Tag: piano

Bach: Toccata in C minor, BWV 911; Scriabin: Piano Sonata No 2 in G sharp minor, Op 19 – first movement; Chopin: Barcarolle, Op 60; Dutilleux: Sonata, Op 1 – third movement: ‘Choral and variations’

St Andrew’s on The Terrace

Wednesday 10 November, 12.15pm

This was one of the more arresting of recent lunchtime concerts at St Andrew’s, both on account of the interesting programme that Ms Chao offered, and the accomplishment of her playing.

One of the concert’s characteristics, whether consciously planned or not, was that all but the Chopin were very early works; yet all showed impressive evidence of their composers’ later greatness.

The Bach toccata is one of seven harpsichord toccatas that Bach wrote in his youth, though this one was probably from his twenties. A Bach scholar would probably find things that demonstrate the composer’s immaturity, but to one who does not lay claim to special perceptiveness in that field, the musical inventiveness and technical command of the keyboard and the music’s formal structure leave by far the greatest impression.

Elsewhere among Bach’s works, such a substantial piece would have been called a toccata and fugue – in fact two fugues, the second of which is a massive double fugue. Nicole Chao opened it powerfully, resolutely, making full use of the piano’s dynamic range, then dropping  suddenly to a quiet, delicate phase such as a harpsichord could not produce. The fugal sections presented an interesting range of keyboard colourings and articulations which Chao handled skilfully, never mind a slip in the second fugal secion. She turned it into a piece of some consequence, clearly the product of high musical intelligence.

Chao played the first movement – Andante – by far the largest of the two movements of Scriabin’s second sonata which he wrote aged about 20. In complete contrast to the Bach, this is high romanticism, wayward in spirit, its yearning melodic line ranging widely, employing already the intervals that are so typical of Scriabin. In playing of ever-changing colour and rhythmic variety, Chao evoked in its glittering hands-full of notes, the marvellous, moonlit seascape that Scriabin described in his notes about the piece.

Chopin’s Barcarolle, though the most familiar piece in the programme was the least successful in capturing the music’s complex, indefinable spirit, its sense of direction. With rather prolonged fortissimo passages, even with careful use of rubato,  it seemed not to capture the subtlety and tonal refinement that she brought to Scriabin and to the concluding Dutilleux sonata.

Dutilleux is now in his 90s, yet his oeuvre of major works is small. This sonata written when he was about 30 was the first to which he gave an opus number, so self-critical has he been throughout his life. Again, Chao chose to play the longest movement, the last; it stands on its own feet remarkably well, and Chao led an audience that was probably hearing it for the first time through a very able performance. Its opening rhetorical call to attention mirrored in a way the Bach Toccata (did that occur to her?), but there was no immediate fading to a pianissimo; instead the first and second variations drove forward with great speed demanding playing of impressive virtuosity. Only in the third variation does a meditative quality arise, and Chao demonstrated an appreciation of the structure, and the carefully thought-out evolution of the themes underlying the whole movement. A fine performance of the sonata was recorded by John Chen for Naxos about five years ago. It’s worth getting to know.

Nicole Chao however, gave an authoritative performance, persuading me that she might well reward us with further performances of music in the late Romantic and non-serial 20th century styles.

Michael Houstoun (piano)

JS BACH – Prelude No.1 in C Major BWV 846 / SCHUMANN – Arabeske Op.18 / Kreisleriana Op.16

CHOPIN – Sonata in B-flat minor (“Funeral March”) Op.35 / Two Nocturnes Op.37 / Four Etudes Op.25 Nos 1, 5, 7, and 12

Ilott Theatre, Town Hall, Wellington

Sunday 29th August 2010

Who says piano recitals can’t pack ’em in any more? True, if any pianist can here in Wellington, Michael Houstoun can, and especially so when the programme features the music of two composers whose spirit seems to exemplify music’s Romantic Age. This concert was a celebration of the year 1810, during which both Chopin and Schumann were born, Michael Houstoun unexpectedly and cleverly drawing these otherwise disparate figures together by way of JS Bach, whose music both of these composers revered. So we were given Bach’s celestial C Major Prelude from Book One of the Well-Tempered Clavier by way of introduction to the recital proper, the music pausing briefly to draw breath at the Prelude’s end before Houstoun continued with the equally radiant opening to Schumann’s Arabesque.

One of the characteristics of Schumann’s music is its extraordinary pliancy, so that, more than many other composers’ music, his responds equally well to so many different interpretative viewpoints. Perhaps it’s the subjective nature of much of it, to which musicians connect more on an individual and spontaneous basis than a preconceived and predictable one, resulting in wider performance parameters being explored regarding the music’s interpretation. Consequently, there emerges no “way” to play Schumann, other than to convey a sense of identification and engagement with the composer and his world. Reading between the lines of Michael Houstoun’s thoughtful programme notes for the recital, one senses, intriguingly, on his part a slightly more ready inclination to “connect” with Schumann than with Chopin, though in practice it’s a near thing. I would have hazarded a guess that Houstoun might have felt more at home with the Polish composer’s ultra-refined syntheses of structure and feeling than his German contemporary’s often abstruse flights of fancy – so I was delighted to find myself drawn in to many of the moods he evoked with his performance of Kreisleriana, one of Schumann’s most enigmatic creations.

Expertly played though it was, I didn’t immediately warm to the pianist’s way with the Arabesque which almost immediately followed the Bach – though he exhibited great control and evenness of touch, he didn’t for me “dream” enough of the music, giving us a strong, unequivocal opening, but not seeming interested in bringing out the almost “question-and-answer” manner of the phrases, the poetical ruminations, as it were. The first interlude was strongly, almost passionately voiced, and did relax for a few measures just before returning to the main running theme, the two impulses beautifully married for the reprise. I liked the “kick” with which he brought the second interlude into being, though his tone hardened in places of emphasis, too much so, I thought, in relation to the gentleness of the whole work, though his return to the main theme was again finely-judged, and the coda of the piece was given a winning mix of strength and poetic feeling.

Kreisleriana was, of course, an entirely different matter; and I thought the pianist’s almost headlong plunge into the tempestuous opening an approach the composer would have approved of, the occasional split note adding to the sense of wildness, the music seemingly unnerved by its own evocations, and wanting to climb upwards out of the maelstrom of raw emotion towards the light. Houstoun’s way with the wondrous contrasting second piece, marked “Very inwardly and not too quickly”, gave the poetical atmosphere enough space to generate a rich, warm ambience via the wonderful forest-echoing “hunting-horn” theme, and the beautifully harmonised scale passages growing out of the theme’s resonances – though the brief intermezzi which punctuate the mood kept their energies within bounds, suggesting more an architect’s than a poet’s view of the whole structure. The pianist also found a telling contrast between sections three and four, the pure emotion of the latter beautifully breathed after the previous piece’s agitations, and the subsequent quickening of the pulse nicely judged – for me, one of several interpretative highlights of the performance.

Schumann’s dogged insistence dominated the next episode, Houstoun controlling the composer’s obsessiveness judiciously so that none of the repetitive figures outstayed their welcome. Another beautifully-realised piece was the following folkish lullaby (sehr langsam – very slowly), the achingly nostalgic left-hand theme seeming to grow out of the earth, as it were, Houstoun giving the ambience the dark, rich tones requited by the music’s suggestiveness. After the next piece’s wild, headlong opening, galloping through tempestuous storms, Houstoun brought the agitations under control with some nicely gradated chords, leading to the work’s final, most enigmatic section, the composer’s marking schnell und spielend (fast and playful) barely hinting at the music’s darker, more equivocal undercurrents. Houstoun brought these out beautifully, giving the elfin melody a slightly disembodied tonal character, and beautifully weighting the left hand so that the often maverick rhythmic stresses of the bass notes had a properly disturbing effect. In general, I thought the interpretation of the whole very satisfying, more thoughtfully and subtly realised by the pianist than given by him overt extremes of mood, colour and energy.

In a sense, the Chopin “Funeral March” Sonata which followed after the interval posed similar interpretative problems to Kreisleriana – the difficulty being how to bring some kind of coherence to a series of overtly unconnected “episodes” strung together to form an overall scheme – though Michael Houstoun hit the nail fairly on the head in his notes when he spoke about “a certain spirit or tone which serves to unify” in relation to both works. Somewhat ironically, it was Schumann who complained in a critical notice about Chopin’s Sonata that “he has simply yoked together four of his wildest offspring”; although it was the bestowment of the title “Sonata” on the work that gave the hypersensitive critic of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik misgivings, not the music itself. Houstoun sought to keep the music directional by refusing to make too much of any contrasts of tempo or dynamics throughout the first movement, the most surprising aspect of which was the pianist’s incorporating the very beginning of the work in the repeat, something which I’d not heard done before. The music’s strong undertow was maintained throughout, reducing the work’s propensity for dramatic contrast, but tightening the musical argument and keeping a sense of purposeful forward motion paramount.

Contrast was the order of the day with the Scherzo, in Houstoun’s hands the opening section big, energetic and darkly-wrought, before being almost completely disarmed by the sweetness of the ballade-like Trio, with only the occasional left-hand trills suggesting any hint of continuing unease. I fancied I heard some kind of momentary harmonic re-arrangement at the agitated opening’s reprise, though it may have been my ears playing tricks with my memory – in any case, a mere detail, swept away by Houstoun’s bringing out of the power and purpose of the whole. Some extraneous deep-toned thuds from without accompanied the hushed opening of the famous “Funeral March”, to no matter – the pianist’s power and concentration carried the day, the playing perhaps less antiphonal than some performances I’ve heard, but just as telling in effect. Houstoun seemed to integrate the Trio into the March, making it less of an inward escape to another realm than a more lyrical manifestation of the same force propelling time and life onwards, the repeats helping to intensify this feeling. Upon the march’s return, one realised how differently Chopin felt about life and death – Houstoun’s control made the reappearance of the cortège and its ghostly dissolution a salutary experience.

What Houstoun then did with the finale was interesting – played attacca, the sinuous strands of agitation were kept clear and largely unpedalled, refusing the music any kind of impressionistic wash or colouristic atmosphere, making the notes themselves do the work and create the musical effect. Those used to listening to the highly theatrical realisations of people such as Cortot, Rachmaninov and (more lately) Martha Argerich would have found Houstoun’s determinedly unvarnished realisation either rather too earthbound or remarkably singular in effect – rather like a long-forgotten extra item from out of Mussorgsky’s Pictures from an Exhibition, or something. Here, it was of a piece with the rest of the sonata – coherent, focused, and cumulatively powerful in effect.

Strangely I enjoyed Houstoun’s playing of the two Nocturnes for probably quite perverse reasons – in a sense I would rather have a more instinctively poetic player to be my guide were I wanting to hear these extraordinary pieces; but I was amazed, especially in the case of the second of the two Op.37 Nocturnes, as to how “modern” the composer’s harmonic progressions sounded when laid bare by playing which emphasised the piece’s structure and inner constituent workings, rather than colour and a singing line. I would use the word “chiselled” to describe the way the opening of Op.37 No.1 was presented, the contourings very precise, and the sonorities in the trio section seamlessly organ-like. But surely the dynamic contrasts were raked too steeply at the reprise of the main theme – does moonlight come from behind the clouds as abruptly as that? Even so, I was made to listen to the barcarolle-like No.2 with what seemed like freshly-programmed ears.

Four Etudes from the composer’s Op.25 concluded the recital, judiciously chosen by Michael Houstoun to give a kind of “sonata” effect, perhaps (four more of Chopin’s wildest?), the first the beautiful Aeolian Harp in A-flat, the pianist getting a lovely “rolling” effect with the notes, and an especially feathery quality at the end. The C-sharp Minor No.7 followed almost without a break, its  melody beautifully “terraced” between the hands, building up an almost orchestral effect on places, with swirling figurations and massive chordings. The oddly “galumphing” No.5 in E Minor was the “scherzo”, with its Lisztian trio, Houstoun’s brilliant filigree right-hand work set against sonorous left-hand melody to great effect; while the final etude’s great ferment of whirling “Rachmaninovian” C Minor arpeggios glinted and flashed their melodic notes in truly virtuoso style.

All credit to Michael Houstoun for celebrating Schumann and Chopin so resplendently, and to Wellington Chamber Music for bringing to Wellingtonians that sadly diminishing rarity, a full-blooded piano recital. Some of the world’s greatest music (such as we heard this afternoon) deserves much more of Houstoun’s kind of advocacy and his near-capacity audience’s whole-hearted support.

Piers Lane (piano) – Waikanae Music Society

Schubert: 12 German Dances, Ländler & Valses Sentimentales, D779, D783 & D790
Brahms: Intermezzi in B minor, E minor, C; Rhapsody in E flat; Op.119
Beethoven: Sonata no.31 in A flat, Op.110
Chopin: Ballade no.1 in G minor, Op.23; Four Nocturnes,  Op.27, Op.48 & Op. Posth.
Schulz-Evier: Arabesques on the Beautiful Blue Danube

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 29 August 2010, 2.30 pm

What a well-constructed programme this was, celebrating Chopin’s bi-centenary, other supreme composers for the piano, plus a dazzling finale.  This was real pianists’ music: not out to be showy (with the exception of the final piece), but to be expressive.

Using a microphone, Piers Lane interpolated remarks between the groups of items.  These were informative, and sometimes humorous, such as when he told us that the words of the folk-song on which the second movement of Beethoven’s sonata was based had been translated as “You are a slob”!

The Schubert Dances he played, the pianist informed us, were made into a collection for performance by Dame Myra Hess.  He told us that he had created a show in memory of the great pianist, and performed it with actress Patricia Routledge as Myra Hess, the words being excerpts from her books, letters and interviews.

It was good to hear these pieces – it is rare these days to hear relatively slight items (in terms of length) in a recital.  Put together as a set with little or no break, the dances gave opportunity for great vigour and steady rhythm – one could have danced to them.  The result was delightful, though perhaps of  all Schubert’s works for piano, these would be more effective on fortepiano.

The Brahms pieces received masterful but sensitive readings from Lane.  He indeed, to quote the programme note quoting Brahms ‘luxuriate(d) in dissonances’ in the first Intermezzo.

There was great contrast between the second and third Intermezzi; the first was sombre while the next one was lively.  The heroic Rhapsody was just that.

Beethoven’s second-last sonata has a wonderful opening.  As Piers Lane expressed it in his introductory comments, the work proves that ‘one can have joy after suffering’.  Every note was distinct; pedal use was judicious and never blurring.

Contrasting with the poetry of the first movement, an energetic declamation of an allegro followed.  Then there was pathos in the exquisitely worked-out adagio.   This was thoughtful and expressive playing, by a pianist fully in command technically, and who has the piano at his fingertips physically, mentally and emotionally.  It was a joy to hear him play.

The first Ballade of Chopin becomes graceful and delicate at the second theme, yet there is great force and energy towards the end.  It was a feast of brilliant and virtuosic performance, demonstrating to the full the sheer inventiveness of this piece.  We were informed that the Ballade was dedicated to Schumann, and that both he and its composer loved it most of Chopin’s works.

It was a delight to hear the Nocturnes.  After the meditative first one, dark like a nightmare, broken by a bright middle section, the second was notable for the lovely singing tone and cheerful mood.  We were gliding by night on glistening waters.

The third, in C minor, has been described as imperious.  It was played more slowly than other performances I have heard, but seemed to gain effect from this tempo.  There was beautiful articulation in the last of the set.  Every note had its own piece to say, yet was part of the general flow.  It was mesmerisingly lovely.

The piece by Adolf Schulz-Evier (1852-1905) was quite amazing; a highly decorated paraphrase of Strauss’s famous waltz, that required great virtuosity.  It was a fast waltz, although slight rubati in the restating of the melody added interest.  It may be considered OTT, but what a triumph of invention, and of pianistic prowess.

The encore was by ‘a twentieth century British composer you may have heard of – Dudley Moore’!   It was the latter’s tribute to Beethoven.  Whether Beethoven would have been as amused as we were, we cannot tell.  The theme was the first part of the well-known ‘Colonel Bogey’ (of ‘Bridge on the River Kwai’ fame), and it was treated to many of Beethoven’s characteristics of composition – exaggerated, of course.  There was a touch of ‘Hernando’s Hideaway’ from ‘The Pajama Game’, even a fugue, and at the end of the numerous near-endings, touches of the Moonlight Sonata.  It was extremely clever, brilliantly played, and with some humorous gestures – though not as many as its composer would have employed.

We were treated to a demonstration of first-class pianism.  Piers Lane never came between the music and the large audience.  The composers were admirably served, and everyone present must have been supremely delighted.

Mulled Wine Concert: Michael Houstoun (piano) in Schumann and Chopin

Schumann: Arabesque Op 18, Kreisleriana, Op 16; Chopin: Sonata in B flat minor, Op 35; Nocturnes Op 37, Nos 1 and 2; Etudes Op 25 Nos 1, 7, 5, 12

Memorial Hall, Paekakariki

Sunday 8 August 2.30pm

This is exactly the kind of concert I expect to mark important anniversaries of two of the world’s great composers: an intelligent selection of some of the two composers’ most representative and enjoyable music. Naturally, a poll of the audience would throw up many other works that ‘should’ have been included.

That would yield a programme lasting several days.

Schumann’s Arabesque is popular and pretty well-known, but Kreisleriana is less so and that perhaps, I remark cynically, is why it is often rated among his finest piano works; it is certainly one of the most difficult to bring off.

Houstoun’s own note about it advises the audience not to trouble with the literary reference of the title – a novel and other stories by E T A Hoffmann; the subject, an eccentric, passionate musician. If you’re there just for the music: correct. But for many of us, all the connections, literary, artistic, religious, sociological and so on, lead towards interesting insights and help furnish the mind.

The Chopin in the second half may have been the more familiar and delightful to the audience, but personally, Schumann often does just a little more for me. Kreisleriana was the last of his major piano works that I came to know, and live performances have been rare. One first falls for Carnaval and the Fantasia, Papillons and the Symphonic Studies, then the Kinderszenen, and much later, Davidsbündlertänze and Faschingsschwank aus Wien, before the less overt attractions of Kreiselriana start to absorb you.

This was no ordinary performance. Houstoun has clearly lived with it, thought about its manifold moods and worked on its technical problems for a long time, so that it emerged utterly engrossing, emotionally quixotic, kaleidoscopic, unorthodox and often plain beautiful.

The transitions between the vividly contrasted Eusebius and Florestan sections, were so clear, as the journey passed through all the eight pieces from the opening, marked Ausserst bewegt – extremely excitable, or molto agitato – to a slightly more gentle lyrical central section, dreamy, employing themes that speak in the private language of his Schumann’s  two personas as well as of his love, Clara.

The challenge for the pianist is to find a sense of continuity and a connected narrative within each movement, as the tempo, the mood, the tonality, the rhythms constantly change and surprise you. Quite soon I found myself with the words ‘commanding’, ‘authoritative’, ‘multitudinous’ in my head.

So the strength of this performance lay in the pianist’s success in creating and maintaining a feeling of integrity, utter absorption though the half-hour long piece.

The second section, Sehr innig und night zu rasch – very reflective and not too fast – opening with short-lived meditative, rising and falling phrases, followed by a wild Intermezzo in which the left hand is all over the keyboard; then a spacious statement of the main tune, another more rhythmic Intermezzo before returning to the initial material. It is such an extended, fully-formed movement, in several sections, that it’s surprising that it hasn’t been taken out as a separate concert piece.

The fourth movement is marked very slow, its character is rambling and expansive and the slow-paced melody performance was beautifully played.  And finally, it might have come as surprise that a pianist with such a command of the more profound things, could find such gaiety and playfulness in the dotted rhythms of the last movement – Schnell und Spielend – and nothing is more surprising than its simple, vanishing ending.

Though the delicacy and delight of his Arabesque should have prepared us for all of that.

The programme notes, by Michael Houstoun, were illuminating; artists ought to be encouraged to write their own programme notes for there are often matters that they could bring interesting to listeners’ notice. Here, it would have been useful if the details of the movements of Kreisleriana had been listed, with their timings, as breaks between movements and between the sections of each are not always self-evident.

The second half was all Chopin, and details of the Sonata’s movements, and of each Prelude and Etude were given. The second Piano Sonata seems to some commentators like four distinct pieces and I think that is a valid proposition; as little seems to connect them as might connect the four Ballades or Schubert’s two sets of Impromptus.

There was no mistaking the openness and full-bloodedness of the performance as a whole. In the first movement Houstoun’s playing gave full expession to the ebullience beneath its heroic and sometimes lyrical exterior; and it became open and urgent in the Scherzo. The third movement only becomes funereal in its latter stages; earlier, there was grandeur and in the central section a sanguine singing character. In this sonata however, I was left with the feelings both of its disparateness and its being still ‘work-in-progress’ in Houstoun’s hands.

The two Nocturnes of Op 37 make an attractive pair, the first steady, sober, pensive, the second more rapturous and rhythmic.

And four Etudes from the second set – Op 25, linked according to the pianist’s own feeling about their contrasting characters rather than the keys (not that Chopin grouped them by key sequence). The keys were not listed; in the order played: A flat, C sharp minor, E minor and No 12 in C minor. No 7 in C sharp minor is the longest of the group and Houstoun created a seemingly large-scale dramatic scena of it with a fortissimo climax in the middle. Of course, the last Etude, for a reason that rather escapes me, called ‘Ocean’, a flawless, virtuosic tour de force, raised the roof and brought long applause for this thrilling ending to a very satisfying and entertaining recital.

HAYDN – Piano Sonata in F Major Hob.XV!:23

PROKOFIEV – Three Movements from “Romeo and Juliet”

CHOPIN – Four Ballades

Ludwig Treviranus (piano)

Genesis Energy Theatre

Expressions Arts and Entertainment Centre, Upper Hutt

Sunday 1st August 2010

Upper Hutt-born pianist Ludwig Treviranus, back in New Zealand on a visit from his current study activities in the United States, gave a home-town recital on Sunday at the Expressions Centre, to the delight of a near-capacity audience. After completing earlier studies with Rae de Lisle in Auckland for a Masters Degree in piano performance he went to Florida to take up a Doctorate in piano with Read Gainsford at Florida State University. He’s been a finalist in various piano competitions recently, most notably in both Florida and Tenessee, the latter at the Memphis Beethoven Piano Sonata International Piano Competition. Presently he’s engaged along with his study, in doing an assistantship at the University playing for opera students, giving him, as he says, valuable practice and experience with singers, and widening his focus as a performing musician.

His programme, if standard recital fare for a pianist, provided plenty of scope for his mettle to be tested, both as an interpreter and a virtuoso. Each of the three works brought out significant things in his playing, and indicated that his was a talent with already strongly-etched characteristics, and the ability to communicate these to his audience. Two things I noticed in particular throughout the recital, one of them being his ability to colour the music’s textures at appropriate moments, making for some magically-conceived sequences in each of the works he played; while the other was what seemed like his innate sense of each piece’s shape, and (in the case of both the Haydn and Chopin works) a feeling for how the parts fitted together to make the whole structures seem coherent and well-proportioned.

One always wonders what to expect from young musicians in terms of the approach they might take to performing – whether they’ll take a full-blooded and impetuous “no-holds-barred” attitude, placing great store on the music’s emotional content and opportunities to express the same, or else adopt an overtly “correct” and literal approach, dotting and crossing every “i” and “t” and leaving no stone in the score unturned. Of course, things are seldom as cut-and-dried as such polarities suggest; and Ludwig Treviranus, while certainly not an impetuous, abandoned player, was also no literalist in a dry and correct sense. Occasionally I felt the need for bolder delineation of what he was doing, wanting the contrasts pointed a bit more cheekily in the finale of the Haydn, for example, as well as more adventurous rhythmic terracings in the third Chopin Ballade (that rocking rhythm didn’t for me quite draw the music along as I was hoping it would) – however, these comments are made in the context of many other aspects of his playing giving a good deal of pleasure.

Before playing each of the works on the programme, the pianist talked to his audience briefly about the music and his relationship with it – thus we learned that he felt very close to the slow movement of the Haydn Sonata, and was able to readily demonstrate this affinity with his long-breathed playing, limpid tones realising the music’s attractive melancholy. I liked also the first movement’s unhurried perkiness, the playing bright and sunny at the beginning, but capturing the different colourings of the harmonic shifts without making a meal of them – very unforced and natural-sounding. Only in the finale of the work did I think some of the humour’s earthiness underplayed in favour of urbanity – just as valid an approach, of course, if a tad less engaging.

It seemed from Treviranus’ playing of the Prokofiev “Romeo and Juliet” movements that the pianist knew the orchestral versions well, so colourful, detailed and richly-voiced was his playing of all three movements chosen. The opening Folksong was nicely terraced, bringing out the contrasting dynamics and layered lines in a way that readily suggesting spaces and movement; while the Young Juliet evoked a strong, healthy young girl, more vigorous and physical than elfin and quicksilver, making the contrasting episode of her romantic daydream all the more telling. I liked the way the pianist’s left hand brought out the ‘cello melody, phrasing the ascending theme with great tenderness. Finally, the well-known Montagues and Capulets had all the swagger, tension and clannish arrogance and bravado that one could have wished for, the pianist excitingly orchestrating the textures, and particularly enjoying the heavy brass! Again, the player wrought considerable magic via the music’s contrasting episodes, with the middle section almost wraith-like, the sounds very “interior” after the extroversion of the opening. Using his ear for colour and texture, Treviranus gave the descant melody in the right hand an almost touching quality, its poignancy thrown into bold relief by the return of the dance’s grim menace.

Merely the idea of all four of the Chopin Ballades being presented on the same programme felt like a real treat – and so it proved here. LudwigTreviranus prefaced his performance with a few words which emphasised Chopin’s storytelling abilities, despite the composer’s stated aversion to titles and to programme music. The pianist judged the opening of the first Ballade beautifully, dark and rich without being too portentous and laden, his hands sharing the melodic lines as the bass momentarily took the lead from the treble, digging into the notes as the music began to surge forward, then relaxing poetically for the introduction of the beautiful second subject. And if the piece’s penultimate frisson of excitement took a while to ignite at the gallop-away, the cumulative effect of the player’s committed energies brought a satisfying inevitability to those final avalanche-like chromatic flourishes.

Dispensing with applause between the pieces was a good idea, as the silences gave a “charged” quality to each transition from one piece to the next. I liked the hymn-like aspect Treviranus brought out in the second Ballade’s opening, and the urgency with which he plunged into the allegro, more organic than rhetorical – he kept the underlying pulse going throughout the piece to its advantage. Again, with the third Ballade, the pianist took a simple, direct line with the opening theme, though he treated us to a treasurable impulse of hushed delight at the very top of one of the phrases, just before the onset of the “rocking” rhythm which so dominates the work. With this I felt he didn’t “advance” the music sufficiently – I wanted a greater sense of growth, of inexorable momentum building up and leading towards that wonderful downward plunge into the swirling waters, out of which grows sufficient resolve and energy to re-establish the theme and conclude the piece. The fourth Ballade enchanted with its opening (a slight mis-hit at one point reminding us that this was a REAL performance), Treviranus capturing the wistful character of the theme to perfection, gathering purpose with each repetition and nicely setting filigree detail alongside simplicity of utterance. Perhaps the growing agitations needed a bit more volatility and temperament, though all was forgiven after the pianist had enchanted us with the opening’s beautiful reintroduction and its ghostly melismatic echo. And there was power and energy aplenty in evidence throughout the rest of the work’s eventful course, Treviranus’ playing bringing out that slightly “off-centre” quality to the music’s surgings leading us up to the final emphatic chords, and giving us a real physical sense of the distance traversed from the piece’s opening.

The home-town audience was treated to an encore featuring more Chopin, the young man plunging into the well-known and treacherously insistent C-sharp Minor Op.10 Etude, one which he would have played perfectly a hundred times previously instead of, as here, mis-hitting the final chord (his rueful look at the keyboard at that point was as treasurable as if he had played the notes perfectly!). It was of no matter – with this recital Ludwig Treviranus had already done himself, his audience and the music proud. One wishes him well.

Beethoven: Sonata No.24 in F sharp, Op.78 ‘A Thérèse’; Chopin: Barcarolle, Op.60; Beethoven: Sonata No.30 in E, Op.109; Liszt: Funérailles and Bénédiction de Dieu dans la Solitude

Waikanae Memorial Hall

Sunday 11 July 2010, 2.30pm

A well-filled Memorial Hall enjoyed a treat of poetry on the piano.

John-Paul Muir is young, but in total command of the piano. He makes the instrument his own, and he has thought a lot about his interpretations. He played entirely without the scores in front of him.

A very slow start to the first Beethoven sonata made it all the more dramatic. Muir’s playing featured gorgeous pianissimos such as some pianists never achieve. He has a light touch when required, and knows how to achieve a lovely legato. But he can certainly turn on the vivace with no technical problems. One or two fluffs in his playing were really of no consequence. It was set in a difficult key, with six sharps. This is one of the composer’s shorter sonatas, but the pianist gave it plenty of character.

The Chopin piece was played very expressively, strong and characterful when that was needed. The description in the programme note led one into the feeling of being in a gondola at night. This, and the other excellent programme notes, were written by the performer.

Again, Muir’s sensitive playing was most rewarding. I was rarely conscious of the pedal, which means the pedalling was always done tastefully, and not overdone as some do.

The later Beethoven sonata has a great deal of difficult passage work in the first two movements, followed by a gorgeous melody opening the last movement, followed by six variations and finally a restatement of the theme. Muir’s technique was entirely at the service of the music, and he fully exploited the lyricism, though powerful when required to be.

The stillness of Muir’s playing of the theme of the third movement was something wonderful, followed by the slow and dreamy first variation. The syncopated second variation was delicately and deliciously managed. In this as in the other larger works, one could perceive that the pianist had the concept of the architecture of the whole.

The playing of the last variation was masterful, at great speed, but the melody was always brought out.

Lisztian loquacity leaves me lukewarm. As I heard someone say on the radio recently ‘He usually outstays his welcome.’ But Muir invested these pieces with poetry, too. The first piece was played with great feeling; delicate and dominating by turns, its contrasts maintained the interest.

The piece that followed began with the melody in the left hand while the right hand shimmered an accompaniment. The melody swapped thereafter between right and left hands. Muir had plenty of strength when it was needed, but the lightness of his playing at times was like the amazingly light sponge-cake I had eaten at morning tea after church that very day: light but never indistinct.

It is a long time since I have had so much pleasure from a piano recital. His skill, taste and musical acuity are a credit to his teacher at Auckland, Rae de Lisle. 

John-Paul,  winner of the recent Kerikeri International Piano Competition, goes to London in September to study at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.  His teacher will be Senior Professor Joan Havill, who comes from Whanganui.

I am sure that John-Paul Muir’s talent and intelligence will lead him to a great future as a pianist, and that we will have many more opportunities to hear him play. 

Ya-Ting Liou (piano)

The Chopin and Schumann bicentenaries: ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ (Bach, arr Egon Petri), Ballade No 2 in F, Op 38 (Chopin), Kreisleriana, Op 16 (Schumann); Danza del gaucho matrero, from Danzas Argentinas, Op 2 (Ginastera)

Old St Paul’s, Mulgrave Street

Tuesday 6 July, 12.15pm

Schumann’s Kreisleriana was the centrepiece of this interesting concert by a pianist unknown to everyone there, I imagine. Of Taiwanese origin, Ya-Ting Liou’s abbreviated CV discloses connections with Canada, the United States, and Argentina; she currently teaches at the University of Missouri in Kansas City.

She opened with an arrangement of Bach’s ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’, sounding slightly ill-at-ease, and Chopin’s second Ballade was given to transitions in mood and tempo that did not convince me. Her intention may have been to illustrate her reading of whatever narrative is thought to have lain beneath the surface of the piece; marked by changes in spirit and tempo that did not altogether create an integrated work; I would have to be exposed to such an interpretation again for it to have a chance of persuading me that it was what Chopin had intended.

The concert ended with another non-anniversary piece: an aggressive, ferocious dance by Ginastera, a composer she has obviously made a particular study of in her relationship with Argentina. It was a spectacular, pretty flawless performance to send the audience away with.

So I was expecting to find a player who took naturally to the impulsiveness and extreme mood changes that Schumann is given to, and nowhere more than in the wild spontaneity of Kreisleriana (The name comes from an E T A Hoffmann story of a Kapellmeister named Kreisler). Its does not have quite the immediate ecstatic delight of Carnaval or the deeply emotional power of the Fantaisie in C, but it grows on one, to become one Schumann’s most beloved works.

Up to a point Ya-Ting Liou expressed the music’s romantic impetuousness and spontaneity, but what was somewhat lacking was finesse and an ability to express the fantastic in refined, colourful, entrancing terms.

There is a consensus however about the difficulty of interpreting Schumann, especially this piece. If the opening section – Agitatissimo (to use the Italian equivalent of Schumann’s German markings) – did not augur well, cluttered, rushes of arpeggios and scales not cleanly articulated, there was light and calm in the succeeding phase whose short rising and falling motif anchored the music.

Some of her most appealing playing was in the slow sections, starting with the second, ‘Sehr innig und nicht zu rasch’ (Con molto espressione, non troppo presto), and again in the fourth section, ‘Sehr langsam’. In the second, ‘Sehr innig’, hesitant chords became flowing melodies, and the two fast Intermezzi contained within that section where the impulsive Schumann is at his most typical, there was some entrancing playing. No section maintains a uniform mood or tempo, and it was one of the pianist’s virtues that she did more than simply lurch from one to the next without somehow finding a convincing connective spirit.

Clara did not find this work congenial in spite of Schumann’s embodying ‘Clara’ themes in it and it was for that reason, possibly, that he dedicated it to Chopin – an appropriate link for a recital in this year. Though this performance had its shortcomings, even for an all-forgiving Schumann groupie like me, it was a most welcome opportunity to hear one of his great piano works, played in one of Wellington’s most charming ambiences.