Notes on a recording

A couple of weeks ago I made a recording of Rachmaninoff's Moment Musical in E Minor. I had played the piece a couple of times in the past and I always wanted to have a recorded version of it. It' s a hard piece, one that requires concentration and stamina to keep going till the end - the final explosion. This is typical early Rachmaninoff - the Moments Musicaux are, in my view, one of the best products of his youth. The E minor one is the best known piece of the set, and understandably so: apart from the technical bravura, one can discern a fine melodic line which never falls victim to the repetetitive structure of the piece. It is a desperately passionate melody, with a short lyric interlude around the middle, which expands till the last fff. I think the danger of this music is to play too loud too early; one must keep the sound well under control, otherwise the catastrophe is unavoidable!
As for the recording procedure. Of course, due to the video camera, no edit could be done - I had to play non-stop from the beggining to the end. I managed to perform the piece 4-5 times and it was pretty exhausting. We kept three takes and at a later stage, I decided which one was to be uploaded. The studio is one of the best in Athens and the Yamaha is well beyond average.

It was good fun! And the result is, I think, more or less, decent, although there are many annoying details... A few technical mistakes, and a general sense of sluggishness; is it not a bit boring too? But anyway, there we are, here it is and all comments are welcome!

Today's listening: Lugansky playing Brahms

Today’s listening: Nikolai Lugansky, a live recital given in August 2002. Brahms, Klavierstucke op. 118. Wonderful performance as ever, full of life, and within the spirit of the composer. Did not particularly warm to his rendering of the final intermezzo though – I found that there was something missing of the profound sadness and depth which penetrates this intensely personal moment of late Brahms.

I remember playing this particular Intermezzo (op.118 no 6) for my diploma exams, back in 1997. It was such a difficult thing to bring out the feeling of loneliness and desolation that is expressed in the melodic line. I played it then (cannot remember how it went) and never attempted to tackle it again. I think it’s one of these pieces that persuade me that the piano is undoubtedly the most difficult instrument of all. To bring out correctly the melody of op.118/6 from a massive ‘piece of furniture’ (I mean the piano) that faces you, seems to me enough to prove the statement.

on depression...

Well, it can be depressing…

Argerich’s performance of Schumann’s Kinderszenen (the piece I am working on currently) is so impossibly perfect, so unapproachably beautiful that one becomes depressed thinking of one’s own imperfectness, one’s hopeless distance from such an immaculate sound. It’s an odd feeling, similar to the one felt when reading the life of saints.

And this brings to my mind a novel I read ages ago: the title was “The Loser”, and it was written by the Austrian writer Thomas Bernhard. It’s the story of a pianist who, after hearing Glenn Gould playing, gave up the piano, and some years later, still crushed by the comparison between his playing and the great pianist’s, died while listening to Gould’s Goldberg Variations. It is not the happiest story (!), (and the narrative is a bit complicated), yet one can understand the principal idea – how profoundly wrong this feeling of depression-deriving-from-comparison can be.
…And yet, it’s only too natural to feel like that when persons from one’s own professional field do so much better than oneself! I think the challenge here is to try to transform this negative feeling into something positive; how can one do that? Well, I think one could begin by focusing on his/her own uniqueness. Every person is unique – and so is every smile, every gaze, every soul. The realization of our otherness is crucial; for it can enable us to see this very element in the other person too; so, yes, for instance, I will never be able to play Kinderszenen as well as Martha – no matter if I practice for hours and hours on end. But how sweet it is to rejoice at this great gift given to her by God, how sweet it is to rejoice for the gifts that are bestowed on my life – my talents, my own playing, my life, my family.
The aim, as I understand and feel it, is to be able to reach a point of heartful thankfulness to God for everything that occurs, for everyone that one may come across in life.

I write this in our summerhouse, in a village near Corinth, Greece. What ideal surroundings for such a beautiful piece of music - and a performance to match…

Dreaming Kinderszenen...

In a week's time, I am playing a short recital at an Embassy, here in Athens. I must say that it's pretty hard to concentrate and am struggling to have a decent practice session. I feel generally very tired and not particulary motivated. It's also very hot these days...

Anyway, I am going to play (for the fist time) a piano transcription of Libertango and am really looking forward ro that.

A strange thing happened the other day. I had this dream where I very clearly heard myself playing Schumann's Kinderszenen; I woke up in the middle of the night with the music still vibrating in my head. And I thought, why not learn the score, for my children? They would love it and, after all, it's written for them! So I have also (in a painfully slow way...) been practicing this wonderful set of little pieces.

For Schumann, my feelings are ambivalent; I adore his Piano Concerto (have played it many times); I really like Kreisleriana and Kinderszenen but, that's about it... I cannot listen to his "Carnaval" and I find "Fantasia" unbearably boring... And I recently heard a live recording of his Waldzenen by Volodos, and still was unable to follow what was going on. His Fantasiestucke (op. 12), on the contrary, I find interesting.

I must confess that another reason why I've decided to learn this piece is the fact that is not technically demanding... Which is of some importance at this stage of my life, with practically no time to practice. Having said that, however, I have a feeling that the work is very difficult in its own way; for it has some really masterly composed moments: here, simplicity meets beauty in a world of saintly innoncence. It's no wonder that my son, from the very first notes, came to the piano and asked me what is was... Yet it seems to me that in order to perform this music (well that is...) one must possess - to a certain degree at least - the quality of innocence, which, in my case, was lost a long time ago.

Anderson & Roe Piano Duo: An original approach to classical music.

I recently discovered this amazingly talented piano duo on youtube. What I like most about Anderson and Roe is their unconventional approach to classical music, which, however, does not in any way mean a degradation of the musical quality - after all, they both studied at Julliard, they obviously are accomplished professionals. This is, I think, the crucial thing about this duo: they play in an original, sometimes funny way, but they do not betray, for that reason, their proffesionalism - the attention to the detail.

Watching them it's a consoling experience, since classical music has been wrongly identified with pompousness, stiffness and "seriousness". I think this might be the challenge for the new generation: to bring classical music into a modern, original and imaginative "shape" which so much is missing from the concert halls.

Listen, for instance, their "new account of the Bluw Danube Waltz". A joyful, sparkling transcription, played with such youthful enthusiasm...

...Or, listen and watch their incredibly erotic and passionate (as well as funny) performance of Piazzola's "libertango".

Imagination, inventiveness, professionalism and boldness - these are the elements that guarantee a succesful career for Greg and Elizabeth.

The Concert Pianist

Kissin managed to suprise me once more!
I was listening to his recording of Brahms' Second Hungarian Dance (in RCA). It's such a lively and dynamic account of this beautiful dance! One can easily discern Kissin's rare musical qualities: the perfect control of his sound, a huge tonal palette and an incredible dynamism - all these elements make for an altogether exceptional case of pianist. Some of his recordings remain unsurpassable for me - take, for instance, his extraordinary performance of Liszt's "Chasse-Neige" transcedental study.

I sometimes wonder - and I want to put this down on my diary as sincerely as I can: what sort of happiness can really be found in living the life of a concert pianist? Kissin travels all the time around the globe giving concerts (I presume) every other day. I honestly wonder, how can happiness and inner peace be reconciled with a life of constant traveling, staying all the time in gloomy hotel rooms, loneliness, practicing all the time, playing for thousand of unknown people who are (in their vast majority) ready to bury the pianist at his first mistake or an unsuccessful rendering of a work, with being always on perfect and immaculate form...

I wish I had Kissin to explain to me what are the pleasures and consolations of such a life... I suppose that he might have replied that it is in music that he finds the source of every joy; yet again, I fail to understand how music - much as I adore it- can represent such an exclusively important factor in life, how it can, per se, make life meaningful.

What's wrong with Rach 4?...

I was walking to work this morning, under a merciless Greek sun, and suddenly the haunting melody of the first movement of Rachmaninoff's Fourth Piano Concerto came into my mind. And I began wondering why this work is not as popular as its precedents. I know that Rachmaninoff tried several revisions of the work but with no apparent success.

So, what's wrong with Rach 4?

Let me first say that, in my view, it is an interesting work, with some really fine moments. It has at least two absolutely beautiful, long melodic lines, so typical of R. The orchestral part is masterly composed, and so is, of course, the solo part.
An aspect which works against this concerto is the fact that one cannot av0id the comparison with the previous three ... And one can easily see that, while the first three concertos are definately masterpieces, the fourth does not quite deserve the same credit!

As I was walking this morning, I brought to mind the first movement, and I think one would agree that it is the finest of the three - a wonderful opening theme, briliantly exposed and developed, a very lyrical and also melancholic middle theme and an unpredictable ending. I think it was Nikolai Lugansky who said that in this movement we meet R in his darkest and saddest moments. He is right-there is a dark quality in the work, but the feeling that personally overwhelms me is that of a deep nostalgia and unfulfilled longing - maybe for his homeland (the concerto was composed in the US), for his youth... I don't know...


The problems begin with the second movement... Yes, the theme is nice and the dialogue between the piano and the orchestra interesting, but the endless repetition of the same idea makes it rather tiresome and possibly boring. And the third movement (possibly the least inspired of all), although it begins brilliantly, seems to lack shape and continuity, does not have a guiding musical principle or idea, it doesn't convey a spontaneous message.

The Rachmaninoff Concertos... I've spent all my life listening them, playing (some of) them, studying them... They constitute a vital part of my musical self... And I feel that I carry them with me, in my heart and in my mind.

...Since I mentioned Lugansky, here is the first movement of the Concerto performed by him. (His recordings of the Rachmaninoff Piano Concertos are among the finest I've ever come across)...