Rule no. 1 - The composer is always right!

Rule no. 2 - When the composer is wrong, look at rule no. 1...

Wait! Stop! It is slightly more complicated than that.

These past few months I have been juggling between two different piano concerti. Both are new to me, and although at an opposite realm, interestingly they raised similar questions. I am referring to Chopin's concerto no. 2, and Avner Dorman's new piano concerto "Lost Souls". The first of these has already proven itself through the test of time, while the other is barely four months old.

When learning these two wonderful works, a number of times I came across places that made me wonder whether the composer perhaps made a mistake. Maybe a wrong note... should I change it? a wrong choice of register... should I take it up an octave? possibly too many notes... can I drop a few?

The Dorman concerto, in a way, is still a "piece in process and progress"... It is not "finished", and I have the composer "at hand" to ask. A great and unique partnership is created when composer and performer collaborate and nourish each other. With Chopin, though, it is somewhat different. Can I have any doubts about what is in front of me?

What was fascinating was that through working on the Dorman concerto (with the composer), and experiencing the evolution of the piece, I began to challenge the Chopin concerto with questions. These questions Chopin did not need to answer. This was my "job". The questions ranged from choice of dynamics, articulation markings, texture, and even form. A real conversation emerged which at times became a loud argument between me and the piece.

I belong to a "school" that proclaims that the performer is at the service of the music. He needs to convey the message behind the notes. The music is at the center – it is "the star", while the performer, although absolutely indispensable, is the tool that translate those black dots on the page, and inject life into them.

I said "at the service of the music". Does this also mean at the service of the composer? Can the composer be separated from his music?

The late composer Ben Zion Orgad told me once that "if a piece is good, then at a certain point it spreads its wings and fly away from the composer. It becomes independent of its creator." This is a profound statement! It can be liberating for the performer but also dangerous. The composer is the creator. He knows what he wants! The performer, however, is the one that will make the work… work. What happens then when the performer has a different view of the piece than the composer? This is a VERY delicate issue.

I remember years ago when Ben Zion Orgad gave me his newest piano work.It had no dynamics or articulation markings! He asked me to add them. In the process of learning the piece I added my interpretative markings (including articulations and dynamics). He then showed me the same piece, this time though, with all his desired markings and we compared. To a large extent we were identical, and at the places that we differed, it was very difficult for me to accept his requests. By making me part of the creative process, I also became the creator. Taking this a step further, however we look at this, we - performers are also creators! Fortunately, I played Orgad's new work numerous times, and gave it different interpretations - with his markings, and mine – both sounded convincing.

Several times throughout my life I was asked about the opportunities to work with living composers. And my response always came as somewhat of a surprise. To work with composers such as Orgad, or Dorman is a revelation, regardless of whether it is on their pieces or someone else. I learned a lot from them because they are very creative, imaginative and I trust their ears. That applies to whatever piece I play for them. It might actually be theirs...

I believe that everything there is to know about the music is on the page, and the answers are between those little black dots. What is between those "dots" tells the performer the message, the story of the piece. The beauty is that it can and should tell different stories to different performers, which may be indeed different than the composer's story. I guess this is part of what we call interpretation.

At a Gala presentation event in Kansas City before the world premiere of his concerto, Avner Dorman shared with the audience the narrative behind his new piece. This narrative I did not hear until that point. By that time, I already developed my own concept and story of the piece, and it was quite different. Who is right then? No doubt, Avner!! After all he wrote the piece. However, if we want the piece to have a life of its own then new narratives, new stories, new questions about interpretation, articulation etc, are all relevant and are all an integral part of the internal dialogue that is created between the music, the performer, the audience and.... oh, yes, the composer as well.

Alon Goldstein

A Mozart Mystery

Preparing for performances of Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 in A major K. 414.
July 11, 2008 in Shippensburg, PA. with the Chamber Orchestra of the Summer Music Festival and David Amado conducting.
July 14, 2008 in Seattle, WA. at the Seattle chamber music festival.

In the past several weeks I have been thinking whether to write about my experience of playing Beethoven's "Waldstein" sonata for the first time, or maybe about the new discoveries I had when playing the Schumann piano concerto with three different orchestras last month. But as it turns out, something else, entirely different came up which I wanted to share. It is somewhat a mystery - a Mozart mystery.

I am in the midst of preparations for concerts of what is for me a new piano concerto - Mozart's concerto no. 12 in A, K. 414. Playing Mozart in the course of the season is, in my opinion, one of the most important things a musician can do in order to continuously develop, learn and raise his level of awareness to subtleties of rhythm, shades of sound as well as agogic, stresses and nuances of a phrase. Afterwards comes... exhaustion!

As I am learning the second movement of this delightful concerto I reach the point where the piano first departs from what was already introduced before by the orchestra. We are in the land of divinity, and this point of departure takes us a step even higher: Suddenly, without prior warning or any preparation the piano soars into a new melody - one with such heavenly beauty... it makes me stop. Not that it is "too much", it is just so overwhelming, I want to know where it came from.

This magical moment, just as it unnoticeably appeared, it disappeared without ever returning. But Why?! Won't there be a recap of the material, as is the case with music written in the classical era? If it is so beautiful, this magical moment, why not bring it again? Alas, why wasn't it announced before, or wasn't I told so I could properly prepare?

I look back at other Mozart concerti which I played over the years - No. 11 in F (K. 413), No. 13 in C (K. 415), No. 20 in D minor (K. 466), no. 23 also in A (K. 488), and no. 24 in C minor (K. 491) among others. Do these concerti all have a special moment such as the one I have just experienced? The answer is a resounding "yes!" - All of them have that moment which shows up unannounced, lingers for just a little, then goes away and shall not return.

Can we find similarities between these special secrets - "yes" and "no". "No" because there is really no pattern for their appearance- they could come during the course of the 1st, 2nd or 3rd movements. They can occur basically anytime! Or can they? Are they a result of pure spontaneity by a genius, or are they pre-planned? Does their function change depending on the place which they appear? Do they influence the structure, the unfolding of the movement?

One immediatey notices when these moments unveil themselves, but it is for different reasons that their beauty becomes so apparent: It can be a lonely melodic line singing high above in utmost simplicity in between outer sections of chordal writing full of dense texture as is the case in the present concerto K. 414. Or it can be the sudden launching into high passionate Sturm und Drung section at the end of a courtly dance movement - a Menuet, as is the case in the final movement of K. 413.

When I look for similarities between these cherishable moments, several realizations come to mind: their strength is a function of their brevity. Their sudden appearance and the fact that they will not come back is a virtue. They illuminate what we have just heard and what is yet to come.

Another thought has to do with the sensuous beauty and deep feeling from which these moments spring - maybe this is a glimpse into the composer's innermost, his inner-life, far from concealing the inward glow of passion!

These special places are always in complete contrast to what has happened before, yet their appearance sounds so inevitable. It is quite fascinating the different ways in which Mozart creates these very personal moments. In K. 414 it is a new melody of entirely new character on top of the simplest accompaniment - repeated chords; in K. 413 it is a "circle of fifths", which in the context of what has happened before, is quite shocking and at the same time so soothing...; In K. 491 when the tragedy, which was set forth at the opening slowly transforms through glimpses of hope when the second subject is introduced by the piano, a sudden, totally unexpected return of the opening theme (now re-orchestrated with solo Flute over piano accompanying) erases all traces of a positive outlook.

In K. 488 during the course of the exuberant Finale an "uninvited" guest arrives - Antonio the drunk gardener - in the form of a new theme in a new key. It converses with the orchestra, flirts with it, shouts at it... and goes away - a pure miracle! Why the gardener? Why here? It is not a "necessary" part of the "form". But maybe Mozart is not writing "forms", he is writing stories, and as the story unfolds, so does the twists and turns of his music.

My good friend Jonathan Biss wrote in his blog about the "sense of the mercurial in Mozart - the sensation that the character of a phrase is being determined as it is played as a reaction to the provocation that was the previous phrase - is of utmost importance. And that cannot be faked - you can only give the impression of being in the moment by actually being in the moment."

I think this all adds up to our efforts to understand this "mystery." We will never be able to solve it, but maybe, just maybe we will be able to get closer to it, feel it, and possibly even touch it momentarily.

Mozart wrote in a letter to his father in 1782 about the concerti K. 413, 414 and 415: "...There are passages here and there from which the connoisseurs alone can derive satisfaction; but these passages are written in such a way that the less learned cannot fail to be pleased, though without knowing why..."

I think this applies to these miraculous moments. And so next time when you listen to a Mozart concerto, look for these special places where a shiver runs through the body, a smile lights up the face, and you could hear Mozart laughing high above. You have just witnessed yet another layer of this composer's intimate personality. He whispered a secret in your ear!

Alon Goldstein

Beethoven in Rockford

Beethoven Festival

Rockford Symphony May 2007

About a year and a half ago I got an invitation to play the five Beethoven concerti as well as the "Choral Fantasy" all in one week in a city about an hour west of Chicago called Rockford, IL.

I do have admiration for musicians who can perform a whole body of work of one composer (or more for that matter) in a short period of time, however such a thing is not really a goal of mine, so I approached this undertaking with a bit of suspicion, and questioning. What happened, though, in the course of that week I will forever cherish and hope to expand to other places, and with other composers. Owing to the breadth of the repertoire and the sheer size of the forces involved, this Beethoven project resulted in important discoveries for me personally as well as for the orchestra and the community.

The Project

When first discussing this project with Brian Ritter (the orchestra’s Executive Director) and with Steven Larsen (the orchestra’s Music Director), we decided to structure the festival chronologically in order to present a narrative through Beethoven’s life and work. After this week-long festival, we - the orchestra, its staff, its patrons, the audience, and me - discovered that this journey changed us in many different ways: Beethoven took us on an emotional roller-coaster, and at the end of it we were different persons than at the beginning.

The Executive Director of the orchestra came to me after the second concert saying, “They got it (the audience), the journey that we were undertaking.” He felt, as I did, that this second concert, after having the perspective of the first, allowed everyone to begin to experience the process and progress of Beethoven’s life and music AND to be able to relate and create one’s own internal dialogue when listening.

Brian and Steve had the wonderful idea of engaging in a brief discussion before each concerto. After careful preparation, we presented each concerto in its historical, biographical, and creative contexts. This transformed the concert hall into an intimate living room (a very large one at that) in which we were inviting people to experience something that we felt so passionate about. In addition to the concerts and pre-performance talks on stage, the orchestra organized lectures, film screenings, and panel discussions throughout the week.

The Atmosphere

What was so incredibly rewarding was the intensity of rehearsing and playing these masterpieces, all within a week’s time. Each concerto has such emotional depth, inspiration, originality, and imagination. It was completely overwhelming, yet, at the same time, one could sense that one’s relationship with this music was deepening, becoming closer, opening as the week progressed.

Normally when I am invited to play a concerto, I always play the work for the conductor prior to the first rehearsal. But I never had the experience of playing for a conductor one concerto, and then another one, then more, and more, and more…. By the 5th concerto, I was absolutely drained. Maintaining concentration and focus as I played through all five in preparation for the following day’s double rehearsal in which we did all five with the orchestra was a particular challenge and contributed greatly to the general emotional intensity of the project.

The Concerts

Concert 1: Beethoven Revealed

The first concert (Sunday matinee) was titled Beethoven Revealed. We began with a brief discussion about Bonn in 1770, Beethoven’s early education, his admiration of Mozart, the move to Vienna, and his studies with Haydn. Slides of Bonn, Vienna, the meeting with Mozart, the princes’ salons in Vienna, and Beethoven at 25 were projected on stage behind us. Following this short presentation was the performance of the 2nd piano concerto, which, in fact, was the first chronologically speaking that Beethoven composed. On the second half, we discussed the characteristics of Beethoven’s early compositions: virtuosity, improvisation, the influence of Haydn and Mozart, the originality of his ideas, all accompanied by related slides, and then delved into the 1st piano concerto.

As an encore, we decided to do a “teaser” to set the mood for the up-coming concert entitled Beethoven Betrayed, so we played the second movement of the 4th piano concerto. I have to admit that this choice of the encore was somewhat selfishly motivated in that I wanted to have an extra rehearsal!

The Chicago Tribune mentioned the up-coming two concerts and selected them as “Critics Picks”. This mentioning, along with the interviews on TV and radio, breathed even more excitement into the community.

Concert 2: Beethoven Betrayed

The next concert was on Tuesday evening. It included the 3rd piano concerto on the first half and the 4th piano concerto on the second. We discussed Beethoven’s deafness resulting despair that ultimately led him to write the famous Heiligenstadt Testimony, which we read in parts. The slides in the background were of Beethoven at 34, his Ear Trumpet, the city of Heiligenstadt, and a facsimile of the Testament. Playing such a work as Beethoven’s 3rd Concerto usually requires some time afterwards to regain one’s strength. But in this case I only had 5-10 minutes to warm up and play the 4th piano concerto. Before tackling this beautiful and haunting work, we talked about the “Heroic” Beethoven as well as the mystery of the “Immortal Beloved”. The audience was ready for another encore, which was (in the spirit of the previous idea), the Recapitulation of the last movement of the 5th piano concerto.

Interlude

With three days between the second and third concerts, I offered to do some ‘outreach’ activities for the orchestra and the community, especially since I am strongly committed to sharing this incredible music with everyone. The orchestra organized all sorts of events: at local schools, house concerts, lunches with patrons… These activities were extremely rewarding because they allowed me to go into the community and interact with persons of all ages and interests in music. In other words, this allowed me to get even closer to the community where I was performing.

Concert 3: Beethoven Triumphant

The third and final concert—Beethoven Triumphant—took place that Saturday evening. Before tackling the ‘Emperor’ concerto on the second half, the orchestra performed all of the incidental music for Egmont before the intermission. To put the music in its historical context, we talked about Napoleon and Vienna during the wars of the first half of the 19th century. We also revisited some of the compositional characteristics of the earlier concerti and demonstrated how they were further developed in the 5th concerto (‘Emperor’).

For the encore that evening, my idea was to play the last movement of the 2nd concerto, which was the first work of the festival, in order to close the circular journey. However, just before the concert began, I asked whether the orchestra had the music for the encore. Since that concerto was done the previous Sunday, the music was locked in the orchestra’s offices, which are located in a building that was closed for the weekend. I then talked to the Executive Director asking him to find a way to get the music (“call the mayor if you need… someone has the key….”). The level of commitment from everyone for all of this to succeed was just so thrilling and inspiring. The Executive Director knew we needed to find a way to get the music, and he did. I shared this story with the audience after the performance of the “Emperor”. We then returned to that movement and closed the circle. During the applause, all of us in the hall felt that we did not want this journey to come to an end. It was intense; it was human; it had its ups and downs, ambition and promise, tragedy and despair, triumph and hope. It was indeed a festival devoted to Beethoven’s music and thus really a festival devoted to us as human beings.

During the last discussion with the conductor prior to playing the 5th concerto, I said that with Beethoven one never feels a sense of arrival but rather a sense of departure. After this final encore, I think that we all felt that, rather than arriving at the end, we experienced something new, a new departure into the future, something that I hope continues with a future project. Perhaps, with “The Robert Schumann, Clara Wieck and Johannes Brahms Love Triangle” festival in 2008-2009. I can’t wait.

Alon Goldstein