SILVER AGE / Daniil Trifonov / Review

SILVER AGE

Daniil Trifonov, Piano

Mariinsky Orchestra

Valery Gergiev

DG 483 5331 (2 CDs)

 

The “Silver Age” was used by impresario Sergei Diaghilev referring to an epoch of musical activity in Russia that lasted from the death of Tchaikovsky to the rise and entrenchment of Soviet socialist realism. That period of creative efflorescence spanned some thirty years, from the mid-1890s through the fin de siecle and First World War to the late 1920s. Prize-winning Russian pianist Daniil Trifonov, having served Rachmaninov’s music (mostly the piano concertos) well on Deutsche Grammophon, now turns his attention to the piano works of Scriabin, Stravinsky and Prokofiev.   

 

In the notes, he describes “an increasingly fractured, social, political and intellectual environment – a cocktail of different artistic expressions, in agitated interaction.” This handsome double album has a convenient dichotomy: solo works fill up the first disc while concertos occupy the second. The formula works pretty well for continuous listening except for issues of chronology.

Great Russians:
Scriabin, Stravinsky & Prokofiev

 

Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915) was a Chopin devotee before turning into a self-styled mystic and messianic spiritualist. Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) began as the folksy disciple of Rimsky-Korsakov, later espousing primitivism (for The Rite of Spring) and neoclassicism. Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953) was the enfant terrible of modernism but eventually settled down to an appeasing lyricism during the Stalin years. Trifonov, for reasons best known to him, somehow gets these dates jumbled up.

 

The first disc opens and closes with Stravinsky. However one first gets to hear his neoclassical phase with the Serenade in A (1925), a four-movement suite based on antique forms. Its polite sensibilities are however rocked by Prokofiev’s five Sarcasms Op.17 (1912-14), music from his iconoclastic phase, deliberately grotesque and provocative as one can get. Then its a thirty year leap forward to his Sonata No.8 in B flat major (1944), the most lyrical (albeit its fair share of barbed wire and gunfire) of his “War Trilogy” and the dainty Gavotte from the ballet Cinderella (1940-44). Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite (1910) as transcribed by Guido Agosti makes a suitably sonorous end to the recital, but should this have been the Prokofiev sonata instead? Make no mistake, Trifonov performs these varied works, despite stylistic differences and quirks, to the manner born.

 

In a logical and natural progession of things, Scriabin’s youthful Piano Concerto in F sharp major (1896), with its Chopinist musings, ought to precede Prokofiev’s brooding yet swashbuckling Piano Concerto No.2 (1913, reconstructed 1923) with Stravinsky’s Three Movements from Petrushka (1911) as sandwich filling. From a listener’s stand point, that should have been ideal, but Trifonov however reverses the sequence, opening with Prokofiev before going back in time to Scriabin. In doing so, he seems to be reclaiming the nostalgia of the pre-Bolshevik revolution era, by turning his back on decadance to witness the last hurrah of lush Romanticism.

 

It is interesting to note that both concertos have not been particularly well-served by DG over the decades. For the Scriabin, there is only the eccentric Antol Ugorski (remember him?) with Pierre Boulez from the late 90s. Trifonov is preferable here. For the Prokofiev, which has enjoyed a renaissance at the turn of the millennium, Trifonov’s rivals are two Chinese pianists: Yundi Li (with Seiji Ozawa) and Yuja Wang (with Gustavo Dudamel). Wang edges this contest simply because her reading generates the greatest excitement.

 

Make no mistake, Trifonov double-disc album is a worthy addition to any pianophile’s library. He is a commanding artist in his native repertoire, but do have a programming facility ready on your disc player to enjoy the music in a chronological and historically-informed sequence. 

RESEMBLANCE & REMEMBRANCE / ANTHONY HEWITT Piano Recital / Review

RESEMBLANCE & REMEMBRANCE

ANTHONY HEWITT Piano Recital

Yong Siew Toh Conservatory 

Orchestral Hall

Tuesday (12 September 2017)

The idea of pairing the piano music of Frederic Chopin and Alexander Scriabin is not new, having been previously showcased by Albert Tiu in recital and his brilliant recording Nocturnal Fantasies. In the recital by British pianist Anthony Hewitt (no relation to Canadian pianist Angela Hewitt), 12 Préludes (from Op.11) by the Russian Scriabin were juxtaposed with 16 Préludes (Op.28) by the Pole Chopin.

Scriabin was a devotee of Chopin and made no secret of it in his early piano works. Hence the “resemblance” half of this recital, which began with Scriabin's short and lyrical musings. Hewitt laced the selection with lots of rubato, sometimes stretching the tempos to the point of improvisation.

There was, however, colour and variety to the sequence, which sometimes bordered on violence in Scriabin's more intense and impetuous efforts. In the Chopin set, which also ran the gamut from C major to D minor, similar mood swings were experienced.

The astonishing transitions from the dark and turbulent Prélude No.14 (E flat minor), to the luminous clarity of No.15 “Raindrop” (D flat major) and relentless barnstorming No.16 (B flat minor) were starkly contrasted and trenchantly brought out. There were missed notes here and there, especially in running passages in pieces of both sets but that mattered little, as none of the playing came across as sounding bored.

The “remembrance” component fell to Modest Mussorgsky's Pictures At An Exhibition, a suite of character pieces written in tribute to his late artist-architect friend Viktor Hartmann. Hewitt's performance was accompanied by a visual component, a series of paper cuts by Czech-British artist Klara Smith representing individual pieces of the tableaux.

Bydlo, the oxcart

Projected on a large screen behind the pianist, the stylised illustrations – intricately crafted with cobwebbed finery - resembled that of wayang kulit. A purist will decry that piano music does not need such extra-musical stimuli to express itself. However in this case, Smith's handiwork proved more imaginative and interesting than Hewitt's playing.

Marketplace at Limoges

His rather constricted tonal dynamics, which hovered mostly between mezzoforte and tripleforte, would have proved more tiresome without the visuals. Hesitations, mistakes and misreadings would have also been less acceptable in a conventional recital, hence the picture show was more boon than bane.

Baba Yag's Hut on Fowl's Legs

And even that was not perfect. The playing of Tuileries was accompanied by birds, while the Ballet Of Unhatched Chicks was represented by children playing in a park. In short, the two movements had simply been mixed up. In the closing Great Gate Of Kiev, the picture was prematurely faded, with a giant black screen in its place.

Here with subtlety no longer an issue, Hewitt's portrayal of the E flat major carillons was gloriously clangorous, drawing a prolonged and vociferous reception. The encore, also in E flat major, Schubert's Impromptu (Op.90 No.2), was gratefully accepted.   

GEOFFREY SABA PLAYS RACHMANINOV & SCRIABIN / Review

GEOFFREY SABA PLAYS

RACHMANINOV & SCRIABIN

University Cultural Centre Theatre

Wednesday (3 October 2012)

This review was published in The Straits Times on 5 October 2012 with the title "Naughty but nice closing with Waltzing Matilda".

This piano recital could have been titled “A Tale of Two Classmates” for Russian composers Sergei Rachmaninov and Alexander Scriabin were close contemporaries, shared the same teachers and graduated from Moscow Conservatory in the same cohort with gold medals. However their music took on distinctly divergent paths.

Rachmaninov remained a Romantic for life while Scriabin’s experiments with straining tonality ushered in 20^th century musical modernism. Australia-born British pianist Geoffrey Saba’s recital was a treatise on their contrasting fates and fortunes.

He began with Rachmaninov’s five Morceaux de Fantaisie Op.3, early works with strong whiffs of salon about them. Rearranging the order of play, the opening Elegie oozed Slavic melancholy, contrasted with playful whimsy of the Serenade and the wistful Melodie. Then came the infamous C sharp minor Prelude, Rachmaninov’s most popular solo number bar none, which Saba built to a robust chordal climax, before closing with the riotously tongue-in-cheek Polichinelle.   

Before latecomers could settle into their seats, he crept into the murky, mysterious pages of Scriabin’s late poem Vers La Flamme (Towards The Flame), a fulminating crescendo that spewed and spluttered into a final conflagration. Horowitz described it in terms of nuclear fission and the atomic bomb, while Saba detonated it with an inexorable finality.

The final Five Preludes Op.74 followed like an afterthought, aphoristic and almost atonal utterings all. Scriabin’s earlier Fourth Sonata in two short movements closed the first half. Saba kept it light fingered for most part, but its ecstatic flight lacked that critical lift-off, with the lapses almost certainly exacerbated by jet-lag.

The entire second half was devoted to Rachmaninov’s longest solo work, his monumental First Sonata in D minor. Its 45 minutes played out like a symphony in three movements, inspired by the Faust legend. If the first movement seemed rambling by half, it was for good reason as Saba built up the protagonist’s struggle in his pact with the Devil like an enormous arch, gripping and unrelenting in its vice-like hold.

The slow movement was all tenderness before the Mephistophelean finale which was launched into with all guns blazing. Rachmaninov’s motto Dies Irae theme appeared as expected, now as a demonic march, hastening its wild ride into Hades. Despite the odd slips and missed notes, this hell-for-leather performance must be hailed for its Herculean effort and sense of inevitability. As of tonight, there will have been only three performances of this rare masterpiece in Singapore.

As an encore, Scriabinesque chords greeted and closed Stephen Hough’s transcription of The Waltzing Matilda, a sly tribute to Saba’s homeland, which brought on knowing smiles of recognition in the audience. Naughty but nice.

This concert was presented as part of the ExxonMobil Campus Concerts series. Photographs courtesy of NUS Centre for the Arts. 

FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE / CHISATO KUSUNOKI Piano Recital / Review

FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE 

CHISATO KUSUNOKI Piano Recital 

Victoria Concert Hall 

Thursday (13 May 2010)

This review was published in The Straits Times on 15 May 2010. 

Some of the pre-requisites to perform Russian piano music convincingly are emotional heft, an iron-clad technique and loads of reserve. While one does not need to be Russian or at least Slavic, it certain helps. It was thus a pleasant surprise to see a UK-based Japanese pianist wrestle with the Russian bear and come out victorious and pretty much unscathed. 

Chisato Kusonoki packs a wallop within her tiny frame. For Alexander Scriabin’s fiery Third Sonata in F sharp minor which opened her 2-hour long recital, the music tread the fine line of being copy-Chopin to bursting free from all fetters. She shaped the lyrical phrases beautifully, especially in the languid slow movement, and went for broke in the volatile and breathless finale. Poised and polished, she was unafraid to throw off the gloves and go bare-knuckled.

Equally enthralling were two contrasting Transcendental Études by Sergei Lyapunov, an obvious homage to Liszt’s virtuosity. The serene Lullaby luxuriated in Borodinesque harmonies while the harrowing Lesghinka, a coruscating Oriental dance, found her in imperious form. If there is a work to outdo Balakirev’s overplayed Islamey Fantasy, this is it. Students and serial competitors take note!

Demonstrating she was not just dizzying fingers, her selection of three Tchaikovsky Seasons – the slower and more introspective ones – revealed a more intimate side. In Autumn Song (October), Kusunoki’s uniting of two disparate voices was a model of particular beauty and sensitivity. 

In Rachmaninov’s Six Moments Musicaux (Op.16), all the critical faculties for a memorable performance came to bear. Her gift of cantabile served the first and fifth pieces well, the former never a slave to the right hand’s vertiginous maneuvers and the latter reliving the joy of arch-simplicity. Razor-sharp reflexes also weathered the whirlwind tempos of the second and fourth Moments, with lots more to spare. 

The brooding third number, the most Russian of the set, probed deeply into the collective psyche and offered up some secrets. For the final C major romp, she unleashed the roar of the ocean, approximating the power of a Lazar Berman, but without the pummeling brute force. Her lovely encore, a Chopin nocturne and the only non-Russian work, marked a welcome return to solace and serenity.

Nocturnal Fantasies II: Piano Recital by ALBERT TIU / Review

NOCTURNAL FANTASIES II
ALBERT TIU, Piano
Yong Siew Toh Conservatory Concert Hall
Friday (20 November 2009)

This review was published in The Straits Times on 23 November 2009.

The piano music of Chopin (below) is universally loved, whilst that of Russian composer Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915) trails behind considerably, appreciated mostly by pianophiles, acolytes and mystics. Conservatory professor Albert Tiu’s coup in programming juxtaposed works of both pianist-composers, side by side and like for like, for comparison and contrast.

With tongue firmly in cheek, Chopin’s skittish Butterfly Étude (Op.25 No.9) prefaced Scriabin’s Mosquito Étude (Op.42 No.3), so named for its pesky triplet trills on the right hand. Never had comparative entomology and musicology so fortuitous a field day, boosted by Tiu’s rock secure technique and imaginative sense of shading.

Two Waltzes followed, both in the key of A flat major, Chopin’s exuberance balanced by Scriabin’s bittersweet musings. The Mazurkas, from different periods of the composers’ lives, struck a common vein of Slavic melancholy. Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantasie (Op.61) and Scriabin’s Sonata-Fantasie (Op.19) were united by a declamatory opening gesture, one falling while the other rising.

Never a hint of academism, this was gorgeously sensuous music performing with obvious passion and conviction. The smouldering Andante of the Scriabin (left) sonata, with its multiple interweaving lines, issued forth whispers of hidden voices. Innuendo turned into full-blown consummation with the ensuing Presto and its carnal outbursts.

The second half followed along this path of pairs, with rapidly flowing Préludes, the bel canto seamlessness of Nocturnes (including Scriabin’s gem for the left hand alone) and the seemingly improvisatory manner of Impromptus.

The most monumental pieces were left for last. The march-like decorum of Chopin’s Fantasy in F minor (Op.49) and its rhapsodic development were the perfect foil for Scriabin’s Fantasy in B minor (Op.28), surging with brooding and seething disquiet. In their soft centers lay a wellspring of melody, which Tiu tapped like a prospector of liquid gold.

His encores included a morsel of Scriabin, of course, and the ultimate of graceful encores, Godowsky’s delectable transcription of Saint-Saens’ The Swan. The latter evoked for this listener the cherished memory of Shura Cherkassky (left) in his 1994 Singapore recital. When excellence of execution meets inspiration, the results are rarely forgotten.