Conductor Pierre Vallet’s score

The Trittico Botticelliano conveys Respighi’s sense of meaning and mood in three of Botticelli’s works: his “Spring,” “Adoration of the Magi,” and “Birth of Venus.” Respighi’s three movements, like the paintings, are correspondingly vibrant, sacred, and sensuous. The only thing that might have topped this performance was if the paintings had been shown on a large video screen above the orchestra, with the camera zooming in on the details of each canvas as the pieces were played.

Most evocative is the second movement—the “Adoration”—because of the beautiful melody it borrows from O Come O Come Emmanuel. The haunting sound of a solo oboe further captures the serenity and majesty of Botticelli’s religious scene.

Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus”

In the “Birth of Venus” above, the figures (which are nearly life-size in the original) are especially magical because they float in the air, on the sea, and above the ground. The landscape is fantastical and the four figures (their bodies) are ethereal, yet their faces are fully charged with an unusual depth of emotion—all of which Respighi seems to have caught in his music. It no doubt helps that Botticelli’s works, as much as those of any Renaissance painter, have a fluid, lyrical quality.

Occasionally you come across poetry that tries to impart the essence of a painting. But music does it much better, perhaps because both mediums (painting and music) are wordless. In fact, on account of this, it can be a nice experience to visit an art gallery and walk through the exhibit while listening to music on your iPod. Sometimes a whole other dimension in the art—and in you—comes alive. ¶

Last Saturday at the Simmons Center, the program highlighted four piano concertos with the soloist at one piano and the ‘orchestra’ part being played on a second piano—something I had not heard before. This allowed eight pianists to perform (and avoided the need for an orchestra), although the overall sound was somewhat muffled as a result. That’s because the second piano often competed with rather than complemented the first. Due to the second piano’s location at the back of the stage, it had a bigger, booming acoustic that drowned out the softer solo passages. The upside, however, was that you could hear what both players were doing, which gave me new insight into the orchestra’s role in a concerto. Several things also stood out about the different techniques of the pianists. For instance, Lisa Lee, who performed the Moderato from Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 2  in C minor, plays with unusually curled fingers, as though she is clawing the keyboard. It is by no means unattractive and her sound is excellent. It’s just that her method is the direct opposite of, for example, Vladimir Horowitz, the Russian virtuoso who was renowned for playing with his fingers almost perfectly straight and striking the keys with the pads rather than tips of his fingers.

Freshman Chee Hang See, who exudes as much concentration in his face as in his hands, played the Allegro from Gershwin’s Concerto in F Major. My limited experience with Gershwin is that I rarely get past the ‘Gershwin’ style to the music underneath. This time, however, I heard for the first time Gershwin’s complexity and depth as a composer.

pianist Christopher Lin

The final piece on the program was the full Concerto No. 1 in D-flat Major by Prokofiev, performed by Christopher Lin who is an Enrique Graf student from Carnegie Mellon. Christopher has a firm, crisp technique that kept Prokofiev—who often sounds muddled to my untrained ear—very lucid and alive. I am not entirely sure about this, but I also discerned an unexpected similarity between the Prokofiev and Gershwin pieces. Something about the way the two composers put seemingly disparate phrases together. I am still not sold on Prokofiev when it comes to listening pleasure, but Chrisopher’s interpretation and focused play got me more interested. As with Chee Hang, Christopher took me a layer deeper into the music, which says a lot about these young performers and the laudable path that Enrique Graf is leading them down. ¶

pianist Sean Kennard

But back to the concert. Sean Kennard—another accomplished student of Enrique Graf—has a relaxed, professional demeanor at the keyboard that immediately puts you at ease. He comes across as a genuine player more than a stage performer, which draws you in even further. His technique is very polished, his expression ultra clear. So much so that you forget about the piano and simply hear the music that he delivers through it—which is rare, and which made me think of the line in the film “Mao to Mozart” when Isaac Stern reminds a young violinist: “You don’t use music to play the violin, you use the violin to play music.” That’s when it becomes art. And that’s what Sean did today as part of the Piccolo Spoleto “Young Artists Series” when he played three pieces by Rachmaninoff and then was joined by five string players—fellow students at the College of Charleston—for Chopin’s Concerto No. 1 in E minor.

Sean Kennard and Friends

Sean skillfully managed the Rachmaninoff works, beautifully capturing the Russian composer’s unique blend of poetry and magnificence. He did equal justice to the Chopin concerto (one of only two by Chopin) which contains several rousing passages that build gradually in feeling and intensity, but which Sean did not overplay.

After four dynamic pieces, he concluded with an encore of Debussy’s Clair de Lune, which further exhibited Sean’s exquisite sensitivity and delicate touch. All the while, I could not help but glance now and then at mentor Enrique Graf to see his reaction. From all indications, it is immensely gratifying for him to see his young protegés flourishing like this. And thanks to Piccolo Spoleto, we get to reap some of the listening benefit for ourselves. ¶

New Trinity Baroque ensemble

The five concertos they played made for such good listening partly because they are not too long. As musical director Predrag Gosta (at far left) pointed out, Vivaldi wrote many of his concertos for church services so the pieces had to subscribe to a defined time limit—a restriction that seems to have brought out the best in Vivaldi’s already compact style of composing. A good example was the Cello Concerto in D Minor which featured André O’Neil. The second movement in particular contained hauntingly beautiful passages, the likes of which I have not heard from Vivaldi before. In this case, I wish the movement had lasted longer, so captivating it was. Equally interesting was André himself who plays with a self-contained, almost monastic poise that belies his passion for the cello.

violinist Carrie Krause

Contrastingly, violinist Carrie Krause plays with innocent exuberance. The instrument floats on her shoulder—she appears barely to hold it at all—as her fingers and bow romp across the top of it with liquid ease and expertise. Her obvious pleasure in performing also carries (no pun intended) over to the audience.

Especially nice was the final piece of the day—Concerto in E Minor—when she and fellow violinist Adriane Post had a whimsical musical ‘conversation’. Their mutual playing brings a lightness to the group, as does their clear and delicate sound—both of which were appropriate to the piece itself. Written late in Vivaldi’s life, it evokes an endearing tenderness.

For many years, Antonio Vivaldi composed pieces that were performed by teenage girls under his musical tutelage at the Ospedale ‘orphanage’. It seems fitting then that two female violinists are presenting these delightful works with this extremely gifted ensemble. ¶

Learn more about New Trinity Baroque and their recordings.

Learn more about Antonio Vivaldi.

Pianist Andrew von Oeyen

I for one was astonished by his speed, precision, and superhuman control. At the same time it felt a little like going to the circus and watching an acrobat do a few death-defying leaps and take several exciting risks with undeterred confidence before jaunting toward the audience, bowing rapidly, and skipping off stage. You’re breathless in the moment, but the experience leaves no residue.

In the case of Andrew’s Spoleto “Intermezzo” performance at St. Matthews Lutheran Church, I remember what I saw, but quickly forgot what I had heard. His rapid-fire showcase, impressive as it was, superseded the music. It muddied the musical message. It was, unfortunately, too much ado about the performer.

Who doesn’t admire brilliance and would not love to have more of it? But the question is to what end? Certainly, when artists themselves remain pure instruments, everyone—especially the performer—is rewarded in unexpected ways. It is a secret of great art and of the greatest talent. ¶

Want to hear a very different perspective? Read Lindsay Koob’s review for the City Paper.

Violinist Adriane Post

The original instruments they play don’t have the crisp, clear sound we’ve come to expect. At first the playing sounds squeaky and muffled. But once your ear gets accustomed to the sound, something nice happens. The music starts to exude rich, warm tones. Sort of like the depth of black-and-white photographs compared to color.

The ensemble (6 members of the group on this day) plays with a silky smooth style and in effortless unison. They come across as musical connoisseurs as well as virtuoso performers, yet they communicate extremely well with the audience. I felt like a welcome guest—which is not common at large public performances. Meanwhile the church setting added to the visceral sense of Vivaldi, conveying the joyful, spirited, and often sacred quality of his music.

Carrie Krause, violin and William Bauer, viola “plucking”

By design, the program grew stronger and stronger as the ‘storm’ gathered. After an opening piece, each of the four soloists highlighted their skills in a series of concertos. Carrie Krause (baroque violin), William Bauer (viola d’amour), André Laurent O’Neil (baroque cello), and Adriane Post (baroque violin) were each a delight to listen to in a program that concluded with a stirring rendition of ‘Winter’ from the Four Seasons.

As I stepped out of the church into the balmy afternoon light, I suspected that the effect of this concert might linger for the rest of the day—which, happily, it did. ¶

Read more about this group in Lindsay Koob’s review for the City Paper.

Each of the students (David Keiser, Chee Hang See, Micah McLaurin, Jesus Manuel Toro, and Lisa Lee) played works by Frédéric Chopin. Each player was articulate, expressive, and in solid command of the keyboard. And all of them were impressive to watch. So consistently, in fact, that you could not help but feel the influential hand of their mentor, Enrique Graf. He can mold talent, that’s for sure.

Something especially nice about this concert was the chance to hear five different pianists playing five different Chopin pieces. You usually hear one pianist play a full or partial Chopin program, and you go away with an impression of that pianist’s rendering of the Polish master. But in this case, in addition to getting a good taste of each pianist’s interpretation and technique, you came away with a clear sense of Chopin himself. In particular, his robust and inexhaustible exploration of the keyboard.

Frédéric Chopin

Chopin’s music is appealing in large part because it can be romantic, brooding, sentimental, playful, and profound in the same piece as well as in different pieces. And whatever his mood or expression, the music exhibits his indelible style. It’s Chopin. Nobody else found those same remarkable chords and combination of sounds which never lose their lyrical quality or their ability to alter our inner landscape.

Perhaps because Chopin’s music has so much character, pianists seem to feel that they must ‘show’ how deeply they sense the music in their playing of it. But that is always a tiresome distraction for the audience—which is something else that was so refreshing about this performance by Enrique’s young students. They were just themselves trying to play these extremely demanding keyboard pieces. Consequently, we the audience were not distracted by their ownership of Chopin’s expressiveness. We were simply left to witness the awesome breadth of Chopin’s musical flair and his relentless fervor in plumbing the piano’s, and his own, depths. ¶

French soprano Emma Calvé as Carmen

And is it possible that my non-musical ear detected a slight Russian lilt in the violin rendering of the dance movement? After all, violinist Yuriy Bekker hails from Belarus. It would be interesting to hear what he thinks about that. Regardless, it was a joy to watch his fingers dance with intrepid ease across the strings. He has seamless technique and a wonderfully fluid bow. I don’t know a lot of what he did in technical terms, but he sure made it look easy to play a showpiece composed by a virtuoso violinist.

Mr. Bekker also seemed to be a fraction of a second ahead of the orchestra, making me wonder if he was overly fast or the orchestra a tad slow. After the performance, I asked my music guru Lindsay Koob (see the link to his review below) and he said, yes, Yuriy was playing just ahead of the orchestra—by design, to ensure that the solo instrument’s voice remained audible.

That was just one tidbit of my furthering education at a Memminger Auditorium performance that began with conductor Scott Terrell explaining turn-of-the-century neoclassicism. Obviously well prepared, he had the eight wind players demonstrate passages they would be playing from Igor Stravinsky’s three-movement Octet. He did the same thing before the last piece of the night, Sergei Prokofiev’s Symphony No. 1 (with its hauntingly beautiful third movement that went into Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet ballet score).

Yuriy Bekker

Mr. Terrell’s instruction not only made the pieces more transparent, more approachable, and more enjoyable, it provided valuable insight into early twentieth-century musicology and made it a lot easier for listeners like me to hear modern pieces.

It was also refreshing to see the musicians in less formal, more colorful attire. Their open-collared pastel shirts and blouses were just right for the casual setting. The orchestra felt like a family and we, the audience, felt like welcome guests. And isn’t that the best way to enjoy playing and listening to good music? All too often, the large auditorium environment prevents musicians and audience from really connecting with each other. The “fourth wall”—as actors call the stage front—proves impenetrable, whereas Memminger is a horseshoe, almost in-the-round environment that makes the experience tactile and personal.

The atmosphere became even warmer when, after the concert, the audience mingled on stage with the musicians. Too bad this was the last performance of the 2008 season. I’m already looking forward to Professor Terrell’s ‘classes’ next year—and hopefully the chance to hear Yuriy Bekker up close again. ¶

Read Lindsay Koob’s review in the Charleston City Paper.

You might also enjoy George Hubbard’s review at PostandCourier.com.

Perhaps that’s because the oboe’s tonality conveys as no other instrument can—even the violin—a special range of human emotions. It ‘sings’ with the most sorrowful sorrow, the most mystical mystery. It is sweet, melancholic, and haunting all at once. And since none of these experiences are frequent, it seems appropriate that the oboe makes its appearance only rarely. But thanks to the College of Charleston’s March 16 Monday Night Series, I have a fresh outlook on the capacities of this marvelous instrument and those who play it.

The recital hall in the Simmons Center seats about 250, which is ideal for chamber music. The crisp acoustics accentuate the silent pauses as well as the music. The stark stage and walls, however, make you feel like you’re in a classroom or laboratory. (I couldn’t help but imagine a large tapestry on the rear stage wall, beautifying and softening the ambiance.)

Luckily, my aesthetic preferences were quickly forgotten during the stellar performance of “The Reeds of Charleston,” who are members of the reed section of the Charleston Symphony. Led my Mark Gainer, the trio (which included Christine Worsham, oboe, and Nicholas Masterson, English horn) began with two contemporary pieces, one of them (Ditty RAM) just written for this group by College of Charleston professor, Dr. Trevor Weston.

Mark Gainer, principal oboist

The highlight for me, though, was Beethoven’s Trio in C major, originally written for oboe and English horn in the 1790s when, according to Mr. Gainer, there was an “upsurge in writing for reeds.” He also mentioned that Beethoven later transcribed the piece for 2 violins and viola, which helped me appreciate even more Nick Masterson’s rich rendering of the bass tones on his English horn.

Beethoven clearly gave his all to the intricate construction of this piece, as did Mr. Gainer and friends to their playing of it. And they obviously know each other well, as evinced by their perfect timing, subtle visual communication, and warm mutual support. Their visible pleasure in playing together only enhanced an already articulate performance. (Listen to a nice snippet from my iPhone.)

When it was over, I knew my instincts were right—that we had heard something special—when Mr. Gainer stood up with a smile and in one hand raised his oboe with a few triumphant ‘pumps’ of celebration. No question, he and his partners had even more fun playing than we did listening.

(You can read Lindsay Koob’s Eargasms.com review here.)

Monday Night Series
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Simons Center for the Arts
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Violinist Karen Gomyo

Karen Gomyo’s sound was rich, melodious, and heartfelt (she plays a 1703 Stradivarius on permanent loan from a private sponsor). But most apparent to me was her physical passion as she played. Whereas some violinists contort their faces and upper bodies, Karen seemed to play from her hips—as though she might unexpectedly throw down the violin and start dancing.

Dvorak’s concerto does not rank with the better-known ones of Mendelssohn and Tchaikovsky, to name two. It’s more pensive and brooding. For me, it is exhilarating, but not necessarily inspiring. I would not choose to listen to it often. But Miss Gomyo was enjoyable to watch and listen to because she gave the impression that she loves the music as much as, if not more than, performing. And she was gracious.

I was distracted, however, by guest conductor Bohuslav Rattay, who, from what I learned on the internet, is considered an up-and-coming talent. He is certainly to be lauded for his efforts to generate interest in young people’s appreciation of classical music. But I found that his exuberance—genuine as it seemed—unduly dominated Miss Gomyo’s presence on stage. By over emphasizing his gestures of courtesy to her, he drew over-much attention to himself. He did the same thing at the end of the evening, after Mozart’s Symphony No. 38 (played beautifully by the Charleston Symphony) as he jumped through the orchestra to congratulate different soloists and sections.

Conductor Bohuslav Rattay

But it did lead me to think more about the conductor being there in the first place. Why all the fuss? Is the conductor really necessary? Does he truly make a difference? What is his actual job? With this in mind, I started watching Mr. Rattay more carefully.

Slowly I started to realize that, like all good conductors, he possesses two special talents. One is his ability to maintain an overview of the entire piece—its architecture, its unity, and its continuity. This, as opposed to the players who must necessarily focus on single passages one at a time. The second talent, related to the first, is his ability to stay always one step ahead of the orchestra. To anticipate, punctuate, and adjust—all keys to success in other areas of the arts, sports, and life.

The more I watched, the more I realized how unfortunate it is that the audience does not see the conductor. Strangely, we see only his back. Sort of like watching someone dance backwards, which ain’t always pretty. It’s a shame we don’t see his facial nuances, his eye gestures to the musicians, and his personal response to the music—the way we can while watching a passionate soloist like Karen Gomyo as she plays.

Returning to Karen for a moment, she was (according to various bios on the internet) born in Tokyo in 1982 and moved with her family to Montreal when she was two years old. At age five, she began studying the violin, and at ten, after playing in a masterclass for the well-known teacher Dorothy Delay, she was invited by Delay to study at Julliard on full scholarship. Her success has been steadily growing, and we are lucky to have seen her in Charleston.

Want to hear part of the Dvorak finale which I grabbed on my iPhone? You can also listen to Karen in 2006 playing Caesar Franck’s beautiful Sonata in A major.

(Read Lindsay Koob’s Eargasms.com review here.)