insight into Mendelssohn's working methods. It is more exciting for me to see what he discarded than what he published. And, what is also a novelty: I have recorded the different versions whenever I could find them. From this it is evident that Mendelssohn very consciously edited his works when he was to publish them. The thing he lacked most in life was: Time. He had no time. He worked incredibly hard, was a successful music manager, a family man, and a helpful friend. This led to the fact that he wrote down, for example, a small song without words quite inspired but quickly, and he did not write it down exactly. When it came to publication, however, he wanted to go back to work, because he was seldom satisfied with his results. And this revising was particularly interesting for me. One can then best sense how he thought and what musical conception he had. 

In addition, there are some works that have never appeared in the context of a complete recording such as the solo version of the Capriccio MWV U 87, some songs newly added by Larry Todd and smaller works. 

If you could single out just one or two, what solo piano works do you wish the world knew about? In other words, are there any pieces that you wish were just as well-known as the composer’s “greatest hits”? 

Yes, of course. First of all, there are the early sonatas. I appreciate them all, but especially the Sonata in C minor. The beginning of the first movement is strongly reminiscent of Beethoven's "Pathetique" and is very impressive. But also the F minor Sonata MWV U 23 - inconceivable that an 11 year old child wrote this! We think first of Mozart when it comes to the subject of child prodigies, but Mendelssohn is at least as great a phenomenon. I am also particularly enthusiastic about some less know later piece, the etudes e.g,, especially B flat minor MWV U 117 and A minor MWV U 142. 

You’ve made a name for yourself recording the complete works for piano of a few composers now. With each of these sets, how do you begin the process of such a massive undertaking? 

That's quite simple: I read. I read as much literature as I can. That helps me to immerse myself in the composer's world. Into his or her everyday life, their relationships with other people. I try to understand how he or she grew up, what the upbringing was like, whether the parents were loving, nurturing and understanding or punitive and destructive. In Mendelssohn's case, the family history is particularly exciting because of the great Moses Mendelssohn, who shaped the family for generations, indeed who shaped his entire era and humanity to this day as a humanist philosopher.  

Furthermore here is the fact that the family was very rich. Felix and Fanny never had financial worries, that was not an issue at all. On the contrary: they rather tried to hide their wealth and therefore worked all the more diligently. I internalise all this before I start practicing. The atmosphere, the spirit of the works is then much closer and easier for me to grasp. 

What insights about Mendelssohn did you gain in the process of recording the album? 

His life itself. The essence of his being! He was a very generous man - one experiences this above all in the infinite wealth of ideas of his melodies. And in what he did not publish. He did not have to carry out every idea, that is also a sign of a gigantic talent, a sign of his modesty, his seriousness and just his generosity. I can talk about that now with greater certainty, with a certain clarity. And I could not do that before. Before, before the recording, I knew his music, but now it flows through my veins, so to speak. 

What do you hope listeners take away from the album?  

First of all, many hours of beautiful music. And then the realization that even the greatest talent in the cosmos must work hard, because otherwise the talent is worthless. Mendelssohn, with all the privileges in his life, wealth and talent, was hardworking and modest. He was a wonderful character, everyone loved him. I think, I hope, you can hear that. And that's a beautiful contribution to a happy life, isn't it? 

Insider Interview with Jeremy Gill

For his new work for the Grammy Award-winning Parker Quartet, Jeremy Gill drew inspiration from a book described as a “kaleidoscope of postmodern fairy tales.” Motherwhere is a concerto grosso for the Parkers and New York Classical Players, who perform the world premiere on April 1, 2022.

In our insider interview with Jeremy, we spoke about his love for reading, collaborating with the Parkers and NY Classical Players, and writing for string quartet and orchestra.

Tell us a little about Night School: A Reader for Grownups, the book which your composition Motherwhere is based on. How did you come across this fascinating collection of stories? What gripped or fascinated you about it?

My wife and I are both avid readers, and a couple of years ago we decided that we would try something new: we would each read an author we had never read before whose last name began with A, B, C, etc., through Z. We chose our books (mostly) from the shelves of the McNally Jackson on Prince Street, in Greenwich Village, one of our favorite local bookstores.

My “B” author was Zsófia Bán, and I loved her book from the very first reading, for so many reasons. Firstly, her language itself is wonderfully musical – its rhythms and cadences – despite the fact that I was reading her in translation! (This is a great credit to her translator, Jim Tucker, who managers to translate her Hungarian into a wonderfully idiosyncratic, though natural-sounding English.) Secondly, she manages to perfectly balance whimsy and wisdom, such that one’s never entirely sure if she’s being serious or having a laugh; in this way, she recalls Italo Calvino (one of my favorite writers). Thirdly, she often allows the reader to watch her think “on the page” – we get to follow her train of thought and thrill at her obviously quick wit and sharp, sharp mind (here she recalls Anne Carson to me, another favorite). Fourthly (I could go on and on), she manages somehow to create a unity of twenty-one distinct and seemingly unrelated tales.

There is a magical through-line that runs from the first tale (depicting the surprising disappearance of “Motherwhere” – a kind of Ur-mother – all the way to the last tale titled “The Miraculous Return of Laughter,” in which a (maybe) post-Soviet “thaw” is translated into the contagious spread of existential merriment. My subsequent readings revealed many more layers, and unearthed unexpected connections between tales, sometimes via seemingly insignificant details. This, like her language, is very musical – as when a melodic fragment turns up much later in a work, in an entirely different context…

You’ve said “I wanted to evoke, musically, the experience of reading [Night School]. What was your experience reading it, and how does that translate to your composition?

Ultimately, I felt most strongly that the book is somehow many wildly, beautifully varied expressions of a few simple themes or ideas. Absence is one theme – this is obviously Motherwhere’s “condition,” but most of the characters that appear in the book are profoundly alone, and many of them are acutely aware of being so. One of the funniest stories is “Mrs. Longfellow Burns,” a campy, mocking quasi-biography of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in which Mrs. Longfellow – who ends in ashes – is somehow the lonely heart of “his” story. Another theme is the feminine perspective, which for me as a male reader made each character freshly “Other”, and had me constantly reevaluating my assumptions about motivation and desire.

My work – a concerto for string quartet and string orchestra – takes the form of twenty-one bagatelles, with each bagatelle corresponding to one story (in the order in which they appear in the book). In order to translate her use of “themes” into musical ideas, I came up with some very basic musical conceits that run throughout all the bagatelles. These are purely musical (not correlated to her literary themes) – symmetry (primarily pitch-based, with the D above middle C acting as fulcrum), the open strings, and the exploration of like-interval sonorities (sections based mostly on seconds, thirds, fourths, etc.).

Having these abstract musical anchors allowed me then to “react,” compositionally, to each of her tales. Sometimes, I made a very detailed reflection of her story in the music. One example is “What Is This Thing Called the Exchange Reaction,” which depicts a love quadrangle told through the guise of a couples ping-pong match: my four quartet members each assume a specific character in the story, and musically play out their shifting relationships. It’s a literal transposition of the story into music. When the (spoiler alert!) two female characters wind up going off together, they transform into the “Two Fridas” of the ensuing story. Other times, my musical reflections are more circumspect: “How I Didn’t” gives six parodic accounts of how and when the author did not meet a literary personage she admires, but my music is entirely concerned with only the final non-meeting, which takes place at the edge of the North Sea (the sea as Ur-mother is another of her important themes). Most often, though, my musical reflections of Bán’s tales are more purely emotional – music is, literally, non-narrative, so the best way I could find to encapsulate the experience of reading her was to try to match up the emotional evocations of the music and the tale – what was the emotional residue left by the tale? This was probably my most typical approach to writing each bagatelle.

The work features the award-winning Parker Quartet, a group with whom you’ve collaborated numerous times. Tell about the collaborative process of writing music for them.

I love the Parker Quartet – I first wrote for them in 2006, when they were relatively newly minted. I had received a commission from Market Square Concerts (Harrisburg, PA) to compose a 25th anniversary piece and I had my pick of the artists appearing that season. I responded deeply to the Parker Quartet’s playing and I wrote them a letter, included some of my music, and told them that I wanted to write for them but ONLY if they wanted a piece from me. In their typical, thoughtful and thorough way, they took the requisite time to get to know my music. They responded well to it, and said they’d love a piece from me. We had a wonderful first collaboration.

Over the ensuing years I’ve gone to hear them whenever we’re in the same general area, and we’ve worked together on other projects – I produced their wonderful recording of Mendelssohn quartets, for example. The last piece I wrote for them was Capriccio, an hour-long quartet in 27 movements commissioned by Chamber Music America. Capriccio felt like the ultimate string quartet composition for me (in that piece, I wrote that I aimed “to encapsulate, technically, expressively, and texturally, all that is possible for the string quartet”), so a next work for them would have to be completely different. Enter Motherwhere, a concerto for string quartet with string orchestra…

Writing for the Parkers is every composer’s dream: I feel like they “get me” completely, and always find in my music exactly what I hoped they would find (and often pleasantly surprise me by amplifying things I only partially realized myself). They are technically perfect, but go so far beyond that in their understanding and sense of the music. They complement one another perfectly – I feel like they are THE string quartet of today, and I’m lucky to have worked with them so often and for so long.

Motherwhere is scored for string quartet and string orchestra. You don’t see that every day! Which compositions for this instrumentation inspired you? How does the quartet’s solo part stand apart from the string orchestra accompaniment?

There is one great work for string quartet and string orchestra that I know – Elgar’s Introduction and Allegro – but there are many wonderful works for string orchestra that make incidental use of a solo quartet: Bartók’s Divertimento, Stravinsky’s Concerto in D, Britten’s Variations on a Theme of Frank Bridge, Vaughan-Williams’s Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis. These are a few of the nearly two dozen works I repeatedly revisited while composing Motherwhere. My solo quartet stands apart from the ensemble in its musical function – it is the primary source of musical material, and usually carries the expressive weight of each bagatelle.

The last concerto I wrote before Motherwhere was Concerto d’avorio for four-hands piano and orchestra, and I learned in that piece that a chamber music “soloist” is quite different from a solitary soloist. Throughout, the chamber music soloist needs to function as a chamber group – not as a collection of independent soloists. This might seem obvious (or inconsequential), but this way of thinking about the soloists was crucial for me. It also makes rehearsing the piece a (hopefully) more pleasant task – the quartet will spend a lot of time learning the piece away from the orchestra, and that learning process would be dreadful if the four parts only made sense in the context of the orchestra – they need to have their own, chamber identity that feels compelling on its own.

What do you hope audiences get from hearing this music?

I want the audience to feel – in so far as this is possible – my love and admiration for Night School, Bán’s wonderfully fun, inventive, witty, touching, thrilling book. If I managed to capture half of her infectious spirit and can translate that to the audience, this will be a great success! I hope, too, that the audience senses some of the affection I have for the Parker Quartet: writing for them is such a joy, and I hope that joy is manifest in the notes I wrote for them.

This is my first time working with New York Classical Players; they are fantastic, and Dongmin Kim is a wonderful conductor and – from everything I’ve heard – an ideal collaborator. The string orchestra is one of the most mind-bogglingly varied and malleable ensembles, and my approach to writing for the string orchestra throughout is to let it sound well. This, again, may seem obvious, but the older I get, the more I find myself focusing on creating the ideal musical environment in which musicians can sound and play their best. Musicians play the music they love because it gives them great pleasure to do so, and my aim is to afford them the kind of pleasure that draws them back to the work for repeated doses. When that mutual affection comes off the stage and makes its way into the audience – that’s when everything is working as it should.

Insider Interview with Andy Teirstein

Composer Andy Teirstein's work is inspired by the rich and diverse folk roots of modern culture. His music has been described by The New York Times and The Village Voice as "magical," "ingenious," and "superbly crafted." His new album, Restless Nation, out February 4, 2022 on Navona Records, celebrates the composer’s works inspired by world music traditions, featuring oud, nyckelharpa, and dulcimer with string quartet and features guest artists Mivos Quartet, Cassatt Quartet, Marco Ambronsini, Yair Dalal, and the Janacek Philharmonic.

We could fill up this page just listing the different instruments you play – banjo, harmonica, dulcimer – to name a few. What first grabbed your attention in music, and which instrument did you gravitate toward first?  

My grandmother was a pianist in theaters for early movies. And she was deaf since the age of 17. I remember her sitting at the piano and merrily tinkering away; she said she could feel the vibrations. I must have been four. Whenever I had a chance I would go to the piano and just mash around with the keys, pretending to play like her. But when I was in first grade in public school in New York City, they paraded a few instruments on stage in assembly, and we could choose which ones to take lessons on. I chose the violin, and played in school orchestras.  

Later, I began playing blues and bluegrass with friends. My brother taught me some basic guitar chords. Since the mandolin is tuned like a violin, it was easy to add that on. I picked up Pete Seeger’s book, How to Play the 5-String Banjo, never dreaming that one day I would be playing folk festivals onstage with Pete.  

In college I came to appreciate the viola, loving the inner voices. I studied with Jacob Glick, a real master, and the viola became my primary instrument. Some familiarity with piano has unlocked the accordion for me, and through the accordion, the concertina. I think, to be a true instrumentalist, it’s best to choose one instrument and stick to it, but as a composer, I have found it deliciously rewarding to keep an open mind instrumentally, and see how the instruments connect one to another.  

Your new album, Restless Nation, is entirely instrumental concert music written by you. You’ve spent a good deal of your career writing music for theater, dance and film. What are the challenges – and the rewards – of writing music that is intended to stand on its own? 

Yes, I do love to create music for theater and dance, but there’s something liberating about entering the world of instrumental music, letting go of words and theatrical concepts to communicate only in the language of music. If you’ve ever been in an Irish pub during a traditional seisún, then you know what it means to let the instrument take over, and give the fingers free reign. The challenge of creating “absolute” music is that you bring yourself face to face with the blank manuscript; there is no roadmap in poem, story, or lyric. And so, you begin to ask the really fruitful musical questions: what am I exploring in purely musical terms? Is there a DNA to this piece I’m composing, to this series of movements, and to my own signature style?  

There are things I find myself much freer to explore in non-theatrical music. In “Restless Nation,” this has to do with rhythmic intensity in asymmetrical meters. In “Azazme Songs,” it concerns the microtonality of the Arab Maqam system, and also how to take the simple Bedouin tunes and make them meaningful in a longer context. The orchestral piece, “Letter from Woody,” is particularly interesting in this context, since it alludes to some of the iconic American balladeer Woody Guthrie’s songs.  Again, my affinity for asymmetrical meter removes these songs from their original, eight-bar settings.  But in this case, a longer version of the piece exists (unrecorded) as a dramatic work for orchestra, actor/folksinger and dancer.  

The compositions on Restless Nation include the Oud, a non-western instrument, and folk instruments including the Nyckelharpa, bringing sonorities and tunings that are not typically part of “traditional” classical music. How do you mesh these contrasting sounds together, without the music becoming a “melting pot” of styles?  

This has been a key question for me for several years now.  As both a folk musician and a composer of new music, my model has always been Béla Bartók, who collected and revered folk music and also created groundbreaking new music. The issue of retaining the integrity of the folk influences while creating something new that is infused with the energy of this music is fascinating.   

While I don’t have a clear answer in words, I can say that this requires the work of going deep into the folk tradition, not just learning a little about it. So it’s a long process of exploration that continues in each new piece. Also, as a professor in the NYU Tisch Dance Department, I find this question increasingly of interest to students, who are more and more striving to bring their own cultural roots into their music and dance.   

For four years, I directed an NYU research Working Group, Translucent Borders, which brought contemporary composers and choreographers to Cuba, Ghana and the Middle East (www.translucentborders.com).  We found that the disparity between the group identity of traditional folk arts and the individual expression of the contemporary composer or choreographer affects everything from music and dance vocabulary to perceptions of time. “The Ghanaian drummer and dancer Sulley Imoro told me “In our music there is no beginning or ending,” and Adel Al-Walidi, an Azazme Bedouin near the Israeli border with Egypt shared a similar thought: “All these songs are connected, the song never stops.”   

But in the world of new classical music, development and form dominate training and creative process. In America and Western Europe, the pioneering artistic trends through most of the twentieth century usually distanced themselves from ethnicity or ancestral tradition, viewed as antithetical to innovative work. As I mentioned, Bartók ingeniously brought these two seemingly opposing viewpoints to resolution, making this question the crux of his work, and I take him to be an illuminating model. He believed that one should become so imbued with the folk influence that it pervades the new music and becomes the composer’s “mother tongue.”  

With the rising consciousness of cultural identity and global equanimity, it’s time that composers, without neglecting the remarkable innovations of modernism and abstraction, learn to speak in their mother-tongue. I feel this is a life-long pursuit, and this album, with new compositions based on several folk traditions I’ve been learning over the years, is, for me, a big step in that direction. 

In the liner notes, you mention that Azazme Songs were inspired by a trip across the desert with a Bedouin family and the oud player Yair Dalal. How did you get invited to travel with this group? Can you share a highlight or anecdote or two from this journey that was expressed in the music? 

Yair Dalal is one of the great Israeli leaders in music. As an Iraqi Jew, he has also been at the forefront of Israeli/Arab musical dialogue. I’ve always admired his music, and I interviewed him as part of my Translucent Borders project, which looked at the role of music and dance at borders. After the interview, he invited me on this journey.  

The trek was the dream-child of Yair and his Bedouin friend, Adel al-Walidi. Yair told me they had the idea of making a hike to “fill the desert with music.” Our group was made up of musicians drawn from Israel, many of them long-time students of Yair’s, and the local Bedouin community. I joined the journey from Ezuz, at the Israeli-Egyptian border, to Mitzpeh Ramon, Israel’s Grand Canyon, across the Aravah Valley of the Negev Desert.  

We were about fifteen people and several sherpa camels. The desert is a marvelous place to let go of everything—there’s no cell service, just open space; you’re nowhere and yet you’re in the center.  

Musically, our evenings were unforgettable.  I’ll paint the scene: Tea and coffee are brewing; people are cooking. Music begins, ouds and violins, made up of one short repeating phrase, lyrical and endearing. I hear something that sounds very much like an Appalachian lap dulcimer. It’s a strummed instrument called a sumsumia that looks like a small harp, played by a man named Anad. I lie down in the sand close to the fire. My horizontal pose induces a feeling of both release and connection. My eyes are filled with more stars than I ever imagined one could see, with an occasional spark from the fire entering my field of vision. And the music’s sweet phrase turns over and over, the melodic equivalent of patience, of understanding, of companionship.  

Over the next few days this music becomes a colored thread that weaves everything together. I try to learn what it is that makes this music so compelling to me, beginning with the sense of time. The sumsumia lays down an underpinning of constant eighth-note chords. Around the fire, people sing, often in even half-notes, a simple melody. I learn that this kind of Bedouin tune is called a Hjennie, a song of the camel drivers. The easy tempo of the singing is like someone walking, while the instrumental accompaniment is fast and patterned, as if carrying the singing. I can imagine camel drivers making up these tunes, singing them over and over on their desert crossings, for comfort. It brings to mind the American nature writer Edward Abby describing how he would sometimes make a small “comfort” fire in the desert.  

The concept of maqam is more fluid than that of the scale. It’s not limited to the equal-tempered tones of Western music that developed to serve a keyboard-centered musical culture. Rather, the maqam tradition reflects the prevalence of the human voice, flutes, and bowed or unfretted string instruments such as the ouds played here. The maqam is a pan-Arab cultural phenomenon, found throughout the Mideastern nations and in many other places across the globe. The concept is historically resonant in this spot we were hiking, a point of nexus between the Persian musical culture to the east (and further, the ragas of India), and the African cultures to the west.   

It may seem strange that I used the Appalachian dulcimer in Azazme Songs, bringing together these two far-flung instruments, oud and dulcimer. But the sound is very much like the sumsumia, and gives the piece its rhythmic flavor. Also, the clapping in the piece is reminiscent of the dance the Bedouins did around the fire, linking elbows and clapping their hands on each downbeat.  

Similarly, you mentioned that Restless Nation was inspired by a yearlong journey with your young family. Can you share a highlight or anecdote or two from this journey that you express in the music? 

We picked up a pop-up camper on Ebay and began going across the country through the state and national parks, homeschooling along the way. At one point we found a campsite with a laundry cabin, and I remember one night spreading my score sheets across the washer and drier and working through the early morning while my family slept in the camper. 

There are some specific associations in the piece; The first movement, “My Eyes Were Hungry,” is titled by my son. When we hiked into the Grand Canyon, he said, “Papa, my eyes were hungry…and I didn’t know it.”  The second movement is very much a reflection on the Smoky Mountains, beginning and ending with the late-evening rhythms of crickets and katydids. And the slow fifth movement, “Of Rocks and Rivers,” brings to mind our time hiking in the Big Bend National Park, on the Rio Grande in Texas.  

I tried to bring some of the sense of awe to this music that one feels only after spending a long time in nature, whether wading through shimmering river canyons or coming upon an expansive view from a cliff. The final movement, “Finding Our Way Home,” takes all that restless energy we felt on the open road and directs it toward the road home, like when horses head back to the barn. It uses a scordatura tuning in the first violin, where the E string is tuned down to a C#, in the style of the old-time Southern fiddlers.  

Insider Interview with Shea-Kim Duo

The award-winning Shea-Kim duo - violinist Brendan Shea and pianist Yerin Kim - have been performing together for over a decade. They have toured across North America, Europe and South Korea, and have won gold medals at the Manhattan International Music Competition and the Ackerman Chamber Music Competition. On November 12, 2021 their new album, The Sound and the Fury, was released on Blue Griffin Recording. We spoke to them about the album, the changing role of pianist as accompanist, maintaining a healthy work-life balance, and so much more.

You’ve been living together as a married couple, and playing together for many years. How and when did you decide to form the Shea-Kim duo?

Brendan: Yerin and I have been in trios since we were undergraduates at Oberlin and have always enjoyed playing together. When I was accepted to the 2015 Queen Elisabeth Competition, Yerin agreed to play with me since there was so much repertoire to learn and it was very difficult. We realized we actually really enjoyed learning duo repertoire and that there was a lot of depth to the process.

How do you manage balancing the different components of your life as musical partners, life partners and parents of two young children?

Brendan: Our kids have already spent much of their life backstage, or playing while mom and dad rehearse. We can thankfully rehearse and record very late (2-3 am sometimes) without waking them. That being said, it takes careful and meticulous schedule planning when we have concert tours, as well as ability to improvise when needed. It is definitely difficult to separate work from life sometimes, but luckily we love our work and feel privileged to be able to spend so much time together and as a family.

Yerin: Brendan and I have known each other for 16 years now. We met as young college kids and have had the luxury of dreaming and building our lives together. I am very grateful for that and all the steps that come with it. It’s definitely challenging to balance so many components in life that we share but I think the sense of partnership over ownership allows us to balance things with more serenity and ease. Both Brendan and I also have full time university jobs which makes figuring out schedules even more complicated but we are lucky that we love what we do, love our jobs, and have wonderful children who seem to not mind their parents playing music all the time.

The fact that you chose to call your collaboration a ‘duo’ points to the role of the piano as an equal partner. How do you, as an ensemble, approach the repertoire differently than a solo instrument with piano accompaniment?

Brendan: Certainly the past century has treated sonatas and other repertoire for violin and piano as a soloist with an accompanist. I think this attitude has been steadily changing, especially recently. The truth is the composers of this incredible music were primarily pianists, and the music must be learned and understood from the piano score to be played to their full effectiveness.

Yerin: We played in a trio for many years before playing our first sonata together so our approach to working together was largely influenced by our chamber music experience before we started playing as a duo. There is such a rich body of duo works, old and new, that we love playing so it’s fun choosing repertoire that speaks to us. Usually those works tend to have an equal partnership and create synergy. We also both tend to get obsessive over what we like so inevitably everything we play becomes very personal. There’s not much opportunity for one of us to be “accompanimental” for the better or for the worse...both in music and in life!

In the liner notes you write “this recording is a reflection of our personalities and character through the great works of [Grieg, Janacek, and Dvorak]”. Tell us a little more about that.

Brendan: Picking repertoire for a concert is very difficult, and picking repertoire for our inaugural studio recording was even more so. There is so much great music, and music that feels personal. Yerin and I are opposite in many ways, which makes for intense and passionate rehearsals. I also think it makes us better musicians; that the intensity of the process creates a product greater than the sum of its parts. What these pieces have in common is that they are full of color, contrast, and passion. They are works that have come in and out of our repertoire since we formed, and have stuck out as works we feel reflect our energy on stage.

Yerin: One of the things that I love most about playing with Brendan is listening to how he expresses things so differently even when we feel similarly. Brendan and I have very different tastes in style, personality, character, and yet we somehow think and feel alike. 

It’s quite amusing to me. When we can’t come to an agreement in rehearsals, we try going back to understanding the composer as our third partner. That usually does the trick. These works that we chose in our first album highlighted these differences and similarities of our colors, emotions, and also our love for these great works.

Each of the works on this program incorporate folk melodies in some form. Tell us about the different styles and ways that Janacek, Grieg, and Dvorak incorporate the folk melodies.

Brendan: Each composer lived during a time when national and individual identity were intertwined in a very substantial way. Using folk, or common melodies had been around for centuries earlier, but these composers opted to actually make these folk traditions an important part of their musical language. Janacek’s language feels more connected to linguistic syntax, a musical reflection of spoken word. Dvorak takes his folk melodies and dresses them down to motivic size so they are well camouflaged in his harmonic language. Grieg will often use a direct quote, somewhat closer to the way Bruch might, and then allows it to germinate and fill out.

Yerin: Now that I have children and have heard more children's songs than I had ever imagined I would, I fully understand the power of an earworm. It’s wonderful how all three composers incorporate folk melodies as ingredients that we can easily taste and transform them into a totally different pallet.

What non-musical activities/hobbies do you do to unwind?

Brendan: I would say most of our time not being spent on our work is spent with our kids. I’ve grown to really enjoy cooking in the past few years, although cooking for kids is an exercise in futility (the better the food, the less they like it).

Yerin: I remember having hobbies!! Now I just really enjoy cooking and eating with the kids and Brendan. It’s so satisfying seeing your family devour your food. I’m not much of a baker though so whenever I bake, the kids have a really entertaining time being amused at my creations that are barely edible. We also just moved to Washington state where we are surrounded by mountains. It’s so beautiful and I love staring at them! Brendan and kids like to hike.but I grew up in Seoul, Korea, so hiking is still pretty foreign to me.

Where can audiences see you next? Tell us about the duo’s plans for 2022.

Brendan: We have an East Coast tour in March 2022, as well as summer festivals and concerts in the Seattle area. For the most recent information you can follow us on Facebook or check out shea-kimduo.com!

Yerin: We have our solo concerts and projects throughout the year but as a duo we will be in the East Coast in Spring.

Insider Interview with Mathilde Handelsman

French-American pianist Mathilde Handelsman released, Debussy: Images on the label Sheva Collection. The debut album contains Claude Debussy's complete works for piano from 1903-07, including Images Books I and II, Estampes, Masques, D'un cahier d'esquiesses, and L'isle joyeuse. In our insider interview with her, she talks about what makes these works so unique, life lessons from the legendary Menahem Pressler, and more.

You came to from France to the U.S. in 2015 to study with Menahem Pressler at Indiana University. Of all the excellent teachers in the world, why did you choose him specifically?

There were many reasons! First of all, Menahem Pressler and the Beaux-Arts Trio are very well-known in France. Until recently, Mr. Pressler came to perform in Paris regularly and maintained a great relationship with Parisian audiences. That is to say that I, as a Parisian, knew of him early on. I admired his playing – his beautiful and delicate touch, his incomparable way of making a piano sing – and also the specific career that he led, with this very big emphasis on chamber music as well as a solo career, not to mention an active teaching schedule throughout most of his life. To me, that was really unique and incredible, and I was very drawn to his musical personality.

The second important factor that played a huge role in my decision was that Bloomington itself has an important reputation in France. Many French pianists in the 1970-80s went there to study with Gyorgy Sebok – in fact, one of my own teachers in France was a Sebok disciple. So I grew up hearing about Bloomington, and Pressler, and Beaux-Arts, and Sebok... I also knew that the cellist Janos Starker had taught there, as well as the violinist Dubinsky from the Borodin quartet whom I had grown up listening to. To me as a teenager, all these things gave Bloomington a certain mystique, it was a place with a very special history.

I also want to mention that before entering Mr. Pressler’s studio, I studied six months under another extraordinary pianist and teacher at Indiana University, Edmund Battersby. Prof. Battersby tragically passed away during my first year, and immediately after that I auditioned for Mr Pressler and became his student. Needless to say, it was a very intense and conflicted time for me, as I was grieving yet also starting one of the most exciting and inspiring periods in my musical education.

What was the biggest take-away from studying with Pressler?

Preparing a lesson with Menahem Pressler is like preparing for the most important performance of your life. His standards are incredibly high. When I started studying with him, he was already 94 but even at that age nothing escaped him. If my mental focus and musical commitment were not at 100%, he would instantly hear it and have me stop and try again. There was never any room for mindless playing – not even one bar! That meant that in the practice room beforehand, I also had to prepare myself mentally. My musical ideas had to be absolutely clear in my mind before playing for him. It could never just be about fingers. In fact, something Pressler could always catch right away, and that he really disliked, was a student trying to demonstrate technique without any artistic purpose, or playing with an inflated sense of ego. I learned a lot from that.

Mr. Pressler also frequently talks about love and beauty in his lessons. He infuses to his students a high sense of discipline and work ethic, combined with a deep and sincere love for the music we are playing. There is a somewhat spiritual dimension to it. To me, that was the greatest musical lesson possible. I will never forget it, and I carry his teaching with me every day.

Is there a noticeable difference or “style” between what you learned studying in France and the U.S.?

No, at least not from a purely musical standpoint. Music is music, and the piano teachers I encountered in America had often studied abroad or were not even American themselves. Of course, there were important differences which I felt mainly in how music schools are organized and structured in America versus France. In a way, this was more poignant for me as a teacher than as a student. When I had to teach piano or music theory for the first time in the US, the differences between two specific music school systems really hit me and it was a big adjustment. I have come to appreciate the pros and cons of both systems now, and I think that this awareness strengthens my teaching.

Why did you choose to record an all-Debussy album for your debut recording?

By the time I started thinking about recording a debut album, there was never any doubt as to what the repertoire would be. It was what felt the most personal and natural. Debussy had been one of my very favorite composers since I was child. I played a lot of selections from the Preludes and The Children’s Corner while growing up, and some of the repertoire featured on the album I played when I was fifteen. I was always drawn to both books of Images in particular and their evocative sound world, and L’Isle Joyeuse became my favorite “war horse” and featured on many of my recital programs for several years.

I focused on this repertoire during my studies in Strasbourg – during which I also wrote a Masters thesis on the same topic, “Debussy’s complete piano works of 1903-1907” – and it took a good five years of planning before I could finally go forward with a concrete recording project. And then of course, symbolically, playing this repertoire also made me feel even more connected to my teacher, since Pressler’s own career was launched at the Casadesus competition with an all-Debussy program.

In the liner notes of your album, you write that these works represent a turning point for Debussy. In what ways does his writing style change in this period?

Yes, to me, Estampes really marks the beginning of Debussy’s “second period” in his compositions for solo piano. I think one of the details that really stood out to me in all the pieces in this period 1903-1907 was, first and foremost, Debussy’s choice of titles.

Before Estampes, and with the exception of the Verlaine-ian title “Clair de Lune,” all of Debussy’s piano pieces bore names inherited from the Classical-Romantic era (Nocturne, Ballade, Valse, Mazurka, Tarentelle…), and his suites like the Suite Bergamasque and Pour le Piano seemed to allude to the Baroque period. But with Estampes and Images, we are suddenly transported into a new poetic landscape and sound world, with vivid and expressive titles like “Reflections in the water,” “Bells through the leaves,” or the long, beautiful and Haiku-esque “… And the moon descends on the old temple.”

I think the titles are already an indicator that Debussy is no longer nodding to the past, but looking toward a new century and inventing his own musical language – and, of course, I think you can hear it in the music. We are no longer in the Chabrier-inspired accompanied melodies and dances. Now we have pieces inspired by Asian and Spanish music, with floating, abstract motifs one could barely qualify as “themes”; long, sustained harmonies, the use of pentatonic and other modes; tremolo effects to emulate the sound of water… It’s a true revolution!

Tell me about the piano you recorded on. It’s incredible to hear the timbre of the instrument, which is noticeably different from a modern grand piano, and not quite the sound of the fortepianos of the mid 19th-century.

-How did you come across the piano?

At the time my mother was teaching in this little French town, Chateau-Thierry, and so that was how I came across the piano. The Steinway in question – an 1875 instrument – is in the chapel of the music conservatoire in Chateau-Thierry, northeast of Paris. It originally belonged to the French pianist Jean Wiéner. Chateau-Thierry is a very picturesque place, with the ruins of an old castle at the top of a hill.

An historical anecdote: an important battle took place there during World War I, which the French won with the help of the Americans. For that reason, the town still holds important ties with the United States. It was an interesting coincidence for a French-American such as myself.

-How is it different from a 21st century Steinway (in terms of playing, structure, etc.)

It was quite different. I loved the unique character of the instrument, its warmth and its depth. To me, the piano had a “soul,” and a sound that was less uniform perhaps than what a modern instrument would have offered. That being said, this Steinway could be very capricious (especially at the end of a long day of recording!) which required extra concentration from me in terms of evenness and overall control. It wasn’t a piano that would do that part for you, like most modern instruments can. But I think the sonic result was worth the challenge!

Insider Interview with Molly Fillmore

Soprano Molly Fillmore brings the words of Edna St. Vincent Millay, Emily Dickinson, Carl Sandburg and others to life on Bold Beauty, a new recording of vocal works by Juliana Hall (Blue Griffin Recording, BGR559, released September 24, 2021). In this insider interview, she talks about the album, her love of poetry, discovering brilliant women artists, and the creative process.

How did you meet and get to know Juliana Hall? 

In 2016, Elvia Puccinelli and I were invited to do a benefit concert for the Emily Dickinson Museum in Amherst, Massachusetts.  Our program included some songs from Juliana’s Syllables of Velvet, Sentences of Plush, which is music composed to letters written by Emily Dickinson.  When the time came to find a composer for the project, I sent Juliana a proposal which included my poems and samples of the visual artists’ work, and she accepted the project. 

What interests you about her work? 

I can tell that she spends considerable time considering texts – from her text choices, to the way she musically inflects words.  One can tell that each word is carefully considered in her compositions. 

Tell us about Cameos  - the six poems you wrote that highlight the works of 6 women painters. 
Were these artists you already knew about? How did you choose these artists as your inspiration?

These were all new artists to me.  I wanted to find artists who were not ‘household names’, like Georgia O’Keefe, but who were certainly worthy of being so.  

I went to a library and a used book store and searched through many artist’s catalogs, focusing on women.  I was not necessarily looking for American female artists, but it ended up that way.  

What’s your relationship with poetry? Do you write poetry often, or was this something new to you (to write the poems that became the lyrics in Cameos)? 

I love the freedom of structure that poetry offers, and yes, I have written other poems, but more personal rather than about people.  My initial thought was to hire a writer, but as I spent time with the work of these magnificent artists, the poems just came to me. 

How did you work with Juliana Hall to create these songs?

We worked independently;  I had written the poems when I approached her about the project, and she liked them in their form ‘as is’ and so she took them and composed from there. 

What do you hope people take away from the Cameos work, or the album as a whole? 

My goal for the Cameos cycle was to draw attention to these wonderful visual artists. If anyone looks up their artwork because they saw a name on the album, then I will be very happy about that. Also, there are so many other quality poems and musical gifts, courtesy of Juliana and the amazing writers she chose: Millay, Dickinson, Sandburg, Lowell… I think the album offers much, and I am grateful to have had a part in its creation.

Portland Press Herald: Victoria Bond on "Blue and Green Music"

Composer draws inspiration from Georgia O’Keeffe

One hundred years ago, O'Keeffe turned music into painting. Now composer Victoria Bond is doing the reverse. Bond's work is meant to evoke the painting's themes.

By Bob Keyes, Portland Press Herald

Victoria Bond carved time out of her musical obligations in 2019 to visit the Art Institute of Chicago. She was there to conduct a concert, and wanted to see the painting “Blue and Green Music” by Georgia O’Keeffe. She had a commission from the Cassatt String Quartet, and knowing the quartet was inspired by the painter Mary Cassatt, Bond thought it would be appropriate to write music inspired by a visual artist.

She intended to select multiple paintings to write multiple movements for a single piece, but settled on a single painting by O’Keeffe.

“I was so taken by the painting — its many details, its many implications, it ambiguity — it spoke to me so directly, I decided, ‘I am going to write the whole piece based on this painting,'” she said in a phone interview. “I think the security guard got a little annoyed with me. I was standing there and sitting there, taking pictures and moving around, for about an hour, just absorbing it. There is a huge difference between the original and the reproductions. I wanted to be able to absorb the actual colors and textures and the vibrancy of the original artwork. As I looked at it, ideas started to come to me.”

Maine audiences will have multiple opportunities to hear the manifestation of Bond’s musical ideas when the Cassatt String Quartet performs the piece three times in the weeks ahead as part of the Seal Bay Music Festival. The Cassatt is the resident quartet of the festival, and will perform it on Vinalhaven on Aug. 16, in Belfast on Aug. 18 and in Portland on Aug. 19. In addition, the quartet will perform movements from the piece privately at retirement homes and other residences across the state, as it has done several times already this summer.

“This piece brings so much joy to people,” said Muneko Otani, first violinist of the Cassatt. “My job doesn’t pay much, but it’s the best job because it brings such happiness.”

O’Keeffe made the painting around 1920, during a time when she experimented with oils to explore “the idea that music could be translated into something for the eye.” Her blue and green colors suggest the natural world, and her hard painted edges and soft, wavy lines of color evoke both a sense of sense of order and growing euphoria, simultaneous emotions consistent with music. With her piece, Bond is trying to do the opposite of O’Keeffe, by translating something for the eye into music.

The original inspiration was visual, but the musical composition is not a one-to-one relationship with the painting but an evocation of its themes, Bond said. “Georgia O’Keeffe said, ‘Because I cannot sing, I paint.’ With this painting, she set up two colors in dynamic with each other. I won’t say in opposition, but in dynamic. I wanted to set up that dynamic with two musical themes, so the whole piece is based on those themes,” she said.

Her musical themes stand in harmony and apart in four movements, titled “Blue and Green,” “Green,” “Blue” and “Dancing Colors.”

Bond has written operas (“Mrs. President” is among the notables), ballets and orchestral works. The New York City Opera, New York Philharmonic and American Ballet Theater are among the cultural institutions that have performed her music. She has been the principal guest conductor of Chamber Opera Chicago since 2005, and she founded the Cutting Edge Concerts New Music Festival in New York in 1988 and still serves as its artistic director.

The Cassatt String Quartet commissioned Bond to write the piece after receiving a Chamber Music America commissioning grant. This is her second piece for the quartet, which is based in New York. Otani described the music as “imaginative. We have commissioned a thousand new works in the last 30 years, and her work always stands out because of its rhythm, harmony and the colors of her sounds.”

Bond will attend the performances in Maine and talk about the music before the quartet performs it. “I believe, and they believe, it is very important to have the presence of the composer. If the composer is at all articulate, it offers a way into the work. People are hearing it for the first time. It’s a new language. It’s unfamiliar. Talking about it is a way of bridging the gap,” she said. “People are so used to hearing music written by composers who are no longer alive, and mostly men.”

IF YOU GO

WHAT: Seal Bay Festival, featuring “Blue and Green Music” by Victoria Bond

WHEN, WHERE: 7 p.m. Aug. 16, Vinalhaven School, Smith Hokanson Memorial Hall,22 Arcola Lane, Vinalhaven, free with $10 suggested donation; 7 p.m. Aug. 18, Waterfall Arts, 256 High St., Belfast, $10; 7:30 p.m. Aug. 19, Mechanics’ Hall, 519 Congress St., Portland, $15

TICKETS & INFO: sealbayfestival.org/concerts and mechanicshallmaine.org/programming

Insider Interview with pianist Inna Faliks

Pianist Inna Faliks’ new album Reimagine: Beethoven and Ravel features her performance of Beethoven's Bagatelles, op. 126, alongside works she commissioned by Paola Prestini, Timo Andres, Billy Childs, Richard Danielpour, and half a dozen others to respond musically to Ravel's Gaspard de la Nuit and the Bagatelles. In our insider interview, we spoke with her about the album, the commissioning process, and connecting the past with the future.

How did you get the idea to commission composers using these particular works as a jumping off point?

I wanted to create bridges between the past and the present, but without making it feel as though the composers were being asked to recreate something or to make something that exhibits particular reverence. The works I chose were meant to be used as a jumping-off point, an inspiration. The Beethoven year was around the corner, when I started planning this, four years ago – and nothing seemed more appropriate than the Bagatelles opus 126. They are his last masterpiece for the piano, and have so much richness, whimsy, transcendence, humor, experimentation – in tiny four minute works!

As the project expanded, I wanted to also include larger works, and turned towards Gaspard de la Nuit by Maurice Ravel. The triptych itself was based on three poems, so, with my Music/Words series background, it seemed like a natural fit for this project. Gaspard was on my first recording, Sound of Verse, on MSR Classics, and is one of the staples of my repertoire. I thought it would be a fantastic challenge and inspiration for the great composers whom I asked to take part of the project. There is so much in these poems and in this music, and I knew these composers would jump in and treat the material as seed of an idea. Indeed, I feel they created profound new works for the piano repertoire.

What fascinates you about this idea of connecting the past with the future via compositions that are inspired by other works?

I love the variation form. I also love to draw connections between different artforms and have done this for a big portion of my performance career – poetry with music, theatre with monologue, etc. To me, this type of connection feels inevitable. It helps the audience make aural, sensory, literary connections between then and now, and also hopefully erases this feeling of “old” music vs. “new” music. It’s all living, breathing music – and composers who write or wrote it were and are living, breathing human beings. Sometimes we tend to forget that.

How has your understanding of the original works been informed or changed by these new works? ie, did you gain a deeper insight after this process?

I tried not to impose my interpretation or view of Beethoven or Ravel onto the new pieces, but rather approach them with total freshness. This made for an interesting dialogue. It was fun finding clues, in character, form, color, to the originals but I wouldn’t say that I tried to play the new Bagatelles like the Beethoven Bagatelles. I tried to capture the individual voices of all the composers.

Both Timo Andres and Billy Childs found underlying themes surrounding race in the original works that informed their compositions. As the person who commissioned these works, how involved were you were throughout the process? What kinds of conversations were you having as the pieces were being written?

I let the composers do what they wanted and stayed out of the process, just waiting for the completed works. I didn’t want to influence or pressure them in any way. Only when the pieces were near finished did we meet and go through them, and sometimes changed small details.

The subject matter from Timo and Billy was coincidental and therefore much more moving than if we had actually planned it that way with both of them. Both just “went there{“, because they could not NOT go there. And I found that to be overwhelmingly powerful.

You commissioned six UCLA composers – in other words, six of your colleagues. Tell us about the similarities and/or differences of the composers in this group.

These are six phenomenal voices – and all are so different. Peter Golub writes for film, primarily, but also has lots of great stand along piano music. His Bagatelle had so much playfulness – a perfect opener for the album. The piece begins, then goes off course, then back on track, then changes its mind. It’s vivid and full of whimsy, just like the entire cycle of Bagatelles.

Tamir Hendelman’s Bagatelle is jagged and jazzy – he is a jazz pianist and composer! It’s also lyrical, and takes the Beethoven idea to far out places while keeping the buzzy energy alive.

Richard Danielpour and I have collaborated a lot. He has a special love for the piano, and is a wonderful pianist himself. I premiered his Bagatelle cycle two seasons ago, with this Bagatelle as part of the cycle, and had my UCLA students play all his Preludes. In the coming seasons, I will be recording his Bagatelle cycles, along with a premiere of a Variations set written for me. His writing is sensuous, rich, gorgeous, very pianistic – it feels so good to play. This particular piece delves into much more dark realms than the Beethoven but, like the Beethoven, has elements of transcendence.

Ian Krouse wrote probably the most difficult piece of the set – it is a Fugue and an Etude, masterfully crafted, and just really wild, jagged and cool. Like the Beethoven, there are two sections that alternate – energetic and driven; and cosmic, quiet, and dreamlike. Ian’s harmonies reminded me of his Armenian Requiem, an absolutely incredible choral work he wrote a few years ago.

Mark Carlson’s piece is dreamy, beautiful, shining – it’s such a pleasure to play. It seamlessly weaves into the Beethoven which is sweetly innocent.

Finally, David Lefkowitz kept the form of Beethoven’s original, but his harmonic language is so surprising and interesting that it feels entirely new. It works wonderfully as a pairing with the last Bagatelle, and the ending to the group.

What do you hope listeners will take away from this album?

I hope they will fall in love with the new works like I did. I also hope they can hear Beethoven, recorded many times already, in a new way. Finally, I hope they seek out my Gaspard de la Nuit recording and hear it as well!

Insider Interview with pianist Andrea Botticelli

For her debut album, “A Voice From the Distance,” the pianist Andrea Botticelli drew her inspiration from a predecessor of the modern keyboard, the fortepiano. Featuring works by Franz Schubert, Carl Czerny, and Robert and Clara Schumann, the album highlights many works from the Romantic period – both classics and lesser known gems – that are rarely performed on a historic instrument. In our insider interview with Ms. Botticelli, we spoke with her about this historic recording, all things early keyboards, the recording process, and more.

What first drew you to perform on period instruments?  

Most of my training in music school was as a modern pianist, but one summer as a doctoral student, I attended a Baroque music summer program and it was there that I tried a fortepiano for the first time. I was struck by how each historical instrument speaks in its own individual voice! I also thought it was refreshing and revelatory to hear music that I thought I knew well, played with a striking, fascinating, and ultimately convincing sound. I felt I understood more about the music and the composers’ intentions by playing on these instruments.  

How different is the technique between modern piano and earlier keyboards? 

Historical keyboards require an adjustment in the player’s touch to the shallower, lighter keys. The instruments respond to a very caressing touch that would be often too superficial on a modern piano. Along with the altered technique, you hear different sounds that present different possibilities and directions for interpretation. For instance, the excessively slow, ponderous tempi that are seductive on instruments with a thicker, deeper bass and more sustain don’t work on historical pianos; one must create an equally expressive interpretation using different means and differently paced musical gestures.  

Do you have any advice for pianists who are interested in a career in historically informed performance?  

My main advice would be to research and play as many different keyboard instruments as possible; learn to speak their diverse languages. Historical performance is a field of musical “pioneers” willing to go out on an artistic limb for what they believe. I would say that one needs an insatiable curiosity and the desire to find your own answers to musical questions. 

Tell me about the instrument that you recorded A Voice in the Distance on, at the Banff Centre in Canada.  

The fortepiano used in this recording, built by Rodney Regier in 2014, is a replica of a typical Viennese fortepiano from the 1830’s built by Conrad Graf. He was arguably the most accomplished and well-known builder in Vienna at the time and his instruments typify the 19th century Viennese piano ideal, an instrument whose sound and dimensions composers of the time would have known well.  

There are variations in sound quality between the different registers of a fortepiano, such as a speaking or singing middle register; a thin, reedy upper register; and a lighter, clearer bass. The Viennese fortepiano also features a lighter and shallower action, rendering it very responsive and capable of nuances of sound and shaping. Nineteenth century fortepianos often featured a wider selection of pedals, tone-modifying devices that added extra colours and effects to the fundamental piano sound. This fortepiano features a damper pedal, an una corda pedal, and a third pedal known as the moderator. When this pedal is depressed, a piece of felt is inserted between the hammers and strings to sweetly mute the sound and create an intimate whisper in soft passages. Finally, playing this repertoire on the 6.5-octave range of the instrument (newly expanded from the 5.5- and 6-octave instruments that were common in the early decades of the 19th century) restores the excitement of the rhetorical gesture that utilizes the very lowest to the very highest notes of the keyboard. As a performer, you can once again feel the enthusiasm and excitement of musicians using the instruments to their limit. In this debut fortepiano recording of Schumann's Novellette in F-sharp minor, Op. 21 No. 8, one feels the drama of challenging these new instrumental possibilities with music that exploits its full capabilities. 

What significance does the album title, A Voice in the Distance, have? Why do you use the German title, Stimme aus der Ferne? 

The title of the album, “Stimme aus der Ferne - A Voice From the Distance” refers to an indication written in the score of the Novellette, by Robert Schumann. Amid a tumultuous and highly varied movement, the music suddenly becomes tender and intimate. The lyrical melody from the Notturno by Clara Schumann becomes the “voice from the distance” that Robert quotes, as though the beloved theme drifts into his mind as he is composing: a poetic illustration of the presence of Clara, in thought and in music. 

How did you choose the album’s repertoire?  

The repertoire on the album was carefully chosen to highlight the Banff fortepiano’s unique expressive capabilities. First of all, I chose lyrical music that I really love! I also wanted to showcase the music of a range of composers; each piece reveals how they used the sonority of the instrument in their own way. The pairing of the last two pieces by Clara and Robert Schumann was my way of highlighting their deep human and artistic connection.   

What textures does the fortepiano add to the album’s repertoire that you wouldn’t hear when playing the same pieces on a modern piano?  What differences or nuances do you hope the listener picks up on? 

The registration and sound of the fortepiano add a clarity to the repertoire and a distinct character to musical themes written in different parts of the keyboard. For instance, in Variations on a Theme by Rode, Czerny highlights the transparent, sparkling upper register of the instrument by writing extended passages of virtuosity and brilliance. There is also an increased range of softer dynamic levels when using the full range of pedals on the fortepiano. In the second movement of the Schubert sonata, I interchange passages using the soft una corda pedal and the even softer moderator to create an added layer of intimacy. I have also used this pedal to create an extra quiet and ethereal effect in moments of Schumann’s Papillons and Novellette.  

Tell me about the special connection between the final two pieces on the album – Robert Schumann’s Novellette and Clara Schumann’s Notturno. 

Although Clara Schumann herself downplayed or doubted her compositional gifts during her life, her musical themes are often present in Robert Schumann’s music, quoted and used as a springboard for his imagination. In the structure of Robert Schumann’s Novellette, Clara’s theme is the only melodic link between the two main sections of the piece. Her theme surfaces as a private reverie and then returns transformed at the triumphant climax. I believe these two pieces by Clara and Robert Schumann are linked for the first time on this recording and I wanted to highlight this artistic connection between the two musicians. This concept of creative synergy is very much reflected in the repertoire of this disc. 

Insider Interview with Antioch Chamber Ensemble

On July 9, 2021, the Antioch Chamber Ensemble releases “Robert Kyr: In Praise of Music.” The choral ensemble's album touches on themes of conflict, celebration, peace-making, and music itself throughout the album's ten works, with texts by Kyr and a variety of other sources. We spoke to Antioch’s executive director Stephen Sands about the recording process, collaborating with composer Robert Kyr, and what makes his music so special. Pre-order the album on Amazon here.

What qualities make a choral ensemble great (generally speaking) and what makes the Antioch Chamber Ensemble stand out among other choirs?

Cohesiveness as an ensemble and ability to feel the music as a chamber ensemble. Antioch has the ability to very quickly learn a piece of music, internalize it and bring a blended, cohesive sound to a performance.

How did you get to know the composer Robert Kyr? What made you decide to devote an entire album to his music?

We met Robert when we had our residency at Harvard University in 2016. Robert coached all of the undergraduate composers whose music we workshopped that week. We also were introduced to his music and our joint venture was born from there! We decided to record Robert's music during another residency at Washington and Lee University in the fall of 2018. His music is so diverse and he is such a prolific composer, that it was quite easy to make a disk of one composer that doesn't all sound "the same".

 How involved was Kyr in the recording process?  

Robert has been involved from the start. He helped curate the music, sometimes rearranging it for our voicing. We really split the work 50/50 and have very much enjoyed working with him.

What challenges are you presented with in the recording studio vs. performing in front of a live audience?  

We recorded in the main hall at the Lenfest Center for the Arts at Washington and Lee University. The challenge with recording versus live performance is that singers will often prioritize being 100% correct over communicating with an audience. When you have an audience in front of you, it is easy to feel the reciprocal emotion that a piece creates. When recording, you need to do that as an ensemble and individual musician. No live performance is ever perfect, but when recording, you really do try to get as close as you can to perfection to make the editing process easier.

What do you hope listeners will take away after hearing “In Praise of Music”?

I hope listeners will enjoy Robert's music. He is such a gifted composer whose music deserves to be heard far and wide. 

City of Tomorrow Insider Interview

On June 25, 2021 City of Tomorrow releases their album “Blow” on New Focus Recordings and features works by Franco Donatoni, Esa Pekka-Salonen, and a commission by Hannah Lash. In our insider interview with the wind quintet, we talked to them about the apocalypse, their love for Italian composer Franco Donatoni, and how the album highlights the individual vs. ensemble in a variety of fascinating ways.

What made you choose these three pieces for the album?  

These works are all very integral to the identity of the quintet; they’re pieces that we’ve wanted to record for a very long time. Blow by Franco Donatoni was a huge part of the genesis of the ensemble. We formed in 2010, in part to have a group cohesive enough (and crazy enough!) to play it. Though some of us were still in graduate school at the time, we gave the North American premiere of the piece Donatoni considered his masterwork. 

Esa-Pekka Salonen’s Memoria is a piece the City of Tomorrow has performed many times over the years. We started learning it after meeting Maestro Salonen and talking with him about his teacher, Donatoni! He also gave us his blessing to play Memoria without contrabassoon on tour, which made it a much more portable piece of music. Memoria is luminescent, intricately detailed, and has an incredibly vital energy. As soon as we heard it, we were obsessed with it.  

Lastly, Hannah Lash’s Leander and Hero is one of the more major commissions that the City of Tomorrow has made. The ensemble encountered Lash and her work in 2013 at the Great Lakes Chamber Music Festival and shortly after, Hannah and our horn player Leander came up with the idea of Leander and Hero. We were lucky enough to receive funding for the commission from a Chamber Music America Classical Commissioning Grant in 2014 and this epic, emotional piece was born.      

Tell me more about this idea of the individual vs. ensemble - a theme that seems to unite all of the album’s works. What ties the works specifically to this idea? (Playing devil’s advocate… doesn’t all chamber music feature this element of the group vs. soloist?)  

You’re right! There tends to be a lot of soloistic playing in chamber music, especially in a mixed-consort-type group like a wind quintet; composers see the potential in featuring the distinct sounds of each instrument. We’ve always considered the City of Tomorrow as more of a flexible ensemble of soloists and chamber musicians; our concerts often feature members as true soloists or in smaller fractions of the quintet (a reed trio, for example.) We all have talent crushes on each other and love to hear our colleagues shred and captivate.  

The three pieces on Blow take distinctly different modes, when it comes to solo voice versus ensemble. Salonen is the most democratic; he rarely has a voice playing on it’s own. Almost every note in the piece is doubled. Sometimes, this is heard in a very straightforward way, like the horn and flute doubling at the beginning. Other times, it’s a roiling, shifting texture, where as soon as you join up with someone, you leave to join with another, like a lively square dance! 

Lash’s piece is soloistic in a very traditional way; the two main characters, Leander and Hero, are voiced by the E-flat (very high-pitched) clarinet and the piccolo, respectively. These two parts are incredibly lovely and virtuosic. The other three instruments represent the Greek chorus, commenting on the action, setting the scenes. This is in part because one of the ideas thrown around at the beginning of the composition process was that Leander and Hero could be performed in a more staged way, as a musical drama. 

Much of Donatoni’s Blow uses extended solos for each instrument as a way to distinguish each section of music as having a particular texture and style. In each of the solo sections, he pushes the soloist to the edge of possibility, with techniques that are particularly difficult for the instrument in question. (Low, short, accented flute notes, double tonguing on the oboe, rapid hand stopping in the horn, etc.) In doing so, the energy created is pretty intense! The soloist is often instructed to be quieter than the accompaniment so that there is a feeling of the accompaniment being the “in-group” with the audience, listening to the soloist who is at a distance. 

How did you settle on this theme of the apocalypse when choosing a “prompt” to give Hannah Lash for the commissioned Leander and Hero?  

At the time, the City of Tomorrow was deep in an exploration of the Sublime; first, as a nod to the Romantic Era (the sublime in nature), then in regard to industry and cities, and lastly the sublime fear of natural disaster caused by humanity, the combination of these two ideas. There is a cultural sadness and sense of overwhelming helplessness concerning climate change that we wanted to explore as the modern sublime.  

When we first floated the idea to Hannah Lash, we were imagining zombie waltzes and seed vault sequences but what Hannah came up with is so much better: an intimate story of personal tragedy. Because what is an apocalypse if not many, many personal tragedies?  

What connection is there between [City of Tomorrow horn player] Leander Star and Leander the Ancient Greek?  

It was Hannah Lash’s idea to use a myth to explore apocalyptic ideas. When she and Leander were coming up with myths that might work, Leander mentioned his namesake, who was swallowed by the sea. The idea stuck: it’s a beautiful story of faithfulness, and the corollary with rising sea levels is hopefully not too heavy-handed here. An interesting detail is that Leander’s wife is flutist Elise Blatchford, who portrays Hero in the piece. She often felt emotional toward the piccolo solos and entwined moments with the clarinet. 

You called your album Blow. Why? What does this piece mean to you, and what interests you about Donatoni?  

I think we are all pretty proud of the work that the City of Tomorrow has done (both in the recording and over the years) on this quintet by Franco Donatoni. Because it’s been with us from the beginning, and has been played by so few quintets, Blow has become highly emblematic of our ensemble. The original members included Andrew Nogal on oboe, Lauren Cook on clarinet, and Amanda Swain on bassoon, and other members Camila Barrientos Ossio (clarinet) and Laura Miller (bassoon) have also looked at the piece. It unites current and former members like no other work we have done. 

More topically, we have been keenly aware of the unfortunate transgressive nature of our wind instruments during a pandemic in which aerosols are making the news headlines. We have been sidelined to Zoom, contained with bell covers and flute masks, separated by great distances. Blow feels like a huge release, an explosion outward of this musical energy that has been contained for the last 18 months.   

How did you all meet each other and what inspired you to form a wind quintet? 

The original members met in Chicago, where some of us were in graduate school. The initial impetus was that there was so much good wind quintet music from the mid and late 20th century that wasn’t getting played, maybe because it was too much work for a casual gigging group or for a university or symphony runout quintet. I very much remember my teacher encouraging us to play Danzi and Taffanel (older, more conservative works that are lovely!) but instead we wanted to play a quintet by George Perle that had won a Pulitzer Prize in 1986 and this insane-looking Donatoni piece (“Blow”) that had rental fees close to what I was paying to rent an apartment! We felt that we’d discovered a treasure trove, one that other musicians seemed to look right through or disregard out of hand. We believed in the quality and appeal of the repertoire and of the wind quintet in general and that belief was rewarded when a year later, we won first prize at the Fischoff National Chamber Music Competition in 2011, launching our professional journey. As original members obtained jobs with symphonies and overseas, our new members were also musicians drawn to the challenges of these works and to the sonic potential of the wind quintet.  

How did you choose the ensemble’s name?

The City of Tomorrow is from the Billy Collins poem of the same name. The retro-futurist vibe of that work has always resonated with us, since we are trying to do something quite modern with a traditionally classical ensemble. We also love the idea that the music of tomorrow will be surprisingly more human and earthbound than most people expect.

Gramophone reviews "dwb"

If Susan Kander and Roberta Gumbel’s dwb (driving while black) had premiered as scheduled two months before the death of George Floyd on May 25, 2020, it might have been lost in the growing but still muted din of classical music responding to the country’s racial crisis. A year later, set against the graphic details of the trial in Minneapolis, the opera’s portrayal of a black mother’s journey into fear as her son grows up and approaches driving age provides a road map to living ‘handcuffed on the ground’. Its consoling lullaby is an iconically memorable ‘My beautiful brown boy … you are not who they see’. Its closing mantra is: ‘It’s not a question of if, my son, but when’.

dwb tells its story in 13 scenes and seven news ‘bulletins’ during which Gumbel and New Morse Code, the remarkably inventive and resourceful duo of cellist Hannah Collins and percussionist Michael Compitello, chronicle reality with unblinking intensity. One moment the son is playing innocently with his toys, the next moment the mother sings a painful anguished vocalise accompanied by Collins, rising ever higher without ever being able to scream, and Compitello gonging out.

dwb only begins to make its full impact in an audio recording because what Kander as the composer and Gumbel, both as librettist and performer, have expressed with such economical means in their recording of the virtual world premiere – presented in October by Baruch Performing Arts Center in New York City and Opera Omaha – really needs to be seen.

Transcentury Media Reviews Sahan Arzruni's "Hovhaness: Selected Piano Compositions"

To composers of the Classical era, the piano (that is, fortepiano) was an instrument allowing greater expressiveness than the harpsichord, or at least expressiveness of a different type. To Beethoven and the early Romantics, the steadily improving piano made possible increasing emotional communication in music, as well as substantial virtuosity, often for its own sake. To Liszt, one of the most-substantial virtuoso players of his era, the piano – which came into essentially its modern form during his lifetime – was an orchestra in miniature. To later composers, the piano took on expanded roles or very different ones, including some (such as “prepared piano”) that changed the instrument’s inherent sound and placed it even more firmly in the percussion realm than it had been before. And to some composers of the 20th and 21st centuries, the piano became, or has become, a newly expressive instrument, even to the point of connecting to realms beyond the musical.

That is how Alan Hovhaness (1911-2000) appears to have seen the piano, on the basis of a generous selection of his solo-piano music that was originally released in 2019 but is only now being made available in the United States. Pianist Şahan Arzruni, a longtime friend and colleague of Hovhaness, seems as finely attuned to the underlying mysticism of Hovhaness’ piano works (and, indeed, his works in general) as any performer can be. Arzruni’s extensive familiarity with Hovhaness’ oeuvre, and his personal possession of numerous hand-written manuscripts of Hovhaness’ music, make it possible for him to place the 10 works on this Kalan Music CD firmly within proper context. And Arzruni’s sheer pianistic skill helps him do something that is by no means straightforward in Hovhaness’ music: to make it colorful and convincing in and of itself, without requiring complete understanding of the philosophical trappings in which so much material from this Armenian-American composer is clothed. Arzruni presents these works in a way that he believes will help them communicate Hovhaness’ beliefs and intentions most effectively – not chronologically, and not arranged by length or other obvious methods. Furthermore, Arzruni offers pieces of piano music in combination with ones that Hovhaness originally conceptualized differently. Thus, Invocations to Vahakn (1945) was written for piano and percussion (Adam Rosenblatt is the percussionist); Yenovk (“The Troubadour,” 1947/1951) was created as seven movements for piano solo; Lalezar (1950-52) derives from a set of songs for bass voice and orchestra; and so forth.

These are the first three works on the disc, lasting, respectively, 13, 11 and four-and-a-half minutes. So in less than half an hour, Arzruni already gives listeners a portrait of Hovhaness presented at varying lengths. In terms of time span, it is true that most of the pieces date from the mid-1940s through the mid-1950s, but even within that period, there is considerable variety. Like many other prolific composers – and Hovhaness was quite prolific, although very little of his music is heard frequently – Hovhaness is said to have had “periods” of differing focus. Thus, some works here imitate the sound of Near Eastern and Middle Eastern string instruments. Some draw directly on specific nations’ music, not only that of Armenia but, for example, that of Greece in the three-movement Suite on Greek Tunes (1949), one of a number of world première recordings heard here, and that of the Orient in general in Mystic Flute (1937). Other pieces here are Journey into Dawn (1954), Laona (1956), Lake of Van Sonata (1946/1959), Vijag (1946), and Hakhpat (1946/1951, another piano-and-percussion piece).

Although there is much of interest to be heard by simply listening to this disc, the barriers to full enjoyment and understanding of Hovhaness are shown through the works’ titles: the references are often obscure and generally necessary for a listener to apprehend the mood fully – and, in many cases, to connect to the specific form of mysticism that the composer is expressing. Arzruni is an excellent interpreter of this rather rarefied repertoire, and this disc is as good a choice as any for listeners who would like to hear more of Hovhaness than his few works that are occasionally programmed in concerts and recitals. The CD is very much an acquired taste, although it will be to the taste of listeners wishing to acquire greater familiarity with an unusual, visionary 20th-century composer.

Lucid Culture reviews Zixiang Wang's "First Piano Sonatas"

High Romantic Angst and Insight From Pianist Zixiang Wang

Pianist Zixiang Wang has a passion for the Romantics. And who brews up more of an emotional storm than the Russians? Interestingly, Wang’s new album First Piano Sonatas: Scriabin and Rachmaninoff – streaming at Spotify – is hardly all fullblown angst, although there is some of that here. Rather, this is a very thoughtfully considered recording, bravely made in Michigan in the fall of 2020 despite grim lockdowner restrictions. This record is not the place to go to gear up for battle with demons, personal or otherwise. But if you want to hear Scriabin riffs that Rachmaninoff would later seemingly appropriate, or watch the stories in this music slowly unfold, Wang offers all that and plenty more in high definition.

He hits the first movement of Scriabin’s Piano Sonata No. 1 hard, and then backs away. A heroic, martial quality develops and recedes in waves, but Wang keeps a tight rein on the rubato until the end, where muting those staccato chords and then stretching out the rhythm really drives this troubled theme home.

He gives movement two a slightly hesitant, almost prayerful undercurrent anchored by a steely but supple lefthand. The aggressive, balletesque parts of the third movement are pure proto-Piazzolla; Wang’s choice of subsuming the righthand melody with lefthand murk suddenly makes perfect sense when he reaches the crushing false ending. Likewise, his restraint with the funereal lows in the dirge of a fourth movement – a requiem for the composer’s short-lived career as a virtuoso performer, derailed by a hand injury.Wang’s approach to Rachmaninoff’s first Piano Sonata is similar, opting for clarity and detail rather than the kind of opulence that, say, Karine Poghosyan would give this music. Amid the cascades in both the right and lefthand, those fleeting little Debussyesque curlicues, that aching reach for a tender moment and its subsequent, surprisingly irrepressible variations are strikingly vivid, even if the more animated interludes seem a little on the fast side.

The second movement gets a delightfully calm lilt. genteel glitter and a handful of devious references to Rachmaninoff’s very contemporaneous Symphony No. 2. The sheer liquidity of Wang’s lefthand early on in the third will take your breath away, particularly in contrast with the rather stern quality he follows with. And yet, the moments of black humor that pop up are plenty visible. If this is to be believed, the devil gleefully walks away, needle in hand, at the end.

Wang concludes the album with a rarely performed version of Rachmaninoff’s F Major Prelude, a dreamy student work which the composer turned into his duo for piano and cello, Op. 2 No. 1.

TransCentury Media reviews Zixiang Wang's "First Piano Sonatas"

(++++) BEGINNINGS AND CONTINUATIONS

Composers’ earlier works can sometimes be as interesting in showing the directions in which they did not go as in providing youthful examples of how their creators later developed. Thus, Scriabin’s Piano Sonata No. 1 (actually the third he composed, but the first one that survives as a full-scale multi-movement piece) is built around a deeply sad Adagio and concluding Funèbre, in both of which the composer laments the loss of his performance ability because of what doctors had told him was permanent damage to his right hand (caused by overuse in practicing). The faster first and third movements do little to relieve the sense of despair, the first being melancholy and turbulent, the third harsh, angry and unresolved at its conclusion. The intensity of the work comes through quite poignantly in a new performance by Zixiang Wang on the Blue Griffin Recording label. Wang not only has technique to spare but also possesses an unerring sense of how to bring out the music’s anger and anguish without making it sound so over-the-top as to be melodramatic. Yet the passion and bleakness of this sonata did not portend future works of the same type from Scriabin: he actually recovered the use of his right hand, although he did not return to the virtuoso-performance circuit, and his later sonatas explore territory that is quite different from that in his first.

Rachmaninoff’s Piano Sonata No. 1 is also tied at most loosely to his later work. Its sprawl and large scope – its three movements last significantly longer than the four used by Scriabin – do look ahead to Rachmaninoff’s later music, as does the frequent use of the Dies irae motif; and the conclusion of the sonata is replete with pounding chords that are recognizable as a kind of Rachmaninoff compositional signature. But the work is otherwise something of a dead end in the composer’s oeuvre. Its three movements were going to represent the three main characters from Goethe’s Faust: the title character, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles. The sonata retains some elements of that original program, which closely parallels that of Liszt’s Faust Symphony, but Rachmaninoff abandoned the structure in favor of something non-programmatic. The first and third movements, both in D minor, are drawn-out and very close to the same length, while the central Lento in F is filled with extended melodic lines that contrast strongly with a finale that, unlike later Rachmaninoff, is almost devoid of significant themes. The sonata as a whole is somewhat diffuse and even self-indulgent in its exploitation of the extremes of pianistic capability – in terms of the instrument itself, not just the performer. Here as in the Scriabin, Wang handles the virtuosic elements with aplomb, but he is less successful in trying to wrest some coherence and overall sensibility from the Rachmaninoff than from the Scriabin. The Rachmaninoff is a difficult piece both to play and to hear, and certainly Wang’s handling of it shows considerable skill and a thoughtful approach to the music. But as a whole, his reading is less convincing than is his handling of Scriabin’s sonata.

As an encore, Wang offers an even earlier Rachmaninoff work, and a much rarer one to hear: the solo-piano version of the Prelude in F, which is much better known in its cello-and-piano version (Op. 2, No. 1). Calm and borderline sweet, this 1891 version of the prelude, written when the composer was 18, sounds little like mature Rachmaninoff. But it makes an effective contrast with the huge Sonata No. 1, while also letting listeners hear the road not traveled in the composer’s later work.