Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

BEETHOVEN Piano Sonatas Nos. 27, 28, 30, 31 • Dina Ugorskaja (pn) • CAVI 8553299 (77:35)


Dina Ugorskaja, the daughter of the pianist Anatol Ugorski, is a Russian pianist and composer trained in Germany. Early in her career, she has already recorded Beethoven’s “Hammerklavier” and op. 111 sonatas, the Chopin preludes, and a disc of Handel suites. The Sonata No. 27, the first of the 32 in which Beethoven uses German to indicate the movements’ tempo and character, is the piano work in which Beethoven’s late period begins, and Ugorskaja’s playing is fully alive to the quick changes of mood in its stark, febrile first movement, with extremely sensitive pacing of the rise and fall of each phrase, and careful weighing of tone. Her tempo for the second movement is on the slow side, but the melody is patiently shaped, as if sung, never in a hurry. This is a terrific performance of an elusive work.


Ugorskaja’s well-projected, unforced sound, and instinctively rhapsodic, though tasteful, responses to the music’s changes of character, are a good fit with the predominantly lyrical sonatas Nos. 30 and 31, though there’s real grandeur in her playing in the sections that need it. How beautifully she plays the right hand melody in No. 30’s third movement’s first variation, in which Beethoven uncannily anticipates the ornamented singing line of Chopin’s nocturnes, pieces that I’d love to hear her play. No. 31 receives a properly serious, thoughtfully savored reading, with highly expressive playing in the mystical latter sections of the piece. There are one or two moments in the first movement where Ugorskaja’s impulse to move the music forward detracts from the movement’s benign, stable character, but that’s a small quibble.


In op. 101 (Sonata No. 28), I was a little disappointed in her reading of the second movement, a tricky, fast march. In it, her espressivo approach, so winning in the sonata’s first movement, isn’t always rhythmically consistent enough in the repeated dotted rhythms. (Igor Levit’s splendid performance on a recent Sony disc has more speed and better control.) Nonetheless, Ugorskaja’s late Beethoven is cognizant of the sonatas’ details and structure, and manages to sound personally expressive without being self-indulgent. Cavi’s engineering captures the depth and variety of her splendid, “open” sound. Highly recommended.


FANFARE: Paul Orgel

COPLAND NORTHINGTON COMP. SOLO PIANO WORKS, VOL. 2

Classical Music

This new release is the first volume in a projected cycle of the complete keyboard works of Francois Couperin, which will eventually comprise approximately twelve releases. For the entirety of this series, special attention is and will be given to the selection of appropriate historical harpsichords. French Baroque composer, organist, and harpsichordist Francois Couperin, he was known to many as Couperin le Grand (“Couperin the Great”) in order to distinguish him from other members of his musically talented family. Heavily influenced by the works of Corelli, he blends together Italian and French styles in much of his music. Harpsichordist Mark Kroll has long been a strong advocate of Couperin’s keyboard literature, and here shows his knowledge and expertise in this music’s interpretation.

DEBUSSY Estampes. Pour le piano. Suite bergamasques: Clair de lune. Préludes: Feux d’artifice. Des pas sur la neige; La puerta del vino; Ce qu’a vu le vent d’ouest. Etudes: pour les sonorities opposes. Berceuse héroique. Morceau de concours. Ballade. Pièce sans titre. Elégie • Roberta Rust (pn) • CENTAUR 2867 (71:18)


This is my first encounter with the playing of Roberta Rust, a pianist who has studied with John Perry and Ivan Davis, among others. She now has an active international career and her previous recordings include piano works by Haydn, Villa-Lobos, and Prokofiev. On this disc she proves herself a first-rate Debussy player, someone who listens acutely to each sound she makes, who characterizes the music in a personal way while at the same time honoring Debussy’s very detailed notation, and who has an arsenal of touches—and a beautifully recorded piano—at her disposal. The disc provides a fine cross section of Debussy piano output, from the early, ubiquitous “Clair de lune” (1890) to his great triptych Estampes (1903) and his final piano pieces, including the sad little Elegie (1915). For me, Estampes is the highlight, with the numerous fade-ins and fade-outs of ideas under superb control in all three movements: “Pagodes” and “Soirée dans Grenade” come across as wonderfully evocative improvisations—and not even a Richter has always been so successful at this; and “Jardins sous la pluie” is truly a tempest in a théière. In Pour le piano, the Prelude and Toccata are never dry—and the latter concludes with tremendous reserves of speed and color. Imagination and virtuosity are equally in the service of “Feux d’artifice” and “Ce qu’a vu le vent d’ouest” (technically the two hardest of Debussy’s 24 Préludes ), and the hypnotic mood of “Des pas sur la neige” (the slowest and easiest of them) is captured perfectly. This is quite simply one of the finest Debussy discs I have heard in recent memory, and I hope that it won’t be long before Rust gives a complete set of the Préludes or the two sets of Images. Very highly recommended.


FANFARE: Charles Timbrell

Classical Music

Marimbist Fumito Nunoya has enjoyed international fame as one of the most in demand marimba players of our day. A native of Odate Japan, he is currently based out of Herford in Germany, where he teaches at the Academy of Music in Detmold. In addition to performing across Europe, he frequently gives concerts in the United States and Japan. For this release, he has chosen classic works, which he arranged for his instrument, like Chopin’s Barcarolle in F-sharp major, Op. 60, and selections from Bach’s Partitas and Sonatas. Nunoya is joined on this recording by pianist Momoko Shano and fellow marimbist Hiroya Honda.

Classical Music

ZOLTAN KODALY; ARAM KHACHATURIAN; ALAN HOVHANESS; RICHARD ARNELL Antony Cooke, cello. THE SOLO CELLO - ZOLTAN KODALY: Solo Sonata, Op. 8; ARAM KHACHATURIAN: Sonata-Fantasy; ALA HOVHANESS: Yakamochi; RICHARD ARNELL: Suite for Unaccompanied Cello.

Pianist Alexander Kobrin, born in Russia in 1980 and now based in the U.S. is an internationally acclaimed pianist who, among other honors, is a former winner of the Gold Medal Prize in the heralded Van Cliburn International Piano Competition. + This Centaur release features Mr. Kobrin’s in an all-Schumann program, opening with one of the composer’s finest of several piano masterpieces that comprise Schumann’s first two dozen or so published works, Carnaval, op. 9, followed by Waldszenen, op. 82, which contains the wondrous Vogel als Prophet, and concludes with the op. 18 Arabesque.

BACH Six Cello Suites • Carmine Miranda (vc) • CENTAUR 3263/4 (2 CDs: 130:10)


Since reviewing Truls Mørk’s version of Bach’s unaccompanied cello suites in 29:5, no fewer than six more accounts have crossed my desk. In chronological order, they were Jean-Guihen Queyras (31:4), Sara Sant’Ambrogio (33:3), Luigi Piovano (34:5), Hekun Wu (34:6), Tanya Tomkins (35:1), and Richard Tuncliffe (36:1). Some of the cellists used conventional cellos, others period instruments. All but two, however, had one thing in common: They were uniformly awful, though each in its own way, ranging from barely tolerable to downright execrable. The one I kept coming back to as my preferred and strongly recommended set throughout those reviews was the first on this list, the one by Jean-Guihen Queyras, with Hekun Wu being a close runner-up. Both, by the way, performed the suites on cellos in modern configuration.


Bach’s six cello suites are like a Siren’s call to cellists of all persuasions, luring many of them to ruin. And the thing is there’s no reason for it. Was it a singular achievement for Bach to write such technically challenging works for an instrument that was relatively new at the time, and a melody instrument to boot, one that takes even more kindly to intensive double-stopping than the violin? Yes. But are the cello suites comparable on levels of musical scope and intellectual depth to the unaccompanied violin sonatas and partitas? Not even close. There are no massive fugues in the cello suites and nothing that approaches the dimensions of the D-Minor Violin Partita’s Chaconne. The cello suites are exactly what their title tells us they are—six sets of relatively short, stylized baroque dances. Yet for cellists—and for some listeners, I think—they’ve taken on an import that may be beyond their actual significance in Bach’s output, virtually becoming every cellist’s initiation rite.


So, how does the young Venezuelan cellist, Carmine Miranda (b. 1988), fare in his initiation into cellodom’s manhood? Well, first a few words about this young artist, who is likely unknown to readers, as this is his recording debut; he was 22 when he recorded the Bach suites for Centaur in 2011–12. Miranda’s early training took place in his native country, where he studied at the Carabobo State Music Conservatory, then in the Latin-American Academy of Violoncello, and finally at the Simon Bolivar Conservatory of Music (the institution that spawned the famous “El Sistema”). Miranda then traveled to the States to study with Ross Harbaugh at the University of Miami, followed by further coaching under Yehuda Hanani at the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music where Miranda obtained his bachelor’s and master’s degrees and is a candidate for a doctorate.


In the U.S., he has performed at Carnegie Hall, Bowdoin Music Festival, the Bach Annalia Festival in Cincinnati, the Young People’s Festival in Chatham, N.Y., and is on the artist’s roster for the Close Encounters with Music Series in Great Barrington, N.Y., both under the direction of Yehuda Hanani and others.


Among Miranda’s awards are first prize at the 2005 Alhambra Music Competition, the National Prize for best soloist from the FMEA (Florida Music Educators Association), and the 2008–09 University of Cincinnati Cello Competition. He has collaborated with recognized international artists such as Yehuda Hanani, Awadagin Pratt, Rodolfo Saglimbeni and performed as a soloist with several chamber ensembles and orchestras, recently including the Caracas Municipal Symphony Orchestra. He is also the founder and member of the Troika Piano Trio comprised of violinist Joshua Ulrich and pianist Assaf Sommer.


Miranda, who authored his own album note, makes no mention of the instrument(s) he uses for these performances, how he handles the scordatura tuning of the Fifth Suite—does he retune his cello according to the original manuscript or use the modern standard-tuning edition?—or what he does to accommodate the Sixth Suite, believed to have been originally written for a five-string violoncello piccolo. His note speaks only of his personal impressions of, and responses to, the emotional and spiritual character and quality of each of the pieces. At one point, in fact, I was quite taken aback to read, “Interpretation of the suites has nothing to do with what is correct, accurate, and historical, but it rather has to do with going deep within the soul of the writing…” That raised a red flag for me, not to mention an eyebrow. I couldn’t help but think to myself that only the immodesty of youth could be so callow and cavalier with respect to the years of serious musicological research that have attempted to ascertain what is “correct, accurate, and historical,” and to the many veteran cellists who have spent more years studying these works than Miranda has been alive. But the proof, as they say, is in the hearing. And so I decided not to allow my annoyance with Miranda’s words to influence my judgment of his playing.


Instantly, from the very first bar of the G-Major Suite, the cellist that came to mind was Pablo Casals, a comparison that elicits no higher compliment. In my above-mentioned review of Tanya Tomkins’s Bach suites, I noted how slow and super-romanticized her readings were; she takes 3:16 for the opening Prelude, a full half-minute longer than Jacqueline du Pré, who, at 2:35, is hardly fast. So, I went back to Casals’s 1950s recording and found that he dispatched the Prelude in two minutes flat and without any rhythmic distensions or distortions. What about Carmine Miranda? 2:09. I don’t know if Miranda studied Casals’s recordings, but if he didn’t, it’s truly uncanny how closely he channels both the letter and the spirit of the great cellist’s example.


It’s really difficult to express in words the beauty of Miranda’s performances. His cello is a modern instrument, or at least one updated with modern fittings and tuned to modern pitch, but the tone it emits is lighter in weight than that which we often hear in versions played on modern cellos. Of course, much of that can be attributed to Miranda’s bowing. He doesn’t dig into the strings to produce guttural sounds. The tone is clean and clear and intonation perfect. But one expects more than technical proficiency, dexterity, and finesse; and more—much more than that—is what one gets from Miranda’s readings.


Alluded to above is the fact that these are suites of dances, and time and again, in extolling the virtues of Jean-Guihen Queyras’s performances, I’ve remarked on the way in which he manages to capture the essence of each dance step. Miranda, it seems to me, goes one step further (no pun intended). He hears, and allows us to hear, the historical roots of each dance and whence it comes, which is pretty funny when you try to square that with his comment that interpretation of the suites has nothing to do with the historical. Yet listen to Miranda’s courantes, and you will hear not just rapid tempos, but the very definition of the Renaissance dance as described by Thoinot Arbeau, the 16th-century French theorist who tells us that the courante was danced with fast running and jumping steps. If Miranda didn’t learn this from reading music history, he knows it intuitively, for it’s not just his accelerated tempos but the effect of rhythmic arrest you would observe in a dance that involved running forward several steps, then making a sudden jump, hop, or jerk to stop short the forward motion. In Miranda’s hands, the suites don’t just sound dance-like , as in stylized baroque refinements, they sound like actual Renaissance dances.


Likewise, Miranda’s sarabandes are played with the stately gravitas that would have been à la mode for a processional court dance in 17th-century France. Interestingly, the sarabande had its origins as a fairly fast dance a century earlier and quite likely in Mexico or Central America. When Spanish colonists brought the dance back to Spain with them, it was banned in 1583 for being obscene. It wasn’t until the sarabande made its way to Italy and then France that it became the slow, triple-meter dance that was widely adopted into the baroque suite.


I’ve never heard Bach’s cello suites played in quite this way, and while I wouldn’t want to be without the versions by Queyras, Hekun Wu, Casals, and János Starker, Carmine Miranda’s will not only join them, it will stand out as perhaps the most original and imaginative interpretations of the suites I’ve heard.


Centaur’s recording, too, is outstanding, capturing Miranda’s cello fairly close up but with sufficient air around it to allow for a natural sounding bloom, yet without any annoying echo effect. An album note states that the recording was made without any editing. This is a definite buy recommendation for both connoisseurs of Bach’s cello suites and those who appreciate cello playing at its best. I’d have to say that Carmine Miranda has passed his initiation with flying colors. Welcome to the ranks of the world class players.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Pianist Richard Cionco – praised by Donal Henahan of the New York Times for his “sensitive pianism” – made his orchestral debut at the age of nine, and has since performed with the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra and the Seijo Symphony of Tokyo. He is currently a faculty member at California State University at Sacramento and is a Steinway artist.

Classical Music

The spotlight is on Argentinean native Tomas Cotik in this program of works for solo violin by Telemann, Bach, Schubert and fellow countryman Astor Piazzolla. Mr. Cotik, whose studies began in Argentina, continued his educational pursuits in Germany, Canada and finally the US where he earned his Doctorate at the University of Miami. Alongside his recording and teaching obligations, Mr. Cotik and frequent duo partner pianist Tao Lin received critical acclaim for their Schubert: Complete Works for Violin and Piano, V.1 release, including a Recording of the Year nomination from MusicWeb Int'l.

This album features two towering masterpieces of the romantic piano music literature, Brahms’ Paganini Variations, op. 35 and Schumann’s Études Symphoniques, op. 13. Now based in the US, Ukrainian pianist Sophia Agranovich, a Steinway Artist and Juilliard graduate, is an internationally acclaimed virtuoso, recording artist and educator, performing as a soloist, recitalist and chamber musician. “Agranovich possesses not only technique, but superior musicianship…” (American Record Guide) “…mind-bending technical prowess and heart-melting emotional expressivity…” (Fanfare)

Ravel, M.: Gaspard De La Nuit / Miroirs / Jeux D'Eau

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Milan / Narvaez: Music for Vihuela

Classical Music

SOR: 25 Progressive Studies, Op. 60 / Fantaisie Elegiaque

TRABACI: Keyboard Music, Book 1