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)...

Yesterday's Concert

I think it went rather well in the end. It was of course a small venue, the audience made up mostly of friends but I must confess that I 'd rather play for a handful of persons I love than perform in front of hundreds of unknown faces. Rhapsody in blue was a big success, of course - everyone loved it.

Yet Spyros told me half-jokingly that he will never play with me again! He was referring to the fact that I had a tendency to rush a bit in terms of tempo, which is a very unsettling experience if you are not on your own. He is right actually - esp the Shubert Fantasia was a bit unstable tempo-wise, and I am the one to be blamed for that.

My Rachmaninoff was, I think, more or less ok, though there were some wrong notes, as always. It could have been better... Same with Bach, although I felt it went better than the Rachmaninoff.

All in all, it was a nice occasion - a warm and friendly atmosphere. My two young sons came to the concert - their "first", I think! They seemed happy afterwards. I was thinking, God knows, some time I may be the one to go to their concert!...

Before the concert...

I find myself again in an all-too-familiar “pre-concert mood”…

I am playing, together with a good friend of mine, next Wednesday, at a Conservatoire down in the centre of Athens. Actually, this is the conservatoire where I studied, ages ago.

This is the first time that I have done a joint recital: the program consists of a combination of solo pieces and works for four hands. My solo contribution will be Bach’s “Concerto After Marcello”, a wonderful – though not so well-known transcription of a concerto for oboe written by Alessandro Marcello-, and then two Rachmaninoff pieces. Spyros (a wonderful pianist) will play Chopin and Debussy.

We will in the end play a most interesting version of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue”, for four hands, written by Henry Levine. I had initially my doubts about this one, but when I saw and studied the score (by the way it has never been performed in Greece before, I gather), I’ve realised that it “works” well for the piano, and I am really looking forward to it…

Now, what’s that “pre-concert mood”?...

It’s something strange really, it’s like a general negativity towards anything related to music, piano and the like. It is as if an aversion to what I am doing overcomes me one week before any concert, and I cannot find a way to escape this feeling. It has, of course, psychological grounds, related possibly to the stress that one experiences before any important event. Still, it’s quite annoying! I am unable to enjoy my concerts while performing – only afterwards: then, immediately, the perspective shifts again, everything goes back to normal. But again, the challenge to “live the present moment” seems to have been lost. How sad.

Yet, on another level, this strange mood has a positive effect on me. For instance, I often feel forced to sort of stop and think about myself – who am I, where am I going, why am I doing this etc... I don’t expect rational answers to all these endless questions but somehow I feel that the fact alone that I ask them (seriously, not superfluously that is) helps cultivate a growing sense of self-awareness, which is crucial. If this is true, then maybe all concerts also have “consequences” which are unrelated to music - they have served as signposts in an internal procedure towards maturity.

We have another 5 days until the concert, so I may come back on the subject…

Glenn Gould's Bach

I’ve decided tο sometimes write in English from now on… I might in this way be able to communicate with a much larger community sharing the same interests and passions. English-speaking people who may read these lines are kindly asked not be too harsh on my English, I beg you!

Yesterday evening, as I was listening to Glenn Gould performing a Contrapunctus from the “Art of Fugue”, a remark by an excellent Greek pianist, Danae Kara, came to my mind. She once told me that there is one thing you cannot accuse Gould of: that his Bach is “out-of-style”. This is so true. For whatever his eccentricities, his sometimes peculiar or unorthodox readings etc etc, his Bach remains "Bach" in the purest sense of the word. Glenn’s Bach is clear of any romantic indulgences and is pervaded by a clarity of tone, a musical “purity”, if I may say so, which is there all the time – in every single note that Gould recorded from 1955 onwards.

Yet, much as “Bachian” his Bach may be, Gould manages to combine faithfulness to this style with his own personal and unique tone. And this is where, I think, his genius lies – in the harmonic co-existence of uniqueness and faithfulness-in-style. (I wish, though, I could say the same for his Mozart!!...)

I played once in a concert a Contrapunctus from the "Art" (the 3rd one), it’s a strange work indeed! It seems to me (correct me if I am mistaken) that the “late” Bach is marked by a spirit of musical asceticism which, in the Art of Fugue, is embodied in the “strictness” and austere nature of these strange and long fugues; this is an element which is definitely missing from the Toccatas or his Suites.
There is an almost spiritual quality in this transition, which I find quite moving…