Andrew Armstrong

CHAMBER MUSIC CHARLESTON (CMC) continues to be one of the finest musical experiences in the region, as well as one of the best values for the money. The music and musicians are top rate, and the venues emanate a familial, relaxed ambience—the essence of “chamber” music. This is true not only of the CMC home series, but of their larger concerts, the last of which (for 2012-2013) was performed Saturday night at Memminger Auditorium.

The “Celebration of Austria” concert featured three of Austria’s native composers: the lesser known operetta author, Franz von Suppé; the much heralded violin virtuoso, Fritz Kreisler; and the prolific, early Romantic composer, Franz Schubert. As Wikipedia points out, the center of German music-making moved during the eighteenth century from the Protestant north to Catholic Austria, whose capital of Vienna became the focal point of the Western musical world with residents like Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert, the Strauss family, and Brahms.

Our CMC musicians (guest pianist Andrew Armstrong, violinist Nonoko Okada, violist Ben Weiss, cellist Timothy O’Malley, and bass Jean McIntyre) began the evening with Franz von Suppé’s light and delightful “Poet and Peasant Overture for Piano Quintet.” Von Suppé (1819-1895), who was a singer as well as composer, was known primarily for his 30 operettas and almost 200 theatre pieces, most of which—with the exception of his overtures—are little known and seldom played. The selection we heard was charming, with melodic strains of the waltz.

Nonoko Okada

Another Austrian—known more for his playing than his composing—was Friedrich “Fritz” Kreisler (1875-1962). Curiously, and perhaps as a sign that he undervalued his compositional skills, this one-of-a-kind virtuoso attributed some of his own works to other composers—as in the case of his Alt-Wiener Tanzweisen (Old Viennese Melodies), a set of three short pieces for violin and piano: Liebesfreud (Love’s Joy), Liebesleid (Love’s Sorrow), and Schön Rosmarin (Lovely Rosemary). They were familiar folk songs that Kreisler frequently played as encores, and on Saturday night we heard the latter two, with pianist Andrew Armstrong accompanying violinist Nonoko Okada (Liebesleid) and cellist Tim O’Malley (Schön Rosmarin).

Nonoko plays with a clarity and concentrated grace that reflects her Julliard training. She brought out the inherent melancholy sweetness and folk charm of the Schön Rosmarin, which the showman, Kreisler, surely intended, not as a display piece, but as a nuanced farewell (an encore). Timothy O’Malley’s handling of the Liebesleid was equally deft and touching, and in both works pianist Andrew Armstrong held understated sway in the background. Andrew is an accomplished soloist, but it is obvious that he loves the camaraderie and playfulness—as well as complexities—of chamber playing. The latter was especially evident in the evening’s final work: Schubert’s Quintet in A Major for Piano and Strings, Opus post. 114, D. 667—known affectionately as the “Trout” Quintet since the fourth movement contains a set of variations on an earlier Lied (song) “Die Forelle” (The Trout).

Timothy O’Malley

Interestingly, Franz Peter Schubert (1797-1828) composed it in 1819 at the age of 22, though it was not published until 10 years later, almost a year after his death at age 32. Also, whereas the typical quintet calls for a piano and string quartet (two violins, viola, and cello), Schubert wrote the “Trout” for violin, viola, cello, and double bass—whose lower register provides a deeper resonance. All this came about, however, because Schubert wrote the “Trout” for fellow composer Johann Nepomuk Hummel, who had arranged a Septet with that instrumentation. History no doubt agrees that it was a happy accident of sorts, since the “Trout” Quintet has become one of the most frequently played, and enjoyable to listen to, pieces of the chamber music repertoire—which brings us back to Andrew Armstrong.

One of the lovely things about this work is how the piano leads the way and provides context throughout with an underlying motif that sounds like gurgling water flowing over rocks in a stream where you might be fishing for—yes—some trout. Schubert originally wrote “Die Forelle” for solo voice and piano in 1817, based on text from a poem by Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart, originally published in 1783. Christian Schubart’s poem put to Franz Schubert’s melody became well known to Austrian children (such as our guest at this concert, an Austrian lady who unassumingly hummed the tune as the fourth movement was being played).

Schubart’s poem was originally a warning to young women to guard themselves against being “caught” by “angling” young men, but Schubert did not set the final lines of the poem, choosing instead to convey a sense of someone observing the trout and its reaction to being caught by a fisherman. Even without this context, however, the music-making is sublime and multifaceted: a rich conversation among instruments that is a non-stop pleasure to listen to. The key of A Major keeps it spirited, forward moving, and bright, all the while encompassing Schubert’s natural bent for song.

It is works like this, and evenings like Saturday, that reinvigorate your appreciation of both what chamber music was intended to be and how excellent it can be—on the larger stage of Memminger as well as in the coziness of a salon downtown, on Daniel Island, or at Kiawah.

Go to chambermusiccharleston.org to learn more about Chamber Music Charleston and their 2012-2013 season.

Acknowledgements: much of the musical history content was adapted from Wikipedia.

Giuseppe Verdi

THE VERDI REQUIEM and I go way back. Like all the way back to the first time I heard it performed in Vienna in the 1960s, as a thunderstruck boy of 14. Since coming home to Charleston in the early 1990s, I’ve performed it (as a chorus member) twice with the Charleston Symphony under David Stahl, and once with the Westminster Choir under Joseph Flummerfelt during Spoleto (Alas!—He retires this year as the festival’s Choral Director). I got “thunderstruck” in that one, too—but more literally: standing at stage level in the front row of the choir’s bass section, I was just a few feet away from the bass drum. After three surges through the explosive “Dies Irae” (in which the bass drum figures strongly), my ears rang for a week!

As you may well imagine, this stupendous piece is in my blood. I’ve owned at least a half-dozen recordings of it, several of which I reviewed for American Record Guide. I never, ever get tired of it. So nothing could’ve kept me away from the first of the CSO’s season-ending pair of “special event” performances of this mighty music on Friday at the well-filled Sottile Theatre. And I’m so glad I was there.

Often called Verdi’s “Sacred Opera,” his Requiem—perhaps more political in purpose than sacred—came at a pivotal point in Italian history, serving as a kind of musical capstone to the long and turbulent process of national unification. The Italian peninsula lay in geographic and cultural tatters following the Napoleonic wars, and—under the circumstances—Italy’s military and political liberators (Garibaldi and Mazzini) were in need of cultural reinforcement. It takes more than armed conquest to make a true nation.

The most influential Italian literary figure of the day was poet-novelist Alessandro Manzoni, who emphasized liberation themes and sought to “standardize” the Italian language in his writing. His musical counterpart was Verdi—Italy’s “opera king,” many of whose works also advocated freedom from foreign oppression. When Manzoni died in 1873, Verdi resolved to compose a Requiem in his honor, as well as to capitalize on his own considerable fame. Verdi—never a conventionally religious man—relied on his operatic instincts and experience in writing it, producing a work that he hoped would also serve as a model for a “national style” of Italian music—full of his typically melodramatic operatic devices and musical clichés. But Verdi knew what the public loved—and, being then at his creative peak—he made it all work wonderfully well, investing the timeless scriptures of the requiem mass with heretofore unprecedented levels of musical sweetness, ardent supplication, unsettling doubt … and sheer, cosmic terror. Also, I’ve long wondered if Verdi’s lack of personal faith could have had something to with the work’s preoccupation with damnation and almost-desperate pleas for deliverance.

His motives were also probably financial: scored for large chorus and orchestra—and calling for the finest available operatic voices as soloists—Verdi pulled many of the public relations strings at his disposal to get it performed across Europe in as many major theaters and concert halls as possible (he never intended it as a church work). It made quite a splash—as well as LOTS of money for the composer. Despite a few decades of neglect after Verdi’s passing, the music has been packing houses and thrilling big crowds ever since the 1930s.

Conductor Maximiano Valdéz

And, while by no means perfectly rendered (what performance ever is?), it certainly thrilled the Sottile’s substantial crowd on Friday. The CSO wasn’t quite as “well-staffed” as I expected, particularly in the strings—but they put the weight where it was needed, with five double basses. And, under the deft baton of guest conductor Maximiano Valdéz, the players had no problems balancing the massive chorus. Indeed, I wondered—during peak-volume passages like the violent “Dies Irae”—if the walls of the Sottile had ever resounded to such a huge onslaught of decibels before.

I had never thought of the Sottile Theatre as a particularly reverberant venue—but I caught briefly shimmering echoes hard on the sonic heels of several louder episodes. That acoustic quality lent additional clarity and aural impact to particularly busy passages, like when the extra trumpets appeared onstage for the “Tuba Mirum” section: one of the most utterly glorious, shiver-me-timbers moments in all of great music. While this rendition didn’t disappoint, I wished that the trumpets had been stationed to the sides of the Sottile’s rear balcony, as has been done in performances of the work at the Gaillard. The gut-grabbing, exhilarating thrill of trumpets reverberating in “surround-sound” over the churning chorus simply can’t be beat!

But the piece is not all about volume. Extreme dynamic contrast is another hallmark of this musical juggernaut—which begins and ends almost inaudibly, and calls for just about any sonic shading you can imagine in between. And it is in this regard that Robert Taylor’s combined choir (the CSO Chorus and the C of C Concert Choir) shone most brightly, demonstrating exceptional dynamic range and control. Their collective technical chops were convincingly proven, too—like in the powerfully playful “Sanctus” movement: a treacherously tricky double fugue that’s pretty darned hard for any big municipal choir to execute cleanly. But this determined (and well-prepared) group managed it very nicely. A lusty “Bravissimo, tutti” from your former colleague!

And, ah, the soloists! While none of them are global A-list singers, their work on Friday evening suggested that they aren’t far removed from it, either. All had voices of strong operatic dimensions, with enough vocal weight to be heard over chorus and orchestra at full tilt. Beginning at the bottom, Adam Cioffari was quite the impressive basso, who—while quite capable of expressive warmth—also invested several of his more ominous passages (i.e., “Mors Stupebit”) with just the right touch of dark menace. Harold Meers struck me as more of a lyric tenor than a full-blown Verdi “spinto” singer. But the clarion clarity and passion of his delivery—particularly in the melting “Ingemisco” aria (“Lacrymosa,” too)—were almost ideal. Cynthia Hannah’s rich and emotion-laden mezzo filled the bill nicely, though her rather wide mid-range vibrato left a pitch or two in question. But top kudos must go to Jasmina Halimic, whose lustrous and creamy soprano took my breath away in several spots. In particular, her smoldering intensity and heart-rending sense of entreaty made the final “Libera Me” movement something I won’t soon forget. It was only in a few of their solo ensemble passages that these big voices failed to blend quite as smoothly as they could have.

It was apparent right from the start that this music was in Maestro Valdéz’s blood, too. He led—by turns—a tender, fiery, dramatic, and emotionally devastating account… holding everything together beautifully, without letting the work slip into the sleazier sorts of maudlin sentiment that some conductors indulge in. The CSO scored a major coup in getting him here—though, ironically, it seems it was Valdéz who sought the CSO out in this case.

Considering how close the Holy City came to losing her precious orchestra for good, we should all be abjectly grateful that it has not only survived, but that it still has the resources and collective ability to do justice to this kind of staggering (and beastly difficult) masterpiece. Chalk up another solid triumph for the CSO.

The concert will focus on Austria with special guest pianist Andrew Armstrong joining musicians of Chamber Music Charleston for a program of music by Austrian composers. The program will open with a chamber version of “The Poet and Peasant Overture” by Franz von Suppé and continue with Fritz Kreisler’s Libeslied for cello and piano and Schön Rosmarin for violin and piano. The final work will be Franz Schubert’s famed “Trout” Quintet composed in 1819 for the unique ensemble of piano, violin, viola, cello and double bass.

pianist Andrew Armstrong

The April 20 performance is CMC’s final public concert before heading to New York City for its debut at Carnegie Hall (on May 22) where six of CMC’s core musicians will play a concert of Mozart, Brahms, Gershwin, and the world premier of Charleston Episodes composed by Terry Vosbien. (Note: they will repeat their Carnegie performance two days later in Charleston, on Sunday, May 26 at 3:00 PM at the Cathedral of St. Luke and St. Paul, as part of the Piccolo Spoleto Spotlight Chamber Music Series.)

And don’t forget the always educational and fun Kids’ Concert at 1:00 P.M. on April 20. Three CMC musicians will play a program for cello, french horn, and piano with some sing-along Disney songs, followed by the children’s story “Miss Rumphius” set to music: a charming story of a lady who makes the world a better place by planting flowers all over town. They will then do a setting of “the Scorpion,” based on an old Arabic children’s story about a scorpion who gets trapped in a circle. Kids in the audience will even be asked to join the musicians in a dance during the performance!

When & Where
April 20 • Memminger Auditorium
Pre-concert bistro opens at 6:30 • concert at 7:30
Tickets: $35 bistro table (sold out) • $25 general seating • $5 students

Learn more
www.ChamberMusicCharleston.org
(843) 763-4941

Chu-Fang Huang

One of the first things I learned when I arrived at the Sottile Theatre last Tuesday evening for the final recital of the College’s International Piano Series was that the evening’s distinguished pianist, Chu-Fang Huang, had changed her program completely. So much for my laboriously written program notes! But mild irritation turned to concern when I was told why—namely that she had been in a serious taxi accident just three weeks ago (I learned afterward that she had suffered considerable facial bruising and a serious concussion).

Naturally, I immediately wondered (especially since she had changed her program), if the quality of her playing would be affected. But—as the recital progressed, I soon realized that her mishap had hardly affected her artistry, if at all. Being familiar with Huang’s performance qualities from her 2008 Scarlatti Sonatas CD, many of the same virtues were apparent as she launched into her first selection, Ludwig van Beethoven’s 26^th sonata, the composer-titled “Les Adieux” (farewell).

Though Beethoven’s music usually doesn’t “sparkle” in the same way Scarlatti’s does, I immediately picked up on the elegance, grace, and sense of line that I had appreciated in her CD. I further savored her interpretive cohesion and sympathetic sense of emotional purpose as she took us through the work’s three movements, entitled “Leave-taking,” “Separation,” and “Reunion”—beautifully bringing out all of the attendant feelings and nuances of sentiment that those titles suggest. I might add that Huang compensated in charming manner for the lack of program notes by giving us a spoken introduction to each piece from the piano bench, explaining its inspiration and genesis.

On to what was perhaps the evening’s best-known piece: the Ballade No. 1 in G Minor—also the most popular of Frédéric Chopin’s four ballades: a kind of musical “short story,” but of epically narrative purpose and design … and a form that Chopin, in effect, created. While it’s been realistically postulated that the ballades are programmatic, inspired by the poetry of his countryman Adam Mickiewicz (as Huang discussed in her intro), it has never been firmly established what the specific inspiration is, if any, for each of the pieces. Chopin himself never disclosed any specific programmatic content, apparently preferring to let his music conjure up each listener’s own imaginary journey. And the musical materials are designed to do just that: we get music of a distinctly narrative (often epically so) nature, with profuse contrasts in mood, dynamics and overall effect.

Accordingly, this minor-hued marvel—under Huang’s capable fingers—took us through a reflective introduction, melancholic musings, poignant longing, and flights of dramatic, near-violent virtuosity … before receding into an episode of tender romance. An ecstatic outburst gave way to a bustling passage of playful figurations that burst like glittering fireworks before fading back into quieter contentment. A more ominous take on the opening theme appeared, turning quickly into turbulent, bravura mayhem. The piece ended with a fearfully tricky sequence of upward runs, cascading back down to earth in a furious avalanche of descending octaves. Huang was simply stunning, from beginning to end—demonstrating a rare affinity for the music of this incomparable “poet of the piano.”

The evening’s novelty came after intermission, with three most enjoyable pieces by Chinese composers who are largely unknown in the West. Huang, as she pointed out in her pre-performance remarks, is on something of a crusade to increase public awareness of such composers, and is actively planning a 5-CD project for Naxos devoted entirely to Chinese piano music. Obviously, Chinese composers abound—hardly surprising when you consider the fact that there are more composers alive and writing today than there have been throughout the entire history of music. Some Chinese tunesmiths write entirely in traditional Asian modes and styles, while others—given today’s global musical cross-fertilizations—are inspired to explore syntheses of foreign and domestic styles.

To my ears, the first two pieces sounded like cross-cultural fusions of the latter sort. Both—like much of traditional Chinese art—are impressionistic in nature; both also have “watery” themes. Jian-Zhong Wang’s Liuyang River, based on a folksong, projects a mostly flowing and pastorally contented mood—with traditional melodic elements explored in more western tonal contexts. Flute and Drum Under the Sunset, by Ying-Hai Li, is also a happy piece, depicting a fisherman for whom enjoyment of the natural beauty around his small boat (even after a brief storm) is more important than fishing. Both pieces feature occasional virtuosic flourishes and deft musical decorations. But tonally, the classic pentatonic Chinese scale predominates in Li’s piece, giving it a more exotic ring to Western ears. The third piece—Wang-Hua Chu’s Xinjiang Fantasy—actually sounds more like Western music than Asian … probably because Chu comes from a nomadically-populated Eastern province of China where the music has the exotic Slavic ring of neighboring Russian provinces—I even heard intermittent echoes of Arabic, Gypsy and Spanish music! It was also the most virtuosic piece of the three. Great stuff!

Huang picked a real blockbuster to end her recital: Sergei Prokofiev’s mostly brutal and “industrial”-sounding Sonata No. 7—the second of his three well-known “war sonatas.” Unlike many of the Soviet composers’ works (especially his thorny and difficult concertos), this is a work of stark musical economy, in which he accomplished a great deal with fewer notes and sparer motifs than usual. The movement titles are very revealing: the opening Allegro inquieto (mistakenly listed as “Andante inquieto” in the printed program) is full of nervous and suspenseful foreboding—as well as Prokofiev’s hallmark mocking sarcasm … though meandering respite comes with the slower second theme before the neurotically unsettled original mood returns. Lovely and lyrical contrast comes with the central Andante caloroso, until the movement abruptly speeds up, building into a noisy, clangorous passage before fading back into sweet softness interrupted by periodic outbursts of violence. The finale lives up to its Precipitato marking: it’s as if the music takes a sudden tumble into the abyss of war, erupting into a hard-driving toccata that pounds through its relentless course with grim determination before ending in a furious flurry of rising octaves. Huang managed it all with remarkable skill and strength … and like a woman possessed

Thus ended a highly varied and rewarding concert that revealed Huang’s indisputable mastery of a wide variety of pianistic styles and techniques. Now I can hardly wait until her new Chinese music series on Naxos gets under way.

violinist Nazar Pylatyuk

In Charleston Music Fest’s third concert of the 2012-13 season, a varied program from J.S. Bach’s “Chaconne” to Myroslav Skoryk’s “Karpathian Rhapsody” provided a sure-fire vehicle for the 26 year-old violinist Nazar Pylatyuk, a native of the Ukraine. The recital hall in the Simons Center at the College of Charleston was the venue Friday evening, March 30 that provided a close chamber music atmosphere.

Pylatyuk started with one of the most perfect solo violin pieces ever composed, J.S. Bach’s “Chaconne,” which is the long final movement of the Partita No. 2 in D Minor, BWV 1004. Bach seems to have had a unique ability to understand the limits and extent of the violin, pulling out all the stops.

Pylatyuk demonstrated musicianship and technique to burn. This movement is a set of variations based on a repeated harmonic progression. Pylatyuk played in a virtuosic manner its tenderest moments to its extraordinary outbursts. This movement consists of 29 variations (in 257 bars)full of imagination, revealed by Pylatyuk in a demonstration of breathtaking violin pyrotechnics.

Pylatyuk likes to use explosive attacks. While this action was not always appropriate in the Bach, it was more appropriate in the Beethoven “Violin and Piano Sonata Op. 24, No.5 in F Major “Spring.” This four movement work is both sweet and rough. Pylatyuk and pianist Volodymyr Vynnytsky provided an imaginative and convincing performance of this popular chamber work.

Myroslav Skoryk, a Ukranian composer born in 1938, was in attendance at the concert and took a bow with the performers. His most famous composition is the short “Medody in A Minor.” Full of passion and longing, the work was expertly performed by Pylatyuk, Vynnytsky and cellist Natalia Khoma who is one of the co-directors of Charleston Music Fest.

The trio offered an intense, driving “Medi Tango” by Astor Piazzolla. This composition also had its serene and melancholy moments that the trio carefully wove into the overall fabric of the piece. Continuing in the tango vein, Pylatyuk and Vynnytsky offered “El Choclo” and “La Compersitta,” both familiar melodies,with the proper flamboyance.

Closing the evening was Skoryk’s “Karpathian Rhapsody,” which sounded like a collection of Gypsy tunes and proved quite enjoyable. Pylatyuk and Vynnytsky made it a fitting closing number, with plenty of elan.

The audience gave the usual enthusiastic standing ovation.

Pianist Enrique Graf

THE CHARLESTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA delivered the fifth and final concert of their Chamber Orchestra series on Tuesday evening, delighting their sold-out Dock Street Theatre audience… despite a few problems. Their program, entitled “Postcards from Abroad,” offered a choice array of musical treasures both old and new from various corners of the globe, though the predominant geographic thread was French. The CSO’s cherished Concertmaster-cum-Acting Artistic Director Yuriy Bekker appeared with baton in hand rather than his violin, serving in the combined capacity of conductor and master of ceremonies.

The program began with a sure-fire favorite among orchestral miniatures: the frisky and fun-filled overture to Gioachino Rossini’s Barber of Seville, the most famous among his many fabulous comic operas. Unfortunately—as sometimes happens with concert openers—the piece got off to a rocky start, with several successive ragged entrances and instances of somewhat sloppy ensemble before everybody got into the groove and brought the piece together, taking it through to its finish with panache and sprightly spirit.

Pardon me while I digress into a short essay about the evening’s novelty—and, for many (including me), its highlight. I speak of the USA premiere of a highly appealing and well-crafted piano concerto by emerging Uruguayan composer Florencia Di Concilio: a most accomplished musician whom The Holy City can rightly (and proudly) claim as an “adopted daughter.” She began her higher musical education here well over a decade ago as a piano performance major at the College of Charleston (I got to marvel at her playing several times) before going on to postgraduate study at New England Conservatory … on full scholarship all the way. From there, it was on to Paris (the concert’s first “French connection”), where she studied composition and orchestration; she still lives there, pursuing a thriving career as a film composer. This concerto performance brought the arc of her life in music to a full circle of sorts, particularly since none other than her Uruguayan-American teacher (and distinguished C of C Artist-in-Residence) Enrique Graf was at the Steinway as her soloist—paying moving and well-deserved tribute to his protégé-done-good.

The concerto turned out to be a compact, yet wide-ranging marvel, cast in a single, uninterrupted movement that ran around 20 minutes. It began fairly slowly, with a sense of warm and contented reflection, evoking a soft and lazy summer evening (memories of muggy Charleston nights, perhaps?). Graf’s entrance came with the same gentle spirit, elaborating on the orchestra’s introductory passage in searching progressions of mellow jazz harmonies. A protracted solo piano passage (an early cadenza of sorts) led into passages of spare and simple keyboard textures drifting over a dreamy bed of orchestral textures. I caught fleeting stylistic echoes of Rachmaninoff and Ravel, among others.

Amid several fetching solo instrumental passages from the orchestra, the music gradually built in tempo, volume and thematic intensity—its summery aura giving way to a more urgent, vaguely Gershwin-esque “metro” feel (“An Uruguayan in Paris,” maybe?). Along the way, true to Florencia’s national heritage (and by way of a personal tribute), came a melody that turned out to come courtesy of the legendary “tango king,” Carlos Gardel (Cuba claims him, but he was actually born in Uruguay). Graf adroitly transformed it into one of Gardel’s classic hit tunes, “Mañanita de Sol.”

Composer Florencia Di Concilio

A “eureka” moment came as the piano part moved into more technically demanding territory—from feathery filigree passages to a dense and driven toccata-like episode. Such material, it seemed, could only have come from a composer who is also a virtuoso pianist: which, as I know from personal experience, Florencia most definitely is. But she didn’t leave me much time to think about that, as the music surged in a rising tide of feverishly chromatic and dramatic outpourings, until BANG! It was over. Whew! And Graf was simply superb, from start to finish. I was left wondering if Florencia had him in mind when writing the piano parts. Yuriy and company did a great job, too—supporting him very nicely.

What a fascinating and meaningful experience it was for me to experience the art of someone whose path through life (part of it, at least) I have been privileged to witness in person; someone I can honestly call a friend (and not just on Facebook). While we were never terribly close, I still know, from personal experience, at least something about where Florencia comes from, where she’s going, and what makes her tick. That—plus having some feel for her personal qualities that are beyond skin-deep—blesses me with a kind of unique insight into her creative process that no total stranger could share. Looking back over my happy ride through her remarkable music—this worthy product of her musical maturity—I realized that nobody but Florencia could’ve written it. And it confirmed to me why her growing success as a composer comes as really no surprise.

Back to business: the concert was far from over yet. After the Steinway was muscled offstage, Yuriy returned to lead his colleagues in a very nice rendition of W. A. Mozart’s bracing “Paris” Symphony (No. 31 in D Major), which—as Yuriy explained to us—was written during Wolfgang’s job-hunting expedition to Paris. It turned out to be an unhappy visit: it was there that he came to realize that, even as a supremely gifted young adult, he would never again get the kind of adulation that he had gotten as a precocious “Wunderkind.” Also, his mother (and traveling companion) died while they were there.

Furthermore, even though Mozart had given in to French preferences by limiting his symphony to three movements, the impresario sponsoring him apparently didn’t like its slow movement—whereupon Mozart wrote another, slightly more animated movement to take its place. In this evening’s performance, Yuriy decided to include both of the central movements, and let the audience decide—via respective levels of applause—which one they preferred (the second, slightly faster one came out on top). Besides those, the brisker outer movements—full of color and excitement— were mostly well executed, and enthusiastically received by the capacity crowd.

The concert’s final work was also the evening’s most complex and demanding: French composer Darius Milhaud’s Le Boeuf sur le Toit (the bull on the roof), is a result of the composer’s brief period of diplomatic service in Brazil. It was originally written as a surrealist ballet score, though some claim it was intended to accompany a silent film by Charlie Chaplin. Whatever its purpose, it’s a delightfully jazzy Latin American romp, built on over thirty popular Brazilian tunes linked by a recurring main “refrain” theme. On top of accommodating all those different melodies, the music careens in polytonal splendor through more than twenty key changes as well as countless shifts in meter and tempo.

While I enjoyed the CSO’s energetic and toe-tapping rendition, there were some recurring performance problems. The orchestra seemed, in places, to lose its sense of coherent ensemble and lapse into fleeting instances of ragged playing… particularly at some of the more sudden tempo shifts. Knowing how good most of the CSO’s players are, I found myself wondering how much rehearsal time this tricky piece had gotten. And, AHA!—My suspicions were confirmed when I learned afterward that there had only been a single rehearsal: hardly enough for music at this level of difficulty. Still, the band managed to project the music’s sense of infectious fun—and the crowd certainly loved it!

Ms. Huang began piano lessons at the age of seven and entered the Shenyang Music Conservatory at the age of 12. She made her U.S. debut at the age of 15 in the La Jolla Music Society’s Prodigy Series. She holds a Bachelor of Music degree from the Curtis Institute of Music and a Master of Music degree and Artist Diploma from The Juilliard School.

Ms. Huang, who resides in New York City, is the Artistic Director of the Ameri-China International Music Association which she founded to provide opportunities for young Chinese pianists to study in the United States.

Tuesday, April 2
8 PM • Sottile Theatre, 44 George St • (843) 953-6575
Tickets $20 at the door
(under 18 and CofC students free)

Program Notes by Lindsay Koob

The many piano sonatas of Josef Haydn (1732-1809) vary considerably in their levels of sophistication and difficulty, depending on whom they were intended for. While many of them were written for his assorted students, the Sonata No. 60 in C Major was composed for leading English virtuoso, Therese Jansen, during one of his visits to London—and is thus among the most technically advanced of them all. The sprightly opening Allegro movement is one of Haydn’s most effective—especially where he restates the initial theme in double notes while adding rising left-hand scales. The development section is particularly imaginative and varied. In the highly expressive and demanding Adagio movement, the tender opening motif stands in stark contrast to the second section’s octave passages. The brief and witty concluding rondo movement teases the listener with its unexpected pauses between fragmentary reprises of the main theme.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) composed his mighty and incandescent “Waldstein” Sonata around 1803, a few years after he first realized that he was losing his hearing. But his reputation as a fiery piano virtuoso was still intact, so it is likely that he wrote this blockbuster for his own use. The brusque foreboding and dramatic intensity of the opening passages alternate with more tranquil episodes, leading into a glittering coda. The brief slow movement progresses through moments of tense mystery and soft wonder, achieving an exalted degree of contemplative lyricism; it moves straight into the magnificent finale without pause. The dreamy initial theme soon turns into often turbulent, but joyful celebration that lasts through the exciting final coda. With its overwhelming kinetic drive, original design, adventurous harmonics and sheer pianistic glory, this sonata has few equals anywhere in the main piano repertoire.

The polonaises of Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849) (based on the traditional Polish dance form in syncopated triple meter) demonstrate the composer’s more masculine side. The Polonaise in F-sharp Minor (1841) is unique among them, as it also incorporates another Polish dance—a mazurka—as a lyrical interlude later in the piece. And this brawny, highly dramatic piece can use a little relief: it’s muscular main theme is heard intermittently throughout the piece—but with a skirling, noble processional march intervening first; then the gentle and dreamy mazurka. The piece generates tremendous excitement, and is full of virtuoso touches like tricky double trills, and breathtaking, upward-rocketing double octaves and parallel arpeggios.

And you’ll hardly get a chance to catch your breath before Chopin’s unique Sonata No. 2 is upon us. Called the “Funeral March” sonata for its ultra-famous third movement, the piece can be seen as a sort of musical autobiography of the composer. Chopin—wretchedly ill with tuberculosis most of his short life—was understandably obsessed with the subject of death. Having written the march first, he composed the remaining three movements to frame it. The turbulent first movement casts a nervous, premonition-ridden opening mood, with lyrical interludes. The second—a fast scherzo—begins with similarly tense chords, followed by surprisingly sprightly, almost playful upward progressions; there’s a soulful central section, as if recalling life’s more tender moments. Following the somber and grief-stricken funeral march, the very brief finale seems to swirl aimlessly; it has been very aptly likened to gusts of empty “wind swirling over the grave.”

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Learn more about the International Piano Series.

The International Piano Series is directed by CofC Artist-in-Residence, Enrique Graf.

Pianist Volodymyr Vynnytsky

WHAT TURNED OUT to be a barn-burner concert of works by Tchaikovsky and Prokofiev on Friday night began benignly with Gabriel Fauré’s Pelléas et Mélisande Suite, Op. 80—a piece (or combination of pieces) with an unusual history of transmutations. Its origins lie in a score that Fauré wrote in 1898 for a play by the Belgian playwright Maurice Maeterlinck who would win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911.

Audiences today hear a lyrical adaptation that goes by the name of “suite” without suspecting its history. Nor do they know that its most popular and oft-played movement—Sicilenne—was added later. Nor does it matter once they hear this hauntingly melancholy song, which has been played by numerous instruments over the last century, but is at its most serene when sung by the flute, as we heard it (featuring Jessica Dull-Hambaugh).

Next on the program was Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1, which packs a huge musical punch that was evidenced by the CSO audience jumping to its feet in a rousing ovation for pianist Volodymyr Vynnytsky. That was after just the first movement—a thing of monumental beauty —which the Ukranian-born Vynnytsky played with unrelenting passion and force.

Conductor David Lockington

Guest Conductor, David Lockington, kept the orchestra apace as the emotion intensified throughout an exhilarating performance. Voldoymyr was completely in his element, leading the way in a robust sweep of romantic rapture. Even in the balcony at the Sottile, the clear sound of the piano (despite its diminished upper register) reverberated with aplomb. It was a special night.

Part of the concerto’s magnificence derives from the dynamic interplay between piano and orchestra—a conversation that surges in the third movement in what some have described as a tug-of-war. But the composer himself said, “the protagonists are actually standing shoulder-to-shoulder against some common foe,” strengthening more than confronting one another as the final movement mounts to its powerful climax.

As though the Tchaikovsky was not enough for one evening, we settled in after intermission only to be aroused by the extraordinary passion—and orchestration skills—of another Russian, Sergei Prokifiev. Conductor Lockington, in his typically poised style, led the large orchestra through seven suites from Prokofiev’s score for Romeo and Juliet. He wrote the music in 1935, but it was in 1965 that it resounded with western audiences after British choreographer, Sir Kenneth MacMillan, adapted the music to a sensuous Royal Ballet production starring Rudolf Nureyev (newly emigrated from Russia) and Margot Fontaine (whose career it resurrected).

The thunderous opening of Prokofiev’s score is astounding—appropriately depicting Shakespeare’s play about antagonism between the Montagues and Capulets. Remarkably, just as Shakespeare was the master of synopsis, storytelling, and drama, so Prokofiev—in this majestic work—weaves a unique tapestry of characters, conflict, and love that surpasses words. Rare is the composer who can meld an entire orchestra in such complementary fashion—and, yes, even in the twentieth century.

Prokofiev’s music has so many layers, not just as music but as a concise representation of Shakespeare’s vision. All you have to do is read the bard’s prologue to appreciate what Prokofiev accomplished with his own version of Romeo and Juliet.

(acknowledgments: photo of David Lockington copyright Adrian Mendoza.)

Now, normally I wouldn’t do a theatrical review of a company of teenagers… but this production, written by Emily Giant and her musician brother Joseph, with sketch contributions by stand-up comics Vincent Fabra and Sam Jackel, is worth it. So put aside your trip to the Chucky Cheese, or the petting zoo—or anything else you THINK your jaded teen wants to do… pocket their iPhone… and take them to see this show.

The show opens with a production number called Kids These Days. Performed by the entire company, with prodigious lead vocal by youngest member, 10-year old Skyler Warf. This is a hilarious indictment of the charged relationship (sometimes jealousy-charged) between parents and their teenagers, from the teen viewpoint.

You remember being young
And feeling so carefree
Well, Mister, that was in
The Twentieth Century.

Kids these days!
We all have gluten allergies
And raging A.D.D.
But for some reason you insist
You’d rather be me.

There is what’s called a running-gag in the show. It’s a multi-media campaign for 8th grade president between two thirteen year olds that is complete with videos. The campaign deteriorates into mud-slinging mania, and ends with a hilarious live election debate. One of my favorite subtle jabs is when one of the candidates makes a campaign promise to improve the use of the playground swings, and says that “Nothing is more important than the swing-voter.”

Early in the show is a song called Big Sister Blues sung by real-life sisters Caroline and Caton Hamrick. Sibling rivalry taken to new heights with hilarious and outrageous lyrics like “They had me just in case you got a disease…” and an unexpectedly touching moment when older sister is about to head off to college. I was not the only audience member to choke up.

A sketch titled Picked Last, features Darian Lopez as a pathetic and convincing know-it-all geek that is perpetually picked behind every other loser for whatever game is being played. My friends and I laughed well into the next piece.

Many of these young people have been studying acting together with their teacher, Emily Giant, for years. Every one of them is good. Some are exceptional! Worthy of note is the terrific character work of Sunny Coons, Eve Alexander, Andrew Macchia and Zachary Shirley (whose Adam Sandler impression is funnier than Sandler ever was). As solid as many local actors three times their age.

There is so much about this show to recommend that I can only tell you the titles of some of the material in hopes that it will urge you to attend. Identity Crisis, Held Back (Coons is remarkable), Lonesome Jew, Black Market Project and Health Class. The show is directed by Giant, and accompanied by Anne Warf and Robbi Kenney. The rest of the ensemble is Bennett Dickison, Noah Evans, Hunter Horn and Elizabeth Ludlam.

Remaining show times are Saturday at 5pm and Sunday at 3pm at the Charleston Acting Studio on James Island. It is a VERY small venue, so make reservations (843-795-2223) before heading over there. The show will be revived in late April or early May at Creative Spark in Mount Pleasant. Dates and times TBD.

Lee-Chin and Khoma, both on the faculty of the School of Music at the College of Charleston, and both co-directors and co-founders of Charleston Music Fest, have given us some remarkable performances. Vynnytsky has been a visiting member of the piano faculty at SUNY at Purchase, NY and the University of Connecticut, and is currently music director of the Music and Art Center of Greene County, NY.

All of these masters have reputations around the world winning competitions, giving recitals, and performing with world famous orchestras.

This concert was named “Songs of Triumph,” because of the uplifting qualities of the two works. Mozart’s Trio was composed when he was beset by monetary problems in the summer of 1788. Being a simple work, it would have appealed to amateurs. And perhaps it could have generated some cash. With a French rondo finale, it seems that Mozart was considering the music-going public’s taste.

It has an ear catching quality about it. The performers were right on top of the score, providing a generous amount of élan. The audience, nearly filling the recital hall, appeared to enjoy this Mozart work.

The second work, Chausson’s Piano Trio is a lush French Romantic composition, full of harmonic richness. Chausson was a pupil of Jules Massenet and greatly influenced by Cesar Franck (he employed Franck’s cyclical structure). Chausson’s 1881 Trio also reflects his deep interest in the music of Richard Wagner.

For this greatly dramatic and emotional music, the Charleston Music Fest piano trio threw themselves into the spirit of the work. They were caught up in the composer’s values and beliefs. Playing like they were on fire, they brought off a triumph which earned a well-deserved standing ovation.