Athens State Orchestra at the Athens Concert Hall: Beethoven, Prokofiev & Stravinsky

This concert was indeed a pleasant surprise! I've heard the Athens State Orchestra in the past, but last night, their playing was a revelation! This was a splendid and flawless account of monumental classical works. 

The concert took place last Friday, 1st of June, in a packed Athens Concert Hall. The first piece performed was Beethoven's "Coriolan Overture", one of the most famous and popular works of the great German composer. From the first bar, the 38 years-old conductor, Vassilis Christopoulos, established the character of the piece: a robust sound, harsh sonorities, restlessness - all these vital elements were convincingly brought to life. 

Then came one of my favorite pieces - Prokofiev's 3rd Piano Concerto, performed by the famous Greek pianist Dimitris Sgouros. It's strange, but I really could not hear well the solo part, so to be honest, I cannot say much about his performance. I wonder what the reasons for this subdued sound might be: could it be, for instance, that I am over-exposed, so to speak, to recorded versions of the work, where the piano part is perhaps amplified? Could it be that the orchestra's sound was one scale louder than it should have been? Could it be that the pianist, for some unknown reason, did not project his sound enough? Maybe, all/some of the above? The thing is that I could not hear the piano from where I sat. In any case, from what I could discern, the performance was technically flawless (I know the work virtually by heart), and I did admire the andante meditativo character of the middle section of the 2nd movement. Sgouros played a lovely encore afterwards - Scriabin's etude in C Sharp op.2 no 1. And the infinite sadness that this piece expresses was masterfully shown. 

After the break, the Athens State Orchestra and Vassilis Christopoulos played one of the most demanding works of the orchestral repertoire - Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. I consider this work to be the most exciting orchestral piece ever written - and the performance was, by all means, of the highest standard. Christopoulos, obviously, has a profound knowledge of the work and a very clear idea of what he wants. But, however clear ideas a conductor might have, however noble his musical intentions may be, he needs an orchestra to respond and bring them alive! And the ASO succeeded in that respect. Supported by its amazing percussionists (I counted 6 of them), the orchestra emerged courageously and fully into the extraordinary "sound effects" of the Rite and presented an utterly convincing performance: the rhythmic element (so vital in this music) was powerfully there, the sound was vibrant and confident. Christopoulos has done a splendid job with the ASO, no doubt about it. 

In times such as these Greece has been experiencing lately (and God knows what awaits us in the imminent future), the fact that such wonderful concerts do take place, the fact that such charismatic musicians can still show the world their gift, is of itself a reason to hope...

Pictures at an Exhibition: a somewhat heretical view...

I was listening to this work the other day, in a highly praised (live) recording made by Sviatoslav Richter in Prague. It is indeed a great recording (one of many of this work made by the great pianist), actually one of the best I’ve ever heard. And, again, I had this disturbing thought that I want to share with you… It is a work that, to me, does not “fit” well with the piano. There is something annoyingly un-pianistic about it. I know I am an exception about what is commonly believed to be the piano piece par excellence! But it is enough for someone to hear Ravel's marvelous orchestral transcription to realize how much better the work sounds in its orchestral version. The big and long chords, the various effects, the huge dynamics, the vast variety of colors – all these can best be served by a large orchestra; such is the “size” of the sound that a piano, however powerful the interpreter, falls short in comparison with the orchestra. I cannot help but thinking that Mussorgsky had an orchestral sound in mind when composing his Pictures. 

I apply what I said to this work only, not as a general rule. Actually, in most cases (if not all), the original composition  always stands above any transcription. And, in the past, I've written about the danger of composing deplorable transcriptions when the transcriber does not “respect” the limits of the instrument to which he/she is transcribing. 

I remember practicing the Pictures when in London, in 1999. It is a huge work requiring real guts to play it in public… After practicing the piece on-and-off for a couple of months, I eventually gave up on it. I like hearing it from time to time though. No doubt, this is a monumental piece of music; yet my concerns about its pianistic qualities are always there...

Suite Bergamasque...

It's really strange (and fascinating). I have listened to some works in the (not so distant) past and was left completely unimpressed. And I listen to the same works later and fall in love with them. It's difficult to explain why; I suppose, as the saying goes: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven". This is from the Old Testament (the book of Ecclesiastes) which, actually goes on to say: "a time to love and a time to hate". So it seems that this could apply to music too! 

There are several pieces I have in mind which fall within this category, the more recent one being Claude Debussy's Suite Bergamasque. I began to practice that about 2 weeks ago, and realized very quickly the hidden difficulty that lies under an apparently easy score: the secret in this music is to transform the sound into color, the score into a painting; the impressionistic style requires a very particular touch, a kind of a very special softness and "vagueness". It's very early to write anything more about this (though I have played Ravel and Debussy in the past). I shall need time, not to learn the notes (which should be fairly straightforward) but to emerge into this atmosphere and get a hold of what I am doing. 

Four pieces, each one a whole world: the dynamic prelude, the mysteriously playful minuet, the poetic clair de lune, and the joyful passepied. Together with the Children's Corner and Images, this is my favorite work by the composer. 

What can I say about clair de lune? Nothing, perhaps, except the poem of Paul Verlaine which inspired Debussy to write this music...

Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.
Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,
Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres.

Ps. Yesterday I was watching a wonderful film I Capture the Castle, based on the classic novel by Dodie Smith (which I love),  and at some point the clair de lune could be heard in the background; it fitted so well with the atmosphere and beauty of this film...

Martino Tirimo's Recital: Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

I had the fortune, once more, to listen to this great pianist, in a recital that he gave on Friday 11 May, in "Parnassos" Concert Hall, a lovely venue in the center of Athens. This time Tirimo chose to play an all-Tchaikovsky program. 

He began with "the Seasons" (op. 37a), one of the most interesting works that the Russian composer wrote for solo piano. It's a work I  particularly love (I am always very fond of music that evokes the change of seasons), for it reminds me of my childhood: it is then that one experiences more vividly the change of time, weather and season. This change is powerfully reflected in this series of 12 pieces (one for each month), through a great variety of styles, moods and colors. Just to give you an idea, here are the titles of every piece:

1. January: At the Fireside
2. February: Carnival
3. March: Song of the Lark
4. April: Snowdrop
5. May: Starlit Nights
6. June: Barcarolle
7. July: Song of the Reapers
8. August: Harvest 
9. September: The Hunt
10. October: Autumn Song
11. November: Troika 
12. December: Christmas 

Listen, for instance, to the Barcarolle (June) (probably the best-known of the set) [here with the unmistakable genius of Michail Pletniev]. 



 In a completely different atmosphere, September depicts a hunting scene (move to 5:15):








Tirimo's exploration of this musical kaleidoscope was masterful. Not only did he bring out the uniqueness of each of the 12 pieces; he managed to present a unified whole (as opposed to a fragmented perspective) - and this is nothing less than a achievement. 

After the interval, Tirimo played for us a song (op.40/2), a mazurka (40/4) and Dumka (op.59). I personally do not think there is much in these works, although the russian-ness of the Dumka does speak to my heart. 

On the contrary, Martino's final work (Nutcracker, Orchestral Suite op.71 - tr. by Michael Pletnev) is, really, Tchaikovsky at his very best. This is an impressive, very successful transcription made by a great pianist. Here, Martino brought out all the qualities of this music: the hidden melodic lines were clearly and subtly articulated; the dynamic "palette" was infinitely rich, and the technical bravura was exceptional! This final piece was a revelation, both regarding the genius of Tchaikovsky and the undisputed pianistic qualities of the performer. 
All in all, a musical feast for those lucky to be in Parnassos Concert Hall last Friday. 

Danae Kara Recital: Beethoven, our Contemporary

This was a couple of weeks ago, and I am really glad I managed to go. (It's not so easy any more!)  Danae Kara chose to play a Beethoven recital and this put me off when I first saw the programme: Beethoven (I am sorry to admit!) is a composer I find hard to come to terms with, in particular his late works.  But Danae made a fine selection of works, covering all the periods of his life: from his early years (Sonata in F minor), to his middle period ("Moonlight") and at the end his last sonata, a work that seems to already belong to the romantic era. 

If that had been the programme, I would have found it unbearably heavy (mainly due to my feelings for the composer!). But Danae cleverly inserted short and light works in between the sonatas: Bagatelles and Valses.  And she finished with the charming Rondo alla ingharese quasi un capriccio in G major, Op. 129, a work that is better known by the sub-title "Rage Over a Lost Penny" (from the German: Die Wut über den verlorenen Groschen).  (In fact this sub-title was invented by Anton Schindler, not by Beethoven.)

So, in the end, this was (if I may say so) a "non-lecture recital"!  I mean, there was an educational point to be made here (the recital, after all, took place in a school): a musical exploration of the music of the great German composer. For a pianist like myself, this programme is of enormous difficulty - I don't think I could ever face such a challenge! Beethoven, (personal feelings aside!) is a difficult composer... 

Kara's playing was, as usual, fluid and refined.  I admired her undiminished concentration, her effort to bring out all the details of this most demanding music.  I particularly warmed to her interpretation of the famous für Elise, which was, literally, as if I was hearing it for the first time! 

Looking forward to Danae's next recital!

Musical reminiscence

How does music reside in memory? In what specific form is a melody embedded in our brain? I always found these questions fascinating, but something I listened to today brought home these questions in more vivid terms:

When I was a child, there was a TV show on Greek television. I never really watched it, and I could not even remember what it was called. BUT, I did remember a theme played on the harpsichord at the end-credits. It's strange; this theme has ever since remained "intact" in my head, down to the smallest detail - in fact,  I could (still can) play it by ear on the piano. And today, some 20 years on, I bumped into it on the internet! And I listened to it again after such a long time of keeping it vividly in my memory for so many years. I really cannot grasp the mechanics of such a mysterious procedure. I can only say that music is a powerful thing, much more powerful than it may seem to be. For it affects in a decisive way not just our emotional world, but our whole being in ways that are really beyond comprehension. 

Just for the record, here is the theme...

 

Rachmaninov's Rach 3: Cadenza recording...

This is one of the most exciting things I've ever played! It's perhaps interesting to know that Rachmaninoff actually composed two cadenzas for the 1st movement and many pianists prefer the ossia version; yet I think that this one (the one here below) is more original and light and, most importantly, allows for a more convincing crescendo. Here is what Geoffrey Norris has to say on this (excerpt taken from his excellent book on Rachmaninoff):

"Rachmaninoff composed two versions of the first part of the cadenza. One is 59 bars long with an intricate passage work; the other has 75 bars, is chordal throughout and is considerably more taxing (...) The numbering of the pages in the manuscript indicates that the longer cadenza was the composer's first choice, but presumably the necessity to fit the concerto conveniently  on to 78 rpm records compelled him to choose the shorter one, or maybe Rachmaninoff simply felt that enough power had been generated elsewhere and that lightness provided an agreeable contrast.  Both versions achieve the same purpose in providing a suitable platform for displays  of virtuosity and in commenting adequately upon the motifs from the first subject". 

I am not convinced that the longer version was the composer's first choice but it's of no importance really. 

So, here is an excerpt from the [short] cadenza (I had to stop when the orchestra comes in, for obvious reasons!). 

Any comments are most welcome!