Cecile Licad (Michael Rocha photo)

Three months ago, the accomplished Filipina pianist Cecile Licad performed Part I of her Chopin/Liszt piano series as part the new Calderwood Hall’s inaugural season at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum [BMInt review here]. On Sunday, May 20, she presented Part II as the final offering of the season in the not-quite-new venue (though it still retains that “Eau du New Hall” essence).

Calderwood Hall’s stage-free ‘theater in the square’ proves an intimate, visually arresting space in which to hear a solo recital. The performer seems particularly exposed, surrounded as she is on all sides, with three tiers of balconies looming overhead. This exposure is auditory as well, with a take-no-prisoners, sharply delineated acoustic. The strikingly austere environment, coupled with Licad’s analytical approach, resulted in an all-Romantic program largely devoid of the traditional trappings of Romanticism.

Chopin’s relatively obscure Polonaise-Fantaisie in A-flat Major, op. 61 was a case in point. Licad dissected this work with a precise technique, little wasted motion, and light pedaling. Gone was most phrasing, rubato, and gesture, leaving the piece’s underlying musical bone structure clearly visible. Intellectually this was quite enlightening, especially given the harmonic intricacies of this particular work. Licad’s technical prowess is formidable; she plays with power and rock-solid security. This is one performer who was more than up to the scrutiny of Calderwood’s musical microscope.

Unfortunately, this sort of academic approach just didn’t really seem appropriate for either the three Chopin Mazurkas, op. 56, or the Andante spianato et Grande polonaise brillante, op. 22. Licad’s rendition of the Mazurkas was clean, albeit a bit stiff, well played but without any sort of give-and-take or playfulness. The Andante was exquisitely realized, with a pleasingly lyrical tone, though the noble polonaise seemed desiccated by comparison. All told, Licad’s interpretations of these Chopin creations seemed to lack the emotional nuance and refinement generally associated with this composer. Apparently, I was in the minority with my reservations, however, as most of the capacity crowd of some 296 was on its feet at the conclusion of the first half.

After the sublime elegance of Frédéric Chopin, the second half featured the visceral virtuosic bombast of Franz Liszt. His Misère du Trovatore de Verdi, S. 433 started things off with a dramatic flourish. This piece, sometimes referred to as a transcription, is perhaps more accurately described as a musical interpretation of an Act IV duet from Giuseppe Verdi’s Il Trovatore. Licad’s direct, robust, and technically accomplished playing seemed much better suited to the pure, unvarnished, unabashed, crash-bang virtuosity of vintage Liszt. This was all the more apparent in the afternoon’s final offering, Après une Lecture de Dante: Fantasia quasi Sonata, S. 161/7, a fiendishly difficult work consisting of a single movement lasting some 18 minutes and apparently composed when Liszt was in the throes of some sort of demonic possession. Licad was in her element as she reeled off sheets of eardrum-rattling octave runs, hurtling towards a piano-pulverizing conclusion that left the wooden floor palpably vibrating beneath our feet. An enthusiastic audience reaction yielded a single encore in the form of more Liszt, but of the slightly subdued variety: his hypnotic La Campanella.

Some performances impress more than move; such was the case for this reviewer and this particular recital. Cecile Licad is a phenomenal pianist whose interpretations of the Romantic repertoire are instructively idiosyncratic.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT

Gabriela Diaz, violin; Anne Black, viola; Robert Schulz, percussion (Michael Rocha photo)

Toes were tapping, fingers flying, hearts palpitating, and synapses firing at the Goethe-Institut Boston last night, as the Dinosaur Annex Music Ensemble presented a chamber-music program consisting entirely of pieces composed within the last 20 years. Entitled “Alive and Kicking,” this thought-provoking performance showcased contemporary works created with tonal vocabularies, a sub-genre that is most definitely alive and well.

Dinosaur Annex, named after an extinct New England theatrical group but also very much alive and kicking, endeavors to shed light on the often underperformed and under-appreciated works of living composers. This  concert, presented in the ornately intimate confines of the Goethe, started off, quite literally, with a bang. Jennifer Higdon’s (b. 1962) rapid♦fire (1992), written for solo flute, takes that delicate instrument on an uncharacteristically dark and tumultuous journey as it graphically portrays the rage, fear, and pain associated with urban street violence. This is raw, saber-toothed music with a clear and emphatic emotional message. Flutist Sue-Ellen Hershman-Tcherepnin was called upon to create what seemed to be nearly the entire aural palette of her instrument in a non-stop series of furious squalls of notes. In her virtuosic and stirring rendition one could hear the flutter of footsteps, harsh breathing, cries of anguish. She was even called upon to throw down a small exploding device (a “bang-snap”) as a final gesture, an ersatz gunshot that served as a fitting exclamation point. This is a piece that really gets one’s heart racing.

Our dark journey continued with Pierre Jalbert’s (b. 1967) Sonata for Piano (2009). Of the five pieces on the program, this was the only entirely abstract composition, as the remainder were associated with specific thematic material. The Jalbert Sonata utilizes a traditional tripartite structure, consisting of three aptly-named movements: Ominous; Very Slow, reverberant; and Wild. Ranging from jaggedly jazzy to hard-edged ethereal to chaotically virtuosic, the music seems charged with an undercurrent of anger. Its technical demands are myriad as it ranges over the entire keyboard as well into the bowels of the instrument. Props to pianist Hugh Hinton who managed to deal with all manner of complex syncopation, note clusters, blizzards of accidentals, and who knows what else. His keyboard technique and pedaling were precise as he was obviously very respecting of the challenging score.

And then the metaphorical clouds parted and a ray of sunshine peeked through. Diamond in the Rough (2006), a trio for violin, viola, and percussion composed by Michael Daugherty (b. 1954) to commemorate the  250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth, is as glittery as its title suggests. Using the composer’s multifaceted music, life, and myth as inspiration, this mesmerizing and highly amusing piece consists of movements entitled Magic, Fifty-Five Minutes Past Midnight (the time of Mozart’s death), and Wig Dance (reflecting Mozart’s reputation as a notorious party animal). Violinist Gabriela Diaz and violist Anne Black were solid in their secondary roles, but the real star of this composition was percussionist Robert Schulz. His rhythmic dance from tambourine to triangle to wind chimes to glockenspiel to tuned wine glasses was fascinating and impressive for both eye and ear. The multifarious percussive textures added the sparkle to this diamond and made for a hauntingly beautiful (and at times playful) piece of music, very evocative and representative of the magical, mythical Mozart.

Violinist Diaz and pianist Hinton combined forces with cellist David Russell in the Boston premiere of Howard Frazin’s (b. 1962) Some Thoughts on Good and Evil (2009), a musical setting of poems by Langston Hughes and William Blake, both of which grapple with the presence of evil in our world. The mood is somber, the sonorities dark. As with rapid♦fire, this is music that wears its proverbial heart on its sleeve and strikes a powerful emotional chord (both figuratively and literally) with the listener. In this case, however, pathos has replaced anger as the dominant emotion. It’s a direct, bittersweet piece that reverberates in both mind and heart. The thoughtful and tenderly crafted rendition by performers Diaz, Hinton, and Russell enhanced the contemplative aspect of this music. In his pre-concert conversation, composer Frazin differentiated between “outside” music, that which gets people to physically move, and “inside” music, that which is more introspective and philosophical in nature. Some Thoughts on Good and Evil falls squarely into the latter category.

Yang to Some Thoughts’ yin, Michael Gandolfi’s (b. 1956) Cable Ready (1997) would undoubtedly be categorized by Howard Frazin as an “outside” composition, in the sense that it’s a toe-tapping rollick of a piece. Its three movements (Power Chords, The All-Interval Tetrachord Blues, Fully Inserted) are cleverly conceived and contain multifarious interwoven musical quotes and references. Duple and triple meters are also intertwined in the first movement, which had a tendency to confound my tapping toes. This bustling music, bursting with life and able to be appreciated both intellectually and viscerally, would no doubt make an excellent background score for an urban documentary. Cellist Russell, pianist Hinton, and percussionist Schulz had their hands full as they steamed to the contrapuntally climactic conclusion, sounding at times more like a sextet than a trio. Special kudos to Russell for an impassioned rendition and Hinton for avoiding disaster when the page-turner missed his cue. Our concert opened with a bang and closed with a bang.

So, yes, tonal music is most certainly alive and kicking. All of this evening’s compositions were musically complex yet emotionally accessible. One can only hope that these fresh-faced works get the exposure they deserve. More power to Dinosaur Annex; may you never go extinct!

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Sunday’s concert can be summed up in a single word: fun! The nexus among the three compositions on the program seemed to be a childlike sense of guileless wonder and enthusiasm. Mozart’s Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra, No. 10 in E-flat Major, K. 365, got things off to an effervescent start. Written to be performed with his older sister Maria Anna (“Nannerl”), this is Mozart at his sparkly best. The pianos engage in a frisky dialogue, with the orchestra assuming a secondary role. This afternoon’s pianists were the husband-and-wife duo, Leslie Amper and Randall Hodgkinson. As far as stage presence was concerned, Amper was very much yin to husband Hodgkinson’s yang. While Randall’s demeanor was highly animated, with expressive arm gestures making it seem at times as if the keyboard were electrified (he even turned pages with gusto), Leslie was far less outwardly demonstrative, projecting poise and calm. Interestingly, in spite of these dramatically different approaches, the actual sounds generated by the couple were virtually indistinguishable. Both produced a ringing, expressive tone infused with vibrancy. Maestro Hobart’s conducting style was precise and efficient; the orchestra polished and energized. While letting this glittery music wash over you, it’s sobering to contemplate the fact that Mozart’s personal life was actually anything but sunny at the time of its creation in 1779. Recently returned to Salzburg from an unsuccessful foray to Paris and still mourning the sudden death of his mother the year before, Wolfgang in his early 20s was seemingly far from the happy place he constructed in his musical world.

And now for a bit of unabashed frivolity: Carnival of the Animals, by Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921). Tossed off in just a few days for pre-Lenten festivities in 1886, this highly amusing and evocative work consists of 14 brief movements constituting a wide-ranging and extremely colorful menagerie. Tongue planted firmly in cheek, Saint-Saëns gleefully quoted fellow composers Offenbach, Berlioz, and Mendelssohn as he made lions roar (growly lower register of piano), tortoises plod (slow-motion Offenbach Can-Can), mules hee-haw (strings), aquariums shimmer (flute/piano/strings), swans glide (cello), fossils dance (xylophone); he even managed to tame the wild pianist (scales). Interweave the clever introductory verses concocted by Ogden Nash in 1949 and the result is an irresistible romp. Pianists Amper and Hodgkinson returned, performing with playful whimsy; conductor Hobart seemed to choose consistently spot-on tempi, occasionally turning to puckishly wink at the audience; and WGBH radio host Cathy Fuller provided mellifluous, palate- (and palette-) perfect narration, deftly handling all manner of Ogdenacious neologisms. Besides the swans and the aquarium, the highlight for this listener was the platypus movement. (Okay, there was no platypus movement, but Saint-Saëns no doubt could have pulled it off.) Excerpts of this work have woven their way into popular culture; enlightening and entertaining to hear the piece performed in its entirety. Truth be told, at its conclusion my inner child was imploring the orchestra to “play it again!” Judging by the myriad chortles and guffaws around me, guessing I wasn’t the only one.

The most serious work was saved for last: Symphony No. 4 by Gustav Mahler (1860-1911). Actually, by Mahlerian standards, this is a relatively svelte and upbeat composition. Musically depicting a selection of life’s travails as viewed through the eyes of an innocent child, it lasts ‘merely’ an hour. As with the Mozart, the backdrop for this piece was actually anything but upbeat, given that Mahler was struggling with vehement anti-Semitism in the Viennese Court. In Mahler’s artfully crafted orchestration, individual instruments are quite exposed, particularly in the second movement. The BCS was more than up to this test, with clear, coherent strings, and warm woodwinds. Admittedly there were a few clams in the brass section, but perhaps these were escapees from the Saint-Saëns zoo. The final movement is a description of heaven by a perceptive and optimistic child, here exquisitely voiced by soprano Maria Ferrante. Lyrically performed, with a wide range of color and depth of expression, Ferrante’s rendition exuded apropos purity and sweetness. One minor drawback to this performance: minimal eye contact with the audience. I’d humbly suggest perhaps a bit more familiarity with the score. Actually, given her level of accomplishment, it’s quite startling to realize that Maria was originally a classical guitarist, her vocal gifts only being revealed when she happened to take a college voice class on a whim.

Uplifting way to spend a Sunday afternoon. And by the time we exited the Hall, the sun was out! The Boston Civic Symphony’s next concert is Sunday, April 29.

Mickey Goldin photo

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Hung Kuan Chen (Mike Rocha photo)

Just a few short days ago, Foundation for Chinese Performing Arts organizers faced a quandary: what to do after a passport snafu prevented one of their performers from arriving in time for Saturday night’s Jordan Hall concert? With pianist Sa Chen ensnared in red tape across the Atlantic, should a last-minute replacement be found to accompany violinist Feng Ning? Transmogrify the concert into a solo violin recital, perhaps? With both of these abrupt changes putting undue pressure on Ning, a third solution presented itself: metamorphosizing the event into a solo piano recital. As fate would have it, inimitable pianist and NEC faculty member Hung-Kuan Chen had a piping hot program on the griddle, one he had just performed this week at Yale, where he’s also a professor.

This evening’s recital was as organized as Chen’s playing: Ludwig van Beethoven’s Sonatas 27, 28, and 29, in that order. These works, coming relatively late in Beethoven’s piano sonata oeuvre of 32 compositions, are expansive, complex, and saturated with emotion. In particular, the two-movement number 27, his Opus 90 in E minor, was designed to evoke the conflict between head (the relatively agitated first movement) and heart (the somewhat more serene movement two), specifically as it related to the romantic life of its dedicatee, Count Moritz von Lichnowsky.

Even before Chen played a single note, one had a sense of what was to come. He approached the instrument in a very deliberate manner, preparing himself meticulously before touching the keyboard. The sound he created was light, verging on delicate, with each note carefully considered and crafted. This was focused, intimate musicmaking, the type that draws listeners in and demands high levels of concentration from both performer and audience. In some ways, this style of playing seems antithetical to the fiery late-period Beethoven, he of the early Romantic stripe. Visceral had been displaced by cerebral; passion by precision. The old dynamics-o-meter had definitely been ratcheted down a notch or two. After a rather abrupt finish, polite applause pattered down upon Chen, reflective, perhaps, of listener ambiguity towards his somewhat idiosyncratic interpretation.

At this point, a bit of enlightenment concerning Professor Chen’s life odyssey might be of help. Born in Taiwan and raised in Germany, Hung-Kuan enjoyed a meteoric rise in the music world, garnering all manner of prestigious awards. Some 20 years ago, however, he was forced to deal with a career-threatening obstacle: focal hand dystonia. With little help available from the medical community, Chen turned to his own considerable powers of observation and reasoning, supplemented by qigong meditation, to vanquish this neurological affliction. Within six years he was back on the concert stage, sounding, according to reviewers at the time, “transformed.” Intriguing to contemplate just how much this experience continues to reverberate in his playing style, not so much physically as philosophically.

Chen’s rendition of Sonata No. 28 in A Major, Op. 101, was similarly controlled and relatively subdued. This was Beethoven had he attended finishing school: an uncharacteristically polite Beethoven, Beethoven in a library. Occasional outbursts were ephemeral and highly modulated as Hung-Kuan kept Ludwig on a very short leash. These brief paroxysms, splashes of bright color on a placid aural canvas awash in cool blues and greens, stood out in sharp relief, a particularly riveting effect. Also riveting was Chen’s technique: highly articulated fingering, yet extremely legato; flutters of taps on the damper pedal, liberal use of the una corda. Quite mesmerizing, watching his hands as they spidered across the keys in a supple dance. The overall sound was muted, though never muffled, with a clear delineation of the melody line and inner voices. In his hands the Steinway’s powerful growl was more akin to a gentle purr. Actually, on more than one occasion, I could have sworn I heard the spirit of Beethoven himself imploring the performer to play “lauter, meinen Freund, lauter!” Imagination run amok.

Beethoven’s monumental piano sonata No. 29 in B-flat Major, Op. 106, the “Hammerklavier,” rounded out the evening. This massive work, consisting of some 45 minutes of music, ranges from bombastic to jocular to sedate to intellectual across its four broad movements, the virtuosity of which showcased Chen’s formidable technical prowess. He stayed the course with a thoughtful, focused recreation featuring elegant, nuanced phrasing. In his rendition, Beethoven’s hammer was apparently wrapped in silk. That silk did seem to fray a bit in the final fugue. After a partial standing ovation (the audience reaction still appeared a tad mixed, though they had warmed considerably), Chen rewarded us with a single encore: movement three from the Sonata No. 4 in E-Flat Major, Op. 7 by, yes, the one and only Beethoven. This sprightly selection was taken at a somewhat sedate and measured tempo, in keeping with the mood of the evening.

Hung-Kuan Chen is a masterful pianist. His meditative, introspective interpretations of Beethoven’s late piano sonatas are both provocative and enlightening; a dry Riesling as opposed to a full-bodied red. The Foundation for Chinese Performing Arts was certainly more than fortunate to find a replacement performer of Chen’s accomplishment, caliber, and refinement.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Alexandria Le (Mike Rocha photo)

On Saturday evening, January 21, a hardy band of music lovers trudged through a blanket of freshly fallen snow to take in a solo recital performed by the young American pianist Alexandria Le in the warm confines of Longy School’s Pickman Concert Hall. Less hardy souls had another option: this concert was also streamed live on the Web. Very 2012.

As the 2011 recipient of the prestigious Pro Musicis International Award, Le has just embarked on a series of concerts both here and in New York. This evening’s recital marked her Boston debut. The mission of Pro Musicis (“For Musicians”) centers on sharing, as envisioned by its founder, Capuchin-Franciscan priest and musician Eugène Merlet. Pro Musicis shares its resources and connections with talented musicians, in exchange expecting recipients to share their musical gifts not only in mainstream musical venues but also in hospitals, prisons, homeless shelters, substance abuse treatment centers, and inner city schools. Very admirable; very Saint Francis of Assisi.

From the first moment of the concert, it was abundantly clear that Le embodies the spirit of sharing that is at the core of the Pro Musicis ethos. Raised in Las Vegas, a graduate of Eastman, and currently pursuing her Doctorate of Musical Arts at SUNY/Stony Brook, Le seemed utterly at ease onstage. She prefaced each piece with informative and engaging introductory remarks, exuding a warm, outgoing, and ebullient personality.

The program was highly varied and downright kaleidoscopic, featuring both familiar and lesser-known works that were consistently challenging for the performer, and occasionally so for the audience. Four works in total: two rarely heard and two old chestnuts, utilizing fantasies as programmatic bookends. The first half charted relatively exotic musical territory, opening with Ludwig van Beethoven’s Fantasy in g minor, Op. 77. This is Beethoven at his most mercurial, a highly spontaneous-sounding work that seems a window unto the composer’s formidable improvisatory gifts. Commissioned by Muzio Clementi, this piece veers abruptly through myriad meters and tonal centers, with paroxysms of virtuosity juxtaposed with ephemeral lyricism. Through it all, Le demonstrated both grace and power, playing deep in the keys and tossing off the more technically demanding passages with aplomb.

After that wildly extemporaneous ride, the highly cerebral and carefully constructed Musica Ricercata (“Researched Music”) by the Translyvanian contemporary composer György Ligeti (1923-2006) was as deliberate as the Beethoven was spontaneous. Ligeti crafts a series of eleven brief pieces, the first of which utilizes only two different tones; the second, a total of three, and so on, until a final fugue that encompasses the entire diatonic scale. Like the Beethoven, this composition features a dizzying number of contrasts, as the young Ligeti sought to develop his own musical dialect. The listeners’ ears are tickled with music that ranges from whimsical to jazzy to angular to shimmering to propulsive to caustic, with general approachability increasing with the number of pitches. The first few minimalist sections bring to mind abstract expressionists of the time, such as Mark Rothko; the penultimate piece was quite reminiscent of the music of Alberto Ginastera. Le deftly handled this physically and intellectually demanding music with focused playing and unwavering concentration, drawing us into Ligeti’s multi-hued soundscape with a spell-binding rendition.

The second half of the program found us back in more familiar territory. The Two Rhapsodies, Op. 79 of Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) were penned when the composer was well into middle age and are the ultimate in lush, passionate Romanticism. These mature works are in equal parts virtuosic and lyrical, with an introspective bent that plumbs psychological depths. For the sunny and extroverted Le, this might not have seemed a particularly good fit, but she managed a convincing rendition. No. 1 sounded just a skosh rushed; in the second, Le coaxed some achingly sweet tones from the growly Steinway. To these ears it also sounded as if the music didn’t quite breathe enough, resulting in a bit of opacity. In her introductory remarks, Le likened this piece to “eating rich chocolate cake”; guess this must be of the flourless variety!

The juiciest was saved for last. If the Brahms can be likened to a treacly dessert, Franz Schubert’s Fantasy in C Major, D. 760 (“Wanderer”) is more like a full four-course meal at a five-star restaurant. This massive pianistic tour de force takes the listener on an epic journey, scaling windswept mountains and sweeping through verdant meadows in search of fulfillment.  Alexandria quoted a salient line from Der Wanderer, the song from which the piece is derived: “Wherever you are not, there is happiness.”  Le was an excellent and savvy tour guide, navigating through great forests of notes and coming through unscathed. She certainly had the chops to handle this incredibly challenging music, though not without the inclusion of a few notes that weren’t in the score (In all fairness, even Schubert himself said he couldn’t play the bloody piece properly.) In addition, Le’s phrasing could have been a bit rounder, and perhaps a tad more nuanced. But I quibble. (Also from the Quibble Corner: the tapping of  Le’s hard-soled shoe on the damper pedal proved to be somewhat distracting at times.) But let’s not lose sight of the fact: overall, it was a truly exhilarating journey.  Le did herself proud and was rewarded with a well-deserved standing-O.

We were treated to one encore: Alberto Ginastera’s Dance No. 2 (“Dance of the Beautiful Maiden”) from his Danzas Argentinas, which made for a piquant palate-cleanser.

Alexandria Le is a warm, animated, outgoing, confident, hypertalented young pianist whose greatest asset is her incomparable power to communicate; in short, the quintessential musical ambassador for Pro Musicis. In her opening remarks, Le mentioned her desire to take audiences on a journey, and she certainly did just that, magically transporting us from snowy Cambridge to sunnier climes. Saint Francis no doubt would have approved.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Bach’s plate consistently overfloweth, no more so than during his long tenure in Leipzig (1723 until his death in 1750), during which he served as music director for several prominent churches. In addition to his myriad liturgical duties, which included cranking out a cantata a week, he was also charged by the town council with creating secular music for various and sundry municipal, as well as royal, occasions. Not surprisingly, Bach fell into the practice of incorporating these single-event secular works into liturgical pieces that could be reused annually. This pragmatic bit of recycling, known as ‘parody,’ was used to great effect in his Christmas Oratorio, a six-part work in which each section was written for one of the major feast days of the Christmas season, utilizing material originally conceived for two birthdays and an anniversary. This evening’s concert consisted of the first three sections, which form a tidy triptych denoting the birth of Jesus, the annunciation to the shepherds, and the adoration of those same incredulous shepherds.

Maestro Kevin Leong (who, given his doctorates in both Choral Conducting and Biophysics, should perhaps be referred to as Dr. Dr. Leong), led the affair with an assured baton and a fluid, no-nonsense conducting style featuring no superfluous motion. He set the pace with an energetic tempo right out of the gate in an opening chorus that was pure, unalloyed joy and pure, unalloyed Bach. The massive chorus, now in its 32nd season and whose members span an impressively broad age range, didn’t quite sound as big as they looked, but certainly filled the hall with a vibrant, focused tone. The Pro Arte Chamber Orchestra, now in its 33rd season and one of only four cooperative orchestras in the country (meaning both musicians and conductor decide what music they will perform), played with competency and verve. There’s nothing like Bach in a good mood.

All of the vocal soloists were seemingly short on years yet long on experience, a dynamic combination. Their performances were clean and polished, demonstrating admirably clear diction of the German text. Tenor and Evangelist Lawrence Jones proved to be the spark plug of the group. His pure, lyrical voice glowed with warmth and his dramatic — downright operatic — readings of the recitatives in the middle section were memorable. Also memorable was the Duet Aria in Part III, featuring soprano (and very angelic-appearing Angel) Brenna Wells and baritone David McFerrin. The gossamer, sweet tones of Wells were complemented by McFerrin’s resonant voice. The result was an engaging performance in which both artists shone. Countertenor Douglas Dodson was consistently affable, albeit without a great deal of inflection. One minor shortcoming was the balance between the orchestra and the higher voices, with the former tending to overwhelm the latter.

In terms of overall effect, while the tempi of the outer, more upbeat sections were appropriately brisk and high-octane, the middle section flagged perceptibly, as conductor Leong opted to emphasize the pastoral aspect of the work with rather sedate tempo selections. That said, the performance as a whole was well crafted and professional, as the performers took us on a joyous ride celebrating new life and the miraculous.

Wells, Jones, Leong, Dodson, McFerrin (Mike Rocha photo)

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Thomas Martin and Andre Previn, piano (Michael Lutch photo)

Two decades ago, Boston Symphony Orchestra violist Mark Ludwig founded the Terezín Music Foundation. Named after an infamous Nazi concentration camp, this nonprofit organization is dedicated, in broad terms, to celebrating the indefatigability of the human spirit, both by commissioning new music and by showcasing pieces created by Terezín composers. On Monday evening, November 14, the TMF celebrated its twentieth anniversary with a gala concert in Symphony Hall featuring the intriguing combination of music premieres and musical luminaries.

Founding Director Ludwig’s heartfelt and informative opening remarks described, in general as well as personal terms, the healing and inspirational transcendence of music. By featuring new works along with a generous helping of piano music, this concert, he explained, was crafted to evoke the spirit of Terezín. This particular camp had a high concentration of artists, whose talents were used by the Nazi propaganda machine to promote its disingenuous message.

Back-to-back premieres got the evening off to a fresh and spirited start. Never before performed on American soil, André Previn’s Sonata for Clarinet and Piano featured the BSO’s Thomas Martin on clarinet and the composer himself at the keyboard. Now in his early 80s, pianist, conductor, and wide-ranging composer Previn seemed nothing less than the embodiment of human indefatigability as he slowly approached his instrument with the help of a walker and plunged right in. The quickly shifting colors of his jaunty, syncopated, downright puckish sonata emphatically demonstrated that the creative flames within Maestro Previn still burn brightly. His tonal language was accessible without being overly straightforward: palatable, yet pleasingly piquant. Actually, the more introspective sections (tempo markings Slow and Very Slow), seemed to be shot through with dark veins of Brahmsian yearning, tenderly realized in the creamy, rounded phrases of clarinetist Martin. This reviewer is tempted to add that the piano rendition seemed perhaps a tad overly subdued at times, but, given that the composer was also the performer, it really makes no sense to second-guess! Both instrumentalists scampered through the final movement (marked Fast, of course) with a free and unfettered spirit that conjured images of birds in flight.

This new piece was followed by an even newer one: another work by Previn, another premiere, this time the first performance on the planet of his Quintet for Clarinet and String Quartet, performed by clarinetist Martin and the Hawthorne String Quartet, a top-drawer chamber group consisting of BSO members Ronan Lefkowitz and Si-Jing Huang, violins; Mark Ludwig, viola; and Sato Knudsen, cello. Maestro Previn’s three-movement creation was essentially light-dark-light: an animated, highly energized, somewhat choppy first movement was followed by a somber, subdued middle section with more flowing lines and occasional whiffs of Copland; the piece concluded with a blinding burst of kineticism. The autumnal tones of the second movement evoked monochromatic images of Terezín itself, while the final section seemed to resonate with human pluck, industriousness, and buoyancy. The playing was precisely synchronized and burnished, with the musicians sounding far more familiar with the music than they possibly could have been.

Back in more familiar territory, pianist Garrick Ohlsson, a giant of a figure both musically and physically, took command of the stage and regaled us with a shower of notes from the pen and quill of Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953) and Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849). Prokofiev’s Four Pieces, Op. 4 are succinct, colorful works, whose highly evocative natures make their section titles (“Reminiscence,” “Elan,” “Despair,” “Diabolic Suggestion”) almost redundant. In Ohlsson’s capable paws, the sepia tones of Reminiscence were carefully rendered; the fiendishly difficult eruption of notes in “Diabolic Suggestion” (sounding very much like a Lisztian “Mephisto March”) handled with grace and subtlety. The musical term maestoso seems an apt description Ohlsson’s musical persona as he projects an aura of majestic sophistication and mesmerizing elegance while teasing out melody lines and catching each facet of the music in the brilliant light of understanding. His rendition of Chopin’s Sonata No. 3 in b minor, Op. 58 was as powerful as it was delicate, though, it must be said, fleetingly verging on overly legato. The final presto crackled with creativity and optimism, precipitating an immediate and sustained standing ovation, a fitting ending to an uplifting and life-affirming evening.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Renee Krimsier, flute with the COB (Mike Rocha photo)

The Chamber Orchestra of Boston’s inaugural concert of the 2011-12 season was equal parts intrigue and instruction. Presented Saturday evening, November 5 in the live, relatively intimate venue of First Church in Boston, the thematically-based program, “Evening in the Palace of Reason,” was essentially a musical realization of the eponymous book authored by James R. Gaines. A colorful double-biography, the incident at the core of this work was an incendiary meeting between a venerable composer and a young monarch. In this corner: Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), highly acclaimed yet anachronistic musician representing the passion, mystery, and complex filigree of the Baroque period. In the opposing camp: the King of Prussia, Frederick Hohenzollern, aka Frederick the Great (1712-1786), rational proponent of the simple, logical new Galante Style. Apparently, Bach arrived at the king’s court in 1747 unaware of the volatile cultural implications of his visit. Given that one of his sons, Carl Philipp Emanuel, was a chamber musician for FtG, Herr Bach was most likely anticipating a pleasant family reunion of sorts. Instead, so the story goes, he was immediately whisked before the king, at which point Frederick threw down the musical gauntlet by presenting him with a rather convoluted 21-note theme (possibly created by son CPE) and demanding that he improvise a three-voice fugue on the spot. Much to King Frederick’s chagrin, Bach was more than up to the task, though he then demurred when asked to create a virtually impossible six-voice composition (responding two months later with his towering Musical Offering, BWV 1079).

Given this historical backdrop, the COB’s music director, David Feltner, crafted a program highlighting works composed by the associated cast of characters: Frederick the Great, CPE Bach, Johann Joachim Quantz (FtG’s flute teacher), and J. S. Bach, as well as interjecting a contemporary piece also derived from the book, penned by Libby Larsen (b. 1950).

Frederick the Great was actually an ardent music lover and quite an accomplished flutist, much to the consternation of his militaristic father, who just couldn’t relate to his gay offspring’s aesthetic sensibilities. It’s a familiar tale, which in this case involves a beheading (long story; you’ll have to read the book). Frederick’s Concerto I in G Major for Flute, Strings and Continuo got the evening off to a frothy start. Translucent, effervescent, and upbeat, this well-crafted work is quintessential Galante fare, with straightforward structures and instrumental interactions that pleasantly tickled both ear and cortex. Though as a composer he may have only been Frederick the Quite Good, this music was nonetheless surprisingly satisfying. Flute soloist Renée Krimsier deftly handled the brisk passages with a sweet tone, shapely phrasing, and clean ornamentation. She projected a warm, friendly persona that complemented this sunny music. Feltner’s conducting was graceful and gently precise as he propelled the group along with energetic tempi. He exuded positive energy, as did the entire group; all seemed to genuinely enjoy sharing this music. The conductor’s insightful and engaging comments prior to each piece augmented the audience’s understanding and appreciation of the works.

Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s (1714-1788) Sinfonia III in C Major had a decidedly different flavor. This music was distinctly more complex than FtG’s, featuring a fistful of jarring musical twists and turns of phrase and sinuous melodic lines. CPE apparently had a penchant for the unexpected, even tossing in the B-A-C-H motif, though as an homage to his father or himself is anyone’s guess. Ostensibly in the shiny new compositional style, there were more than a few threatening clouds scudding across the azure Galante skies of this moody and changeable work. The COB players adroitly handled Bach’s musical peregrinations with solid, though at times fleetingly asynchronous, playing.

The sun burst forth in full radiance in the Concerto in G Major for Flute, Strings and Continuo of Johann Joachim Quantz (1697-1773). Considered the premiere flutist of eighteenth century Europe, Quantz was also an extremely fecund composer, churning out in excess of 300 concerti! He was also Frederick the Great’s flute instructor, secretly providing lessons behind Frederick’s father’s back. Ah yes, more intrigue. This music was positively giddy: high-voltage, lyrical melodic lines, virtuosic passages, and a Presto that buzzed along like a hyperactive honeybee. Once again flutist Krimsier’s playing was buoyant and sure-fingered (not to mention sure-lipped), despite a wildly swaying pendant-style earring that seemed at times to swing perilously close to her instrument.

After the light-dark-light structure of the first half, the post-intermission offerings were a juxtaposition of new and old. Libby Larsen’s Evening in the Palace of Reason (there’s that name again), composed in 2007 and given its Boston première this evening, interweaves Frederick the Great’s twenty-one-note challenge to J. S. Bach, the familiar B-A-C-H theme, and much more musical juiciness in a clever work that grabs the listener’s ear and doesn’t let go. This dark chocolate music was the antithesis of Frederick the Great’s puff pastry. Fascinating to hear centuries-old themes refracted through a contemporary musical lens. Larsen’s twenty-first century vocabulary is spiky and edgy, with playful, rippling interplay between instruments. The COB’s performance was extremely coherent and precise, as they capably handled passages replete with note-bending and percussive effects.

And then there was the Orchestral Suite II in b minor by the Master himself, Johann Sebastian Bach. Standing head, shoulders, and torso above his musical contemporaries, his exquisite musical lines and understated sophistication exist in their own transcendent realm. Even in this relatively sweet suite of dance movements, there is depth and complexity. Both playing and conducting were graceful and elegant; I did have a slight quibble with tempo selections, as the slower movements tended to drag ever so slightly. The final Badinerie (roughly equivalent to a Scherzo), however, was pleasingly frisky as we boogied down with Bach.

All told, an immensely satisfying experience that left both heart and mind sated. (As for the stomach, the COB even provided a generous German spread at the après-concert reception. Jawohl!) Thoughtful program selection, accomplished playing, helpful commentary: this event was engaging on multiple levels, and very warmly received. Flute soloist Renée Krimsier was actually presented with not one, but two colorful bouquets. And now to finish that book …

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Mike Rocha photo

New England Conservatory’s Jordan Hall was filled with the warm, round tones created by breath and fingers Sunday afternoon, September 25, as flutist Paula Robison and pianist Katherine Chi collaborated in a Faculty Artist Recital. Robison has occupied NEC’s Donna Hieken Flute Chair since its inception in 2005 and is currently celebrating her fiftieth performance year. Canadian Katherine Chi matriculated to the prestigious Curtis Institute at age ten and has recently received her D.M.A. from New England Conservatory, where she currently teaches. These two accomplished solo artists made for a formidable musical duo.

Sunday’s program featured works by Griffes, Lanier, Taffanel, and Franck. Sounds wall-to-wall French, but Charles Griffes and Sidney Lanier actually hailed from the U.S. In addition to sharing American roots, these composers both led tragically abbreviated lives, with neither living to see age 40. By comparison, Frenchmen Taffanel and Franck were downright long-lived, making it into their seventh decades.

Given his brief life filled with numerous hardships and distractions (poor health, supporting his widowed mother, a dead-end teaching job, dealing with his closeted homosexuality), Charles Tomlinson Griffes (1884-1920) produced a surprisingly significant corpus of musical works. Robison and Chi brought his Poem for flute and piano to life in an impassioned performance. This music is toothsomely impressionistic, reflecting the flavorful influence of Debussy, seasoned with a dash of Scriabinesque harmonization. Griffes’s musical poetry describes a rather somber and darkly beautiful emotional landscape. Ms. Robison was a glowing vision of amber and honey, with golden hair, dress, flute, and shoes. Her warm, shimmering physical presence matched her stage personality, which was engaged and inviting. Her playing was fluid and pure as she drew the audience into Griffes’ ethereal auditory world, expressing emotion not only with her instrument but also with her eyes and flowing body movements. Yin to Ms. Robison’s yang, Ms. Chi’s piano accompaniment was appropriately controlled and subdued.

In Griffes’s Three Tone-Pictures, Op. 5 for solo piano, Katherine Chi demonstrated a solid tone, very deep in the keys. This exemplary technique was perhaps not ideally suited to the diaphonous nature of the music, though the evocations of the subject matter suggested by the titles (The Lake at Evening, The Vale of Dreams, The Night Winds) shone through. Ms. Chi was especially adept at consistently teasing out the melody line from the cascade of notes in the final piece. Sobering to realize that Charles Griffes was gone by age 35, just as he was gaining the recognition and respect that had so long eluded him. Taken by complications from influenza, he was one of the estimated 50 to 100 million who perished in the The Great Flu Pandemic.

Following this solo piano work, Ms. Chi yielded the stage to Ms. Robison, who explored a piece by another American, Sidney Lanier (1842-1881). His Wind Song for solo flute did not, to this listener, compare all that favorably to the Griffes compositions. While this work contained a smattering of impressive virtuosic passages, adroitly handled by Ms. Robison, the overall effect was somewhat academic, with a lack of flow. This was certainly due in no part to the performer, however. A more apt title may have been Bird Song, as this piece seemed to consist of relatively distinct bits and bobs. That said, Wind Song was not without its moments of haunting beauty. Interestingly, Lanier was also an accomplished poet and oscillated throughout his short life between penning words and musical notes. Like another, more well known Romantic composer, he succumbed to tuberculosis at the painfully young age of 39.

Hopping across the pond, the final two pieces on the program originated from nineteenth-century French composers. Prior to launching into Paul Taffanel’s (1844-1908) Fantasy on Themes from Weber’s Der Freischutz, Ms. Robison crossed herself and blurted out “It’s my first time playing this piece!,” endearing her all the more to the rapt audience. Fantasy is a rollicking, dramatic, jaunty, toe-tapping, tuneful romp that showcases piano as well as flute. Both artists performed this challenging work admirably, flutist Robison exhibiting impressive breath control and dramatically wiping her brow after a particularly demanding riff. Great deal of whooping and hollering as the final notes died away, performers responding with blown kisses. Let the lovefest begin!

Saved for last, the Sonata in A Major by César Franck (1822-1890) was the pièce de résistance of the afternoon. This lush and majestic composition, presented as the wedding gift of all wedding gifts to Belgian violinist Eugène Ysaÿe, was transmogrified from violin/piano to flute/piano by none other than Paula Robison herself. Rich and highly demanding, this quintessentially Romantic music was deftly handled by both performers. Robison’s playing was colorful and assured; Ms. Chi tossed off the large, growly piano sections, featuring both cross-unders as well as cross-overs, with aplomb. (Only slight reservation being that the flute/piano balance became slightly skewed towards the latter as the piece drew to its dramatic conclusion.) Even a slight technical malfunction could not deter the indefatigable Ms. Robison: when a small section of her mouthpiece fluttered to the floor between movements, she calmly replaced it and soldiered on (the five-second rule apparently applying to the Jordan Hall stage).

Our sustained and enthusiastic ovation was rewarded with a succulent encore: Maurice Ravel’s Piece in the Form of an Habanera, a fitting ending to a performance that showcased both artistic beauty and humanity.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer . He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.

Jennifer Frautschi, Mihae Lee and Julie Albers (Mike Rocha photo)

On Saturday, August 13^th, a large Cantabrigian crowd eschewed the lure of a pleasant summer evening and flowed into the caramel confines of Longy School’s Pickman Hall for the second of four Hamel Summer Series concerts presented by the Boston Chamber Music Society.  The BCMS, now in its thirtieth season, consists of a core group of eight musicians, led by Artistic Director and violist Marcus Thompson.  This evening’s concert featured one of these members, inestimable pianist Mihae Lee, and three giga-gifted guest performers.  The musical offerings spanned three centuries and myriad musical genres.

In and of itself, the music of Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) spans myriad musical genres, and the first composition on the program, Three Pieces for Solo Clarinet (1918), written in the waning days of World War I, seems nothing less than a microcosm of his diverse stylistic output.  This succinct set consists of flavors ranging from Russian folk to neoclassical to jazz and got the evening off to a multifaceted and upbeat start.  Clarinetist Romie de Guise-Langlois produced tones that ran the gamut from silky to impish, projecting an aura of centered calm while deftly handling the rapid musical turns of phrase.  Her technique was nimble and squawk-free; her presentation refreshingly straightforward.

Next up, we were treated to one of the sources of Stravinsky’s neoclassical experimentation, the music of J. S. Bach (1685-1750).  The Chaconne from Bach’s Partita No. 2 in d minor for Solo Violin (BWV 1004) made for quite the fascinating juxtaposition with the Stravinsky; the former a study in puckish brevity, the latter, a massive work of unparalleled musical depth and complexity.  Of the three partitas Bach penned for unaccompanied violin, only the second contains a chaconne, and this final movement is more than double the length of the four previous sections combined.  In this theme and variation tour de force Bach presents a four-measure subject and goes on to craft a grand total of 64 variations.  The truly jaw-dropping aspect of this work is the way in which JSB manages to intricately weave together a repeating four-note bass line and an overarching melody, this on an instrument with decidedly limited harmonic capabilities.  The result is a lofty piece of musical architecture that pushes the violin and its performer to their limits.   Fortunately, soloist Jennifer Frautschi was more than up to the challenge.  Her playing was poised and well-articulated, with a sweeping dynamic range and a minimum of errant mouse squeaks from her cooperative 1722 Stradivarius.  Her tempo seemed to flag a tad in the D Major middle section, but I’m nitpicking.  All told, a masterful rendition that precipitated a standing ovation, complete with whistles and even a smattering of enthusiastic whoops.  It seems borderline miraculous that a sound tapestry of that profundity can come from the pen of one man and the performance of one musician on one small instrument.

With barely enough time for her Strad to cool down, Ms. Frautschi was back onstage with clarinetist Romie de Guise-Langlois and pianist Mihae Lee, tucking in to Bela Bartók’s (1881-1945) Contrasts.  Written specifically for compatriot Hungarian violinist Joseph Szigeti and American jazz clarinetist Benny Goodman, this piece admirably showcases the two disparate instruments while exploiting their delectable combination of crunchy and buttery tones.  Contrasts more than lives up to its name, with bipolar mood swings covering the spectrum from edgy to brash to downright frenetic.  Not surprisingly, Ms. Frautschi continued her high caliber of play, and de Guise-Langlois was spot-on as well.  Relegated to a supporting role, pianist Mihae Lee nonetheless shone through as rock-solid and unflaggingly attentive, seemingly enjoying the dashes of musical paprika Bartók included in the form of interspersed glissandos.  The overall effect was one of coherent and vibrant musicality, ending with horsehairs flying.

Rounding out the evening was the earthy and visceral music of Antonin Dvorák (1841-1904).  Preternaturally active violinist Frautschi and pianist Mihae Lee were joined by Julie Albers on cello as they recreated the “Dumky,” aka Piano Trio in e minor, Opus 90.  This unusually crafted piece consists of six sections (dumky), each dumka being an original work based on that Bohemian folk form.  All of Dvorák’s dumky contain alternating plaintive and rollicking sections, resulting in a rather dizzying emotional ebb and flow.  While the soulful laments could bring a tear to one’s eye, the unbridled enthusiasm of the accompanying dances made it difficult to stay seated.  With soulful tunes and hummable melody lines, Dvorák paints a vivid moodscape.  Frautschi shone yet again; Lee was secure and crisp on piano, and cellist Albers had a consistently round tone and smooth phrasing.  This was an impassioned performance that might have had old Antonin dancing in the aisles.

Overall, a stimulating spectrum of music vividly brought to life with consistently top-drawer playing.  Definitely worth spending a perfect summer evening indoors. … And the mini-creampuffs at the post-concert reception weren’t so bad either!

The two remaining concerts of the Boston Chamber Music Hamel Summer Series take place on Saturday, August 20 and Saturday, August 27.

Michael Rocha is a self-described “long-ago” music teacher, a long-time music enthusiast and pianist, and a short-time Web designer: http://www.cobaltocumulus.com.  He has an MS in Meteorology from MIT.