EL SISTEMA (Part II)

...in a day filled with extraordinary highlights, there was still one moment that stood above others.

We had a Q & A session (the young orchestra members and I), and I was asked whether I have a favorite composer or favorite piece. Not an uncommon question for which my answer is that I spend countless number of hours with every piece before it gets to be presented on the stage, and I cannot go through such a process with a piece I would not consider as a favorite. In other words, I have no favorite piece or composer, but rather favorites!

To the principle cellist that answer did not suffice. Standing up, he asked me if I could play "something that I could identify myself with." Now that is different. With some hesitation I sat down and played the closing movement from Schumann's epic Fantasy Op. 17. This thirteen minute slow pace meditation or perhaps a prayer, a farewell, is one of the most heartfelt pieces ever written. It goes straight into our innermost. It is music which expresses such solitude yet is all embracing. It is probably meant for just one person, whomever you want him to be.

After playing it, I turned to my fellow musicians and asked for the reason for choosing this piece. The answers kept pouring.
The two answers that I will never forget came from one orchestra member who thought that this music represented "the way I would like the world to be"; the second came from Bruno, their twenty-eight year old conductor who said that while I was playing, he saw the gates of heaven opening up and beaming light shined upon us all. This reminded me what Schumann said when writing this movement: that he had "a vision of Heaven with its angels in solemn troops and sweet societies, that sing, and singing in their glory move, and wipe the tears forever from our eyes.”
I could not agree more with all that I heard.

Shortly after, a group of about fifty people came in and formed a half-a-circle behind the orchestra. At first I was not sure where they came from or why they were here. All of a sudden they started to sing Handel a-cappella, and continued with all sorts of folk songs.
This afternoon started with one climax and gathered many more along the way: the choir of four-year-old's, the nine-year-old concert mistress, the instrument restoration shop, the ten-year-old conductor, the Schumann Fantasy, the a-cappella choir, and so much more. I saw a miracle in all its glory – a new reality. Can this be real or should I look at today's newspapers to find out what is real? I have no doubt that everyone around felt they were part of something special. Through the power of music they were able to get away each day from their reality if just for a moment, and build a new one, much more hopeful.

Many mornings I wake up and spend time with a composer that through the power of music he was aiming to build a more ideal world – Beethoven. I decided to end the visit with playing the Finale from Beethoven's Sonata "Appassionata".

The orchestra made me their first honorary member. I told them that the real honor would be that next time, rather than play for each other, let us play WITH each other.
After all, they showed me what togetherness is all about.

Thank you!
Alon Goldstein (Nov. 2010)

A secret note...

My opening remarks (more or less) to recent solo recitals which I gave at Tannery Pond concert series, NY; Baruch College, NY; and the Friends of chamber music in Reading, PA.

"In earth's variegated dream, a quiet sustained note is heard through all other notes, to those who secretly listen".

This poem by Friedrich Schlegel was quoted by Robert Schumann on the first page of his great C major Fantasy.

How ambiguous can one get? A quiet, sustained note, that is heard through all other notes to those who secretly listen?
What note?
Is it a note? a chord? a harmony?
perhaps a theme, a melody?
or maybe it is a character, a person?

Ambiguity is central to unveiling some of the mystery in the music of Robert Schumann, whose 200 anniversary we are celebrating this year. A composer that was as passionate about music as he was about literature. Above all, he was highly inspired and influenced by the literary works of Jean Paul and E.T.A. Hoffman.

A beautiful yet horrifying short story by E.T.A. Hoffman tells the story of a simple neurotic man who falls desperately in love with a young beautiful girl - the daughter of a famous professor. The poor man expresses his love to her, his wishes to be with her, to dance with her, to touch her. She is indeed special, so special that his friends tell him she is made out of wax! The man, however, sees only heavenly beauty in her eyes, in her silence, in her strange walk.

Is this a dream? Is she for real? Who is right? the poor man or his friends?
The author does not take sides. He allows us, the listeners / the readers to go along with this individual on his emotional journey which will most likely lead to his pitiful end, or to stand with his friends in the realm of reality. Or is it not?

Robert Schumann also falls in love with a beautiful young girl - the daughter of his famous piano teacher. And he goes on an emotional roller-coaster ride which manifested itself in some of the greatest and most important masterpieces of the nineteen century. His love to the young Clara against the strong opposition of her father is an integral part of his early music: the unattainable love - which is such an important characteristic of the Romantic era.

But that is not all. To immerse oneself in the music of Robert Schumann, is to walk within a very fine delicate line were the implicit is explicit, and the explicit is redundant. His Fantasy which you are about to hear was originally conceived as a one movement piece, "a deep lament to you Clara". Shortly after it was transformed into a three movement "Grand Sonata for Ludwig van Beethoven", with added names to the movements - Ruins, Trophies, Palms. And ultimately the names were omitted, and the title was changed to "Fantasy". So.... Beethoven will "visit" us in this grand work, as well as Clara, and her father. We might also find ourselves in the company of Liszt and Chopin, Mendelssohn or Paganini, and definitely his alter-egos the demonic Florestan as well as the introverted Eusebius will be there.

And there is more... much more! But this is where you, the listener, will decide what to believe and what not; who is invited, and who is left alone; what is true and what is imagined... what is real, and what is just... a FANTASY.

thank you!

Alon Goldstein

"Lost Souls" A (new) Piano Concerto

The world premiere of "Lost Souls" - A piano concerto, by Avner Dorman with Michael Stern conducting the Kansas City Symphony Orchestra and Alon Goldstein soloist, November 2009.

Two and a half years ago my manager Frank Salomon initiated the idea of commissioning a new piano concerto for me, and last week the premiere took place in Kansas City. Has it really been that long for the whole project, from its inception to the premiere? Well... Yes!

From the choice of Avner Dorman as the composer, to "seducing" the right conductor (Michael Stern) and his orchestra (KC Symphony), to raising the sufficient funds, etc etc - all went quite smoothly, and yet it took two and a half years! And what an experience it was - a week of discovery, and revelation, of witnessing the birth of a wonderful new piano concerto.

When I perform with an orchestra, whether Mozart or Beethoven, Schumann or Rachmaninov, the days of rehearsals are devoted to building the interpretation, the performance. We don't have to "worry" about the piece. It has already proven itself. It transcended time and place. It is settled. Our time is spent on making our understanding of the piece work.

When premiering a new piece, the center of our attention falls on helping the piece settle as a new entity. Similar to helping a new baby stand on his two feet, we help the piece stands on its 337,486... notes. Of course a good performance helps.

What was so revealing, so rewarding, intriguing, and interesting was to witness how through the course of the week a miracle - a new piece - is taking shape in front of our eyes (and ears). The "new" notes start to gravitate towards each other like magnets - one note equals one letter, together with another note... they become a syllable. Three notes - perhaps already a word. Four notes, then five, adding rhythm... we are on our way to making a sentence, a phrase. A few of these and we have a paragraph, then a page, a chapter, and before we know it, we have a whole story!

Lost Souls is very much "of our time" - Multiculturalism. It brings a spirit from the past into the present and examines what happens when it clashes with our age. As Michael Stern told the orchestra at one point: "think that you are sitting in the "Oak Room" in New York around a few Jazz players having a Martini with Rachmaninov..." Or as Michael McCurdy from Schirmer publications wrote that in this "globalized culture Art Tatum and Johann Sebastian Bach converse on the Ouija board of the 21st century."

Avner and I were contemplating about the reasons why in the last sixty years there has not been a piano concerto that entered the repertoire in a way that Bartok and Prokofiev have been. Is the genre obsolete? Is the content the problem? The composers? Do we need another piano concerto?

The answer is a resounding... No!
...and Yes!!
No, because the orchestra does all that it can to drive the spirit away at the end. But Yes, because indeed we have a new piano concerto which in time, I hope, will enter the repertoire.



I am not the Father of this new concerto. That would be Avner.
I am also not the Son... would that be Michael?
How about the Holy Ghost....? I think that actually works perfectly with the content!

To understand that, though, as well as to read more from the composer and the press I suggest clicking on Lost Souls.

The Lost Souls will conjure again, this time with the Fairfax symphony on March 13, 2010.

Alon Goldstein

From Schumann's diary...

Robert Schumann documented nearly every day of his life since his teenage years. On Oct. 1, 1853 a young composer age 20 came to visit. On that day Schumann wrote in his diary just one line:

"A visit from Johannes Brahms (a genius)"

Ave Maria

On performing Schubert and Schumann songs at the Phillips Collection (Washington DC), Second Presbytarian Church (Baltimore), and the Cultural Center (Chicago).

There are moments in our lives that are totally unexpected and yet so important and meaningful. They energize us beyond any predictions, and although few and far in between, these special moments are an essential part of our lives.

Magical moments - their essence is also in their brevity. Truth be said, I rarely know when they will appear, envelope me, clean my thoughts, clear my hopes, and re-direct me towards the goals which I laid in front of me.

A few weeks ago, I was preparing for three concerts which mixed songs of Schubert and Schumann with solo and chamber music repertoire. I believe that every great pianist must posses a strong urge to accompany singers - to support, to provide a cushion for the most natural of musical instruments - the human voice - to emerge, soar and bloom... then land. In addition to that, I must add, the repertoire is second to none.

As it happened, the day prior to our last concert, we - soprano Hyunah Yu, and I - were rehearsing leisurely at the Cultural center in Chicago, one of this city's many unique landmarks. Our rehearsal began with five Schubert songs, and ended with five Schumann songs.

Playing through these miniature masterpieces one by one, indulging in the sound of the language, admiring the poetry and above all listening, observing, re-living the way Schubert and Schumann painted these words, these sentences, these feelings / emotions in music..... it was easy to forget oneself in the space between what is conscious and what is unconscious. Time and space were of no importance. We were floating in a special place.

Schubert's Lachen und Weinen ("Laughing & Crying") - so seductively simple. A beautiful melodic line that changes its color, its reflection each time the accompaniment moves between major and minor, softer or louder. Im Früling ("In Spring") starts up as another strophic song, then transforms completely when the poet ceases to describe nature, and immerses himself in describing her - her image. At that moment Schubert gives me the most achingly beautiful melodic coloratura, floating above and below, inside and outside the melodic line sang by Hyunah. The thorny Heidenröslein ("The Briar-Rose") comes next. My role in this song is mainly "um pa, um pa..." However, finding that perfect balance between the simple and the sublime, the meaningful and the meaningless creates the miracle. Heimliches Lieben ("Loving in Secret") with its broad melodies is a challenge considering the high passion that the words suggest: "thy lips touch me";"trembling lift my breast";"my eye's aflame"... Are you sure this is loving in secret...? And then Suleika ("Suleika") which has a much darker tone than the previous songs. With Schubert, major is at times sadder than minor. The b minor key of this song's breathless, worrisome first part changes to B major and even the slightest of hopes is crushed. It hearts.
Each song is an entity - its subject matter, its sub-context, its philosophical overtones. These profound musical jewels capture the widest array in our eternal emotional resources.

Onto our Schumann group. How different is this composer from the other in his choice as well as interpretation of great German poetry. Schumann's hyper sensitive changes of moods are reflected in his songs, some are as short as one page. His demons / imaginary friends are an integral part of the music. Ambiguity is central to the understanding of this enigmatic composer. I think Schubert allows us to concentrate on the poem through his music, whereas Schumann forces us to listen to the music through the poem!

In Du bist wie eine Blume ("You are like a Flower") the singer tells us one story, while the piano's background and foreground reveals the hidden subtext. Der Nußbaum (The Walnut Tree) gives us with its ongoing repeated refrain the sense and sensibility we always crave for. Liebeslied ("Love song") gets to our place of raw emotions and Röselein, Röselein! ("Little rose, Little rose!") again takes us on a wild ride within Schumann's multiple personalities. Alas, Widmung ("Dedication") closes our second group of songs, and with it our program. They say that "good composers imitate, but great composers steal..." At the end of this most passionate song / gift, which Schumann wrote to Clara, he quotes the famous Ave Maria of Schubert. A truly stroke of genius. Our rehearsal came to an end. Or has it?

All this was just setting the stage for what was to come next. I took back the Schubert album and found the original Ave Maria, the source. After all, couldn't a performer, in this case - your truly - ask for an enocre? Hyunah came closer so we could look at the music together. She apologized in advance if it will turn out that she would not sing the entire song, to save her strength... but she did! She could not stop and neither could I.

It was dark outside, most people went home already, and yet the few that were in the building gathered around us. We started our evening with Schubert, continued with Schumann quoting Schubert, then decided to end with bringing the former back to life. I actually think that it was he that brought us back to life. I played the song at a slightly slower tempo then usual. Well, I did not want this to end. I felt so privileged to have had this magical moment of intimacy... of ecstasy! The gentle melodic curves of Ave Maria repeat three times. Within me, it still goes on.

When the last notes of the heavenly sound of B major evaporated, I got up and hugged my partner for this most uplifting experience. Thank you, Hyunah!

Evening descended, silence was all around, our souls and the music that surrounded us became just for a moment something that we could not only feel, we could touch.
And then, it disappeared.

Alon Goldstein

Variations Without Words

Schumann - Andante and Variations Op. 46 for two pianos, two celli and horn.
Katherine Jacobson Fleisher and Alon Goldstein - pianos; Sharon Robinson and Julia Bruskin - celli; David Jolley - horn. December 2007 at the 92 street Y in New York.


The Schumanns in 1847





There is a very unique and somewhat interesting aspect to the music of Robert Schumann. This great German composer is, in my opinion, the quintessential advocate of the Romantic era. He represents so vividly what this era stood for. Maybe this fact has something to do with what I would like to bring up.

It seems to me that a large number of the pieces that Schumann wrote have an immediate appeal to them - we love them from the first moment we set our "ears" on them. I think of the piano concerto, the Carnaval Op. 9, the piano quintet and the piano quartet, as well as many of his songs. However, other works remain for one reason or another, not as immediately appealing. They require further efforts by the listener as well as the performer to put before themseves a quest to unveil their beauty... their mystery. Engaging in such a quest takes time and faith, but the remuneration promises to be miraculous, especially with the music of Robert Schumann.

I recently played with a great company of musicians one of Schumann's lesser known works - the Andante and Variations in B flat major, Op. 46, scored for the unusual combination of two pianos, two celli and horn. Written in 1843, this piece most likely has not been performed during Schumann's life time in its original instrumentation. Schumann later revised it into a two piano work which Mendelssohn and Clara Schumann premiered. The piece in its original form appeared in print only 37 years after the composer's death.

The eminent violinist Jaime Laredo told me that this is his favorite Schumann piece! Why is it, then, that this work still remains largely obscure? Is it merely the scoring, or are there more reasons for this?

Schumann enjoyed writing pieces for unusual combination of instruments. Most of these works, though, came several years later - the Adagio and Allegro Op. 70 for horn and piano; the Concert piece Op. 86 for four horns and orchestra; the Romances Op. 94 for oboe and piano are all but a few. The Andante and Variations Op. 46 of 1843, came just after his two chamber masterpieces - the Piano Quintet Op. 44 and the Piano Quartet Op. 47. At the time Schumann preoccupied himself with writing his grandest piece to date - the oratorio Das Paradis und die Peri Op. 50.

A fundamental notion of the romantic era proclaims that creative work is the result of the artist's unbounded imagination. There is also a belief that the artist is merely a vehicle taking dictation of music that arrives from another world.

When we examine closely the Andante and Variations Op. 46, one of the first things which we ought to ask ourselves is about the unusual scoring. The "Two-Pianos" medium was already used before in wonderful works by Bach and Mozart among others. In this work, the dense and complex texture of the two pianos is being enriched with the low and dark colors of the two celli and the horn.

Playing through the piece for the first time, it is quite surprising how sparsely these other instruments are being employed. For the most part they don't get to play the melodic lines, nor do they provide the bass line, as their register might suggest. They add, though, a unique deep dark color in the background, and also in the foreground as the piece progresses.

The opening line sets the color palette. Then the curtain rises upon the theme along with a series of variations, which are more like lyrical miniatures - the first with tender lyricism, while the second with whimsical wit. Thereafter comes the third variation with the soaring melodies followed by the one overdosed with fiery energy. Sudden changes of mood are so much part of Schumann's music, and this piece is no exception. The composer's alter-egos, the demonic Florestan and the dreamy Eusebius, make their subtle appearances. Sweetness mixes with doubt, triumph with despair.

Half way through the piece a miraculous moment - Schumann is quoting himself: the opening of his beloved song cycle Frauenliebe und leben. Interestingly this is the only variation in the entire piece that starts without either of the pianos. For the most part, this variation is devoted solely to the two celli and horn. It is as if Schumann is in such profound state of internal serenity that he abandons completely the richness of the pianos, allowing us to simply engage our ear with the color of the moment, with the help of the other instruments. Is this the moment of Love? ...probably.

A sudden enlightenment - with the quotation from his song, maybe Schumann is writing here something similar to his good friend Mendelssohn's "songs without words". Should we then call this piece "Variations without words"? Oh, I like that!!

After this magical moment the theme re-enters in its pure naked form, and then takes a slight turn into its most painful transformation. The "love" of the previous variation is inflicted with the "pain" of this one. Love and pain go hand in hand. Whether helpful or not, necessary or superfluous, Schumann's deep love to Clara must have had something to do with these varying emotions.

Speaking of Mendelssohn... he now makes an appearance in the next variation, dressed up as one of his forest creatures. Though this variation is somewhat of a technical "tour de force", it is the pizzicato in the strings that draw my attention. It is in those subtleties that the piece becomes such a jewel. Then the horn gets center stage with vigorous calls that hardly ever been used in chamber music before. And in the next variation one of the clowns from the commedia dell'arte, possibly Harlequin, enters gently.

By now we have traveled quite a bit and we reach the grandest of all the variations, the one that uses all the forces which are at our disposal. We become a full orchestra. This is the only variation that begins in the minor key (g minor) and both melodically and rhythmically gets more intricate as it progresses. It culminates in the "coronation" of B flat major, the home key of the piece. There is high drama and passion in this variation, a real confrontation.

Eusebius returns. He gets the last word, as if to send us back to "Fantasy-land", a place we should have never left.

I want to play the piece again. I want to listen to it again, now from a distance. Were these Schumann's internal thoughts or were these mine? ours? Unusual yet seductive. Appealing yet ambiguous.

I feel I just added a new pearl onto my collection - one that is rougher possibly from being out of site, and at the same time serenely beautiful and uniquely shaped from being discovered and loved by not so many. I know that Schumann has more of these pearls.... Can I recommend one more?...go and listen to the Six Etudes in the form of Canons Op. 56.

Alon Goldstein